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Chapter Text

1

Since as far back as Coriolanus could remember, he had always shared a bed with Tigris. It wasn't exactly an act out of poverty—though perhaps it was. Their house was spacious, with too many rooms and not enough heating. So, amidst the sound of distant artillery fire, they would huddle close, sharing warmth.

As Tigris grew older, she went through her first heat. At the time, he didn’t fully understand the meaning of it. He should have grown up faster, should have stepped up earlier, but Grandma’am and Tigris had gone out of their way to protect his childish innocence at that time. Maybe Grandma’am should have warned him earlier, but even so, it probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome.

Tigris became an omega. She began covering her beautiful face with scarves and using scent-blocking patches that reeked with a terrible smell. She also took over some of his household chores, even though he repeatedly insisted she didn’t need to.

She had cupped his face in her hands, wearing an expression more serious than he had ever seen—even on those sleepless nights when she comforted him, she’d always wear a smile, because she had once told him that a perfect smile was her strongest armor.

There was hatred in her eyes, like venom-tipped fangs lurking in her pupils. The hatred wasn’t aimed at him, but it still made him tremble.

“You don’t have to do those things, you understand, Corio?” she had said. “You’ll be the Snow’s Alpha. You don’t have to, and you can’t be seen doing those things.”

His lips quivered. He understood now. He’d heard it from his classmates, bits and pieces of the truth, even though his own presentation hadn’t come and he’d never paid attention to teenage hormones.

Alphas didn’t do laundry. They didn’t enter the kitchen. They didn’t trouble themselves with household chores. Whether rich or poor, those were tasks for the omegas. The Snow family didn’t need another omega. They needed an Alpha—a strong, excellent Alpha—the last shred of dignity for the family.

But fate was always cruel to him.

He was careful—always careful. He claimed he might just be a late bloomer, letting others guess whether he was presenting as a Beta. But he never admitted it outright. His broad shoulders and proud demeanor convinced everyone he would be an Alpha, the most promising young Alpha in the Capitol—someone to be trusted.

When did he become so reckless? Maybe it was Lucy Gray. She made him let his guard down, infected him with her carefree attitude.

He’d seen how omegas were treated in the Districts—it was even worse than in the Capitol, where people at least pretended to be civilized. He wondered why someone raised in the Districts like Lucy Gray could still be so kind. The young Covey girl embraced everyone she deemed worthy with warmth, making him forget that he must never share this secret.

Or maybe he didn’t forget. He was just—he was just too tired.

He’d let Lucy Gray kiss his neck, peel off the patch from his scent gland. With just a touch of her nose to that spot, the female Alpha could uncover his dirtiest secret.

“My Corio, my sweet Corio,” Lucy Gray whispered in his ear. “I love you.”

He melted under those sweet nothing. Even as he cursed his own weakness, he opened his legs obediently for Lucy Gray—like every other filthy little omega whore.

Lucy noticed his tears and kissed them away, asking gently if she had hurt him.

“A little,” he lied, fixing her with helpless eyes to support the lie. “Can you…stop?”

He felt pathetic—and was surprised at how whiny he sounded—but Lucy Gray seemed to enjoy it. She smiled, kissed him one last time, let go of his slender waist, and took his sweat-dampened hand instead. They lay there side by side in silence. He listened to her calm, steady breathing, then turned his head and let himself cry, his chest heaving with the force of it.

2

He thought of Lucy Gray, and he thought of Tigris. His life flashed before his eyes like a carousel of memories—but there was no one now who could help him.

He knelt at someone’s feet, just like a proper omega should, pressing his forehead to the tip of their boot in silent plea for forgiveness.

His jabberjay never made it back to the Capitol. Before he could hear any word from home, Sejanus had already invited him onto the train heading back. We’re good friends, Sejanus had said. I won’t leave you behind. He believed him. He had thought—he had thought that he was the traitor in their friendship. Maybe he was. Maybe he was. And Sejanus simply had enough.

They sat across from each other, like they had when they were first exiled to District 12, but Sejanus’s face was emotionless, and he hadn’t spoken a word the entire journey. Corio was uneasy, but he was a patient person—maybe Sejanus was just in a bad mood, he told himself.

When the food cart passed by, he bought two chocolate bars and handed one to Sejanus. Sejanus took it and even smiled at him. Just as he felt the tension starting to lift, Sejanus suddenly said he had a gift for Corio as well.

His polite refusal was already on the tip of his tongue. Oh, you’ve already done enough for me, no need for gifts. But then he watched, frozen in silence and panic, as Sejanus pulled a clear plastic bag out of his satchel.

Inside was the dead jabberjay. Its dried blood had turned a sickly brown against the plastic.

“Corio,” Sejanus said. “Do you know what we do to traitors in District Two?”

At first, Corio wanted to run. But where could he go? The Alpha’s rage filled the air around him, leaving him nearly unable to breathe. Then he wanted to laugh—if he hadn’t betrayed Sejanus, it would have meant that he betrayed Panem. He had simply lost a game of gamble this time. There was nothing to regret.

