SUN #7
The compound is closed and secured. Surely, a gardener can’t smuggle me outside in a bag full of dead leaves, right? It couldn’t be that easy.
About half an hour later, Matteo comes to get me. He leads me through twisting hallways until we arrive at a massive room with a long table.
It looks like something out of a historical drama, everything over-the-top fancy.
Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The windows are draped with thick, dark red curtains tied with elaborate gold cords.
The chairs have plush cushions and ornate curved backs.
The tablecloth is embroidered. It feels like a palace from another century.
There’s also a set of large glass doors with vintage-style framing that lead out to an enormous patio, with a glimpse of a pool. I remember seeing part of that patio earlier when I leaned right up against the window.
Everyone’s already seated when I walk in, which is not ideal. Now I have to do the walk of shame past rows of strangers’ eyes.
Anzo sits at the head of the table. Two betas in decorated liveries are still arranging dishes from a rolling cart that moves slowly down the table.
No one speaks.
Matteo guides me to a seat at the far end of the table, thankfully, at a safe distance from Anzo.
Only once I sit down do I let myself glance around and study the people here.
To Anzo’s right sits Rocco, which says a lot. On his left is Luca. Next to him is another alpha, probably around twenty-six.
I’d tried looking them up before on the net, but I never found photos of Rocco and Luca’s younger brothers. I only remember their names: Eliano and Mauro.
Mauro’s supposed to be older, the mute one; Eliano’s younger. So I guess the one next to Luca must be Mauro.
The alpha doesn’t look up. He just stares at his plate.
His hair is chestnut, a rich deep brown with a reddish shine.
It falls a little past his ears in soft curls.
The same color as my father’s hair. His skin is fair, and his eyes are dark hazel, from what I can glimpse.
His features are classically handsome, almost too perfect.
There’s something off about him. Something distant. His presence feels… faded. Like the life’s been drained out of him, like he’s not even real. He never lifts his gaze from his plate. I’m not even sure he noticed me walk in.
From the other side of the table, right next to Rocco, there’s one empty chair, like someone’s missing. In the next seat over sits the youngest of the brothers, twenty-year-old Eliano.
He's got curls like Mauro's, but much darker, and they look almost deep violet and black melted together. They contrast nicely with his eyes, which are an interesting mix of light gold with copper streaks.
His features are fine and delicate. You could call him a pretty alpha, kind of like me, although maybe not quite as… omega-coded in appearance.
Unlike Mauro, Eliano actually looks up at me. Our eyes meet for a second. His jaw is clenched, mouth pressed into a tense line. His fists are balled up on either side of his plate, and his whole body is wound tight, like a damned live wire.
The last person in the room is an omega. The only one at this table.
I know right away who he is: Summer Larsen. Or rather, Ferro now. Anzo’s new husband.
Like Mauro, he doesn’t look at me either. His eyes are glued to his plate, his body language radiating submission. And then I notice something around his neck that makes my stomach twist.
A collar. Just like mine. No fucking way.
The sight of it hits me. It’s eerie. Unsettling. Anzo put a collar on his own husband? Suddenly, the whole situation shifts in my head, turns darker, sharper.
I eye him. Summer’s so small! I’d say five feet seven, give or take. Hard to tell while he’s sitting.
His hair’s kind of like mine in color, but where mine leans more golden honey, his is more like caramel fudge. He’s got it pulled back tight into a man bun at the nape of his slender neck.
His face is oval, soft, with high cheekbones. He looks really young, probably somewhere between my age and Eliano’s.
I can’t see his eyes, not even from an angle like I could with Mauro.
They’re always lowered. I’m not really into omegas, never paid them much attention, but even I have to admit, he’s cute.
Pretty in a way that actually reminds me of my dad, weirdly enough.
That sweetness in his face… I can see why it might trigger something protective in most alphas.
Not in me, though. I’m immune to that shit.
But beyond that, there’s something sweet and pure about Summer that catches the eye. Unfortunately, that probably includes the wrong kind of attention.
Why is he even here? He doesn’t look happy. His whole body’s stiff, tense, like he’s vibrating with anxiety, a lot like Eliano.
I know it probably sounds as if I’m just sitting here calmly, observing everyone, all neutral and detached, but that’s bullshit.
My fists are clenched too. My throat is constricted. I’m not usually a nervous person, and I sure as hell don’t default to submissive.
