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I slipped into my office and quietly closed the door, finally letting my shoulders drop now that Xavier Fairchild was out of sight. Sure, my office wasn't nearly as impressive as his, with no breathtaking city views or that intimidatingly sleek desk, but it had its own charm. It was pretty spacious by regular standards, with warm, neutral walls, a large desk cluttered with neatly organized files, and two monitors coming to life with soft hums.
A tall bookshelf stood at the back, crammed with binders, planners, and reference manuals I'd collected over the years. A small couch was tucked against one wall, perfect for those long nights or quick naps, and a little plant by the window was valiantly trying to survive my hit-or-miss care.
This was my little haven...practical, efficient, and, dare I say, comforting.
I dropped into my chair and immediately winced as it pressed against sore muscles, a reminder of what Rowan had put me through the night before.
Shit, my asshole was throbbing like crazy!
I shifted around, grimacing as a dull ache reminded me that Rowan definitely knew what he was doing and had probably intended to leave me wrecked before disappearing off across continents with those good looks.
I let out a sigh and rolled my shoulders, booting up my computer, trying to shake off the soreness that seemed to seep deep into my bones.
Un-fucking-believable.
As my inbox flooded with unread emails, calendar notifications, and reminders, I couldn't help but think about the silver lining of Rowan's six-month tour. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he was leaving for a while. Perhaps some distance would help me regain my self-control, or at least stop making decisions that could jeopardize my job and stability.
That would definitely be nice.
Mr. Fairchild had been unusually generous today—more than he really needed to be, and I wasn't naïve enough to overlook that. If any other employee had pulled the stunts I had recently, they'd be cleaning out their desks while HR flashed sympathetic smiles and escorted them out. The fact that I was still here, employed and only a little traumatized, was something I really needed to take seriously.
Taking a slow breath, I rubbed my face before sitting up straighter, determination settling in.
I had to step up my game.
I reached into my suitcase and pulled out a small, discreet bottle of suppressants, turning it briefly in my fingers before popping the cap. Without a second thought, I tipped two pills into my palm and swallowed them dry, grimacing a bit at the bitterness.
There was no way I was going to let my pheromones give me away in this place.
Fairchild Innovations was no place for me to accidentally reveal my secondary gender, especially with a boss who had the nose of a bloodhound and zero tolerance for surprises. I tucked the bottle back into my bag, adjusted my tie, and cracked my knuckles lightly, redirecting my focus back to my screen.
Time to get to work.
If I wanted to keep this job and my sanity, I had to show that Theodore Pierce, model personal assistant, was very much alive and definitely not about to be derailed by bad choices, achy ass muscles, or wild impulses.
At least not during work hours.
You see, in this world, omegas weren't exactly welcomed in corporate settings. Yeah, things had improved over time—thankfully, it wasn't anything like the old days when omegas were treated like decorative baby-making machines, but just because things were better didn't mean they were fair.
Omegas still found themselves nudged toward lower-level jobs, often overlooked for promotions, and filtered out of hiring opportunities before they even got a chance to show what they could do. It wasn't that there were laws against it, nothing that blatant—but the system was rigged enough for alphas and betas to pull ahead while omegas were left grateful for whatever scraps they were tossed.
I learned that lesson pretty early on in life.
I grew up poor, the kind of poor where dirt gets under your nails and every meal feels like a small victory. My father, Arnold Pierce, was a simple farmer, a hardworking beta with sun-kissed skin and hands worn from years of honest labor. My omega mother, Celeste Pierce stayed at home, sewing clothes for neighbors and managing everything with quiet strength, never complaining even when her back hurt or her fingers were sore. Watching them struggle shaped me in ways I didn't fully grasp as a kid, but I did know one thing for certain—I wanted better for them.
Back then, I dreamed of being an alpha.
In my childish mind, alphas had the good jobs, the respect, the money, and the power to make life easier for those they loved. I pictured myself in a sharp suit, striding into high-rise buildings, handing my parents fat envelopes full of cash, telling them they wouldn't have to worry ever again. A nice dream, really, until fate decided to chuckle in my face and hand me an omega designation instead, it was quite the shock for me and my parents.
Because can you imagine? Omegas were quite rare, but male Omegas were practically endangered species at this point.
My little brother got the Alpha gene from my grandpa instead
, lucky little shit.
Life had its own plans, it seemed.
So I adapted.
I lied.
I took suppressants like they were water, swallowing them day by day, year after year, ignoring the warnings and accepting the side effects like a contract I'd signed with myself. The increase in libido was… less than ideal, but it was a cost I was willing to pay if it meant I could sit at a desk in a place like Fairchild Innovations, pretending to be something society would accept.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers dancing over the keyboard as I replied to emails and reorganized schedules with practiced ease, the rhythm of work grounding me even as my mind wandered.
And then there was him.
Xavier Fairchild, handsome, enigmatic, and perpetually unimpressed was not a man I should have feelings for. Not professionally, not personally, and definitely not emotionally, but that didn't stop my heart from making questionable choices. Somewhere along the way, admiration morphed into something much more dangerous, and I found myself hopelessly, painfully in love with a man who barely tolerated inefficiency and absolutely didn't do feelings.
If I got fired, it wouldn't just be my job I'd lose.
I'd lose access to him.
And I couldn't let that happen.
Gosh, I sounded like some yandere creep.
Meh, whatever.
So I sighed, straightened my back, and focused even harder on my work, pretending my heart wasn't doing flips and my future didn't feel like it was teetering on a very thin, very unforgiving line.