“I don’t care,” he said through gritted teeth. “You can’t do anything. Even you can’t kill a Capitol citizen without consequences.”

Sejanus’s expression didn’t change. He simply nodded. “Of course. You don’t need to worry about what I want to do to you, Corio.”

The implication made Coriolanus clench his hands so hard, he had to dug his nails into his palms to keep from trembling. Fear and fury were wresting control from him, and he hated the feeling.

“But,” Sejanus continued, “do you think you can escape the charge of murder?”

Corio didn’t reply. He kept his head down, unwilling to let Sejanus see his fear. Yes, maybe Sejanus could feed him his own poison—testifying that Corio was a killer, turn him into a criminal, destroy any chance he had of reclaiming his rightful place in society. That would be the harshest punishment of all. He didn’t want that fate, but what choice did he have now? At least he wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t surrender that last scrap of dignity. Maybe Dr. Gaul would help him—that woman had always had a bizarre fixation on him—but…he was beginning to suspect that something was happening in the Capitol. Even someone like Sejanus's father wouldn’t have been able to ship them back so easily if nothing had changed.

“I don’t want to see my friend suffer that kind of fate, Corio,” Sejanus said, his voice so gentle it made Corio want to vomit. “So I’ll give you a choice.”

“What?” His voice trembled. He didn’t want to think about whether Sejanus had heard the fear in it.

“There’s a very interesting law in Panem, I wonder if you’ve heard of it.” Sejanus lowered his gaze, rummaging in his satchel again. “Spouses cannot testify against each other.”

The world spun. A wave of nausea rose in his throat. This time he actually laughed out loud, though the sound was fractured and cold—more like a rusty door creaking open.

What was Sejanus saying? He heard every syllable clearly—Sejanus’s voice was quiet but distinct—but he couldn’t make any sense of it. Clink. His attention snapped to the sound on the table. Sejanus had found what he was looking for and placed it before him.

A collar. It was beautiful—at the same time revolting. It wa the kind of collar Capitol omega wives liked to wear, adorned with expensive jewels on fine leather, bearing the surname of their owner. Plinth. Coriolanus stared at the name, the one about to be branded onto him—a filthy district name.

But Sejanus seemed to hear his thoughts. The kindhearted boy rubbed the nametag and said softly that Corio didn’t need to change his surname.

“It’s a Capitol tradition, but I don’t care for it,” Sejanus said. “This used to belong to my ma, but pa keeps giving more her gifts, so she doesn’t need it now. She left me this as a keepsake—so I’d always remember her, even in District 12.”

Sejanus’ indifferent mask cracked when he mentioned his mother. That, at least, Coriolanus could understand—everyone had someone they wanted to protect. Tigris. He thought of her again—her bright eyes, her sly smile. She didn’t belong in the home of some pompous Alpha. But he no longer had the power to help her—he wasn’t even sure if he had a place to return to.

He looked at the collar on the table. A part of him wanted to touch it, test if it was as soft and comfortable as rumors said. The idea of wearing a collar used to make him sick. But now… he thought of Tigris. She had a talent for design, maybe she could help him make one that was elegant and low-profile enough so he wouldn’t feel like someone’s property.

For Tigris, he thought. He almost convinced himself—like always, justifying his choices with hollow, lofty reasons. But the truth was, Sejanus’s offer was nearly perfect. As Mrs. Plinth, he would have access to wealth, influence, and all the officials he could bribe—so long as he was obedient. He could play the role of the sweet little omega wife, he would kneel for Sejanus, and he would serve him like a common whore. What did it matter if an old friend dole out some humiliation?

Who knew? Maybe in a few years—or decades—Panem’s laws would change. Maybe he could enter politics again, even as Sejanus’s wife.

His hand nearly touched the collar. But Sejanus was faster.

“Maybe I was too hasty,” Sejanus said. “I should think it through. But don’t worry—the Capitol still has a place for you.”

Coriolanus stared at him in confusion. Sejanus had returned to that indifferent tone as sweat slicked Corio’s palms—he had nearly given in, nearly bowed his head like a submissive omega. What would that have meant for him? A chill stabbed into his spine. All his ambitions—would they be burned away by this moment of greed and cowardice?

“I spoke with my father,” Sejanus said. “We both agree—you’ve always been a good friend to me.” The words made Corio’s skin crawl. “When I asked him to help you return to the Capitol, he hesitated. But eventually, he found a solution.”

Coriolanus said nothing. His eyes were fixed on Sejanus’s fingers, which toyed with the collar’s soft leather.

“You can become his…pet. That’s what you call it in the Capitol, no? It’s quite common.” Sejanus suddenly smiled—a smile Corio realized might be the cruelest expression he’d ever seen. “We’ll share you. No sense wasting a life like yours.”

Corio shattered under the cruelty of that declaration.

He couldn't remember how he got down from his seat, or when he had dropped to his knees on the filthy floor on the train. He couldn't even recall when the tears had started to pour down his face.
He was smart enough to recognize, from the very beginning, that this was punishment from a betrayed friend. Smart enough to know he had actual no right to refuse.
Still, he'd held on to a sliver of hope. Not because he believed Sejanus still bore him any lingering affection beyond hatred—no, not that. It was because Sejanus was always kind. He had a heart of gold. He would risk his life to save a mere tribute.
Coriolanus had believed, even now, that he might still be granted some shred of Sejanus’s mercy.

