The first sensation was cold. A deep, unforgiving chill seeping through fine wool into her spine. The second was a pounding, rhythmic throb behind her eyes, a hangover of the soul.
Kaelen's eyes fluttered open to a vista of gleaming darkness and distant, glittering lights. Floor to ceiling windows framed a sprawling metropolis, neon signs and aerial transport lanes painting streaks of color across the night. She was on a polished concrete floor, the room a study in minimalist luxury low slung white furniture, a single brutalist sculpture, and the faint, ambient hum of technology.
Her head swam, memories that were not hers crashing against the shores of her consciousness. A name: Kaelen Blackwood. A title: Recessive Alpha. A purpose: Heir to Blackwood Corp.
A story… I was reading a story…
A sleek, metallic canister rolled from her slack fingers, clattering softly on the floor. Her smart lenses, contacts that were more like a permanent HUD, flickered to life with a biometric alert.
Heart Rate: 142 bpm. Stress markers elevated. Administering mild sedative.
A cool, calming agent misted into her eyes, doing little for the rising tide of panic. The air was thick, cloying, saturated with a scent that was both intoxicating and horrifyingly familiar. Heat Surge. A Blackwood product. A synthetic pheromone aerosol designed to forcibly induce an Omega's…
Her gaze snapped across the room.
Crumpled against the stark white leather of a sofa was a woman. She was trembling, her slender frame wracked with shudders, the elegant line of her neck exposed. And on it, angry and fresh, was a mating mark. But it was wrong. Too precise, too brutal. It wasn't just a bite; it was a brand, the skin around it burned in the distinct pattern of a device.
A device that was on Kaelen's own wrist.
A sleek, titanium bracelet, its inner surface still glowing a faint, ominous red. A Bonding Bracelet. Forced chemical compliance.
The memories solidified, a horrific montage of the original Kaelen's twisted justification. "Your family took my mother from me! Your very existence is an insult to my memory! You deserve this, you Vesper whore! You owe me this!"
This scene. The canister. The bracelet. The terrified Omega.
This was Chapter 12 of Corporate Omega, the webnovel she'd fallen asleep reading. The pivotal scene where the villainess, Kaelen Blackwood, attempted to forcibly bond the story's heroine, Seraphina Vesper, out of a twisted mix of hatred, lust, and a desperate need to claim something anything that was hers.
She was the villainess.
System Initializing…
A block of text, crisp and sterile, superimposed itself over her view of the crying woman.
Congratulations, Kaelen Blackwood. You have successfully reincarnated into the world of 'Corporate Omega.' Please note, your original identity will be erased. Your mission is clear: continue the plot of the original Kaelen Blackwood's tragic tale while gaining her approval points to 100%. Good luck. Your fate lies in your hands.
"No," she whispered, the word a raw scrape in her throat. This wasn't happening.
Sera because of course it was Sera flinched at the sound, curling tighter into herself. The movement was one of pure, animal terror. The terror of someone betrayed by the very person society said was their protector.
The plot. She had to… continue the plot? The thought made her stomach heave. The original Kaelen had left Sera here, in artificial, agonizing heat, and gone to sleep, satisfied in her cruelty.
She couldn't. She wouldn't.
A searing, gut wrenching pain lanced through her abdomen, so sudden and violent it stole her breath. She doubled over, gasping. A warning. The System wasn't a suggestion.
Warning: User action deviates significantly from established plot parameters. Penalty administered.
Tears of pain and frustration welled in her eyes. She had to be smart. She had to work within the cracks.
Think. Think! The novel. The predecessor kept suppressants. Not out of mercy, but for control. To prolong the game. Where would she keep them?
Stumbling to her feet, her body moving with a unfamiliar, willowy grace that felt like a costume, she lurched into the en suite bathroom. It was a cavern of black marble and chromed fixtures. She yanked open cabinets. Designer skincare, bio hacking nutraceuticals, vials of a strange, silvery gel labeled Dominion. The stimulant the original Kaelen used to mimic a Dominant Alpha's pheromones.
