Vengeance in His Bed

The final note of the melody hung in the cool evening air, vibrating with a raw, haunting resonance that left the thousands gathered in the town square absolutely breathless. For a single, unbroken heartbeat, the entire plaza remained paralyzed under the spell of Diva’s bewitching voice.

Then, the silence shattered.

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar of applause, cheers, and stomping feet that made the stone cobblestones beneath them vibrate. But beneath the adoration, a darker, more demanding energy began to surge through the masses of upper-district elites. The mysterious allure of the singer—the striking contrast of her porcelain-pale shoulders, her impossibly slim, elegant waist, and that beautifully crafted, silver-threaded silk face mask—had driven the crowd’s curiosity into a fever pitch.

"Take off the mask!" a booming Alpha voice shouted from the front rows.

"We want to see your face!" another joined in, and within seconds, the request transformed into a chaotic, unified chant that echoed off the surrounding skyscrapers. "Show your face! Show your face! Show your face!"

On the stage, Diva felt a cold sweat break out along the nape of her neck. Her chest heaved beneath the midnight-black silk dress as she looked out at the sea of demanding eyes. This was exactly what she had feared. She had come to the town square to lose herself in the music, to find a fleeting moment of escape from the suffocating reality of her life. She had never intended to become a prize for their vanity. She gripped the microphone stand tightly, her eyes flashing with a hidden, defensive panic beneath the edge of her silver silk mask.

The Master of Ceremonies stepped back up to the platform, raising his hands in a theatrical gesture to quiet the roaring crowd. A sly, opportunistic smile spread across his face as he tapped the microphone, the feedback whining slightly.

"Calm yourselves, ladies and gentlemen! Calm yourselves!" the MC boomed, his voice dripping with smooth, corporate showmanship. "As you all know, our mysterious Diva has strict rules. She has never revealed her face to the public, and she does not intend to break that tradition tonight for the whole square. However..." He paused, letting the suspense hang heavy in the air, his eyes scanning the VIP lounges where the wealthiest citizens sat. "Since tonight is a special Mate Seeking festival, and curiosity is at an all-time high... I propose a compromise. We shall hold a private viewing. We shall open a bid right here, right now! Whoever is the highest bidder tonight will win the exclusive right to go behind the stage, into the private dressing room, and see the face behind the bewitching melody!"

The plaza went wild. The announcement didn’t deter them; it ignited a ruthless, competitive fire in the blood of the wealthy attendees.

Up in the tiered VIP lounge, the atmosphere turned instantly predatory. Dorrent remained frozen against the glass railing, his winter-storm eyes locked onto the slender silhouette on the stage. The shock of her voice was still ringing through his nervous system, pulling at the dormant, cold blood in his veins in a way that terrified him.

"One hundred thousand credits!" a voice barked from a nearby lounge. It was an older, wealthy Alpha, his eyes ogling Diva’s curves with a blatant, repulsive hunger.

"Two hundred thousand!" an elite Beta corporate heir shouted from across the tier.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand!" a prominent Omega socialite chimed in, eager to claim the status of unmasking the city’s greatest mystery.

The numbers began to grow at a crazy, dizzying speed. Perverted Alphas, wealthy Betas, and competitive Omegas were all shouting over one another, their faces flushed with the thrill of the hunt, treating the mysterious singer like a piece of rare art to be bought and possessed.

"Five hundred thousand credits!"

Dorrent’s head snapped to his side. Shadron had just stepped up to the edge of the lounge, his hair catching the sapphire stage lights, a confident, eager grin plastered across his face as he yelled his bid into the plaza.

Dorrent stared at his best friend in absolute disbelief, his jaw clenching tightly. "Shadron? What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

Shadron laughed, not taking his eyes off the stage as the MC acknowledged his bid. "Come on, Dorrent! Look at her! Who wouldn’t want to see the face behind that voice? The rumors in the underground lounges say she’s a beautiful, rare omega with a face that could stop a man’s heart. She sings like an angel, she has a body that makes every Alpha in this district lose his grip, and she’s completely untouched. Seeing what’s behind that silver mask is worth every single credit."

"It’s a mask," Dorrent hissed, his voice a low, jagged rasp of irritation. He looked back at the stage, his mind flashing to Jannah’s pale, defiant face in his kitchen, her sharp words from the night before echoing in his ears. Why am I feeling like this? he thought frantically, his pulse throbbing in his neck as he watched the crowd continue to ogle Diva. Why does the sight of these perverts bidding for her make my blood boil? She is nothing. She is just a singer in a mask.

"Seven hundred thousand credits!" another voice roared from the lower VIP deck.

"Eight hundred and fifty thousand!"

The numbers were spinning out of control, approaching the one-million mark. On stage, Dive stood stiffly, her hands trembling as she realized the bid was real. Someone was actually going to buy the right to force her mask off behind the stage. She felt cornered, trapped by the very elite society she loathed.

Shadron sighed, shaking his head as the price climbed past his limit. "Damn. The old money is coming out to play tonight. I’m out. It’s a shame... I really wanted to be the one to see her."

He turned back to Dorrent, expecting his friend to offer some cynical, cold corporate commentary.

But Dorrent wasn’t listening. A sudden, violent surge of raw possessiveness had completely taken over his mind, burning away his logic, his composure, and his pride. The thought of any of these old, ogling Alphas stepping into a private room with that slender, pale girl—forcing her down, looking at her face, touching her skin—was a reality his instincts absolutely refused to accept.

Dorrent stepped forward, his massive, intimidating frame completely eclipsing Shadron as he gripped the railing. He didn’t use a microphone, but his S-tier Alpha voice carried a natural, crushing resonance that cut through the chaotic shouting of the plaza like a physical blade.

"Five million credits."

The words fell over the town square like a block of concrete.

The frantic shouting stopped instantly. The bidding war died in a single heartbeat. The silence that followed was absolute, suffocating, and heavy with a collective shock. Five million credits just to see a face behind a piece of silk was an astronomical, unhinged amount of money—a sum that could buy a skyscraper in the mid-districts.

Slowly, thousands of heads began to turn. Every single Alpha, Beta, and Omega in the plaza looked up toward the high VIP lounge. Shadron stood beside his friend, his jaw hanging completely open, staring at Dorrent as if he had just grown a second head. On the stage, Diva’s dark eyes widened to their absolute limits, her breath catching in her throat as she locked eyes with the towering, midnight-blue silhouette above.

The entire crowd stood frozen, completely gawking, staring in utter shock and amazement at the ruthless, untouchable CEO who had just broken the entire festival with a single, terrifying price.