Destiny's Game*-Chapter 55: A Message in Flesh.

Alexander’s POV

I had been lying on the floor for hours. It was quiet — too quiet. All I could feel was the cold ground pressing into my skin, seeping through bone and muscle. My body still hurt, though the worst of it had dulled into a deep, persistent ache.

"I brought water."

The voice pulled me back from the edge of myself. I opened my eyes slowly, vision blurring before sharpening. Bill stood above me, a bottle dangling loosely from his hand.

"Louis’ father is coming in an hour," he said. "You should at least look a bit presentable. You look like you’re about to die." He chuckled like it was casual, like he’d just commented on the weather.

"You’re good entertainment," he added. "Your reactions. The faces you make."

I pushed myself up onto one elbow with a grunt, the floor protesting loudly beneath me. My muscles screamed, stiff and uncooperative, as if they resented being asked to exist again. I took the water from him without a word and drank like I hadn’t tasted it in days.

The cold hit my throat hard. Too real. Too grounding.

Bill crouched beside me, studying me with that same lazy curiosity he always wore when he was trying to pretend he didn’t care.

"You look worse than last night," he said. "Did you sleep at all?"

I swallowed, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Didn’t feel like it."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Figures."

The mention of Louis’ father settled in my chest like a stone.

An hour.

"You’re a little boring," Bill said with a chuckle. "I want entertainment. Maybe try shouting for help."

"Are you all so twisted?" I asked quietly.

"Huh?" He sounded genuinely taken aback.

"You and Louis," I continued, forcing the words out. "Are you both this twisted?"

He laughed then—soft, almost fond.

"He’s worse," Bill murmured. "But the persona he puts on makes him seem gentle. Sweet. Genuine. Kind." His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "That’s what makes him dangerous."

"You don’t act like an omega..." I said.

Bill’s head snapped toward me, his glare sharp enough to cut.

"I don’t think of myself as just an omega," he said quietly, each word measured. He moved to a chair I hadn’t noticed until now and sat, the sound of the wood creaking far too loud in the silence. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, but there was nothing lazy about the way his eyes stayed locked on mine. "That word doesn’t define me. It never did."

The room felt smaller.

For the first time since I’d woken up, a different kind of fear crept under my skin—not the helpless kind, not the pain-soaked panic... but the sharp awareness that I was sitting in front of someone who had chosen exactly who he wanted to be, and had paid for it in blood.

"I survived people who thought being an omega meant I should bend," Bill continued softly. "So don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t break someone who tries."

A threat. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just stated like fact.

My pulse spiked. Cold prickled along my spine.

He tilted his head slightly, studying the reaction he’d caused with quiet satisfaction. "See? You’re more fun when you’re honest."

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep his gaze even though every instinct screamed to look away. My body was still weak—still slow—but my mind was fully awake now, painfully aware of how thin the line beneath my feet had become.

This wasn’t just Louis’ assistant. This wasn’t just an omega. This was someone who had learned to survive in the space between monsters.

And worse—

This was someone who enjoyed reminding people of that fact.

My fingers twitched uselessly against the floor as I swallowed.

So this is what kind of world Louis truly lived in now.

Not saints. Not fiancés. Not fated bonds.

Just carefully dressed predators, all pretending to be something gentler than they really were.

And I was lying at their feet.

Waiting for one of them to decide what I was worth.

"I wish I could do more than just scare you," Bill muttered, almost to himself. "It’s such a waste of my talent."

The words slid into the room like a blade slipping between ribs—quiet, precise, deliberate.

He leaned back in the chair with a tired sigh. "Instead, I’m stuck babysitting a grown alpha." His gaze flicked over me lazily, assessing. Weighing. "I wanted to gain a better understanding of some torture techniques."

My breath hitched despite my effort to stay still.

"You talk about it like it’s a hobby," I said hoarsely.

Bill hummed. "It is. You don’t get good at survival without studying pain." His eyes sharpened. "Both giving it... and taking it."

A chill crawled up my spine.

"But Louis said no," he continued lightly, tapping two fingers against the armrest. "So here you are. Untouched. Breathing. Lucky."

Lucky.

My jaw tightened. "If he said no... why am I still here?"

Bill’s lips curved faintly. "Because saying no to torture isn’t the same as saying yes to freedom."

Silence settled between us—thick, pulsing.

Then he leaned forward just enough for his shadow to stretch across my chest.

"You’re not a prisoner," he said softly. "You’re a message."

My heart slammed hard against my ribs.

Bill stared at me for a long moment, head tilted slightly, like he was deciding how much of himself to reveal.

Then he smiled.

Not wide. Not cruel. Just... interested.

"You keep asking questions," he said softly. "That’s brave. Or stupid. I haven’t decided which yet."

He rose from the chair and took two slow steps closer. I couldn’t move. My body still refused to obey, every limb heavy and useless. His shadow fell over my face.

"Do you know what restraint really is?" he asked calmly. "People think it means mercy. Control. Patience."

He crouched beside me, his voice lowering.

"No. Restraint is knowing exactly how to hurt someone... and choosing not to. Yet."

His fingers brushed my jaw lightly—almost gentle. Almost.

My pulse jumped violently under my skin.

"I could dislocate your shoulder with one movement," he murmured. "Just a clean twist. You’d scream. Your body would remember the pain long after the bone healed."