What would happen if he didn’t kneel and beg for it?
Maybe he’d lose his last name—maybe even his first. Coriolanus Snow would cease to exist. He would become a pet, a slave to the Plinth family, no more than a speck of dust once crushed beneath his own polished boots.

No. Never.

Coriolanus crawled forward on his knees until Sejanus had no choice but to look at the pitiful sight before him. Then he lowered his head, peeled off the patch on his neck, and exposing the tender flesh of his gland.
He offered up his body to Sejanus—his only remaining bargaining chip.

“I…” His voice was hoarse. “Please, Sejanus, I can’t…”

Sejanus said nothing. Didn’t even touch him. That silence cut deeper than any words, plunged him further into despair.
He didn’t dare lift his eyes. Didn’t dare guess whether Sejanus wanted him to keep pleading, keep debasing himself. And he couldn’t even tell if begging might actually win him a kinder fate.
Perhaps the things Sejanus had said were nothing more than false hope, a dramatic flourish to match the satisfaction of revenge.
Perhaps there had never been two options at all.

At last, Sejanus reached out a hand. But instinct told Coriolanus it wasn’t an invitation to rise.
He closed his eyes and took Sejanus’s fingers into his mouth, as though the alpha was already his master and he was cradling his master's cock on his tongue. He had no experience with this. His movement was clumsy, almost pitiful. Tears streamed down his cheeks, he tasted salt and bitterness on his tongue.

Then suddenly, Sejanus thrust his fingers deeper, almost jabbing at the back of his throat. Coriolanus recoiled in panic, but Sejanus was quicker—he caught Coriolanus’s jaw with his free hand.
The fingers withdrew only to be followed instantly by a brutal slap across his face. Almost instantly, he cried out. The blow wasn’t light—he was sure a bruise would bloom there by morning, dark and unmistakable. Worse still, the alpha’s hand hovered beside his cheek, still raised, as if threatening to fall again at the slightest provocation.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, pleading, “I’ll do better—please, Sejanus…”

Just minutes ago, he hadn’t even wanted to look at that collar. Had thought it didn’t deserve to exist in his life.
Now, he would do anything to earn it.

3

These days, Coriolanus rarely left the house.

He declined invitations from old classmates, never stepped beyond the estate's front door, and refused to even look at the newspaper left on his doorstep each morning. But like always,  gossip and rumor still found ways to reach his ears.

The newly appointed president was preparing to enact sweeping changes, and Dr. Gaul was the first casualty. Perhaps “casualty” wasn’t the right word for that vicious woman—she was merely a sinner who had reaped what she sowed. Her body now hung silently in Capitol Square, and no one cared to spare it a glance.

Coriolanus had tossed a single white rose at her feet, taken from the bouquet Sejanus gave him on their second day back in the Capitol. At first, he had taken all his anger out on the flowers, tearing the baby blue wrapping to shreds, snapping the stems without even bothering to fetch a pair of scissors. When Sejanus returned home and saw the mess, his gaze lingered on the destroyed bouquet for just a second—and that single moment of reaction filled Coriolanus with a strange sense of satisfaction.

But Sejanus didn’t comment further. He simply called a servant to clean the place up.

“I thought you liked white roses,” he had said.

Coriolanus was on the brink of losing his mind from Sejanus’s indifference—he didn’t care whether Sejanus loved him, hated him, or had ulterior motives for this farce of a marriage. But ignorance bred fear, and fear burned inside him like acid, denying him sleep. He would’ve preferred Sejanus to strike him again, as he did on the train—at least pain was real, and humiliation was real. They reminded him where he was, gave him glimpse of the future, even if it meant endless torment.

So he decided to do something foolish.

He quietly picked up one of the less-damaged roses, hid it in his sleeve, and, after Sejanus had went and entered his study, he stepped outside the Plinth estate for the first time.

Sejanus hadn’t forbidden him from leaving, technically, but Coriolanus thought it best not to flaunt the collar bearing the Pliinth family crest in public. The patrols might question why a young married omega was wandering alone; they might contact Sejanus, that was a fate Coriolanus wouldn’t want to endure. And what if they couldn’t reach him? They might drag Coriolanus off to the station like a criminal. What would people say?

It wasn’t too late in the day when he went out. He moved swiftly down the familiar streets, acutely aware of the stares drawn to the collar around his neck.

Sejanus had gifted him a brand-new one, adorned with even more extravagant diamonds. With just a glimpse, any Capitol citizen could tell how rich—and how devoted—his husband must be. But only Coriolanus knew how the unblemished leather chafed his skin. An engagement gift, Sejanus had said. They were preparing for the engagement ceremony—or rather, Sejanus’s mother was preparing it. Coriolanus had no interest, nor the right, to give his opinion.

The road to the square was clear. Soon, he found himself standing before Dr. Gaul.

