Mark of Sin: Bound to the Cruel Alpha

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"Jane, are you listening to me?"

The sharp, blade-like tone of a male voice pierced the dead silence of the bleak visitation room. I hadn’t realized I had dozed off again.

I flinched so violently that a cascade of cold shivers rushed across my skin. My heart skipped a beat before plunging into a wild, frantic sprint, echoing like thunder in my temples. The room spun around me, and I desperately locked my eyes onto my lawyer’s face, searching for anything grounded to tether my sanity—the pristine knot of his expensive tie, the wide pore on the bridge of his nose. Anything.

"Forgive me, Mr. Simons. Please... go on."

My own voice sounded alien, raspy and cracked. It felt as though a single breath could break me, sending me spiraling into hysterical laughter or silent, suffocating sobs. I swallowed past the painful lump lodged in my throat.

"Right then," he cleared his throat, shuffling the case files. Every rustle of paper scraped across my frayed nerves like sandpaper. "I strongly advise a full confession. It will shave at least a decade off your sentence. You could walk out a free woman in fifteen years... maybe twenty if the judge feels particularly cruel."

Twenty years.

My mind refused to process the staggering weight of that number. That wasn’t a sentence. That was an entire lifetime—or rather, the total and absolute theft of one. My life was being snuffed out before it had even truly begun.

Inside me, everything shattered, plunging my soul into a freezing, bottomless void.

"I was telling the truth. I didn’t lie about the mark," I whispered, feeling the tremor spread from my spine to my fingertips. I clenched my hands into tight fists, trying to hide the treacherous shaking. "Confessing wouldn’t be the truth—it would be a lie."

Nico let out a heavy sigh, as though I were a hopelessly foolish, stubborn pup stepping on the exact same trap for the hundredth time. His condescension burned worse than a slap to the face.

"What difference does it make?!" He slammed his palm onto the table, and I flinched again, unable to control the violent startle response. My body betrayed me at every sharp sound, exposing the inner panic I was trying so desperately to mask.

"Why are you trying so stubbornly to convince everyone—and yourself—that your mate mark isn’t a fake? Three independent forensic tests! Three! All showing it’s nothing more than ordinary tattoo ink! Your fiancé is in a blood-fury, and Goddess forbid he gets his hands on you while you’re here without physical protection! Do you have any idea what an Alpha like him will do to you?"

Did I know?

Oh, I knew all too well. My body understood the danger far better than my mind could process. Cold chills raced down my spine, and my stomach twisted into a tight, sickening knot that made me gag.

That monster wouldn’t just crush me against the wall.

He would take his time. He would do it slowly, enjoying every agonizing breath I drew, savoring every shatter of bone.

He had always believed a low-ranking omega breeder like me was unworthy of tarnishing the glory of his noble lineage. On the day the mark first surfaced on my wrist, his face had shown nothing but soul-crushing rage and pure, unadulterated disgust. He had looked at me like a parasite scraped off the bottom of his boot.

And my parents... they had practically danced with joy. Their eyes hadn’t shone for me or my future, but for the ruthless ambition that partnership promised. A bond with the mighty Blackthorne Pack!

They hadn’t cared about the terror gnawing at my insides, or what I felt forced into the shadow of that merciless beast, or what I had to endure. They had deliberately turned a blind eye to the violent nature of his Alpha blood.

"I understand everything," I forced out, my throat tight with a surge of unshed tears I refused to let fall. "But I didn’t lie to you. I don’t know how the mark appeared on my skin if his true fated mate was alive all along. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?"

He shook his head, and in his eyes, I saw no critical thought—only pure, suffocating pity. It was worse than his anger, worse than his contempt. Pity meant I had already lost. It meant I was a victim not even worth arguing with.

"I don’t know how you pulled it off, but forensic testing doesn’t lie. Make the right choice, Jane. Think of your family. I will return before trial tomorrow, and I expect a rational decision from you."

"Goodbye."

He walked out, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive cologne and a crushing, heavy silence. I lowered my head onto my handcuffed wrists, the cold metal biting into my raw skin.

Think of my family?

A bitter, borderline hysterical laugh bubbled up in my chest. That family? The one that had sent an official court notice yesterday declaring they had formally severed their family ties and disowned me? Announcing I was no longer their daughter, no longer their burden, no longer their blood?

They had betrayed me. They had thrown me to the wolves to shield themselves from the wrath of the Blackthorne Pack.

A bitter sting filled my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the betraying moisture back, fighting the prickle at the corners of my eyes. I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken.

Then, someone sat down on the wooden chair across from me.

It happened so silently, so abruptly, that I hadn’t heard a single creak of the floorboards or the whisper of a footstep. I simply felt the temperature in the room plummet—the air thickening into a heavy, suffocating pressure steeped in the scent of expensive tobacco, dark spice, and absolute danger.

The world ground to an agonizing halt.

The blood drained from my face so rapidly my ears rang, dark spots dancing across my vision. It never made it back to my heart, settling instead in the pit of my stomach like a heavy, frozen stone. The burning panic and trembling in my body vanished in an instant, replaced by a numbing, paralyzing chill. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t make a sound.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

It was him.

Magnus Rainn.

My ruin. My executioner. My fated mate.

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