Page 102 of Bonds of Pain
Fuck it.
I tell her. Everything.
I stare at Maya’s face, waiting for disgust or pity to appear. Neither comes. Instead, her eyes soften with something that looks strangely like understanding.
“You know,” she says quietly, “I spent my whole life believing that Alphas were these untouchable gods. That they could never be victims.” She sits on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain space between us. “But you were victimized just like any Omega might be.”
“It’s not the same,” I mutter, shame burning through me. “I should have been stronger.”
“Why? Because you’re an Alpha?” Maya’s voice turns sharp. “That’s the same bullshit that keeps Omegas trapped. The idea that your designation determines how much power you have, how much agency you deserve.”
Her words hit their target dead center. I’ve never considered the parallel before.
“Those women,” she continues, “they used their status to hurt you, just like Alphas use theirs to control Omegas. The system protects them both.”
I consider that, pain and hate swirling in a mind just sick of there always being darkness. “So we’re both pawns in the same game,” I say slowly. “Just playing different positions.”
Maya nods. “The difference is, you can walk away from the board. I can’t.”
The truth of her words settles heavily between us. For the first time, I truly see the cage around her—not just the physical one of the palace, but the invisible one built by society itself.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now,” she says, reaching tentatively for my hand, “we decide if we’re going to keep playing by their rules or start making our own.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
MAYA
Isqueeze between Cillian and Poe in the back of the car as we head toward the coliseum. Ares drives while Logan sits in the passenger seat, both of them tense and silent. The mood is heavy with anticipation for the royal games—a tradition that suddenly feels more like a potential execution than a celebration.
Through the tinted windows, I watch the city pass by in a blur. Citizens line the streets, waving flags bearing the Corellian crest. To them, this is a festival. To us, it’s something far darker.
I glance at Poe beside me. His face is drawn, shoulders rigid. He hasn’t met anyone’s gaze once since we left the apartment.
A knot of guilt tightens in my stomach. I’m the one who sent him to meet Vivienne and Elara. I deliberately set him up to face his abusers, all for my petty revenge scheme.
It was necessary, I tell myself. I needed him to understand how it feels to be powerless.
But as I study his profile—the tight set of his jaw, the barely perceptible tremor in his hand—my conviction wavers. This victory feels hollow and more shameful than I anticipated.
Showing him what it feels like to be a victim feels like justice.
But it was also cruel.
Poe shifts beside me, his arm brushing mine. I nearly flinch at the contact, expecting coldness or anger. Instead, he adjusts himself to give me more space, a gesture so considerate it makes my chest ache.
Even now, after what I’ve done, he’s still protecting me in these small ways.
I could almost see myself falling for this man if we’d met another way. Not the dangerous assassin who follows Logan’s orders without question, but the gentle soul who carries me to bed without expectations. The man who sees me as more than my designation. Who wants me to choose him rather than forcing my compliance.
That’s what makes this situation feel so much harder to bear.
“Almost there,” Logan announces from the front seat, his voice tight. “Remember, we need to present a unified front today. All eyes will be on us.
Through the window, I catch my first glimpse of the coliseum—a massive structure of pale stone and gleaming metal that dominates the skyline. Banners snap in the wind, and crowds surge toward the entrances like water rushing through a broken dam.
“There will be challengers,” Cillian says quietly. “Some may be just looking to make a name for themselves, but others will be deadly serious in their intent to take you down.”