She stood taller than him now. He couldn’t help but smirk bitterly, tilting his head up to gaze at her lifeless face. Somehow in his mind, her bloodshot eyes snapped open, her withered fingers reaching for his throat. Suddenly, the collar around his neck felt too tight, as if it were trying to choke him. He couldn’t breathe.

He tried to sit down, but the attempt ended in a graceless collapse onto his knees, drawing more curious glances.

A kindly woman approached, trying to help. But her overly sweet perfume made Coriolanus even more nauseous, and his legs weaker.

When she noticed his collar, she sighed and gently stroked his cheek.

“Poor child,” she said. “Omegas like you shouldn’t be seeing such gory sights. I understand.”

He thought he must have misheard. He wanted to grab her by the throat, to watch her face turn purple with lack of air, to demand, How dare you speak to me like that? He wanted to snap her neck like a twig, to pour terror into her bones and make her die in agony. No one had the right to speak to him in that condescending tone.

But he couldn’t. He pushed her away and fled the square using the last of his strength.

He didn’t know how far he ran. The cool evening air rushed into his mouth, scratching at his throat. Pressure in his chest made him dizzy and he had to brace himself against a tree to stay upright. His throat burned, and he started coughing—his tongue tasted of rust and blood.

A bottle of water suddenly appeared in front of him. He took it without hesitation, not caring if it was poisoned or why he hadn’t noticed someone approaching.

Coriolanus was rarely this weak or vulnerable, but he hadn’t had a suppressant injection in a long time. Maybe the strange symptoms were signs that his next heat was near.

The water soothed his overworked body, slowed his heart rate, and dulled the pounding in his temples. Once he felt calm enough, he looked up to thank the stranger.

That’s when he recognized the scent. It had comforted his nerves even as he drank in panic. How slow, how foolish must he have been not to realize immediately?

How could he not know this was his Alpha?

Or—maybe he shouldn’t say that just yet. Sejanus hadn’t mated him. But surely, it was only a matter of time.

“How did you know…”

“Your collar,” Sejanus simply replied.

Coriolanus didn’t know how to respond at first. One second had passed, then the second. Then he suddenly grabbed Sejanus by the collar, shoving the Alpha back a step. But those broad shoulders absorbed all his fury, as if it were nothing.

I’m not your pet! he had shouted, his voice echoing down the empty street.

A sharp slap caught him off-guard, sent his face whipping to one side, landing on a bruise that hadn’t yet healed.

His first thought was: Will the mark fade before the engagement ceremony? Or maybe—maybe Sejanus wanted everyone to see it. It would be a message: Coriolanus belonged to him now, and an Alpha had every right to do what he pleased with his property.

“Come, Corio,” Sejanus said calmly, like a gentle brook in the woods of District 12. “Let’s go home.”

4

When Sejanus ordered him to take off all his clothes, there was still much calmness in his tone—like it was just another household chore that needed to be done. On the way home, Sejanus had declared that Coriolanus would receive the punishment he deserved. Coriolanus leaned his head against the cold window of the car and didn’t say anything.

Even though Sejanus hadn’t mated him yet, Coriolanus was already wearing his collar. That alone was enough for most people to believe he was Sejanus’s omega. And an Alpha could punish their omega however they liked, as long as it was justified and didn’t cause "serious consequences"—whatever that meant.

His life had already hit rock bottom, there was no point in making it worse by worrying.

Two pillows were stacked at the center of the bed. Coriolanus stared at them, as if trying to burn them with his gaze. Sejanus bound his wrists together in silent and panic flared in his nerves. Maybe he should put up a fight—push Sejanus away, get dressed, and run.

Leave the Capitol. Never return.

But why him? Why was he the one who had to pay this price?

The other end of the rope was tied to the headboard. This time, Sejanus didn’t give an order—he simply used his hands to guide Coriolanus onto the bed, placing the pillows under his hips. It raised his rear and naturally spread his legs. His exposed sex shivered in the cold air. It made him tremble like a leaf.

He had heard of this kind of punishment before. Allegedly, it would be just the right amount of pain to inflict on the omega’s body, while supposedly not to be too damaging. A disciplining method, they called it.

He’d never paid much attention to such things before. But now that he was the one being punished, he couldn’t help but feel rage.

It wasn’t fair.

“What did I do wrong?” Coriolanus asked. “You never told me I couldn’t leave. I—”

His protest was cut off by the lash of a belt. The pain was so sharp it choked off the rest of his sentence, leaving only a pitiful cry. Sejanus didn’t speak. He just continued lashing him, silently, as Coriolanus’s slim body writhed on the bed, trying in vain to escape.

No matter how he moved, the belt always landed with precision on the tender flesh of his backside.

Just when Coriolanus thought he might die from the pain, Sejanus finally seemed satisfied. The belt dropped to the bed beside him with a heavy thud.

“Why did you go to the square?” Sejanus asked. “Are you feeling sorry for her?”

He didn’t know the right answer. If he got it wrong, would Sejanus punish him again?

He was at a loss and chose to remain silent. Besides, the pain on his backside made him afraid that speaking would break his voice entirely. He still wanted to keep a shred of dignity, though he suspected it had disappeared the moment he knelt to Sejanus.

