Page 15 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

That was the real problem. Not that Dante wanted to own him—plenty of Alphas wanted that. But he wanted to own him intelligently . That he seemed to understand the difference between breaking someone and overwhelming them, between destroying their spirit and redirecting it.

He’d be good at it. That’s what scares you. He’d be so good at owning you that you’d forget you ever wanted anything else.

The sound of the apartment door opening made Orion freeze. Leo was back, probably exhausted and frustrated from whatever crisis kept him at the facility all evening. The timing was perfect—Orion back in his cage, everything looking as it should.

Except for the fact that you smell like another Alpha. Except for the fact that your scent still carries traces of slick and cum.

Panic spiked through him as he heard Leo’s footsteps approaching. The suppressants would have dampened most of his scent, but Leo had been around him long enough to notice subtle changes. And if he realized Orion had been with Dante, if he suspected what happened...

He’ll assume the worst. He’ll think you were willing. He’ll think you chose Dante over him.

“Orion?” Leo’s voice was tired, slightly slurred. Drunk, or close to it. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” Orion called back, trying to keep his voice level as he scrambled to shove the blanket beneath his pillow. “How did work go?”

“Fucking disaster. Took forever to get the centrifuge running again.” Leo appeared in the doorway, looking every bit as exhausted and frustrated as he sounded. “But at least it’s handled now.”

He stepped closer, and Orion held his breath, waiting to see if Leo would notice anything different. But the Alpha just slumped against the doorframe.

“Dante said he checked on you earlier. Made sure you were handling the pre-heat symptoms okay.” Leo’s voice carried a note of something that might have been gratitude. “Good guy. Professional.”

Professional. Right .

“He gave me some advice on dealing with my symptoms,” Orion said, which was technically true. “They helped.”

“Good. That’s good.” Leo rubbed his face with both hands. “Look, I know things have been difficult. But I think we’re going to figure this out.”

Like I’m a problem to be solved instead of a person to be considered.

“Dante thinks there might be some techniques Gensyn uses that could help. More sophisticated approaches to asset management.” Leo’s tone was hopeful, desperate.

The irony was almost perfect. Leo discussing Dante’s “techniques” while having no idea that those techniques had already been demonstrated on his supposedly secure asset. That Orion was sitting in his cage with the memory of another Alpha’s hands still burning on his skin.

Dante played this perfectly. He got what he wanted and left Leo none the wiser.

“That sounds promising,” Orion said, because Leo seemed to expect some kind of response.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Leo straightened up, some of his earlier energy returning. “We’re going to figure this out, Orion. We’re going to find a way to make this work.”

We. Like it’s a partnership instead of ownership.

But Orion just nodded, because arguing would require energy he didn’t have and would probably make Leo suspicious. Better to let him think his “asset” was finally becoming more compliant.

“I should let you get some rest,” Leo said. “Big day tomorrow. More meetings, more planning.”

More planning for my chemical lobotomy, you mean.

“Sure. Rest sounds good.”

Leo lingered for a moment, as if there was something else he wanted to say. But whatever it was, exhaustion won out over communication skills.

“Good night, Orion.”

“Good night.”

The locks engaged with their familiar series of clicks, and Orion was alone again. Back in his cage, back to the narrow mattress and bare walls and the constant hum of ventilation that had become the soundtrack to his captivity.

This is what you chose. Safety over freedom, familiarity over possibility.

But even as he tried to settle into sleep, his mind kept drifting back to Dante’s apartment. To the way it felt to have space to move, to breathe, to exist without walls pressing in from every direction. The way Dante looked at him—not like property to be managed, but like a puzzle worth solving.

He offered you a night of freedom, and you ran back to your cage.

The thought was bitter, but not entirely accurate. Because what Dante offered wasn’t freedom—it was a different kind of captivity, more seductive and therefore more dangerous. At least here, in Leo’s ineffective custody, Orion knew what he was dealing with.

Incompetent ownership versus competent ownership. Those are your choices.

Unless he could find a third option. Unless he could figure out how to break his contract, disappear into the Static Zones, and become one of the unmanaged Omegas who lived outside corporate control.

Assuming you survive long enough to try.

Because Leo’s patience was running out, and Dante’s interest was becoming difficult to resist. Time was running out for all of his options, and every choice he made seemed to lead to a different form of surrender.

At least surrendering to Dante would feel good.

Orion pulled his thin blanket over his head and tried to block out the memory of confident hands that knew exactly how to touch him, of a voice promising filthy things in tones that made his body ache despite every rational objection.

But that other blanket was still under his pillow, and he was just hotboxing himself in Dante’s scent.

Even as he felt his skin begin to flush in response, he stayed beneath the sheet.

Just breathing him in.

Tomorrow you’ll have to see him again. Tomorrow you’ll have to pretend none of this happened.

But as he lay there in the dark, surrounded by the familiar walls of his prison, Orion knew that pretending was going to be impossible.

Because Dante had changed something fundamental between them, and proven that all of Orion’s defenses were ultimately useless against someone who understood what he needed.

And the worst part is, you want him to do it again.

Sleep, when it came, was full of dreams about being pinned against walls by confident hands and voices promising things that made him wake up hard and frustrated and more confused than ever about what he wanted.

Freedom. You want freedom.

But even his subconscious seemed to be arguing with that assessment, replaying memories of surrendering control and finding it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever done.

You’re fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.