Chapter 86: Evil Little Thing
Lorali Pov
I have no idea when I fell asleep but the jet lag must have kicked in hard. One moment I was in Torin’s car, the next I was drifting, and now I’m being jolted awake by a voice I’d rather never hear again.
"Wake up, sweetheart. It’s just a dream," Torin whispers, his tone soft, coaxing, like he’s some kind of savior.
Sweetheart. The word makes bile rise in my throat. My eyes flutter open slowly, red‑rimmed and wet, my breathing uneven and rapid. All of it is as rehearsed. Ella told me exactly what emotions to show, because even the cruelest men have a heart if you tug at it the right way.
"To...rin," I mumble, my gaze locking onto his. I make sure it’s sharp, like daggers piercing straight into his chest. He flinches, just slightly, and I savor it.
"It’s alright, Sugarplum. I’m here," he whispers again, his thumb grazing my cheek, holding my face as if anchoring me to him. I want to spit in his face, but instead I tremble, lips quivering, breath catching, just as Ella instructed.
He leans closer, pressing his forehead against mine. "You’re safe now. No one will hurt you again. Not while I’m here."
Safe? With him? The irony nearly makes me laugh. He’s the reason I was ever unsafe to begin with. But I let the tears fall like waterfalls down my cheeks, my voice breaking with raw pain. "Where were you?" I cry, making sure it sounds desperate and broken. "I waited for you to come... but you didn’t come. They even burnt me."
His chest tightens at my words. Good. Let him choke on guilt. Because I did burn. Each time Ophelia pressed a hot iron plate against my shoulder, I truly contemplated death again.
"Is that where you got the wound on your shoulder?" he asks cautiously, his voice strained.
I nod slowly, biting my lip, eyes clouded with memory. I don’t care about the memory, it’s the performance that matters.
He pulls me into his arms, sitting on the edge of the bed, and I cry against his chest. My sobs are muffled, my hand trembling as I pat his shirt like I’m clinging to him. Inside, I’m screaming. Inside, I’m laughing. He thinks this is real. He thinks I’m broken.
We remain like that for what feels like half an hour, silence broken only by my fake cries, until finally I calm, sniffling as I pull away. "Sorry... I ruined your shirt," I murmur, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
"Don’t sweat it," he says softly.
Don’t sweat it? He has no idea how much sweat, blood, and tears I’ve already lost because of him. I know I’m just being a hater at this point but I can’t help it, he is so easy to hate.
"Sugarplum," he whispers, hesitant but hopeful, "if it isn’t too much... could you please tell me how you got to the auction?" His voice is quiet, almost pleading.
My lips tremble and my voice comes out fragile, almost breaking under the weight of the memory. "It... it was back at Vanya’s engagement. I went out into the gardens with Arabella. We watched the stars, talked about our days at Alma. Then she wanted a drink and went back inside with Vanya, while my other two friends were in the bathroom. That’s when people in all black approached me. The next thing I remember... I woke up on the outskirts of the country." My throat tightens, and I sniff, my voice cracking again. "These people were part of the auction. Our handlers... all of us omegas captive were branded with burns to prove we were property of the auction house."
My hand drifts to the mark on my shoulder, fingers brushing it as if it still burns. I know I have to hint at where I got it, the scar too visible to hide, so the lie must be convincing. Ella and I rehearsed this story until every detail cut like a blade.
"Most omegas there were unbonded and packless. Apparently, that’s the type that fetches the most money. When they found out I was bonded, they were livid at the loss. I didn’t sell because no one will ever take a bonded omega, or an omega with a pack. It’s too much of a liability, too much trouble. So I was lucky... and unlucky. If I hadn’t escaped, I’d have become a breeder for the Auction house, forced to birth omegas for them."
I spin the tale with precision, every pause sharpened to stab at his heart. The gardens, the black‑clad strangers, the branding, the handlers, the burns, I lace them together with trembling breaths. My voice breaks at the right moments, my hand brushes the scar like it still sears, and he eats it up.
He asks how they mistook me for packless, and I whisper the line that seals the dagger: "It’s not like anyone knows I’m Spade Pack’s second omega." His face drops, his breath hitches. Perfect. He realizes now that by hiding me, by keeping me secret, they painted a target on me. He thinks it’s his fault. He thinks he failed me.
