A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Maria.

The moment my eyes flew open, the first thing that struck me was wrongness.

Nothing felt familiar.

The air carried a scent that wasn’t mine, sharp, masculine, tinged with leather and something coldly dominant. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, too high, too grand, and as awareness seeped into my foggy mind, pain followed right behind it. My head throbbed viciously, as though a thousand needles were being driven into my skull all at once. I winced, a weak sound slipping from my throat before I could stop it.

That was when I felt it.

An arm.

Strong. Heavy.

Wrapped tightly around my waist.

My entire body went rigid.

The grip alone sent a chill racing down my spine, colder than the night air brushing my skin. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Then the memories came crashing back, violent and unforgiving,whips, water, pain, darkness, his voice laced with fury.

Davian.

My stomach twisted as realization hit me full force.

I was still in his room.

Worse—I was on his bed.

With his arm locked around me like I belonged there.

Disgust crawled through me, thick and suffocating. How could he? How could someone be so cruel, so merciless, and still dare to touch me like this? He had whipped me until I lost consciousness. He had humiliated me, hurt me, broken me down piece by piece—and now this?

Did he have no conscience at all?

Anger flared beneath the fear, bitter and sharp. If he wanted me warm, he could have ordered the guards to dump me back in my room. He didn’t need to keep me here. Didn’t need to hold me like this.

A sudden breeze slipped in through the open window, brushing over my skin. I shuddered involuntarily, my toes curling as cold bit into my feet. Only then did I realize how cold I was—how exposed, how vulnerable.

I swallowed hard and carefully, slowly, tried to shift.

Tried to pull his arm away.

It didn’t budge.

My heart pounded violently as I tried again, this time with more effort, panic clawing up my throat. His grip tightened instead, firm and unyielding, as if my resistance only anchored him more.

"Easy, Maria."

His voice cut through the silence, low and awake.

I froze.

Every muscle in my body locked in place.

He was awake.

The realization sent another wave of fear crashing over me. Shouldn’t he be asleep at this hour? Had he been awake the whole time? Watching? A thousand terrifying thoughts raced through my mind as I lay there, trapped against him.

"It’s dead in the night," he continued calmly, almost lazily. "Where do you think you’re going?"

His arm drew me closer, my back pressed firmly against his chest. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the solid warmth of him behind me, and it made my skin crawl.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My throat felt tight, my voice buried beneath fear and exhaustion. I stared straight ahead, eyes wide, willing myself not to shake.

"There is no need to resist," he went on, his tone shifting, hardening. "I wouldn’t allow you to leave here tonight."

My fingers curled into the sheets beneath me.

"You are to serve me."

The words echoed in my head, heavy and final, leaving no room for argument. No room for hope. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a threat.

It was a command.

Something inside me cracked quietly.

I shrank back instinctively, my shoulders curling inward as defeat settled over me like a suffocating blanket. Fighting him now would only bring more pain. I knew that. I had already learned the cost of resistance.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him that. I lay there stiff and silent, my body aching, my heart heavy with dread, trapped between his arms and his authority.

In that moment, as the night pressed in around us, one truth rang painfully clear—sharp, undeniable, suffocating in its certainty.

I was not safe.

The darkness felt alive, heavy against my skin, as though it had weight and intention. It wrapped itself around the room, around me, sealing every corner, every breath, every fragile thought of escape. And no matter how desperately my mind clawed for a way out, no matter how fiercely my heart screamed for distance, there was nowhere left to run. The walls were too close. The bed beneath me too real. His presence too overwhelming.

I lay stiffly on the bed, my body locked in a tense, unnatural stillness, afraid that even the smallest movement, a twitch of my fingers, a shift of my breath, would betray me. Afraid it would remind him that I was awake. That I was aware. That I was still here.

His arm was still wrapped around my waist, heavy and unyielding, a silent claim I couldn’t escape. It anchored me in place, possessive and unavoidable, as though I were nothing more than something meant to be held. The warmth of his body pressed into my back, seeping through the thin fabric between us, invading my space, my skin, my thoughts. It made my flesh crawl, every nerve recoiling even as I remained frozen.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs, wild and frantic, each beat echoing too loudly in my ears. I was certain he could hear it, feel it, that my fear was betraying me with every pulse. I tried to slow my breathing, to quiet the panic threatening to spill over, but terror has its own rhythm, and it refused to be controlled.

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

What words would even matter here? What plea would change anything? Silence felt safer than sound, invisibility safer than resistance.

And then the memories came, relentless and merciless. The sting of the whip tearing into my skin. The shock of cold water stealing the air from my lungs. The burning pain that followed, deep and consuming. The moment my body had finally betrayed me, going numb when my mind screamed for it not to, when survival became instinct instead of choice.

My back throbbed faintly beneath the sheets, a dull, constant ache that pulsed with every breath. It was a quiet reminder that none of it had been a nightmare. That the pain had been real.

I was still in Davian’s room.

Still on his bed.

Still trapped.

A bitter thought twisted inside me. How has my life come to this? When did survival become the only thing I was good at? I had arrived at Moon Bridge broken but breathing. Now, even breathing felt like borrowed mercy.

I stared at the wall ahead of me, unfocused, my mind spiraling.

Once, I had dreams. Small ones, perhaps, peace, anonymity, a day without fear. I never imagined becoming a prize. A wager. Something grown men drank to and laughed over while deciding who would own me next.

My chest tightened painfully.

Is this what my life would be now? Passed from Alpha to Alpha, my worth measured only by how badly they wanted to fight over me?

His arm tightened slightly around me, instinctive, as if even in sleep, or wakefulness, he was unwilling to let me go. My breath hitched, but I stayed still, forcing my body into obedience. I had learned that much at least.

Obedience keeps you alive.

Tears gathered silently at the corners of my eyes and slipped into my hair. I didn’t wipe them away. There was no strength left for pride.

I felt small. Smaller than I had ever felt before.

The room was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the night and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind me. The scent of him surrounded me, strong, overpowering, Alpha. It wrapped around my senses until I felt like I couldn’t breathe without inhaling him.

I hated it.

I hated that after everything he had done, he was the one holding me now, as if that erased the pain. As if warmth could undo cruelty.

A shiver ran through me, and I curled inward slightly, not toward him but away from the emptiness gnawing at my chest.

My thoughts drifted, helplessly, to the competition.

To the only fragile thread of hope I had left.

Noah.

My lips moved soundlessly as I prayed within myself, my voice trembling where no one could hear it.

Moon Goddess... please.

Let Noah win.

I didn’t ask for freedom. I didn’t dare ask for happiness. I had learned not to be greedy with hope.

Just Noah.

With him, at least, the cruelty would be quieter. The words would hurt less. The nights might not feel like cages closing in around me.

Please... let it be Noah.

I repeated it over and over like a chant, like a shield I could hide behind while the world continued to break me piece by piece.

His grip remained firm, unyielding, a reminder that for now, I had no choice. Leaving was not an option. Fighting was not an option.

Enduring was.

My eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion finally dragging me down despite my fear. As sleep crept in, my last conscious thought was sharp and aching:

If this is my fate... then let the least cruel hand claim it.

And with that silent plea, I let the darkness take me, my body still trapped in his arms, my hope resting entirely on a prayer I wasn’t sure the Moon Goddess would answer.