Greed

The morning sun had barely risen, but Soren was already walking beside the man in the suit again.

It was strange. How the man always looked so composed, so polished, even in the middle of a place like this. How he strolled across the estate in his neatly pressed suit as if it were as comfortable as a loose robe.

Soren glanced at him, choosing his words carefully. "Sir… what should I call you?"

The man smiled, a lazy, unreadable expression on his face. "Sir is enough."

That was all Soren got.

They continued walking, the morning air crisp, the vast estate stretching out before them. The green fields, the carefully cultivated gardens, the massive mansion in the distance—it was the kind of wealth that existed far from the suffering of war.

Then, out of nowhere, the man spoke.

"Tell me, Selene…" His voice was calm. "If you were one of those benefiting from the war, would you try to stop it?"

Soren followed the man's gesture, taking in the beauty around him. The luxury. The security. He knew the answer the man wanted, but instead, he spoke the truth.

"Nothing comes out of greed."

The man hummed, waiting for him to continue.

Soren sighed deeply. "I can't answer that question… because I don't know what influences greed, I don't know the feeling of feeling like you don't have enough."

He thought of his parents. The ones who had traded him for wealth. Who had replaced him with something that gleamed in their hands.

Soren sighed, then turned to the man with a bitter smile. "But what I do know is that if I were an omega who could actually fight an alpha and win, I'd beat them up just for money."

The man let out a warm chuckle.

It was… unexpected.

Soren had an idea of the kind of man he was walking with. He had already categorized him as dangerous, as someone who played with people like they were chess pieces. But that warmth, even if fleeting, confused him.

So, he asked, "Are you benefiting from this war?"

The man turned his gaze forward. "I may just be the greediest man you've ever met."

They continued their stroll.

Soren kept his eyes sharp, taking mental notes of the estate. His mission had never left his mind, even for a second. He needed to find the well, the one that was obviously hidden. He had to find it before it was too late. If he were to die, he should at least die having accomplished that.

But as he observed, the man observed him.

"You're very attentive," the man mused. "Are you planning to escape?"

Soren turned to him, flashing an innocent yet menacing smile. "Escape isn't what's on my mind."

The man said nothing, but his smirk deepened, as if entertained by the response.

As they headed back, Soren spotted someone familiar.

Hilda.

She had been dressed in a lovely gown, her appearance polished to perfection, but… her form was broken.

Soren stopped, trying to talk to her, but her eyes darted around, nervous and alert.

He met her gaze, silently telling her, I'll make a plan.

Hilda's shoulders eased slightly, but before he could ask where they were keeping her, she hurried away.

As he watched her disappear into the mansion, the man beside him spoke.

"The only one you can save is yourself," he said. "Anyone else is an unnecessary burden."

Soren clenched his fists. He said nothing.

They returned to the house for breakfast.

There were two soldiers seated with them—both alphas, both watching Soren like they wanted to tear him apart.

His unease grew.

Then, the master of the estate spoke. "Has the omega been treating you well?"

The man in the suit nodded, a lazy smirk on his face. "The young omega makes me feel young again. His energy is quite something. I'd like to take him home with me."

Soren stiffened.

The master, however, refused.

"An influential man saw him while you were out on your walk. He's interested in having him tonight."

Soren's stomach dropped.

The master turned to him. "You'll receive your injection at noon. Go to your bedroom until then."

Panic swelled in Soren's chest, but before he could react, a warm hand pressed against his lower back.

It was the man in the suit.

"My dear friend," the man addressed the master. "I had planned to spend even tomorrow with him. How much is this man paying?"

The master smiled. "It isn't money. It's something you don't have."

The man chuckled, then turned to Soren.

"There are different kinds of greed," he murmured. "Money. Attention. Ownership."

Then, with practised ease, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a necklace. It was adorned by a sharp pendant,

He fastened it around Soren's neck, brushing against his pulse. "This is how I mark my prey," he said.

Soren's breath hitched.

Why? 

Why was he helping him? Why was he giving him something he could use as a weapon, when just minutes ago, he had made it clear he would kill him?

Soren had no answers.

He was bathed again. This time, they gave him a pheromone-enhancing oil. He had to apply it because this mysterious man liked it.

Then came the injection.

Then the escort to the other side of the estate.

The small manor was beautiful. Surrounded by a lush vegetable garden, it seemed almost peaceful.

But the moment he stepped inside, his body froze.

Sitting in the dimly lit room, smirking like the devil himself was Hadrian.

Soren's stomach twisted violently. He turned to leave, but a soldier shoved him forward.

A soldier wearing his country's uniform. How did he even get into enemy territory?

Hadrian chuckled darkly. "Hello, Omega."

His fingers reached out, trailing toward Soren's face.

Soren slapped his hand away.

And immediately a sharp crack echoed through the air as Hadrian backhanded him.

Pain exploded in Soren's skull. His ears rang. His vision blurred for a moment, but he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay standing.

Hadrian sneered. "Your defiance doesn't help you."

He leaned in, voice dripping with malice.

"I'm going to violate you… and then I'm going to drop your dead body off at the base."

Soren's breath was heavy, his nose flared. He would one day backhand this man. He thought to himself. 

Two soldiers forced him into a chair, tying him down.

Hadrian sat across from him at a lavish dining table, picking up his fork to enjoy his meal.

Soren watched him, cold rage building in his chest.

Then, as Hadrian lifted a spoonful of food... Soren spit in it.

To Soren's satisfaction, Hadrian's expression darkened.

Soren smiled, his voice low and venomous. "I swear on my life, I will kill you with my own hands, you traitorous bastard."