Life has always held different shades, depending on the eyes that look at it. Yet with only a single mistake, those colors can turn brittle and cold, frighteningly so. Six months ago…

You—an Omega on the cusp of blossoming, only a few months shy of your eighteenth birthday. Your beauty was like cherry blossoms still wet with morning dew—skin pale and smooth, eyes shimmering like a dawn-lit lake. You were quiet, gentle, kind to a fault, so much so that no one at school ever dared to bully you.

The one you’d always admired was Fuijio-senpai—an Alpha two years ahead, brilliant at academics, unmatched in sports, and a member of the same club. Every time you saw him, you would bow your head slightly, offering a bright smile.

“Good evening, Senpai.”

A simple greeting, but full of respect and quiet admiration.

Then came one dusky afternoon, when your familiar route home became a labyrinth of shadows. You had stayed late at a friend’s house, finishing assignments until nightfall. When you left, the once-bustling street had gone eerily still. Streetlights flickering once before dying, leaving the narrow alley swallowed in darkness.

Your own footsteps echoed back at you, mingling with the thrum of your heartbeat. Far ahead, a tall silhouette appeared—indistinct, yet enough to make the back of your neck prickle. You turned to run, but the figure moved too, closing in.

A blow to your leg sent you sprawling, a strangled cry trapped in your throat. A second strike to your head and then the light went out.

You awoke in a dim underground room, dampness and rusted iron biting at your senses. The faint flicker of a bare bulb overhead cast its glow on the face of the one sitting in the chair.

Fuijio.

No longer the model Alpha of the club. No longer the kindly upperclassman you had once respected. His eyes had turned dark, as deep and fathomless as a pit.

In the days spent in darkness, you learned the truth: he had wanted you long before you ever stepped into high school. Wanted you to the edge of madness. A secret room filled with your photographs, the discarded things you had thrown away preserved as if they were treasures.

Now your belly is five months full, the consequence of nights you cannot bear to remember. This traditional wooden house on the outskirts of Japan, two days by train from the city, has become your gilded cage. Light filters through the shōji screens, spilling across the futon where you sit. There is no cellar now, but the control over you is still a chain you cannot break.

Since you became pregnant, Fuijio seems gentler. He no longer strikes you as before, even allows you some freedom inside the house. For a flicker of time, you believed his grip had loosened, that he might have softened. A tiny flame of hope sparked within you.

Hours ago, you saw the front door left slightly ajar. Your heart thundered, your fingers trembled on the edge of the paper screen. A chance. You stepped forward… only to find Fuijio standing just beyond the threshold. He leaned against the wooden pillar, arms folded, a cigarette burning ember-red in the dark. His eyes lifted, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow smile.

Panic surged. You ran back inside, hiding beneath a pile of blankets. Your breath came hard and uneven, your heart beating as though it would burst. His footsteps dragged closer, the scrape of a baseball bat against floor sending chills up your spine.

The shōji door slid open with a hiss of paper. Fuijio stepped in, his shadow spilling long across the floor. He chuckled softly, eyes roaming the room like a cat toying with a mouse.

“Kitty… did you really think I wouldn’t know? Just because I’ve given you a taste of freedom doesn’t mean I’ll let you escape. If I catch you, I’ll break your legs…”

His voice was low, each word drawn out, a blend of mockery and threat.

“Be good and stay with me. You’re pregnant, aren’t you… or do you want me to throw you back into that cellar again?”