Page 5

Before each assignment, I had to visit headquarters; that was the rule. So, I got in my car and drove to the city center, where the company was located. After waiting in the lobby, I was escorted to Mr. Jun Ragu’s office by his beta assistant. He still personally handled new hires, briefing them on their first official cases before handing them over to coordinators. He was all about double-checking to ensure the service quality was ‘impeccable’.

Mr. Ragu was a middle-aged alpha with a large black beard and a protruding belly. He greeted me with a broad fake smile as soon as he saw me.

"Oh, Storm, I'm glad to see you. I'm actually very pleased that you've accepted this commission. Our company aims to meet all our clients’ needs, even for those with limited resources. We strive to be flexible!" he delivered his usual spiel, and I grimaced. I’d had my fill of these official lines.

Though I was grateful, he didn’t mention Johansson and focused on the current assignment.

We took our seats, and he leaned back in his large leather chair, still grinning.

"So, are you excited? First time with a scenario like this, right? Here’s a detailed script." He handed me some papers, double-checking as usual to make sure I had the right folder.

In the system, the scenarios only covered the act itself, with no mention of personal details such as the address, the layout of the apartment, how to access his bedroom. Mr. Ragu always provided that information in person.

"It’s a simple scenario; you won’t have to exert yourself too much. He lives in a tiny studio near the East Coastline Campus, where he’s majoring in computer science. A harmless kid, terribly shy. Honestly, when he came to us, I was surprised he even wanted to hire services like ours. Desperation? Who knows. But our policy is not to judge our clients, so I didn’t ask his reasons!"

"Yeah, well, it’s an unusual case," I replied, wincing a little at Mr. Ragu's chubby, stubbornly grinning face.

He ignored my remark and continued, "The student lives on the first floor; the window should be left slightly open. You’ll be able to sneak into the kitchen and go straight to his bedroom. He’ll resist a bit, but you’ll handle it. At the beginning, he wants to feel overpowered, helpless, to sense your strength."

Mr. Ragu pointed to the papers I held. "So a bit of wrestling on the bed won’t hurt, pressing him down with your body weight. Then he wants to be tied up—just hands, symbolically. He doesn’t want to see your face, so you’ll wear a ski mask. And no unrelated conversations; he wants everything scenario-focused." His large beard swayed as he talked.

Then he leaned in low and murmured, "Though, I’ve sometimes considered offering clients normal conversations—like in a therapist’s office. Some people just need a person to listen, maybe even hold their hand."

As he rambled on with ideas, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Mr. Ragu always loved his side tangents, relishing the sound of his own voice. But he was my boss, so I just sighed.

Abruptly, he returned to the case. I looked up, meeting his gaze, bringing my focus back.

"This is your first job involving sex, Storm. Are you ready?" He bent forward, staring almost accusatorily.

I scoffed. "He’s a young omega; I shouldn’t have any problems."

"Any questions?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I know how to have sex," I replied mockingly.

"Don’t doubt it, but do you know all our rules? The safe word for this kid is ‘Rose’. When he says it, you stop immediately, no matter how into it you are."

What the hell?

"That’s a given! These are consensual scenarios, not a real assault."

I felt insulted that he would even explain it to me at all. I could bet he didn't tell it to anyone but me, all because of my 'rapist’ slash ‘criminal' past. The fucker.

Mr. Ragu nodded, pursing his lips. "He wants this to happen within the week, so we’re already four days in. Only three left. I’m not sure why he’s in such a hurry; maybe he’s going somewhere? I didn’t ask. Just try to do it tonight or tomorrow at the latest. Then you will meet Johansson, your loyal fan."

I tried to keep my face indifferent, but it wasn’t easy.

"I'll try to do it tonight. $1000 is not exactly the dream price, especially with my bills piling up, but I'll do it."

Mr. Ragu scratched his beard, smirking and tilting his head. "You’re just too slow picking assignments! But don’t worry, Johansson will repair your budget—substantially!"

Oh, could you just stop, jerk? I could tell him what I thought about it, but then I’d have to start looking for new employment.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Mr. Ragu added in a lower tone, "I wanted to ask you something else, about your previous job for my husband. You were an aspiring matchmaker, right, Storm? With some good achievements."

