Amia's POV
I woke up on the cold floor with a dry throat.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was. My vision was blurry, and my head felt heavy. When I blinked a few times, the memory came back slowly, like a bruise being pressed.
I shivered.
My entire body ached. My limbs felt weak, and there was a dull soreness between my legs that made it hard to move.
The last thing I remembered was my legs giving out beneath me, the dizziness that followed, the nausea, and the pain.
Being beaten until I blacked out wasn't new to me. It had happened before in my pack, but that didn't make it easier to accept being treated that way by my own mate.
I swallowed hard and slowly pushed myself up. The cold floor had seeped into my bones. I steadied myself against the wall, ignoring the sharp sting that flared between my thighs when I stood.
"At least he came," I whispered hoarsely.
The words sounded hollow even to me.
I limped toward the bathroom and turned on the shower. When the water ran over my skin, I let out a small breath. I washed carefully and gently, trying not to wince.
I felt dirty.
Not because of what had happened, I had expected that. But because of how it happened. I had been so desperate to get pregnant, to earn my freedom, that I hadn't cared what it would cost me.
But wanting freedom didn't mean I wanted pain.
I hadn't expected tenderness. I hadn't dreamed of passion. Still… I never thought I would be used and left on the floor like something disposable.
When I finished, I dried myself and returned to the bedroom. I pulled a simple nightgown from the wardrobe and slipped it on before lying down on the bed.
The mattress was slightly dusty, but it was softer than the floor.
My mind wouldn't rest.
How would he treat me now?
Would every night be the same?
Would his people treat me like my pack did?
I let out a dry laugh.
What was I expecting? Warmth? Kindness?
It hadn't even been a full day, and I had already spent the night alone on a cold floor. No one checked on me. No one brought food, and no one cared.
My stomach growled loudly, interrupting my thoughts.
I hadn't eaten at the celebration. I'd been too nervous, too afraid I might throw up and embarrass my father or anger the lord.
Now that fear had faded into exhaustion, hunger came rushing in.
"I have to eat," I murmured.
Slowly, I forced myself up and walked toward the doors, ignoring my limp. I took a deep breath before pushing them open.
The hallway was quiet.
I didn't know where the kitchen was, but I trusted my senses. My nose had always been sharp. I just needed to follow a scent.
As I walked, memories surfaced.
Back at the pack, eating had never been simple.
Even though I prepared the meals for my father and his Luna, I wasn't allowed to taste anything, not even to check the salt. Geisel always tasted it herself, criticizing me while ordering me around.
When the table was set, my father, the Luna, and my stepsister were called. Cassidy and I would kneel in the corner while they ate. We were there only to pour water or fetch utensils.
After they finished, whatever scraps remained were ours.
Sometimes it was barely enough for one person. On those days, I let Cassidy eat it all.
After cleaning up, I would prepare the second round for the Beta, Gamma, Delta, and sometimes the warriors. Cassidy cleaned the first round of plates while I knelt again, waiting to serve.
They never left anything behind.
Hunger became normal.
Going a day or two without food became something I got used to.
But that didn't mean I didn't feel it.
A warm, rich aroma drifted through the hallway, breaking me out of my thoughts. Something sweet. Fresh. But not exactly food from a kitchen.
I followed it slowly until I reached a large wooden door that was slightly open.
I stepped inside and froze.
It wasn't a kitchen.
It was a study.
The room was massive, lined wall to wall with dark wooden shelves filled with books. Thick carpets covered the marble floor. A chandelier of crystal and gold hung from the ceiling, catching the light from tall windows draped in deep green velvet curtains.
A long desk stood near the center, polished to perfection. Leather chairs, carved wood details, and golden candle stands completed the scene. It felt expensive.
This was not a place for servants.
My heart began to pound.
At the far end of the room, a man sat in a high-backed chair, his back facing me. He was reading.
His posture was relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, his shoulders broad, and his back straight.
There was something about him.
A quiet authority.
Not loud like my father. Not cruel. Just… heavy.
It felt like standing near someone important. Someone who didn't need to prove anything because everyone already knew.
My breath hitched slightly.
He hadn't acknowledged me. Not a movement or a word.
"I'm sorry… I just…" I started softly.
My gaze shifted and landed on a small side table beside him.
A glass of coffee and a plate of cookies.
My mouth instantly watered.
"I apologize for disturbing you," I said carefully. "I followed the aroma. I… I'm hungry."
I braced myself for a shout, a slap, or a cold command to leave.
But nothing came.
He didn't turn, and he didn't speak.
For a moment, I wondered if he had even heard me.
Then, without looking up from his book, he reached for the plate.
My heart pounded harder as he extended it toward me, still not facing me.
I hesitated before stepping forward and taking it from his hand.
"Thank you," I whispered, barely believing it.
Still, he said nothing.
I didn't wait for him to change his mind. I quickly left the room and returned to mine.
Closing the door behind me, I rushed to the table and sat down. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up a cookie and took a bite.
It melted in my mouth.
Sweet and soft.
My eyes instantly filled with tears.
It wasn't just the taste.
It was the gesture.
No one had ever given me food before, not willingly.
Yet a stranger, someone I didn't know, whose face I hadn't even seen, had handed me his own plate without a word.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I took another bite.
Cassidy had never tasted anything like this.
If only she were here.
I swallowed hard and clutched the plate closer.
For the first time since arriving in the serpent's nest, I felt something different besides fear, hunger, or pain.
And I couldn't stop wondering.
Who was the man in the study?
And why did being near him feel strangely familiar?