Page 75 of The Drama King
"November 15th," I continued, stopping close enough that he could smell my Alpha scent. "Security footage shows you entering Vespera's building during her heat, remaining for hours, emerging aroused. The evidence writes itself."
"That's not what happened," he whispered, pressing back against the wall.
"Isn't it?" I placed one hand against the wall beside his head, effectively caging him. "A lonely male Omega, using wealth and pharmaceutical access to gain intimate contact with desperate females during their most vulnerable states?"
I could smell his distress spiking, could see his breathing quicken as the implications sank in.
"But here's the real leverage," I said softly. "What would happen if investigators learned about your sexual relationship with me? About how you've been compromised by the very Alpha you claim to protect students from?"
The color drained from his face completely as understanding hit.
"The lighting booth," I said, moving closer until barely inches separated us. "How desperate you were. How you trembled when I touched you. The way you arched beneath me, begging so prettily despite all your progressive politics."
His breathing hitched, pupils dilating as the memory crashed over him. I could smell his body's involuntary response—thetreacherous biology that would always remember what his mind tried to forget.
"The way you cried out when I knotted you," I continued, my voice a low rumble against his ear. "How tight you were. How perfectly you fit around me while your artificial scent drove us both wild."
His legs gave out, but I caught him, pressing him firmly against the wall with my body. The full-contact intimacy sent a violent shudder through him—part terror, part unwilling arousal at being caged by the Alpha who had claimed him so thoroughly.
"That's the story they'll hear," I murmured, my mouth close enough to his throat that he could feel my breath. "How you traded your body for pharmaceutical access. How you spread your legs for the very Alpha you claim to protect other Omegas from. How you came apart on my knot while planning to help her resist everything you'd just surrendered to."
I released him, stepping back to pull the medical leave document from my jacket. "Sign this, and none of what we've discussed becomes public. Refuse, and I implement everything I just described—the investigation, the evidence, plus whatever additional materials my family can manufacture."
He stared at the paper, hands shaking too badly to hold it steady. "This isn't justice. This is blackmail."
"This is a choice," I corrected. "Request indefinite medical leave citing family obligations and health concerns, walk away quietly with your reputation intact, and this conversation never happened. Or refuse, and tomorrow morning every administrator receives a comprehensive dossier detailing your systematic exploitation of vulnerable Omega students."
I handed him a pen. "Clean exit with dignity preserved, or complete destruction through every available channel. Your decision, Robbie."
The choice wasn't really a choice at all, and we both knew it. Sign the paper and disappear quietly, or face annihilation through every channel—legal, social, academic, and personal.
His signature was barely legible, hand shaking so violently the ink smeared. But it was legally binding, witnessed by my presence and recorded through campus security cameras I'd positioned myself under deliberately.
"Excellent," I said, taking the document and checking his signature. "You have twenty-four hours to pack and leave campus. Any attempt to contact Omega students, access pharmaceutical supplies, or interfere with ongoing pack activities will result in immediate implementation of the alternative consequences we discussed."
I turned to leave, then paused as if remembering something trivial. "Oh, and Robbie? You might want to consider staying away from theatrical productions in the future. Something about your performance style seems to attract the wrong kind of attention."
The reference to our encounter in the lighting booth—the night I'd used synthetic heat induction to claim him while he carried Vespera's lingering scent—sent him to his knees, dry heaving with psychological trauma that would take years to process.
I walked away without looking back, already mentally composing the text I would send to Dorian:Pharmaceutical supply problem resolved. Target will be isolated within 24 hours.
By tomorrow, Vespera would be stripped of her most crucial defense—her pharmaceutical supplier and the chemical barriers that had allowed her to resist biological imperative. No more military-grade suppressants, no more industrial-grade scent blockers, no more access to the medical resources that had made her heat cycle invisible to us.
Her Beta roommate would still provide emotional support, but Stephanie had no pharmaceutical connections, no access to the controlled substances that had enabled Vespera's resistance. Without Robbie's family resources, she would be forced to rely on standard campus health services—inferior suppressants that stress could easily overwhelm, basic scent blockers that wouldn't fool an Alpha's enhanced senses.
The next time her biology betrayed her, we would scent every moment of it.
Perfect surgical strike, executed with the precision that separated truly effective predators from crude bullies who relied on obvious force. Robbie Gao would disappear from campus within hours, his academic career destroyed, his reputation in ruins, his psychological state too fragmented to pose any future threat to pack operations.
And Vespera would never know exactly how thoroughly her primary defender had been eliminated until it was far too late to matter.
The snow had begun falling again by the time I reached my dormitory, covering the footprints and evidence of the morning's activities in pristine white. Like it had never happened at all.
Except for the broken male Omega who would spend the rest of his life wondering how helping a friend in need had transformed into complete destruction of everything he'd worked to build.
twenty-eight
Dorian