I had thought chains were made of iron. But Jacob proved to me that chains could be invisible too—woven from his gaze, his voice, his power.
Every day since that night in the hallway, his grip around my life grew tighter. I wasn't allowed to walk alone. I wasn't allowed to touch heavy things. I wasn't even allowed to leave my chambers without his permission.
At first, I thought it was punishment. Then I realized it was worse.
It was possession.
He wasn't keeping me safe. He was keeping me his.
The packhouse echoed with whispers, but none dared to challenge his command. Not even Lyanna, though I saw the fury burning in her eyes whenever she looked at me. They all hated me, but they feared him more.
And Jacob?
He watched me. Always.
At meals, his eyes lingered on me longer than anyone else's. When I thought he wasn't paying attention, I'd glance up only to find his gaze already locked on mine. It wasn't warmth—it was fire. The kind that scorched if you stood too close but pulled you in anyway.
One morning, I tried to braid my hair in the mirror, fumbling with the strands, when a deep voice startled me.
"You're doing it wrong."
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Jacob stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as though he owned the very air I breathed.
"I—I didn't hear you come in," I stammered.
His lips curved, not into a smile, but something sharper. "That's because I didn't want you to."
He crossed the room, each step heavy with dominance, until he stood behind me. His hand rose, brushing against my braid. I froze, every nerve on fire as his fingers threaded through my hair.
"Your hands tremble too much," he murmured, his breath grazing my ear. "It should be tighter. Stronger."
The intimacy of the gesture made my pulse race, but then his words cut through me like a blade.
"An omega with weak hands shouldn't raise an Alpha's heir."
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but before they could fall, he gripped the braid he'd tightened, tugging just enough to force my head back. Our eyes met in the mirror, and what I saw there made me shiver.
Obsession.
His gaze devoured me, dark and unrelenting, as though he was trying to carve me into his memory.
"Remember this," he whispered. "You may hate me. You may beg for freedom. But your body, your breath, your child… they belong to me."
He released me abruptly, as if disgusted with his own words, and left the room without looking back. I stood trembling, my braid half-done, my heart trapped in a cage I couldn't break.
But his words haunted me.
Because as much as I wanted to deny it, a part of me wasn't sure if he was lying.
The following days only deepened my confusion.
When I stumbled on the stairs, he was there in an instant, catching me before I hit the ground. His arms were strong, his hold protective, and for a moment I felt… safe.
But then his words came, sharp as claws.
"Do you enjoy making me clean up your messes?"
When a wolf in the kitchens shoved me, he appeared out of nowhere, slamming the male against the wall with a growl so lethal the air turned to ice. His rage was terrifying, yet it wasn't me he looked at—it was my stomach.
When I suffered another wave of nausea, he ordered the healers to tend to me, but when I tried to thank him, he snapped, "Save your gratitude. I'm not doing this for you."
Every act of care came with cruelty. Every flicker of protectiveness was poisoned by his words. And yet, late at night, I would remember the way his arms felt around me, the way his eyes lingered too long.
Did he hate me?
Or did he want me in a way he couldn't admit?
The uncertainty gnawed at me, twisting my heart in ways I didn't understand.
One night, I awoke to the sound of the door opening. My body stiffened, my wolf alert, until the familiar scent filled the room. Cedarwood. Smoke. Him.
Jacob stepped inside, silent as a shadow. He didn't speak, didn't explain himself. He just walked closer until he stood by my bed, staring down at me.
My breath hitched. "Alpha?"
His gaze dropped to my stomach before meeting my eyes again. In the dim light, I thought I saw something raw flicker there—longing, hunger, maybe even pain. But when he spoke, his voice was steel.
"You dream too loudly," he said.
I blinked, confused. "What?"
"You whispered in your sleep," he murmured, his tone softer now, almost dangerous in its gentleness. "You begged for freedom. You begged to run."
My blood ran cold. He'd been watching me long enough to know even the words I spoke in my dreams.
I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest. "Why are you here?"
He leaned down, his face inches from mine. His eyes burned into me, and his words sealed the truth I feared.
"Because I want to remind you that there's nowhere you can go. You're mine. Even in your dreams, you belong to me."
His hand rose, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch was almost tender, and that was what terrified me most. Because tenderness from a man like Jacob was worse than cruelty—it was a cage disguised as comfort.
And as he straightened, leaving me with my heart pounding in my chest, I realized the most dangerous truth of all.
Jacob Hades didn't just hate me.
He wanted me.
Not as a mate.
Not as a woman.
But as something darker, something twisted, something that bound us together in chains neither of us could break.
And I was beginning to fear that one day, I wouldn't want to break free.