Nyx
The next morning, the mansion’s underground gym smelled like sweat, leather, and determination. It wasn’t the sterile kind of gym you’d see in glossy magazines or in some influencer’s home tour. This place was raw.
Scarred mats layered over concrete, a boxing ring in one corner, racks of iron weights gleaming under fluorescent lights, and walls lined with weapons meant for wolves who fought not just with claws, but with everything at their disposal.
I didn’t even take in all the details the first time I saw this room. I stood barefoot on the mat, every nerve in my body buzzing. The air was thick with the sound of grunts and the heavy thud of fists meeting pads as warriors trained in the background.
And then there was me. An omega, bruised, bone-tired, and still too weak to belong