Good. Let him drown in guilt. Let him believe he’s the villain in my tragedy, which he is.
"Torin... are you okay?" I ask softly, feigning innocence, my eyes searching his. He nods quickly, forcing composure, rising to his feet with a stiffness that betrays his turmoil.
"Get some sleep. I’ll be right back. I need to make a quick call and grab the first aid kit to tend to your face," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I nod reluctantly, fiddling with my hands, lowering my gaze for dramatic effect. "I promise I’ll be right back," he reassures me, but I don’t answer. Silence is more powerful than words.
It isn’t long before he leaves the room, and I’m left all alone. The moment the door clicks shut, I slip out of bed, my body weak but driven by determination. Probably to do something very dumb, but something that will help me. I know I’ve got him exactly where I want him.
I wander through the oddly designed room, memories of my free labour days flooding back. I cleaned this ruin so many times, it was always easy, because Torin was never here, and the place was never messy. I’d spend an hour or two once a week pretending to be busy, dusting surfaces that didn’t need it and sweeping floors already spotless.
Now, I walk slowly, tracing the edges of furniture, my fingers brushing against shelves and walls, as exhaustion creeps in like a heavy fog, damn the jet leg. My knees weaken, my head spins, and I feel like I’m about to collapse. I stumble back to the bed, sinking into it, and within seconds, sleep drags me under.
An Hour Or So Later
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Shouting. That’s the first thing I hear when I snap my eyes open, the sound tearing through the silence like a victory bell. It seems the plan worked. They are going at it downstairs, voices raised, bodies colliding. I can’t miss the fruits of my tears.
I throw the blanket aside and jump out of bed, my bare feet hitting the floor with urgency. Before I reach for the door, my eyes catch the mirror. The sight stops me cold. My reflection stares back, bruised but tended. Torin actually did come and attend to my wounds while I was sleeping. My cheeks are covered in bandages, the swelling eased with ointment. Whatever. Either he feels guilty, or he’s trying to play me again.
With quiet steps, I make my way to the railing upstairs that overlooks the living room. Just as anticipated, Torin is going at it with one of his packmates. The unlucky individual he’s fighting with... wait. Is that Oril or Oracle? I’ve been gone for so long I can’t differentiate between them anymore. To be fair, the only reason I could tell them apart in the past was because whenever I was close to Oracle, the pain in my shoulder would decrease. That was my marker. Now, with no pain, I can’t tell who’s who. But honestly, I don’t care. As long as they’re fighting, I’m entertained.
Torin lands a punch on Oracle—or Oril—and they tumble across the floor, fists flying, snarls ripping from their throats. They fight with passion, with rage. Yes. Yes. This is exactly what I want. Let them rip each other to shreds.
Then I feel it, eyes on me. My head tilts slightly, and instantly I feign sadness, softening my features as I meet the gaze head-on. Augi’s head is tilted back, his eyes locked on mine. That look in his eyes? It’s how Ella’s mates look at her. He never looked at me like that before. It’s as if I’ve become an interesting specimen to him, something rare, something worth studying. The tension between us thickens, stretching taut like a string ready to snap.
But it’s rudely interrupted by my dear Walter. The little shit who does nothing but lie. I curve my lips into a smile, tilting my head slightly as I offer him a wink. I don’t see the point of acting with him. He’s not as dumb as his packmates; he’d figure it out soon enough. Besides, the greatest hell he could ever suffer is to see his pack taken away from him. Not that I can make that happen, his pack loves him far too much to dump him for me. But I can give off the illusion, and the idiot is insecure enough to believe it. That insecurity will help me ruin him.
I move away from the railing, returning to Torin’s room with deliberate steps. I’m sure that because of the smile I gave him, Walter fully believes I am responsible for the fight between his packmates. Which I am, don’t get it wrong. But when he says it aloud, he’ll be treated like he’s crazy. And Torin? Torin will go ballistic at him for even daring to accuse little me of such an evil thing.
A chuckle escapes me as I close the bedroom door behind me. I spin once, doing a little twirl around the room, a shirt I’m wearing brushing my thigh. This is the happiest I’ve been in this house.