Chapter 127 – Clarissa Brown
I watch the scene unfold, holding my champagne glass with more force than necessary. That omega—what a disgrace.
Mother always warned me about lower-class people. I've never had the misfortune of dealing with many myself, but that one fits the stereotype too well: loud, brazen, shameless. Completely unaware of their place. Or maybe aware and just… defiant.
I watch him lean into Zander, shamelessly clinging to his arm, like he belongs there.
Zander Vale.
The Zander I know—the Zander I was promised—is calm, reserved, logical. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, he doesn't smile at dinner parties, and he most certainly doesn't slow-dance with tabloid bait in front of the entire elite of society.
And yet here he is, doing just that. Lost in the eyes of that painted thing, moving as if the room isn't full of watching eyes and concealed judgment. He doesn't even notice the whispering anymore.
It must be some kind of enchantment. That's the only explanation.
Zander used to be like me. He used to understand our world—how it works, what's expected. He knew duty. He knew decorum. And now he's laughing with that thing like he's forgotten everything.
My fingers tighten further around the stem of the glass, cold and delicate between my gloves. I don't speak, but I feel the weight of the stares all around me. And when I glance to the side, I meet the eyes of the Vale patriarch himself.
He looks livid.
Good.
It won't last long anyway.
"Clarissa, you're standing here watching while your fiancé embarrasses you like that?" Mother hisses beside me, voice low and sharp.
She doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't need to. Her disdain is a blade—cold and precise. I've heard that tone my whole life.
I keep my eyes forward, watching the two of them continue to sway like no one else exists. "What do you expect me to do, Mother? Not even his own family can control him."
She inhales sharply, like my reply is an insult. "You should have stopped this before it began. You let him slip through your fingers."
Let him?
Let him?
I press my lips together. Hard.
Does she think he is some pet dog?
I didn't let anything happen. I played by the rules. I was perfect. I attended every Vale event, said the right things, wore the right dresses, kept the right company. I gave interviews that painted us as the ideal match. I spent years making sure everything was aligned. And now it's all unraveling because of him.
That omega.
I watch as Zander twirls him, and I truly cannot comprehend it. Omegas are neither male nor female—just some in-between thing, some evolutionary mistake masquerading as beauty. A biological error that society insists on romanticizing.
Even animals don't have omegas. That alone should be proof enough that they were never meant to exist.
If it had been a woman, at least I could stomach it. I could understand the allure, the softness, the echo of the Mistress. I could hate her properly, as a rival. But this?
This creature offers nothing. No lineage. No legacy. They aren't even fertile—what, exactly, does Zander think he's doing?
Does he really intend to waste the Vale name on something that can't even carry an heir?
I exhale slowly, the weight of decorum keeping my spine straight even as my temper coils tightly beneath my skin.
Well—most men in power do have particular fetishes. The richer and more influential they are, the stranger their appetites become. I've heard whispers. I've seen things. I understand.
But I just wished my fiancé didn't bring his to the public.
Let him indulge behind closed doors. Let him play with his little… pet. But parading it like this? Smiling. Twirling. Kissing his hand like he was some kind of prized jewel?
It's embarrassing.
Not just for me, but for the entire family.
Zander Vale, heir to one of the most powerful corporate legacies in the country, undone in public by an omega with painted lips and a clown face.
It's shameful.