Chapter 297

Elliot

"You have no idea. I met her and it felt like I was going to die. She was so handsome."

I wipe down the counter, half-listening to the two Omega women at table four. They come here every Tuesday, order the same thing, gossip about the same things. Today’s topic seems to be Damien Han’s mysterious twin.

"Like, you think the mayor is handsome, sure, but his sister? His twin? Everything. Literally everything."

"Most times female Alphas don’t have the presence male Alphas do," the other one agrees, leaning in. "But I swear, she’s... different. She walked into the shelter opening and every Omega in the room forgot how to breathe."

I scoff quietly, continuing my work.

Damien’s twin. Daphne Han. I’ve been hearing more about her lately. Everywhere I go,the clinic, the grocery store, even Vincent’s compound—someone’s talking about her. The shelter she opened.

The company she built. The way she looks in a suit.

All exaggerated rumors, probably. Omegas love to romanticize powerful Alphas who show them even a scrap of kindness.

"My sister-in-law works at the shelter," the first woman continues, louder now. "Met her in person. I’m telling you, it’s not exaggerated. Not even a little."

I roll my eyes internally and reach for another cup to polish.

Just then, the bell above the door doesn’t jingle—it’s not pushed open at all. Instead, the cafe goes dead silent.

I look up.

Our boss, Mr. Chen—the Omega widower who owns this place and has never once raised his voice at any of us—is rushing toward the front door like a man possessed. He straightens his apron, smooths his gray hair, and steps outside with an expression I’ve never seen on his face.

Nervous. Excited. Awed.

All of us employees freeze. Regulars pause mid-sentence. Even the gossip twins at table four go quiet, craning their necks to see through the window.

A sleek black car is pulled up outside. Not just any black car—the kind that costs more than this cafe will make in a decade. The kind that screams power without needing a logo.

Mr. Chen stands before it, back straight, waiting.

The back door opens.

A leg emerges first. Long. Clad in tailored trousers that cost more than my monthly rent.

Curious, I try to look, but everyone is crowding near the windows. I can’t see anything over the shoulders and heads. I shrug and continue wiping down the counter. Rich people come and go. It’s none of my business.

Then the bell rings.

Gasps resound through the cafe. Actual gasps, like we’re in a period drama and royalty just entered.

I look up.

And my heart drops.

A face so much like Damien’s—but not.

The same bone structure, the same dark eyes, but where Damien’s handsomeness feels polished, practiced, this feels... raw. Unapologetic. Like the universe took the same blueprint and decided to make it dangerous.

Speak of the devil.

"Go on! Everyone get back to work!!" Mr. Chen snaps, clapping his hands.

The crowd disperses like startled birds. Employees scatter to their stations. Customers return to their seats, though their eyes never quite leave her.

She takes a seat by the window. Alone. Composed. A queen surveying her domain.

I begrudgingly hate to admit it, but she’s handsome. And beautiful. Masculine and feminine in a way that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. She’s definitely attractive. And definitely an Alpha.

I swear the amount of pheromones in this room just doubled. The air feels thicker, charged. But she doesn’t seem bothered at all. She continues her conversation with Mr. Chen like she’s discussing the weather, not like she’s causing a biological chain reaction in everyone around her.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen any other Alpha command a room this way. Usually, it’s fear. That subtle, ingrained threat of violence that lurks beneath every Alpha-Omega interaction. Or begrudging admiration. Or lust, heavy and oppressive.

With her, it’s awe.

I watch from the corner of my eye as she speaks with Mr. Chen. And I notice something.

It’s not there.

That subtle, ingrained thing in most Alphas—the thing that makes them look down on Omegas, even the nice ones. Even the ones who think they’re progressive. Even Damien, who treats me gently, still has it. That faint flicker of I am above you. Dr. Wang has it too, buried beneath his clinical professionalism.

She doesn’t.

She speaks to Mr. Chen like he’s an equal. Like his opinion matters. Like he’s a person first and an Omega second.

It’s impressive.

Suddenly, I’m envious.

Envious of whatever Omega will have her attention. Envious of whoever gets to be the one she looks at like that—with full, undivided focus.

Suddenly, I understand why Omegas everywhere want her. Why the gossip twins can’t stop talking about her. Why my coworkers are finding excuses to walk past her table.

It’s not just the looks. It’s not just the power. It’s the way she makes you feel seen.

I take a glass of water before I even think about it. Before I can talk myself out of it. I walk toward her table, my heart hammering, my palms sweating.

"May I get you anything?" I ask, placing the glass in front of her.

She looks at me.

Gives me her full attention.

I feel stripped down—but in a good way. Like she’s seeing past the waiter’s uniform, past the tired eyes, past everything I try to hide. Like she’s actually interested.

My heart races.

She tilts her head slightly, a small, curious movement. Like she’s trying to place where she’s seen me before. Like I’m a puzzle she wants to solve.

I look away. Too fast. Too guilty.

Stupid, I tell myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But I force myself to look back at her.

She smiles.

Not a big smile. Not a performative smile. Just a small, genuine curve of her lips that reaches her dark eyes.

My heart beats twice as fast.

She’s perfect.

Stupid, I repeat internally. She’s just another Alpha. They’re all the same.

But she’s not. I know she’s not.

I’ve been around enough Alphas to recognize the difference between those who take and those who are. Vincent takes. He takes my body, my time, my dignity, and calls it love. Charles takes—my attention, my compliance, my presence at his events. Even Damien, gentle as he is, takes what I offer because he knows I won’t refuse. He takes my peace, my secrecy, my silence.

This woman?

She hasn’t taken anything. She hasn’t even asked. She just is, and the world rearranges itself around her.

"The honey cake," she says, her voice low and warm. "I heard it’s good."

"It is," I manage. "The best thing here."

"Elliot." She says it like she’s tasting it. Like she’s filing it away somewhere important. "I’m Daphne."

"I know."

Her smile widens slightly. "Of course you do."

She doesn’t say anything else.

I walk away to get her cake, my legs unsteady, my heart racing.

What would it be like? To be the sole heir of her attention?