A Mate's Betrayal, An Alpha's Claim.

Camila's POV

Nathaniel was going to the auction.

And worse—he intended to participate.

A thick silence stretched between us, the fire casting flickering shadows against the wooden walls. The warmth of the flames did nothing to thaw the ice settling in my chest. My breath felt shallow as I studied him, searching for any sign—any hint—of deception beneath the unreadable mask he wore so effortlessly.

"You can't—" I tried again, my voice a little steadier this time, but he only raised an eyebrow, daring me to finish the sentence.

Of course, he could.

Nathaniel Blackwood wasn't just any Alpha. He was powerful. Feared. Respected. A man like him could do anything he wanted, and no one would question it.

Not even Alpha Greene.

The weight of realization pressed against my ribs. If Nathaniel was in business with Silvercrest, then there was a chance—no, a certainty—that my name was already on the list of runaways being sold.

I wasn't just another lost omega. I was a fugitive.

If I ran, I'd never stop running.

If Alpha Greene caught me, I wouldn't live to see another sunrise.

The memory of his voice still haunted me, dark and cruel, promising a fate worse than death if I ever disobeyed him. The scars hidden beneath my clothes burned at the thought. I had spent years learning how to survive, how to evade capture, how to blend into the shadows. But this?

This was a game I had no control over.

Nathaniel must have noticed the shift in my breathing, the way my fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket. His amusement faded, his expression turning unreadable—sharp, assessing.

"You're afraid," he said, voice low. It wasn't a question.

I forced my pulse to steady, my voice to come out even. "Why would I be?"

Nathaniel didn't blink. "You were running." His tone was eerily calm. Too knowing. "I saw it the moment I found you."

I clenched my jaw, but he wasn't done.

"You were desperate," he continued, as if I hadn't just tried to deny him an answer. "That kind of fear—it doesn't come from nothing." His golden eyes darkened, gleaming in the dim light. "You belong to someone."

I flinched.

His lips curved slightly, but there was no humor in it. "And I don't need to ask who."

A heavy silence settled between us.

I felt exposed—like he had stripped away every last layer I had used to protect myself. I had spent years hiding, running, surviving—only for this man to look at me once and know.

I swallowed, my throat dry. "Then you know why I have to leave."

Nathaniel tilted his head slightly, as if considering my words. Then he exhaled, slow and measured, before saying the last thing I expected.

"You won't make it."

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

His gaze was unwavering, cold but not cruel—just factual, as though he were stating something as simple as the weather.

"If you run," he continued, "you will never stop running. He will find you, and when he does, he will kill you."

I stiffened.

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't threaten. He didn't need to. The words alone sent ice through my veins.

Because he was right.

The weight of those years—the sleepless nights, the moments of breathless terror whenever I heard a sound too close, the near-misses that had stolen pieces of me—I could feel them pressing down on me.

I had run, and I had survived.

But survival wasn't freedom.

And Nathaniel saw it.

Nathaniel took a step forward, slow and deliberate, until his towering frame loomed over me. The firelight cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the quiet intensity in his gaze.

I refused to shrink away, even as my instincts screamed at me to run.

"You don't know that," I said, though the words lacked conviction.

Nathaniel studied me for a moment, his golden eyes gleaming like a predator that had just cornered its prey. Then, with unnerving certainty, he murmured, "I do."

His hand lifted—slow, deliberate.

Not to hurt me. Not to restrain me.

But to brush his fingers against my wrist.

A whisper of contact. Barely there.

Yet it felt like a chain, unbreakable and absolute.

My breath caught, but before I could pull away, his next words sent a jolt of terror through me.

"You were Aiden's before, Camila." His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "But now? You belong to me."

The air between us crackled, heavy with something I couldn't name.

Aiden.

That name alone made my stomach twist.

He had owned me in every way that mattered. Not because I had chosen him, but because I had never been given a choice.

And now Nathaniel was claiming me in the same way?

My body tensed. "I don't belong to anyone."

Nathaniel's lips barely twitched. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was amusement, but there was nothing soft in his gaze. Nothing gentle.

"No," he murmured, tilting his head. "But you will."

My fingers curled into the blanket draped over me, my grip tightening as uncertainty clawed at my chest.

A part of me wanted to demand what he meant.

A part of me already knew.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I swallowed hard, forcing my voice past the dryness in my throat.

"What do you mean, I belong to you now?"

Silence stretched between us, thick and unyielding.

Nathaniel just watched me. His golden eyes reflected the firelight, gleaming like something not quite human.

The longer he stared, the more I felt it.

That pull.

That power.

It wasn't just his title.

It was him.

Something in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at me, in the way he made me feel like my choices had already been stripped away long before this conversation had started.

And I hated it.

Hated that he was right.

Hated that deep down, I knew I had no way out of this.

Nathaniel took a slow step forward.

I held my ground.

My fingers curled tighter into the fabric at my sides, my knuckles white, my breathing unsteady.

His gaze flickered downward—just for a second, just to acknowledge how tense I was.

Then, almost as if to remind me of exactly where I stood, he leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost over my cheek.

He didn't touch me.

He didn't need to.

His presence alone was suffocating.

"You can fight it," he murmured. "But it won't change anything."

Something sharp lodged in my throat.

I didn't want to ask.

Didn't want to hear it.

But I had to.

"What do you mean, I belong to you now?"

The words were barely a whisper.

For the first time, I saw something flicker in his expression—something unreadable, something dark.

He smiled.

And the fear in my chest twisted into something else entirely.