Chapter 355

Daphne

[Congratulations, Host! Harem breakdown: 91.5% complete!]

The System’s robotic voice interrupts my time between my wife’s legs.

I internally scoff.

Not surprised.

Damien would always choose his political career.

Whatever.

I go back to business.

Vivienne’s fingers tangle in my hair. "You stopped."

"Sorry." I press a kiss to her inner thigh.

There’s more important things that have my attention.

***

Dr. Wang

The recessive omega isn’t answering my calls. Or my texts.

Whatever.

He’s nothing but a mere recessive Omega after all. Expendable. Replaceable. There are others who can serve the same purpose. Others who won’t be so difficult.

I slip the key into the lock. Turn it. The door opens with a soft click.

I step inside.

The apartment is small. Modest. A far cry from what Elliot deserves, but he refuses to let me buy him something better. It’s enough, he always says. It’s home.

I don’t like this place. It was given to the siblings by another Alpha.

The one who threw Elliot aside the moment something more convenient came along.

Hypocrite.

I’ve always told Elliot I’m the only one capable of loving him the way he deserves.The others they wanted him for what he could give them. His body. His attention. His scent.

But me? I want him. All of him. The broken pieces and the jagged edges and the parts he tries to hide.

From my investigations, Damien hasn’t visited in months. No calls. No texts. No late-night appearances at the door.

Things are effectively over between them.

Good.

Elliot’s brother is away at some summer camp—some program for gifted students that Elliot scraped together the money for. The apartment is empty. Quiet.

Perfect.

I walk through the living room, trailing my fingers along the back of the couch. Elliot’s scent is everywhere faint, but present. Lingering in the fabric, the air, the spaces he occupies.

I close my eyes. Breathe him in.

Soon, I think. Soon he’ll see.

I walk into the bedroom.

He’s there. In bed. Staring at his phone screen. The glow illuminates his face—pale, tired, hollow.

He doesn’t acknowledge me.

Doesn’t look up. Doesn’t speak. Just keeps staring at whatever’s on that screen, his thumb frozen over the glass.

The silence stretches.

It makes me angry.

But I calm myself. Elliot is not like other Omegas. I can’t be rough with him. Can’t demand. Can’t take.

He has to come to me willingly.

I walk toward the bed. He stirs, blinking against the dim light, and looks up at me.

"Dr. Wang." His voice is groggy. Disoriented.

"Didn’t hear me come in?" I keep my voice soft. Warm. A small smile.

"I’m sorry—" He tries to sit up, reaching for his phone.

’City A’s mayor’s sister, CEO, and well-known Alpha Omega rights activist spotted with mysterious Omega—’

The sound comes from his phone. The news anchor’s voice, polished and insistent. I catch a glimpse of the screen before he turns it off—a blurry photo, two figures leaving a building, one of them unmistakably her.

My fists clench.

"Let me get you some water." My voice is even. Controlled. "While you freshen up."

I stand. Head to the kitchen.

Behind me, I hear him getting out of bed, shuffling toward the bathroom. The door closes. Water runs.

I lean against the counter, breathing slowly, forcing my hands to unclench.

Even here. Even now. Even in his bedroom, in his phone, in the spaces between his thoughts.

I pour a glass of water. Set it on the counter. Stare at it.

He’s not like other Omegas, I remind myself. I can’t be rough with him.

This obsession he has with her is getting out of hand.

I exhale.

Reach into my pocket.

At the end of the day, Elliot is nothing but an Omega.

And throughout history, when an Omega becomes unruly, you have to distract them with something else.

I drop the pill into the water.

It dissolves instantly. No color. No taste. No trace.

I know his heat cycle. I know his fertile windows. I’ve been tracking them for years, under the guise of medical care.

A child will get rid of his thoughts of her.

A child will tie him to me.

I pick up the glass. Swirl it gently. Watch the last of the pill disappear.

This is all probably because his mind is preoccupied with other things, I tell myself. Let his mind be preoccupied with something else.

My child.

I can’t help but smile at that thought.

A child of our own. Elliot’s beauty, my intelligence. A family. A future. Something that will bind us together.

I’ll give him something to focus on. Something that needs him. Something that will keep him home, keep him close, keep him mine.

I carry the glass to the bedroom.

Elliot is sitting on the edge of the bed now, his hair still damp, his eyes still hollow. He looks up when I enter.

"You didn’t have to," he says.

"I wanted to."

I hand him the glass.

He takes it. Drinks.

I watch his throat move.

Drink, I think. Drink all of it.

He finishes. Sets the glass down with a soft clink.

I take it from him, my fingers brushing his. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t notice the way my hand trembles slightly, the effort it takes to keep my voice steady.

"Dress up." I stand, smoothing my shirt. "I made reservations at that restaurant you like."

I walk to the kitchen so he doesn’t see the smirk on my face.

Behind me, I hear him shuffle off the bed. The closet door opens. The soft rustle of clothes.

I rinse the glass. Place it in the drying rack. Lean against the counter and close my eyes.

I fix my facial expression to something soft, concerned, carefully neutral and walk back to the bedroom.

Elliot is standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar. The blue tie hangs loose around his neck. He looks pale. Tired. Still beautiful.

"Here." I step behind him, take the ends of the tie. "Let me."