But clearly, Sejanus hated silence even more.

The belt was picked up again. Coriolanus panicked for a brief moment before he could offer something resembling an explanation, another blow landed—harder this time, like it meant to tear a gash in his flesh.

“Stop! Stop!” he cried out. “Sejanus, please, stop!”

Again, the belt dropped before his eyes. He flinched and closed his eyes.

He’d thought he was used to pain—the ache of hunger gnawing at his stomach, the pounding of his eyeballs due to sleepless nights, the bones that jutted from his thin body. But none of it could compare to this. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t know what you want me to say, but I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me again.”

The skin on his backside had probably split open. When Sejanus finally stopped, Coriolanus thought he could feel something wet where the belt had landed.

“Wait here. Don’t move,” Sejanus told him.

Coriolanus just nodded obediently.

Sejanus returned with a salve that would help the wounds heal faster. The pungent smell made Coriolanus’s eyes sting again, even after they had just begun to rest. He lay on the bed submissively, letting Sejanus apply the medicine—what choice did he have? His hands were still tightly bound to the headboard.

They didn’t speak again. Sejanus didn’t try to teach him a lesson this time. Maybe he was being merciful. Or maybe he just didn’t want to speak to Coriolanus at all.

At least Coriolanus felt the silence was welcoming.

A clean set of pajamas was placed beside him. Sejanus gently untied his wrists, avoiding the raw skin rubbed red by the rope—but he didn’t apply any ointment there.

“Goodnight,” Sejanus said.

Then he left the room. Click. The door shut behind him.

The next morning, Coriolanus got up early—even though the pain in his backside made it almost impossible to walk normally.

He limped to the kitchen and instructed the cook preparing breakfast to bring him eggs and flour—then leave him alone.

In the stillness of the morning, he recalled watching Tigris making pancakes for him. Silently, he cracked two eggs into a large mixing bowl.

5

The sizzling sound of pancake batter on the griddle offered Coriolanus a strange sense of comfort. He watched intently as small bubbles formed in the mixture, and the sweet aroma filled the air. He had no special preference for food, but butter and sugar helped slow his energy depletion. When they had a little extra money, Tigris would buy some eggs and margarine—sometimes even a bit of chocolate. She would carefully shave the chocolate into flakes and fold them into the batter until the entire mixture turned a rich, sweet brown.

He couldn’t quite remember what it tasted like anymore. He didn’t find any jam or syrup in the kitchen, and asking the Avox staff seemed like a terrible idea, so he simply placed a piece of butter on the warm pancake and watched it melt.

Then, once again, the urge to vomit crawled up his throat.

Sejanus entered the kitchen while he was still staring at the pancakes as if they were his mortal enemies. The Alpha had greeted him casually, as if nothing had happened the day before. He placed a hand on Coriolanus’ shoulder, evidently concerned by his pale complexion.

“Are you okay?” Sejanus asked, placing his hand on Coriolanus’s forehead to feel for a fever. His first instinct was to flinch away from the Alpha’s touch, but Sejanus didn’t overstep yet, so he decided to respond with a simple lie.

“I’m fine,” he said, looking up and forcing a smile. “I made you breakfast. Do you want some syrup with it?”

What he really wanted to ask was: Isn’t this what you wanted? A submissive, dutiful wife. He wanted to accuse Sejanus: How can you act like nothing happened after what you did? Do you expect me to just accept your violence?

But maybe he didn’t need to ask anymore. He had already begun behaving like the most obedient of omega wives—rising early the morning after being punished by his husband, performing his duties without complaint, all to avoid another strike of the belt. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. He hadn’t slept because of the pain and hunger had caught up with him around three or four in the morning. He hadn’t had a proper meal in ages, and the kitchen in the Plinth residence was full of fresh food.

“I have to head to school, but thank you,” Sejanus said. “I left the meds by your bed.”

Coriolanus watched him leave without replying. He pulled out a chair and sat down, using a knife and fork to cut the warm pancakes into pieces and slowly stuffed them into his mouth. He didn’t bother to chew—just washed them down with water.

The soft cushion on the chair did nothing to ease the pain from his injuries. But pain reminded him he was still alive. It also granted him a revelation. He thought: now he understood why Sejanus chose to marry him—why this was the most fitting punishment for him.

It wasn’t about the Alpha’s sadistic needs. Coriolanus knew Sejanus well enough to understand that neither the humiliation on the train nor the whipping the day before had been for the sake of inflicting cruelty. No one’s pain brought Sejanus pleasure—not even the man who had once tried to kill him.

Now, he would live day after day in a cage forged from his own guilt. Every time he looked at Sejanus, he saw the noose around his neck and the sweet brown eyes become lifeless. Every time Sejanus punished him—or, someday, when the Alpha finally raped him in some corner of the house—he would say in his heart: Thank Gods above.

He thought: This time, it was Sejanus who sent him to the gallows.

