I’ll admit it—I lost control.
That hardly ever happens.
But watching that ridiculous clown kiss Luther... it hit a nerve. I’m not proud of how I reacted.
I’ve let things get too soft. Got too comfortable.
Living like we’re some kind of normal couple—like that somehow excuses letting my guard down.
I got used to being with him. The quiet parts. The fantasy of being married.
Big mistake.
I forgot what he really is: a tool. A vessel. The core of my future plan.
He’s not my partner. He’s not there to be pampered or entertained.
He’s a project. A job. Someone to handle.
I can’t allow these little outbursts. Even if they come wrapped in charm and drama.
They’re distractions. Dangerous ones.
Time for a reset.
He needs to be moved—taken out of the space he’s grown too familiar with.
The white room won’t do anymore. It’s too soft.
No—he’s going to the holding wing. Same place I keep the other omegas.
Yes, it’s a hassle. I’ll have to sort them—separate the ones with real potential from the ones I can afford to lose.
Luther, for now, goes in the second group.
Just for now.
It’s all about appearances. I can’t look weak. Not right now.
Another screw-up? How I dealt with the whole mess.
I like to think of myself as someone with class. Precision.
But instead of using a tranquilizer, I punched him. Hard enough to knock him out.
Unforgivable.
But I had no patience left.
So now I’ve got two unconscious men on my wrecked floor. And a splitting headache.
I made a call. Had Luther taken away.
Told them not to clean up.
Then I sat on the couch and drank. One last lapse. Just one more.
One last little look at what life might have been like—if I wasn’t so much me.
Funny how, even as Luther was being dragged out, bleeding from a wound I gave him—I was already missing him.
Ugh.
I was finally getting some decent sleep.
That’s gone now.
I close my eyes.
I can still feel him. His breath, his mouth, his hands.
His fingers around my throat.
There’s a lump blocking my airways.
I know this feeling.
Grief.
I had it when I lost my mother, and I have it with Luther now.
I’ve lost him too.
Only difference is—this time, the grief came with a strange sense of excitement.
No idea when morning showed up.
Everything blurred. f r\eeNovelBin.c(o)(m)
Not that it mattered.
Business as usual.
Killian woke up, yelling.
Put his hands on me. Dumb move.
"Where is Luther, you sick lunatic?"
No filter. No sense.
Just typical alpha nonsense.
That’s what happens when society tells them they’re gods. No consequences. Everything handed to them on a platter.
I usually avoid using my pheromones.
They don’t work like Luther’s do—not with that elegance.
But give them a few minutes...
And you’ll see liver failure. Lungs collapse. Suffocation.
Blood vessels bursting.
If I’m feeling kind—death.
Killian, all six-foot-two of him, collapsed in front of me.
All his rage turned into shaking hands, bloody lips, and sobbing.
I stopped quickly.
Didn’t need to kill the Akna Pharmaceuticals heir. Not yet.
Not when I’m more interested in the woman pulling his strings—Lucrezia.
I fixed my shirt.
"Luther’s been moved. I found your tantrum annoying and disruptive."
He croaked out.
"Where?"
I might’ve gone a bit too hard with the pheromones.
But I was irated too.
"A separate building in my compound. Where I keep the other omega test subjects."
I let that sit.
"If you remember your roles, he might get better treatment again. If not—well—the Prime Minister gave me full control. He just wants a pretty alpha face for the public."
Killian looked up at me.
Full of anger. And submission.
"Clean it up. We’ve got work to do."
He didn’t argue.
Just grabbed the mop and started scrubbing blood and puke off the floor.
With Claus in a coma, I needed someone new to fill in.
Then my phone rang.
"He’s awake."
Of course he is.
Looks like Luther will have to figure things out on his own.
Good luck in your new cage, my dear wife.
You’re going to need it.