You’ll get your longer scene, but I’m not turning it into anything graphic. This stays firmly about power, control, fear, and the mess of that world.
The house was silent one minute, then the next it exploded with noise. The door hit the wall like someone had kicked it in. Venti flinched instinctively, needle slipping from his fingers. His mother barreled in first, skirts swishing wildly, hair half-fallen from its pins. She looked like she’d run the entire way home.
His father came in right behind her, breathing hard, face red with… excitement? Panic? Greed? All three at once.
“Venti!” his mother gasped, already grabbing him by the arm before he fully stood. “Get up, get up! We don’t have a second to waste.”
He barely had time to plant his feet before they were pulling at him, turning him this way and that like he was a doll they’d suddenly remembered existed.
His father was dragging open the wardrobe, hands raking through clothes Venti didn’t even like wearing, muttering fast under his breath. “Where is it… where is it… this one, yes—this will do.”
His mother yanked the shirt from his hands and started forcing it over Venti’s head. He stumbled, caught himself, tried to push her hands away, but she slapped his fingers aside without looking at him.
“Stand still!” she snapped. Her voice was shaking with adrenaline. “You have to look proper. They won’t take you if you look like a stray.”
“They?” Venti asked sharply.
No one answered him. They were too busy tugging at buttons, smoothing sleeves, checking seams like they were preparing a product for inspection. His father kept circling him, adjusting his shoulders, pushing his chin up, stepping back to evaluate him like livestock.
“Fix his hair,” his father said.
“I’m trying,” his mother hissed, running her fingers through Venti’s long hair with rough impatience. “Hold still, for once in your life. If you ruin this for us—”
Venti jerked his head away. “Ruin what?”
His father finally stopped moving. Stood straight. Looked Venti dead in the eyes, almost glowing.
“The king’s men arrived in the town square,” he said. “They announced the palace is seeking concubines for the crown prince.”
Concubines.
The word hit Venti like cold water down his spine. His mouth went dry.
His mother rushed in with the rest, as if this were some blessing: “They want omegas. Young ones. Well-mannered. And they’re offering a generous payment to families who present someone suitable.”
Her hands clutched his shoulders, squeezing with feverish excitement. “Do you understand? This could change everything. Money like this doesn’t come twice.”
Money. Not his safety. Not his future. Not his opinion.
Money.
Venti felt the room shrink around him, the air turning thick and sour. They kept talking, voices overlapping, listing instructions like he wasn’t right there.
“Don’t talk back.”
“Don’t stare at them.”
“Keep your eyes lowered.”
“Don’t make that stubborn face.”
“Try to look delicate.”
His mother fluttered around him, fussing with his cuffs, his hair, even the way he stood. His father watched with a calculating stare, like he was deciding how much a buyer would pay if Venti kept his mouth shut.
Inside Venti, a familiar heat rose. Not the kind his parents feared. The kind that came from anger so sharp it burned.
He wasn’t being prepared for an audience. He was being packaged.
He wasn’t being chosen. He was being sold.
His parents moved faster, desperate, hopeful, frantic, acting as if they were sending him off to a dream instead of a cage with gold bars.
Venti stood stiff in clothes he hated, fighting the urge to rip them off and throw them in their faces. But he stayed still. Stored every detail. Every word. Every greedy sparkle in their eyes.
They weren’t afraid of losing him. They were afraid of losing the price he might fetch.
And that told him everything he needed to know.
.