Chapter Text

6

The Academy uniform typically consisted of four parts: a shirt, a red blazer, a matching skirt and trousers. Beyond that, students were free to accessorize as they pleased. Sejanus had never paid much attention to those extra accessories—he didn't care for the Capitol’s latest trends, nor did he have the mind to guess the value of the delicate jewelry worn by his classmates. More often, he preferred to look people straight in the eye, searching for their intentions. In the Capitol’s brutal social arena, he’d learned early how to discern whether someone bore him malice.

Most of the time, they did. And always with that lofty, disdainful contempt.

Coriolanus Snow was no exception. Like all Capitol-born youths, he held Sejanus—a District boy—in quiet contempt. Still, he hadn’t refused the cookie Sejanus had offered him the first time they met. They’d sat on the street, talking about schoolwork and classmates. That day, Sejanus had admitted—for the first time to anyone besides his parents—that he hated everyone at the Academy. If he had the chance, he would return to District 2, to his real home. Coriolanus had been a quiet child back then. But looking back now, Sejanus realized it wasn’t true silence. It was the quiet of someone who didn’t yet know how to hide his insecurity, nor to endure the gnawing pain of hunger. So he kept silent, left people guessing—but never gave answers.

Sejanus had believed he’d made his first real friend. He went home that day and told his mother, beaming. She had laughed and picked him up in her arms, kissed his cheek. He still remembered the warm, sugary scent from the oven that afternoon. His mother had bribed him with a freshly baked scone, demanding every single detail about his new friend.

It was also the first time he’d woken up early, packing for school with excitement. He’d even tucked a bag of fresh pastries into his backpack, for his friend.

But when he offered them to Coriolanus in front of their classmates the next day, something twisted on the blond boy’s face. As if Sejanus had insulted him with something filthy.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Coriolanus hissed, jaw clenched. “Get away from me, district scum.”

After school, Sejanus sat once again in the spot where they'd shared cookies the day before, eating the now-cold pastries through his tears. He couldn’t cry at home—his mother would worry too much. He didn’t want to see that pained expression on her face again. But something had crushed against his heart all day, and if he didn’t let it out, it felt like his whole body might explode with it.

He never noticed when Coriolanus came, lips pressed into a thin line, silently offering him a notebook.

“You didn’t take notes in history class,” Coriolanus said. “I…I didn’t…”

Even at that young age, years of being ostracized had taught Sejanus how to recognize an apology, even one unspoken. He hesitated, but eventually accepted the notebook. From then on, they became friends—but it was a secret he had to keep. In public, Coriolanus would openly express his disdain. But in private, where no one could see, he never pulled away when Sejanus reached for his hand.

They grew so close that even Sejanus didn’t know why he allowed Coriolanus so deeply into his life. He’d even shared his first rut with him—he had presented as an Alpha at fifteen, and it was Coriolanus who had dragged his trembling, near-delirious body into the school infirmary, begging the nurse to administer a suppressant. Sejanus remembered little about the episode now—rut clouded his mind—but he still recalled the scent of roses lingering at his nose, the way it had soothed him through the pain, how it stayed with him even years later.

But when he brought it up later, Coriolanus denied it flatly. The blond boy stared at him with suspicion, lips pressed so tightly they turned pale, like a wary cat born distrustful of everything.

And now, he was making that face again. Sejanus could see the Omega flinch at his touch—then stop himself. The hesitation disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I made you breakfast,” Coriolanus had said, offering a faint smile. But it was fake, hollow. As if he were playing the role of a perfect Omega wife in his mind, as if he saw no difference between this marriage and a public execution. Sejanus didn’t know how to respond.

Like that time when Coriolanus rejected his pastries, he made up a poor excuse and fled.

7

Maybe it was his fault.

Why do you always try to save everyone?

That was what Strabo Plinth once asked him. His father—a pragmatic Alpha—stern, ruthless, nearly devoid of sentiment, and vengeful to the bone. That was why Sejanus hadn’t told him the full truth at first. He feared Strabo would refuse to help Coriolanus. Feared the older Alpha would hurt the omega instead.

Maybe he really was the most pathetic Alpha in the world—because when he found out Coriolanus had betrayed him, he tried to hate him. He tried to convince himself: You should make him suffer.

But he couldn’t.

The mere thought of Coriolanus getting hurt—or worse, dying—was like fire from the deepest pit of hell searing through his guts.

He had taught himself to hate him. He had learned to hate him.
But he couldn’t bear to lose him.

He pleaded—he begged his father to bring Coriolanus back to the Capitol. He even invented a pathetic excuse: I love him. I love him. I want him to be my Omega. Then he’d turned to his mother—his beautiful, gentle mother. Please, Ma. I love him.

Perhaps Strabo hadn’t seen through the lie, or maybe he’d known from the start and simply didn’t care. But none of it mattered anymore. Because In the end, at his mother’s urging, Strabo relented.

He pulled every string he had, called in every favor, brought them both back to the Capitol. But on one condition:

Sejanus had to inherit his business after graduation.

This time, Sejanus didn’t hesitate.
If he wanted to punish Coriolanus with his own hands, how could he escape punishment himself?

He wanted Coriolanus to suffer—to fall into despair. He wanted to shatter the boy’s most precious pride, make him grovel and lick the fire of his fury, let bitterness coat his tongue like poison.