Finally, her fingers closed around a small, medical grade cooler box tucked behind everything else. The label was chillingly simple: Vesper Suppressants Formula X.
She snatched an applicator and stumbled back into the main room. Sera watched her approach, her eyes wide pools of betrayal and fear. She tried to shrink away, a low, terrified whine escaping her lips.
"Wait, stop… I'm not " Kaelen's voice was hoarse, unfamiliar. "This will counteract it. Please."
She approached as one would a wounded animal, movements slow and deliberate. Sera was too weak, too ravaged by the forced biological response to fight. Kaelen gently pressed the applicator to the unmarred skin of Sera's neck. There was a soft hiss. Sera shuddered, a full body convulsion, and then slowly, the terrible tension in her frame began to ease. The fog of artificial heat in the air began to recede, replaced by the faint, natural scent of rain soaked jasmine Sera's true scent, buried under the chemical assault.
As Sera's breathing evened out, Kaelen's smart lenses, ever analytical, highlighted an anomaly in the room's stark aesthetics. A small, traditional wooden picture frame tucked behind the brutalist sculpture on a shelf. A relic.
It was a photo of Sera, smiling softly, her arms wrapped around a little girl with the same striking blue eyes. Iris. The name surfaced from her novel knowledge. Sera's niece, her dead twin sister's daughter. A secret the Blackwoods could never, ever discover. Sera's entire reason for enduring this hell.
The facade of the cold, modern penthouse cracked, revealing the fragile life clinging on within it.
A soft chime echoed in the room. A holographic alert popped up in Kaelen's periphery: Nursery Cam 1 Motion Detected.
A hidden door to a servant's passage slid open with a whisper. A small face peeked out, pale and frightened, clutching a teddy bear that glowed with a soft, calming light.
Iris.
The child's eyes darted from her trembling aunt to Kaelen, and fear etched itself deeper into her features. The old Kaelen would have snarled, would have triggered the sound dampening fields to max and screamed until the child fled.
The new Kaelen felt another warning throb of pain behind her eyes. She forced her features into what she hoped was a passable imitation of softness. "Hey," she said, her voice uncomfortably quiet in the vast space. "It's okay. Your mom's just not feeling well. The doctor is coming." She lied smoothly, the words feeling like ash in her mouth. "Go back to bed."
The confusion on Sera's sweat sheened face was absolute. It was a look more unnerving than hatred. It was the confusion of a world order suddenly, inexplicably, shifting.
Without another word, Kaelen turned and retreated into the master suite, the door sighing shut behind her. The room was a monument to cold luxury. In the center stood a bed like a slab of obsidian. On the wall was a smart mirror, its surface currently dark.
"Mirror. Status," she commanded, her voice flat.
The mirror glowed to life. It didn't show her reflection, not at first. It displayed biometric data.
Pheromone Output: Dropping. Dominion levels: Critical. Recessive traits emerging. Recommend application.
Then the data faded, and she was left staring at the monster. A young woman with sharp, elegant features, pale skin, and eyes of a frost grey that seemed to hold a universe of borrowed guilt. This was her face. This was the villain.
Her hand shook as she picked up a dispenser of the silvery Dominion gel. She squeezed a dollop onto her wrist. It was cold, and as she rubbed it into her glands, a wave of artificial confidence and power washed over her, a chemical lie that smoothed her features and straightened her spine. The reflection became the heir her father demanded.
A chime sounded from her wrist device. An encrypted message, sender ID: Cassian.
The words glowed in the air, a venomous stream of text.
Father tells me you're finally taking out the Vesper trash. Don't forget, she owes us a mother. Make it hurt.
The words were a shackle. The gel on her wrist was a mask. The woman in the other room was her sin. And the System in her eyes was her jailer.
She was trapped in a gilded cage of someone else's design, and the only way out was to play a monster so well, she might just forget she was ever anything else.