His hand slid down to my wrist, pressing just enough to make the threat real.

"But I won’t."

He released me and stood again, calm as ever.

"Because Louis said no."

The fact that my survival balanced on Louis’ permission made my stomach turn.

"But don’t misunderstand me," Bill continued, straightening his sleeves. "That doesn’t mean you’re safe. It just means you’re... postponed."

He kicked the floor lightly beside my head—not hard enough to injure, just enough to make me flinch.

I hated that my body reacted.

I hated that he noticed.

"There it is," he said quietly. "Fear is always more honest than pride."

My jaw tightened. "You enjoy this."

Bill didn’t deny it.

"I enjoy precision," he corrected. "Fear applied carelessly is messy. Ineffective. But fear cultivated slowly?" His gaze sharpened. "It reshapes people."

He walked back to the chair and sat again, crossing one leg over the other like we were having a civil discussion.

"You’re not screaming," he noted. "Not begging. Not yet."

"Should I be?" I asked bitterly.

His eyes flickered with something almost approving.

"Not yet," he repeated. "You’re still in the anticipation stage. That’s always the worst part."

Silence pressed between us.

Then, casually—

"If Louis’ father orders me to break you," Bill said, voice even, "I will do it perfectly."

My chest constricted.

"And if Louis orders you to stop?"

His lips curved faintly.

"Then I’ll stop perfectly too."

The contradiction made my head spin.

I forced the words out. "So what am I to you right now?"

Bill studied me for a long moment.

Then:

"A fragile boundary between two very dangerous men."

He leaned back.

"And boundaries... are always the first things to be tested."

The air changed before the sound came.

A pressure—subtle, crushing—rolled through the room like an invisible tide. Bill felt it too. I saw it in the way his shoulders straightened, the way his playful laziness peeled away to reveal something sharper underneath.

Then—

Footsteps.

Measured. Unhurried. Heavy with authority.

They stopped outside the door.

Bill smiled.

"He’s here."

The door opened without a knock.

The man who stepped in didn’t look like a monster.

That was the worst part.

Louis’ father was tall, immaculately dressed in dark gray hair with blonde strands slicked neatly back. His eyes swept the room once—efficient, uninterested—before settling on me as if I were nothing more than an object left out of place.

His gaze was cold. Not hateful. Not curious.

Evaluating.

"So," he said calmly. "This is the one."

Bill inclined his head in a mock bow. "In the flesh. Or what’s left of it."

Louis’ father walked closer.

Each step felt like it tightened the room around my chest. He stopped a short distance from me, looking down like a man inspecting cracked porcelain.

"An Alpha," he mused. "Undisciplined. Emotional. Predictable."

My teeth clenched.

"He has history with Charles," Bill offered lightly. "And apparently enough presence to make Louis lose control. That impressed you, remember?"

Louis’ father’s eyes flicked to Bill—sharp for half a second—then back to me.

"Yes," he said. "It did."

His gaze lingered too long.

"What condition is he in?" he asked.

"Restricted mobility. Minor internal damage. Severe exhaustion," Bill replied smoothly. "All reversible."

"Good."

The word landed like a verdict.

He turned to leave as easily as he had entered. "Keep him alive," Louis’ father said. "For now. I will decide his use later."

Use.

The door began to close—

And then Bill spoke.

"One small problem."

Louis’ father paused, just slightly. "Speak."

Bill stood, slow and deliberate. He walked toward me instead of toward the door.

"I told you I’d keep him alive," Bill said calmly. "I never said I’d keep him comfortable."

Louis’ father finally turned fully toward him.

Silence stretched.

Then, quietly: "Don’t be foolish, Bill."

Bill stopped beside me.

I couldn’t see his face. Only felt the shift in the room as his hand reached down—

And wrapped around my throat. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Not crushing. Not yet.

Just enough pressure to make the threat unmistakable.

My vision darkened at the edges. My lungs burned.

"This is just a demonstration," Bill said pleasantly. "To confirm that I still belong to Louis... not to you."

Louis’ father’s eyes sharpened.

"You test me."

"I clarify boundaries," Bill corrected.

His grip tightened just a little.

Stars burst behind my eyes. My body convulsed uselessly. Every instinct screamed to fight—but I couldn’t move.

Louis’ father took a step forward. "Release him."

Bill smiled.

"Acknowledge it."

"Acknowledge what?"

"That you don’t command me."

Silence hit like a blade.

Then—

"...You are loyal to Louis," the older man said slowly. "Not to me."

Bill loosened his grip immediately.

Air slammed back into my lungs in a violent rush. I gagged, coughing, my whole body shaking as oxygen tore through me like fire.

Bill stood and dusted off his hands.

"Good," he said lightly. "We understand each other again."

Louis’ father stared at him for a long moment.

Then he turned and walked out without another word.

The door shut.

And I collapsed fully against the floor, chest heaving, vision swimming.

Bill crouched beside me, watching my struggle with clinical interest.

"You survived your first boundary test," he said. "Congratulations."

I stared up at him, fury and fear tangled in my chest. "You... used me."

He tilted his head.

"Of course I did."

His voice softened slightly—just barely.

"But notice this," he added. "If I truly belonged to his father... you’d be dead already."