His hatred refused to set Coriolanus free. It had driven him to madness, made him want to keep the Omega caged beside him forever—
To give him a warm nest, sweet kisses, to brand his skin with his scent until death took them both.

He didn’t care if Coriolanus hated him for it.

He hoped Coriolanus would hate him for it.

8

He asked Coriolanus grow out his hair.

That day, Coriolanus had chosen an outfit not unlike the Academy uniform: a silk, pale-colored blouse and a dark red skirt, with cotton stockings to hid the exposed skin of his legs. Sejanus had him lie down on the sofa, lifted the skirt, and gently massaged healing ointment into the raw skin of his wounds.

“I called Tigris,” Sejanus said. “I want to ask her to design our wedding outfits.”

The wounds from that punishment were slowly fading. Their relationship had, in turn, softened—sometimes, Sejanus even let himself believe they could forget the Hunger Games, forget the now abandoned arena, forget that damned jabberjay.

There were time when Coriolanus would sit silently beside him, or rest his head on Sejanus’s lap like he was doing now. When Sejanus would run his fingers through the Omega’s hair, along his neck, over the gland. When he couldn’t see Coriolanus’s eyes.

In moments like this, he always believed they might find a way back—to what they were before it all turned to ash.

“Can I see her alone?” Coriolanus asked. “If you’ll allow it, of course.”

Sometimes Sejanus thought he said these kind of things on purpose—intentionally performing like a timid, poor Omega who flinched every time his Alpha so much as lifted a hand.

Other times, Sejanus wondered if he’d really gone too far. Maybe he had frightened this Omega—who had never trusted any Alpha before—so terribly that he’d lost the ability to act otherwise.

And then he would look into Coriolanus’s eyes.
Those beautiful, blue eyes.
So calm.
So cold.
Like a pool of stagnant water .

He didn’t want to argue over something like this. That would only make him seem hysterical.

“Of course,” he said.

Coriolanus sat up slowly, carefully shifting his knees until he straddled Sejanus’ lap. The skirt fell back into place with the movement. He lowered his head, cupped Sejanus’s cheeks with both hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

It was the first truly intimate gesture they’d shared since returning to the Capitol.

Sejanus lost himself in that kiss, in that almost-innocent moment. He looked up at Coriolanus, full of hope—and for a second, it seemed the Omega was looking back at him.

“Thank you, Alpha.”

His heart sank.
Sank like cheap glass shattering on marble.

He wanted to punish Coriolanus all over again.

He wanted to drag him into the basement, choke him with rough hemp rope until the screams tore from his mouth, until his fingers bled from clawing at the fibers.

At least in the face of death and pain, Coriolanus was honest.
At least the fear he showed was real.

Coriolanus was trying to provoke him. He was resisting in the most twisted way possible; every word of obedience, every sweet sacrifice of the body was part of a game—a new Hunger Games played in silence, where every moment of submission was a weapon designed to kill.

“I love you.”

Why could he lie so easily?
Why did the words flow so sweetly from his lips, only to burn Sejanus like acid?
Why wouldn’t he return Sejanus’ love—yet reflect his hatred so perfectly?

But wasn’t this exactly what Sejanus wanted?

Let Coriolanus hate  him.

He was the one who had announced to the Capitol that the last heir of the Snow was an Omega.
He was the one who had invited the whole city to watch Coriolanus’s fall from grace.
He was the one who forced Coriolanus to kneel, to become the most obedient of slaves.

Let Coriolanus hate him, until there’s no room for any one else in those pretty blue eyes.

“Can I mark you?”

“I already belong to you.”

Coriolanus took his hand and placed it over the collar around his neck, letting him feel the engraved word: Plinth.

The letters brought back the memory of the deal he had struck with his father—reminded him that he’d returned to the Capitol over a trail of corpses, seated himself on a throne built of flesh and bone just to carry out his vengeance.

He tore the collar off. Coriolanus cried out at the sudden pain.

Sejanus had grown used to violence in silence—used to letting Coriolanus’s sobs and screams become the only music of his cruelty.

He made Coriolanus stand against the wall, palms braced against it. He pulled down the Omega’s underwear, stuffed the fabric into his mouth.He didn’t want to hear a single word from him.

Coriolanus didn’t resist.
He’d stopped fighting back, lately.
He would lower his head submissively whenever Sejanus spoke, only respond when he was spoken to. He would kneel easily, raise tearful eyes and beg Sejanus for forgiveness—even when Sejanus had shown no sign of anger or displeasure.

His knees were always covered in bruises because of how often he’d knelt—being the perfect, docile Omega, so well-trained by his husband.

The Omega's body was barren—just like his soul.
Sejanus’s coarse fingers were met with resistance, and the stimulation to the clitoris was futile. Coriolanus’s legs had trembled from the pain between his thighs, but he pressed his forehead against the wall, bit down hard on the cloth in his mouth, and refused to make a sound.

Every part of Coriolanus’s body was rejecting his Alpha’s advances. Sejanus couldn’t even smell his scent—that rich smell of blooming roses he had longed for years. Even though his stilled posture feigned consent.

