Chapter 5: The Wolf at the Window

The air in the room remained thick with tension, a suffocating shroud of fear and uncertainty. Ben's heart thudded in his chest, a mad drumbeat against the silence that fell upon him after Tim's leaving. He sensed the spectral presence of Max, the smell of pine, something untamed, something unbridled.

He gazed over at the closet door, the thin wedge of wood that had fallen between Max and epiphany. He'd almost strangled on breath, every nerve in protest, when Tim's glance fell upon the gap, an unspoken blame hovering between them.

Max's words haunted him: "You don't know what you are yet, do you?" The question hung over him, a specter of darkness that unsettled him. He'd always known he was different, misplaced, but he'd attributed it to his omega nature, to the submissiveness imposed on him and the inherent fear that always simmered.

But there was something more in Max's words, something beyond the bounds of his outlined function. He was a mystery, an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and he didn't even know how to solve it.

He approached the window, the cold of the glass a welcome respite from the scorching of his skin. He gazed out over the moon-silvered gardens, the spotless lawns and trimmed hedges a bitter reminder of the decadence that encircled him. It was a beautiful cage, a cage of gold to hold him back from going further.

He shut the window, the rattle of the catch echoing through the silence. He came back into the room, his gaze scanning the red velvet chairs, the gold capping, the evidences of Jack's dominance and power.

He was a tool to Jack, a tool for a purpose. But Max's threat had planted in him a doubt, a glimmer of resistance against overwhelming odds. He was better than a tool. He was something else. He was something deadly.

He rolled onto the bed, the comfortable mattress a relief for the ache of the hours. He leaned back against the pillows, his muscles fatigued and worn. Sleep was a distant possibility, though, something he could not indulge.

His head spun, replaying the events of the night. Max's face, the near-meltdown with Jack that he barely managed, Tim's accusatory stare. It was all a thread in a tapestry of danger, a snare of deceit waiting to capture him.

He recalled Jack, golden eyes blazing suspicion, each movement plotted and calculated. He was a predator, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and Ben was the prey.

He marveled at Tim, his gray eyes going into slits, each sentence trailing off with menace. He was a menacing figure, lingering on the fringes, ready to pounce.

And Max, the mysterious man who moved in the background, whose motive was obscure. He was a paradox, an aura of threat and an assurance of protection.

Ben's eyes closed hard, his mind whirling with questions that had no answer. What was he? Why did Jack need him? And what game was this that involved Max?

He didn't know, but one thing he knew for sure: he could not stay trapped in this gold cage. He needed an escape, a door back to himself, to his life, his freedom.

He sank into a sleep of anger, his dreams filled with shadows and with whispers, with gray eyes and golden eyes, with pine smell and the fear taste.

Morning light crept in and he woke to the sound of a knocker on the door. He got up, his muscles creaking and aching, his mind still wrapped in the lingering strands of his dreams.

"Ben?"

Tim's voice at the door. "Breakfast."

He groaned and heaved himself up off the bed. He made his way to the door, hand on top of the door handle. He breathed in deeply, trying to hold on to his facade of calm.

He pushed open the door, a plastered smile glued to his face. "Morning."

Tim stood looking him up and down, hoping to see some glimmer of vulnerability. "Jack wants you in the dining room."

Ben nodded, his stomach clinching up. He knew the routine. Another session, another day of testing his limit.

He followed Tim down the hall, the echoes of their footsteps ringing down the marble floor. The house was quiet, the servants mute, their faces always displaying Jack's dominance.

They entered the dining room, a large room with a long mahogany table. Jack sat at the head, his golden eyes on Ben. He was dressed in a cut suit, his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes sharp, predatory.

"Sit," he growled, his voice low and commanding.

Ben sat facing him, his eyes fixed on Jack. He knew he was being sized up, watched, every movement of his examined.

"How did you sleep?" Jack asked, sounding relaxed, but his eyes shifting.

"Good," Ben answered, trying to sound relaxed too.

Jack nodded, his eyes still fixed on Ben's face. "Good. Because today, we have a lot of work."

Ben's stomach knotted. He knew what lay ahead. Another day of suffering, another day of being pushed to the limit. But he also knew that he had no other option. He was a pawn, a prisoner of the blood oath, of the searing chains.

He was Jack's pawn, but he would not be silent. He would fight, he would struggle, he would find a way out.

He was not merely an omega. He was something else, something deadly. And he was going to discover what.