Chapter Five: Scraps and chains

Natalia

The clang of the wake-up bell cracked through the freezing air like a whip. I sat up fast, breath catching in my throat, already bracing for pain. Around me, the other slaves stirred like ghosts in the gloom, dragging themselves from stiff cots and into another day of silent obedience.

My hands trembled as I splashed icy water on my face from the basin. The black slave uniform—a thin, knee-length dress—hung loose over my frame, offering no warmth against the biting cold. But today, there was something. A flicker of hope.

Distribution Day.

It was pathetic how much we looked forward to it. One slightly larger meal. One fleeting illusion of mercy.

In the dining hall, we moved in slow, practiced lines. The room was cavernous, dim, half full. Slaves didn’t last long here. I joined my usual crew at the end of the table—Doris, Carl, Mary—with the silent acknowledgment that this day, at least, we might taste something resembling real food.

The stew line smelled like salvation. Beans, maybe meat. The kind of thing that would’ve once been an insult, but now made my stomach clench with need.

And then he appeared.

Lucas.

One of the infamous triplet Alphas. Impossibly tall, carved from cold stone and sharper cruelty. He loomed at the end of the line, overseeing Distribution with a smirk like a blade.

Our eyes met. My stomach turned to lead.

I kept my gaze low. Hands steady. But just as I turned away with my tray, his hand struck—deliberate, sudden—sending stew and hard bread flying across my chest, down my legs, into a splattering mess.

“Oops,” Lucas drawled, faux innocence dripping from his voice. “So sorry, pet.”

Laughter broke out around us.

I froze. Not from shock—this was expected. But from rage. I burned with it.

Lucas wasn’t finished.

“Tell you what,” he said, gesturing to the cook. “Take my portion. A gift, from me to you.”

I knew the game. Knew the trap. But hunger made my fingers reach. The moment I touched the tray, he flipped it into my face. Food clung to my cheeks, hair, collarbone. He laughed, and the room joined him.

That was when I left.

Not from shame. From fury. And survival. If I stayed, I might have screamed.

---

I washed the stink off in silence, staring at the cracked mirror, wondering how much more I could take. Wondering how much of myself still remained underneath the filth, humiliation, and hate.

Later that day, still soaked in dread and shame, the cook approached me in the kitchen.

“You’re wanted out back,” she said flatly. “Alpha Lucas.”

I dried my hands on my apron, jaw tightening. Here we go again.

In the frozen courtyard, Lucas lounged like a prince of nightmares. The pigpen squatted beside him, stinking and ankle-deep in muck.

“I want it cleaned,” he said. “Use your dress.”

For a second, my mind couldn’t comprehend the words.

“You want me to—strip—and clean it with the dress I’m wearing?”

Lucas smiled slowly. “On your hands and knees, pet. Scrub it good. Or maybe you'd prefer the kennels instead.”

Revulsion turned to fury. “Are you insane?”

His smile dropped. His hand hovered near the control band on his wrist.

“You’ll do it,” he said softly. “Or you’ll learn what real obedience feels like.”

We stared each other down. My silence was my answer.

Then he pivoted, cruel creativity gleaming in his gaze.

“Fine,” he said. “You’ll attend dinner tonight. Naked. On all fours. You’ll eat from my hand. You’ll thank me for every bite. Or tomorrow, you wear a collar and sleep with the dogs.”

He left me standing there, skin prickling with cold and disbelief.

---

Dinner was a spectacle.

Word had spread. The hall echoed with anticipation.

I was naked, knees pressed to the stone floor beside his seat, hands planted like a dog’s. Lucas towered above me, the architect of my degradation.

“Here are the rules,” he announced, voice silky and loud enough for all to hear. “You’ll eat only from my hand. You will stay on your knees. And you will thank me.”

Every eye was on me.

I nodded.

The first morsel came—something hot and savory. My stomach betrayed me. I leaned in and took it from his fingers, burning with shame.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Lucas grinned.

Another bite. Another forced ‘thank you.’ The food was rich, decadent—more delicious than anything I’d tasted in months. And each mouthful was a razor dragged across my soul.

I hated myself for wanting the next bite.

Around me, laughter. Jeers. I was their entertainment. Lucas’ favorite show.

By the time he finished, I was trembling—not from cold, but from everything else. Rage. Despair. A thirst for vengeance so sharp it made my teeth ache.

He stood.

“I do hope we can repeat this soon,” he said, voice like silk wrapped around knives.

Only when he left did I collapse forward, body shaking, eyes burning.

---

That night, something broke in me. And something else ignited.

Lucas thought he had shattered my pride. But he had only sharpened my hatred into something purer.

I would endure. For now.

But I would not forget. I would not forgive.

I would burn this place to the ground—and make him watch it fall.

Even if it cost me everything.