“Coriolanus,” Sejanus whispered, bending down to kiss his gland. “I love you.”

At least he meant it—In that exact moment, in that afternoon when they had shared cookies, in that instant when he gave Coriolanus the choice.

And Coriolanus’s body knew it too.
It softened under the simple confession, and became slick and compliant.

Coriolanus Snow had always loved being loved, he was born to be envied and adored, and he deserved to be worshipped with every last drop of devotion.

Good thing that Sejanus had so much love to give.

He pulled the cloth from Coriolanus’s mouth, took the Omega’s jaw in his hand, and leaned in to kiss him.

He wasn’t like other Alphas, who treated intimacy like conquest. To him, it was an offering laid before the altar. He would wear a crown of thorns and carry the cross he built with his own hands, step by step, he would walk toward a lover who could never return his affection, leaving behind a trail of bloodied footprints in the snow.

He kissed Coriolanus’s lips gently, nibbling on them even though the response was barely there.

His Alpha scent wrapped around Coriolanus like heavy silk, pulling him under, until the Omega finally found the strength to push him away.

Fresh air rushed into Coriolanus’s mouth, scalding his throat.

“Sejanus…” he asked, voice shaking. “Do you really love me?”

Maybe this was his own unique way, his twisted, divine way of offering love in return. A simple gesture to reward Sejanus’s unwavering devotion, like a proud, cruel god granting favor to his worshipper.

“I love you, Coriolanus,” Sejanus said without hesitation. “I’ve always loved you.”

He truly believed this might be the moment they could finally accept each other. He had thought the affection he saw in Coriolanus’s eyes was real.
Maybe he didn’t deserve Coriolanus’s love—not after everything he’d done. But maybe… he could still have his pity.

He should’ve known better.
He had seen the moment Coriolanus’s pupils shrank, like a serpent baring its fangs. But he was paralyzed at the moment, bound by that serpent’s coils, unable to breathe.

The snake whispered in his ear:“Let’s have a baby, hmm? A little heir for House Plinth.”

Why would he say that?

Sejanus stumbled back, trying to put distance between them, to get away from Coriolanus’s body, from the sickly-sweet scent he was deliberately releasing.

“After all, isn’t that what you wanted—”

“Stop!” Sejanus pleaded. “Please stop talking, Coryo.”

“Don’t call me that!” Coriolanus lunged at him, using the full weight of his body to shove him back. “We’re not friends anymore, Sejanus.”

Sejanus couldn’t lift his eyes to even look at Coriolanus. He was not afraid to find hatred in those eyes, but he’d feared that there would be nothing.

“If you love me,” Coriolanus said softly, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, “then give me freedom.”
“Why is your love so cheap? So selfish?”

Even now, Coriolanus was still trying to deceive him, trying to manipulate him.
Hadn’t it always been that way, really?

He had it coming, to say the least. After all, it was he who had caged Coriolanus beside him, he who had let this man destroy the little peace he had in life.

Rage surged through his veins, his eyes burned red, close to bleeding.

“Shut up.” He placed a hand around the Omega’s fragile neck and squeezed, watching in satisfaction as that cruel mask shattered into terror.“Kneel.”

And when Coriolanus was forced to obey, when he once again placed his weight on bruised knees—
Sejanus whispered:
“You can hate me all you want, Coryo. But I will never let you go.”

He pried the Omega’s jaw open, forcing him to bare his tongue, leaving him no time to prepare, no chance to fight.

His erection naturally met resistance as it pushed into Coriolanus’s mouth, but he gripped the back of the Omega’s head and shoved it forward with a bruising force.

“You should grow your hair out again. I liked your curls,” he said. “And I’ll enjoy pulling them.”

He began to thrust, again and again, letting his cock slip almost entirely out before forcibly driving it back in.

He ignored Coriolanus’s choked sobs, ignored the trembling hand on his thigh that tried to slow him down, or plead for mercy. He slapped the hand away.

“I’m going to knot inside your mouth.”

And for a moment, as he saw the fear in Coriolanus’s eyes, felt the Omega’s panic in his palms, he let himself enjoy it.

He watched Coriolanus come to the slow, horrifying realization that resistance was meaningless.
Watched, as he was being broken piece by piece, until his hands no longer pushed Sejanus away, but rather rested obediently on his thighs, or even reach out for his hand.
He’d became, at that moment, a co-conspirator.

The knot forced Coriolanus’s lips open, tearing at the corners of his mouth. Blood, mixed with spit, had dripped down onto his shirt.

There was no choice—Coriolanus had to swallow all of the sperm, even as it burned like fire through his chest.

“You’re pretty when you can’t talk.”

That was the last thing Sejanus said to him that night.

Sejanus waited until the knot softened, watched as Coriolanus gasp for air the moment he was freed, being too weak to lift himself from the floor.

Sejanus didn’t help him.
He merely straightened his clothes, composed himself, as if none of it had happened.

When he was gone, the twisted shape left crumpled on the floor let out a sharp, broken laugh.

They would continue this game—this twisted, sick game that belonged to them only—until the day the die at each other’s hands.