The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 4: Chapter 04: A Life Not Worth Living

Selene’s POV

I don’t remember how I got to the omega quarters. I don’t remember who dragged my body through the stone halls, or how many turns it took before I ended up in that cold, miserable corner of the packhouse. Everything from that moment was a blur—like fog smothering my thoughts. All I remembered was the cold pressing into my bones. And the silence. A silence so deep it roared louder than any scream.

There was no bed. No blanket worth the name. Just a filthy, stained cloth crumpled in the corner of a damp, stone room that smelled of mold and old blood. It was barely larger than a prison cell. My chains had been removed, but the mark on my arm still burned—a raw, angry brand etched into my flesh. A permanent symbol of who I was now. Property. A slave.

I should’ve died that day.

I whispered those words in my mind over and over, like a broken chant. Why didn’t I die? Maybe the Moon Goddess had truly turned her face from me. Or maybe this was punishment. Either way, death felt kinder than what I had now.

The fever came soon after. Slowly at first, like a whisper crawling beneath my skin. But it grew—hot, violent. My whole body burned, yet I shivered constantly. My head pounded. I didn’t know if it was night or day. The air reeked of blood and filth. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t move. My lips were cracked, my mouth dry, and I was too weak to even cry.

But my heart still beat.

Every throb of the brand reminded me—I was alive. Or at least, something that resembled it.

Maybe even death didn’t want me.

I lost count of the times I blacked out. I don’t know how many days passed. Time meant nothing in that dark little cell. But one morning—if it was morning at all—I opened my eyes, and the fever was gone. My skin was sticky and cold, my arm still sore, but the mark had stopped bleeding. The wound had hardened into a crusted scar.

I was still breathing.

Still here.

And that’s when the door slammed open.

I barely had time to sit up before a hand yanked my hair and dragged me upright. I gasped, my limbs tangled in the blanket as my vision spun.

"Get up, filth."

disgust. She was older, omega head-ranked just above omega maids, but held herself as if she were better—like she fed on

here long enough. The Alphas

was dry, words trapped behind cracked lips. The branded skin on my arm screamed as she

of dull gray cloth into my chest. "Put this on. That’s

skin, but I stripped it away and pulled the uniform over my head. The

spat, jerking my

dim hallway, I saw others—omegas like me. Some paused to look. Most turned away. A few stared with pity. But none of them spoke. And the ones who met my eyes? I saw something

Fear.

Not kindness. Just

They saw the mark.

against my pale skin, edged in crusted blood. I knew

wasn’t just an omega. I

I was nothing.

dragged me through the tall double doors, and my stomach twisted

ceiling. Silver and charcoal trim lined the walls. Everything was expensive, elegant, cold. The portraits on

is where you’ll work now," the

I didn’t answer.

the halls, the floors, the training rooms. You touch anything of theirs without permission..." she leaned in close, her

don’t even think of running. They’ll snap your legs and leave you to

rag, and a brush. That was it. That was

stairs," she said. "On your

So I knelt.

cloth and began to scrub. My fingers burned.

But I didn’t stop.

then I