Wait. I flinched. A glitch in the matrix? What did he say? We never— ever —talked about my previous job for his husband. He’d always seemed to completely ignore my past, so why the change? Quite a twist in the conversation.

"Yes, I worked for Mr. Ren as a client assistant. At first, I was just… well, assisting, but in the last three months, I handled matches myself. I also helped finalize and enforce deals for clients since I graduated from law school, specializing in marriage and divorce laws." I lifted my chin with pride. Maybe I was a pathetic ‘assaulter specialist’ now, but it hadn’t always been this way. Once, I had a more… reasonable career.

Mr. Ragu scratched his beard, a strange flicker in his eyes as he smirked slightly. "Did you know my husband has big plans for Fate’s Choice?"

"Well, it’s already flourishing. Your husband’s matchmaking agency runs the biggest marriage contract fairs in the city."

Mr. Ragu preened a bit, shifting like a hen on a perch. "Yes, yes, we are a formidable presence in the market, and we've been drawing a lot of attention lately. But… well, before we go even bigger, we need to wrap up some old business that could potentially drag us down, reputation-wise. There are some loose ends. We, uh—" He cleared his throat, hesitating. "We made a lot of promises to attract clients and outshine other agencies."

I noticed he’d switched to ‘we’ while talking about his husband’s business. He must have been heavily involved in it too.

"Of course, being on the market for only a few years, you have to make a real effort to stand out," I murmured, trying to nudge him to spill whatever he intended to say.

He relaxed a little. "Exactly, exactly. Most of our clients believe we’ll secure them an ideal match—a marriage contract with the right person, fantastic terms, in a short time. But deadlines are approaching fast for some clients, and we’ve got nothing for them. The situation’s getting tense, and the penalties we could face are in the millions."

Millions? Wow. I stared at him.

He stared back, and for a moment, we just locked eyes.

"Half a year ago, we hit a bit of a plateau. To get things moving, we ran an ad campaign with a… limited-time offer. Just a day or two, but quite a few people were enticed by the promises we made."

Half a year ago? That was soon after I was dismissed from Fate’s Choice.

"What were the promises?" I asked, suddenly unsure where this was heading.

"I’ll leave the details for my husband to explain. But just to give you a heads-up, we’re hoping someone with a… unique perspective can go through our candidate pool, maybe spot suitable matches, you know, with a fresh eye?" He mumbled, glancing aside. "There are some interesting individuals. We have a former surrogate, a quadruple murderer, a former escort, an eco-terrorist, and so on…"

This was all too strange. "But I was fired from Fate’s Choice because of my criminal case. Why would you risk bringing a criminal … back in such a sensitive situation?" I emphasized the word in a self-torturing tone.

Mr. Ragu grinned—too wide. "Water under the bridge, Mr. Nolan! Let’s not dwell on the past, shall we?"

I glared at him in disbelief, and the fucker giggled, looking a little sheepish. Before, my case had seemed like a big deal. A major threat to their fragile reputation! A disgusting criminal … Now?

Look who came crawling back.

"My husband would appreciate it if you’d check those cases… just a few that have lingered in the system. Only our most challenging clients."

I scrutinized him for a long moment, feeling a strange thrill.

Well… why the hell not? Could this be my chance to regain what I’d lost? My way out of Johansson’s… ass? Out of this Dark Dreams, out of my depression? If they wanted me, despite the stain on my reputation, should I even hesitate?

"Would that be a one-time thing? Or am I back in my old job?"

Mr. Ragu was clearly flustered; he avoided my gaze, looking at his hands, then at the window, and finally at the wall.

"It all depends on how effective you will be," he muttered evasively.

Aha, gotcha. This had to be some kind of test. If I pulled it off, there was a chance; if not… well, maybe the past wasn’t as forgiven as he made it sound. Water under the bridge? Unlikely.

"Set me up with your husband, and we’ll see what I can do for him," I said firmly. I decided to at least try, and I had some solid reasons to believe I could actually help.