But here? In this fucked-up room, with these odd people? Whatever part of me is submissive, it’s crawling to the surface and taking over.
Eventually, I raise my eyes to Anzo.
He’s staring right back at me, and there’s something new in his gaze now. Something unsavory. Shit. This is heading nowhere good.
"My dear family," Anzo says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "As you’ve probably noticed, at least those of you who managed to look up from your fucking plates, we have a new guest at the table."
Now Rocco, Luca, and Eliano are looking at me. No one else lifts their head.
"Sun is my newest acquisition. He’ll be enriching our lives from now on. He’s eighteen, an aspiring musician, influencer, and model. And he also happens to possess some very rare physical traits I’ve discovered, ones that make him especially unique. He might as well be his own, separate subgender!"
I freeze. He didn’t just say that.
I’m praying he’s not about to comment on my anatomy out loud.
But before he can continue his fucked-up little monologue, Eliano suddenly lifts his head. He glances at me, then turns to Anzo and grits out,
"What’s his official status in this house, Father? If Summer’s your husband, then who the fuck is Sun?"
What happens next shatters every last ounce of my hope into ashes.
Eliano’s body seizes and jerks backward, just like mine did when I got electrocuted.
But there’s no collar. I stare, dumbfounded.
How’s that possible? Did Anzo implant something in him? Something more permanent?! Anzo really is out of his goddamn mind.
No one reacts. No one fucking blinks. A typical occurrence at the Ferros’ table? Random shocks of electricity mixed with introducing new human toys into the family? Home sweet home.
The silence stretches. Even Eliano, once he finally stops convulsing, doesn’t say a word. No protest, no complaint. Like this is just another Tuesday. And maybe it is.
"What were we discussing?" Anzo asks smoothly.
Rocco answers, totally calm, maybe even a little amused.
"We were talking about Sun’s exceptional physical features."
"Ah, yes. Of course," Anzo says. "So, his hole? Looks just like a rose omega’s. Kind of like our dear Moon’s. You know, the one who’s no longer with us!"
He says it as if it’s our fault Moon’s not here. His gaze sweeps the room in an accusatory way. But I don’t give a shit about his little games. Because a wave of humiliation slams into me.
I fucking hate this bastard. Do I even have to say that? Talking about someone’s body like this at a dinner table? And he was the one rattling on about manners?
But Anzo keeps going. Relentless.
"I was even thinking, if Sun’s some kind of new species, a rose alpha, maybe there’s a purple omega out there for him? Wouldn’t that be poetic?"
He smiles. That same twisted grin.
Is this worth it?
Yeah.
It is.
Fuck the manners, fuck the submission.
"You’re a fucking piece of shit, Anzo," I say flatly.
The next jolt of electricity hits me so hard it feels like my entire nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree in white-hot agony.
My back arches violently, mouth open in a silent scream—
And then I black out.
Just like that.
***
When I come to, I’m still in the chair. At the fucking table.
My head’s slumped back over the edge of the high-backed seat, neck exposed, jaw slack, saliva dripping.
It takes me a few seconds to even remember where I am. Or who I am.
My arms and legs feel like they’re full of static, muscles locked tight, trembling with leftover current like I’ve been pulled straight out of an electric storm. Also, my neck hurts. The collar feels almost hot. My skin smells burnt.
Voices hum around me. The conversation hasn’t even stopped.
Anzo is talking. Laughing, maybe. His tone is light. Casual. Like nothing just happened. Like frying someone half to death at dinner is the most normal goddamn thing in the world.
I glance down.
There’s a wet patch spreading across the front of my pants.
Dazed, I just stare at it. It takes my brain a few seconds to even register what it means.
I pissed myself.
And that’s when it really hits me: how fast life can flip on you. How a day that started off ordinary, even kind of nice, can go completely to hell without warning.
Like the second act of some twisted play you didn’t audition for.
I sit there in silence, surrounded by these monsters dressed like people, and realize the person I hate most in the world right now… is me.
People say life teaches you things. That every bad experience has a lesson buried in it somewhere. That you’re supposed to grow from pain. Get smarter. Become wiser.
But some of us get the whole fucking curriculum dumped on our heads all at once. In one brutal, concentrated dose. A bitter pill.
That’s where I am in my life now. But I’m not swallowing that shit.
Not yet. I lift my head, throat raw, voice rough as gravel.