Manipulated and Caged by Bond

Synopsis

“Bella, that’s enough.” My Alpha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. My mouth was still mid-sentence. I stood frozen at the podium, my notes fluttering slightly in my trembling hands. For a heartbeat, the hush that followed Damien's interruption swallowed every sound in the grand ballroom. Even the crystal chandeliers, with their thousand shimmering lights, seemed to go still. “I think we’ve heard plenty about hypothetical sob stories for one night,” Damien said, his voice calm, polished—and unmistakably final. A ripple of nervous laughter rose from a corner table. Clara’s, of course. Sweet and sharp as shattered glass. I stared out over the crowd—the donors, the Council members, the Alphas and their meticulously groomed mates. They’d come to sip champagne, to be seen. Not to listen to me speak about Omegas struggling after bond trauma. Not to care. “I—” I tried again, clutching my prepared speech. “The initiative is launching in three pilot locations and will provide immediate—” Damien stepped forward, taking center stage with a charming smile that never reached his arctic blue eyes. “My mate has always had a tender heart,” he said, slipping an arm around my waist like a silken leash, “but implementation should be left to those with the expertise to avoid costly mistakes. Leave the politics to us, sweetheart.” The weight of humiliation landed in my gut like a stone. Scattered applause, hesitant and awkward, followed as I stepped down. My heels echoed against the marble floor, loud and hollow. I didn’t dare look at Clara, who now leaned back in her chair with one hand resting smugly on Damien’s forearm. I used to speak and wanted to speak as Dr. Annabelle Hale. But they only saw the Luna—ornamental, forgettable. My Alpha wanted me erased.