Mr. Ragu lit up, quickly gathering the sheets spread out in front of him and handing them to me.

"Yes! Yes! Great! We appreciate it! Now! Back to business!"

His hands trembled slightly. Was it really such a big deal for them? Were they in deep shit? Maybe I could use it even more? Something else—something serious—had to be going on if they were in such a hurry to close these cases.

"Here are the details for our client, who has quite a demonic name for a little 5’7" student." He giggled again, sounding as silly as usual, but there was a lingering tension beneath it.

Mr. Ragu pushed the STD test results toward me—clients were also required to take them—but I ignored it and snapped my head up. What did he say?

"A demonic name?"

Mr. Ragu waved his hand. "Ah, nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it, I was just thinking out loud."

But I was like a dog with a bone. "No, you have to tell me. What do you mean by a demonic name?"

He snorted. "It’s really nothing. You don’t need to know this client’s name. It’s a private setting, and you’re a home invader—"

"Please, I need to know. Why did you say it was demonic?"

Mr. Ragu eyed me. "I have this passion for watching old, thousand-year-old movies. One of them had somebody like… a demon kid or something, and this student has the same name."

"Is it Damien?!"

Mr. Ragu chuckled. "Oh, so you also like old movies?"

I blinked in shock.

How the hell did I guess his real name?!

For a moment, I was just stupefied, but after a few frantic thoughts, I decided it was just my alien intuition. Yeah. It had to be. I could guess people’s perfect mates, for fuck’s sake! Why not guess a person’s name after staring at him for hours? I could see that happening, easily. There was probably nothing more to it, right?

I relaxed a bit and leaned back in the chair. "Yeah, I am. Sorry for asking, it was just… interesting. An intriguing name. But let’s continue."

Mr. Ragu also relaxed and smiled, helping me with the folder to put in the documents.

The sheets held all the information I needed, including the address and details for the scenario, so I took them and stood up.

"We’ll be in touch!" Mr. Ragu said, winking. "When you’re done with this assignment, I’ll set up a date for you to meet with my husband, okay?"

I hesitated, wondering if I should ask about potentially being taken off the Johansson thing, but I concluded he wasn’t the right person to discuss it with. Mr. Ren Ragu would have much more authority to free me if I gave him something he really wanted.

So, with an official smile, I just gave a short nod.

I drove home in a bit of a daze, my mind spinning. Mr. Ragu’s proposition intrigued me. The man was clearly desperate—worried about hefty fines if he didn’t meet the terms of the contracts. And this ‘big thing’ happening soon? Maybe they needed funds for an investment and were scared penalties would swallow their reserves? That was my suspicion, but of course, I couldn’t be sure.

In theory, it wasn’t my problem, but… if I pulled off whatever he needed, maybe it would be my way out of this mess. My secret talent—my sixth sense—I could use it if things lined up just right!

Smiling to myself, I drove home as night settled in.

According to Mr. Ragu’s text, the client had already been notified that we’d accepted his commission. They never knew the exact moment things would happen—that would kill the vibe. Usually, they got a vague timeframe of three days to a week, keeping them on edge and stretching out the thrill. This client had only three days left. Normally, I wouldn’t consider doing it on the first day, but with the window closing fast, I’d have to move quicker than usual.

Traffic slowed me down, so it was already late when I got home. I tossed the folder on the bed, lay down, and started thinking through a few scenarios I could use with the student. As usual, I checked his picture—it had become a daily habit—brainstorming something creative and believable that he’d find satisfying.

And once again, the trap was activated: his photo caught me.

He was such an interesting-looking omega. Amaranth-red hair, almost pinkish, and fair skin. Maybe I could work that into the scenario? Compliment him on the sensitive skin common to redheads. He had freckles across his nose—maybe elsewhere too. Personally, I had a soft spot for freckles; they reminded me of tiny sunspots. His face wasn’t classically handsome, but for some reason… well, he was almost cute. His full lips, and even the braces peeking between them, added to his nerdy appeal. Sure, his skin could use some acne treatment, but his features weren’t half bad—at least in my eyes. Without these thick glasses and with a smoother complexion, he could even be pretty, birthmark or no birthmark!

