Chapter 2
704words
A suppressed, knowing chuckle filtered through the crack.
"She's nothing but a desperate slut with fake pheromones," Damian's tone was ice-cold, as if evaluating a piece of equipment. "Just a tool to temporarily manage my symptoms."
He paused, apparently finding the comparison lacking, and added:
"A disposable tool I'll toss aside when I'm bored with it. She couldn't compare to a single strand of Seraphina's hair."
The hallway fell deathly silent. The thick door couldn't muffle that cold judgment, each syllable hanging in the air like poison.
Outside, Genevieve remained perfectly still. Her face betrayed nothing, as if those words had passed through empty space.
Just as Damian's words hung in the air—
With a soft creak, the door swung open.
Genevieve walked in wearing a flawless, gentle smile. As if the woman who had been listening outside was merely a phantom.
All conversation died instantly. The air seemed to vanish from the room as everyone froze, staring in shock at the Omega who had materialized among them.
Genevieve's gaze didn't linger on anyone as she walked directly to Damian. Her demeanor remained elegant and proper, like she'd just come from afternoon tea. She stopped before him, tilted her head slightly, and asked in a voice soft enough to drown in:
"Damian, shall we head back to the manor? You should rest."
She acted as if she hadn't heard herself being called a "tool" and a "replica." Her calmness and compliance formed a silent yet devastating power in that moment.
Humiliating someone who cowers brings satisfaction. But when your hardest punch hits cotton and causes no ripple, all that remains is frustration and absurdity.
Damian's expression soured instantly. Bewilderment and embarrassment transformed into inexplicable rage churning in his chest. He wanted to lash out but found no justification. Her demeanor was the perfect embodiment of an exemplary Omega; his every caustic remark neutralized by that infuriating gentle smile.
He felt like a petulant child who had tried everything yet failed to provoke a reaction.
"Hmph."
Finally, Damian forced a cold snort through clenched teeth. He abruptly stood, not sparing Genevieve another glance, and stormed out of the club with quick, angry strides.
Only after his figure disappeared through the doorway did the room seem to breathe again.
The remaining Alphas exchanged shocked, bewildered glances.
"Holy shit… she didn't even flinch…"
"After being trashed like that, she can still smile… Is that complete submission or some terrifying long game?"
An older Alpha watched Genevieve's departing figure, still gentle and composed, and whispered with awe:
"Either way… that's one hell of an Omega."
The luxury hover car glided silently along the forest road, leaving the city lights far behind.
In the backseat, Genevieve and Damian sat as far apart as possible.
The atmosphere in the car was suffocating. Damian leaned back with his eyes closed, radiating an aura that screamed "stay away." He was clearly still seething from their silent confrontation.
Genevieve gazed out the window at the silver-edged trees flashing past, her profile soft and serene.
What would an Omega be thinking after being publicly humiliated as a "replica" and a "tool" by her supposed beloved Alpha?
Heartbreak? Humiliation? Despair?
None of the above.
Genevieve's expression remained calm, her emotions undisturbed. She actually felt like yawning.
Heartbreak? Please. She was only thinking that tonight's emergency call-out, according to Protocol 337's additional clause, should count as triple overtime. Tomorrow she'd need to remind the pack leader's assistant to verify the invoice.
After all, when a client has a meltdown at work, that's the client's problem, not the therapist's.
Yes, therapist.
Two years ago, Genevieve Dracott had signed an eight-figure contract with Ilara, the female leader of the Blackwood Wolf Pack. Her official title: "Specially Appointed Pheromone Therapist for Broken Bond Syndrome."
In simpler terms, she was a professional Omega hired at an obscene price by his mother to play the role of his "true love."
An actress. A stand-in. A ridiculously overpaid contractor.
As for Damian's insults?
She considered them standard behavior from a difficult client. When you're paid this well, emotional detachment is the first requirement of professional quality.
