ELARA HAYES POV:

Mr. Reynolds stood silently, his polite presence a crushing weight.

My Mate? The Alpha King's Mate? The idea was so absurd, so far beyond my reality, it felt like a cruel joke. I was a nobody, a low-ranking Omega. He was the ruler of our world.

I took a shaky breath, forcing the words out. "Please... I need to see my mother."

He nodded, and within minutes, it was arranged. Dressed in a sterile gown, I walked into the ICU. Seeing my mother, unconscious and frail, felt like a knife twisting in my gut. The doctor had said any more delays could have been fatal.

I held her cold, limp hand, my tears falling silently onto the crisp white sheets. For her, I would do anything.

Even sell myself.

My resolve hardened. I walked out of the ICU, my eyes clear. "I need to go home," I told Mr. Reynolds. "I have to take care of some things. I'll give you an answer after that."

He simply inclined his head. "The car is waiting."

The house I returned to had never felt less like a home. As I walked in, my stepmother Brenda and stepsister Amber were on the sofa, their faces masks of smug satisfaction. My stepfather, Arthur, sat in his armchair, staring at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes.

"So, you came to your senses?" Brenda's voice was sharp, dripping with venom. "Good. Get yourself ready. Mr. Tucker will be here tonight to pick you up."

"That's right, sister," Amber chimed in, her tone a sickening mix of pity and jealousy. "Being Rick's mate is a blessing. He's an Alpha with his own business, not like..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at our shabby living room.

I ignored them, walking straight to Arthur. "Dad, Mom's surgery..."

He stubbed out his cigarette, his voice rising with agitation. "I told you, I don't have the money! There's no other way but Rick!"

Brenda stood up, looming over me. "Don't be ungrateful, Elara. A useless Omega like you should be thankful you can finally do something for this family. Your mother's life is in your hands."

Her words were poison darts. I looked at these people, my supposed family, and a wave of nausea and rage washed over me.

I held onto my anger, my voice cold and steady. "I'm not marrying Rick."

"You don't have a choice!" Brenda shrieked, lunging for me.

I stepped back, and at that exact moment, the doorbell rang.

Amber scurried to open it, revealing a stout, fleshy man with cruel eyes and a sneer permanently etched on his face. Rick.

His eyes raked over my body like a physical violation, greedy and possessive. "So this is my little bride? Looks tasty."

Brenda's face transformed, her features twisting into a fawning smile. "Mr. Tucker, you're here! Elara is just... shy."

Arthur practically bowed as he stood up, like a dog begging for a scrap.

Rick walked directly toward me, reaching his thick, rough hand out to touch my face. "Don't be scared, little thing. Stick with me, and you'll have everything you want."

I turned my head away in disgust.

His face darkened. "What, not giving me face?"

Brenda immediately grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "Don't you dare upset him," she hissed in my ear. "Or your mother will be thrown out of that hospital today!"

My body went rigid. I looked at Rick's leering smile, at my stepmother's vicious face, and felt the cliff edge crumbling beneath my feet.

I closed my eyes. My mother's pale face. Kaelen Beaumont's cold, silver eyes.

A choice between hell and the abyss.

But the abyss held the only hope for my mother—and if that was the price, I'd walk through fire, through ice, through whatever Kaelen or anyone else threw at me.

I opened my eyes. My heart didn't freeze—it forged into steel.

"Give me a moment," I said to Rick, my voice steady, clipped. "I need to get ready."

He and Brenda exchanged triumphant smiles. Arthur let out a sigh of relief.

Let them be happy. Let them think they'd won.

I didn't give them another glance. I walked to my small room, locked the door behind me, and stood straight against it.

And then the tears came.

Quiet, scalding tears, sliding silently down my cheeks and landing on my hands. I didn't wipe them away.

I didn't curl up or sob. I just stood there, letting them stream past my pressed lips.

I let them fall—each drop carrying away a piece of weakness, leaving something harder behind.