Besides, I was so over the ‘perfect ten’ types, like Tom, who embodied omegan beauty standards to an annoying degree. I’d fallen hard for that once, totally blindsided. Never again.

Damien.

So that was his real name! A computer science student, probably surrounded by a sea of betas and omegas all day—alphas rarely went into programming. Except, of course, for my peculiar family. Three of my brothers and a cousin were programmers. The rest? Musicians. And me? Definitely even more the odd one out.

I wondered if people stared at Damien’s birthmark, a nearly perfect rose shape on his cheek. It wasn’t ugly at all, honestly. Strange, that I had a similar mark on the back of my head, so it felt like a hidden kinship—a bizarre secret connection. One twist in my DNA, and I could’ve ended up with it on my face, too. That thought made me look at him with a bit of empathy. Life’s luck hadn’t been on his side there.

We had other similarities, too—like hair color. Mine was a mix of dark purple and deep burgundy, part of my alien heritage, but people often assumed I dyed it. Nope, it was au naturel. Were Damien’s light amaranth-red curls real, or was he hitting the dye?

Behind his glasses, his eyes seemed an indistinct color—maybe dark gray or hazel. The photo had a slight yellowish sepia tint, making it impossible to see the true hue. His straight red lashes, more like cow lashes, didn’t have that flirty upward curve. Instead, they drooped down, giving him a perpetually sad look.

To my surprise, there was yet another photo in the extras file folder—a candid shot of Damien leaning awkwardly against a tree, as if the picture had been snapped at the last second. His hair was a little tousled, his eyes startled. He wore a thick, oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, so his shape was hard to make out. He might’ve been a bit chubby, not obese—just soft and round in certain places—but the hoodie hid most of it.

From a distance, he was just another computer science student with red-pink curls and thick glasses, someone who probably blended into the background. But I still had some time, so I stayed trapped —staring at the omega’s hypnotizing face.

Finally, I forced myself to look at the sheet again.

Okay, so he wanted to start with doggie style—the so-called ‘breeding position’, instinctive for omegas during heats. But here was the weird part: he specifically requested that it be gentle, with plenty of prep beforehand—nothing rough.

That was unusual. Most of Dark Dreams’ clients were all about the intense stuff. But, to be fair, it was his first contract with the company, and sometimes people were skittish at the beginning. Maybe he just wasn’t very experienced and wanted to ease into it, opting for a more relaxed atmosphere during sex.

Truth be told, I wasn’t a fan of rough sex myself. My private life in the bedroom was vanilla as hell. That was one of the issues Tom had with our marriage—he was into some kinks, and I seemed boring to him in the long run. Kind of ironic, considering the kind of job I’d ended up in.

My attention drifted back to the photo folder.

Seriously, Storm? Not again. Fuck.

And yep, I got enthralled by his photo again. Crazy. What was so special about him? I was pretty sure that 90% of the alphas wouldn't even notice him. And the rest would think amaranth hair was a poor choice of dye.

Why did I become so obsessed with the guy?

Minutes passed. I stubbornly studied his full lips, those sad eyes, and that funny rose-shaped birthmark. And I felt a strange wave inside me. I’d experienced something like this before while working on matchmaking—something almost ominous and powerful.

Could it be…? Nah.

Then came another wave—this one more familiar: a good old warmth in the crotch area.

Today, I’m going to fuck him, I thought. My hand absentmindedly touched my hardening dick.

Well, one thing was for sure: I wouldn’t need the erection pill they recommended for employees. The company always insisted on using it to ensure a top-notch experience for the client, but this? This was all me. I could already feel an intense kind of excitement spreading through my body at the thought of having that little 5’7" omega under me—such a stark contrast to my 7’2" frame. A small, plump omega with red curls.

For the last seven months, since I split up with Tom, I've been very… asexual, the idea of casual sex wasn't appealing at all, and looking for a serious relationship wasn't much on my depressed mind.

But today, for some reason, I felt different. My hand slipped to my crotch again. Damn.

Should I stop? Maybe it was good to show up a little heated—it’d guarantee the success of my first fuck job at Dark Dreams.