chapter 1

"Elias! Elias!" A man walking hastily called out, where had that bitch gone too? Didn't he know the master had specific time for everything?

"Elias!"

Hearing his name being called, Elias dropped the dishes and headed out of the kitchen. Knowing who the voice belonged to, he was probably going to get reprimanded or worse…hit.

"Mr. Reginald… I…" before Elias could complete his sentence, the man had already raised his hand, landing a crisp slap on his face.

Piak!

"You fucking wretch! Do you know what the time is?"

Holding his face, Elias swallowed his annoyance wondering what he did wrong this time.

"What's the matter Mr. Reginald?"

"Do you know what the time is?! 3:42, you're 2 minutes late from delivering the master's food.."

This statement, rewarded Elias with another slap.

"Mr. Reginald I'm on kitchen duty, I have no business with the master's food today. It's Thomas, you should be rewarding him with these slaps.."

Reginald sneered, his lip curling with pure disgust. "You think I give a damn whose job it is, you filthy little bitch?" His voice was thick with condescension, each syllable dripping venom. "You're an omega. You breathe to serve. You live to obey. You don't get to question orders—you bend over and take them, like the worthless hole you are."

Elias swallowed back the fury that burned at the back of his throat. His hands trembled at his sides, but he kept them in tight fists.

Don't react.

Don't give him the satisfaction.

Reginald's gaze darkened, like he could smell the defiance Elias was trying to hide. "What? Did you think because you scrub dishes today, you get to act like you're worth something? You're still just a heat-ridden cock sleeve waiting to be used."

The kitchen boys snickered, none of them daring to meet Elias' gaze. No one ever defended an omega—not when it was so much easier to laugh along and kick them while they were down.

"Take the master's food." Reginald shoved a tray into Elias's chest so hard the plates nearly toppled over. "And pray to the fucking gods that he doesn't take one look at you and decide you belong on your knees instead of holding a damn tray."

The weight of the food was nothing compared to the weight of his own humiliation.

His stomach churned, his lungs tightening with suppressed rage.

He hated this. Hated the way they spoke to him.

Hated the way no one cared.

Hated the way it would never change.

But still, he bowed his head. He knew better than to fight. "Yes, Mr. Reginald."

Reginald smirked, looking pleased with himself. "That's more like it. Good little omegas know their place."

With that, Elias turned on his heel and made his way toward the master's quarters, ignoring the way the other servants whispered behind his back.

There was only two rules when it came to serving the master during meal time.

1. Don't look at him.

The second rule?

Never be late…..

And today, he had already broken one.

Elias moved through the dimly lit corridors, the heavy tray balanced carefully in his hands. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, louder than the murmuring servants who scurried past him—most of them alphas who didn't spare him a second glance.

To them, he was nothing. Less than nothing.

Filthy omega. Whore. Breedstock.

He had heard it all before, whispered behind his back, muttered under breath, or sneered directly to his face. It didn't matter what he did, how hard he worked, how obedient he was—his designation made sure he'd never be seen as anything more than a warm body waiting to be used.

The master's quarters loomed ahead, a set of massive double doors carved from blackwood, guarded by two men in armor. They were both alphas, their scents thick in the air, laced with barely restrained contempt as their gazes locked onto him.

"The bitch is late," one of them muttered.

The other scoffed. "Master doesn't like waiting, Elias. You're lucky you're even allowed to walk upright instead of crawling in on all fours like the useless thing you are."

Elias said nothing. He had learned long ago that silence was his best weapon. If he spoke, he would only invite more abuse.

One of the guards stepped aside and wrenched the door open. The flickering torchlight inside casting a long, eerie shadow against the stone walls.

The air was heavier in here, thick with something unnameable.

"Try not to spread your legs while you're in there," the other guard sneered, shoving Elias forward. "Or do. Maybe the master will finally put you to use."

Elias stumbled but caught himself before the tray could tip over. He bit his tongue and stepped inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

The room was vast, but the darkness swallowed most of its edges, leaving only the faint glow of a few candles to illuminate the space.

A grand dining table sat in the center, its polished wood gleaming under the firelight. And at the far end, seated in an ornately carved chair, was him.

The Devil.

The man who owned everything in this castle, including Elias.

A figure cloaked in darkness, posture relaxed but imposing, one gloved hand resting on the arm of his chair.

Elias knew better than to look.

He dropped to his knees immediately, head bowed, arms outstretched as he presented the tray. His breath was shallow, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the deep, smooth voice that haunted Elias's nightmares.

"You're late."

Cold sweat trickled down Elias's spine. He didn't speak. Didn't dare to move.

The Devil's voice was like silk wrapped around steel, a quiet and measured threat.

"I don't like waiting."

The air was thick with his scent—dark, rich, utterly suffocating. Elias' instincts screamed at him to submit, to lower himself further, to bare his throat in apology.

But he wouldn't.

Not when he knew it wouldn't matter.

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I was told I wasn't on food duty today, Master."

Silence.

Then—a quiet chuckle, slow and deliberate, sending ice through Elias' veins.

"And yet, here you are."

The sound of bare feet walking through the stone floor was heard, Elias grip on the tray tightened, for where of what might happen to him.

He could feel the heat of the master's presence drawing closer, the scent of power and something more carnal pressing against his skin like a brand.

A gloved finger traced the edge of his jaw, forcing his chin up ever so slightly. Elias' throat bobbed as he struggled to keep his gaze down.

"Look at me."

The words weren't loud. They weren't cruel. But they held the weight of a command that could shatter him if he obeyed.

Elias clenched his fists, his breath shallow. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

The master's fingers slid lower, grazing his throat, his pulse thrumming beneath the touch.

"So tell me, Elias…" His voice was a whisper now, a ghost of amusement threading through it.

"How do I punish you?"