Chapter 11
871words
The screen flashed with the last name she wanted to see—Damian Blackwood.
She frowned, tempted to ignore it, but Alan mouthed "answer it," an intrigued smile playing in his eyes like a hunter spotting prey.
Genevieve connected the call. Damian's voice immediately erupted from the crystal: "Genevieve! You damned Omega! Come back and apologize to me right now!"
His voice carried all the intimidation of a dominant Alpha—something that once would have made her tremble. But now, wrapped in Alan's embrace, she was surrounded by a stronger, steadier presence, like an ancient forest sheltering her completely. Through this protective barrier, Damian's threats seemed as ridiculous as a clown's tantrum.
Alan rested his chin on her head, releasing more intense yet soothing pheromones that brushed against her neck. The sensation was so pleasant that Genevieve couldn't help but let out a soft, satisfied hum.
Though barely audible, the sound carried perfectly through the crystal.
Damian fell silent.
"…You," his voice returned after several seconds, dangerous and suspicious, "what are you doing? Who's there with you?!"
Genevieve felt Alan's silent encouragement and any lingering fear vanished. She suddenly realized how enjoyable it was to provoke the Alpha who had once terrified her.
She deliberately adopted a playful tone, speaking slowly and leisurely:
"Damian, I'm confused. An Alpha getting possessive over a contracted healer whose services were simply… purchased? Don't you find that… a bit strange?"
"What nonsense are you spouting!" Damian snapped, as if she'd struck a nerve.
"Oh?" Genevieve chuckled, twisting the knife deeper. "Then why so angry? Surely you haven't developed feelings for me—an Omega you called a 'replica' and a 'tool'?"
A tremendous crash came through the crystal—something expensive shattering against a wall. Damian roared incoherently, his words dissolving into primitive threats and raw fury.
Alan gazed at Genevieve, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of her first successful counterattack, and smiled indulgently. He reached for the buzzing crystal in her hand.
First, he leaned down and asked softly: "Do you have anything important still at his place?"
Genevieve shook her head. She'd packed everything when she'd decided to leave.
"Good." Alan nodded.
Then, using his mental power, he channeled a cold, powerful Alpha pheromone—heavy and undeniable as an ancient glacier—through the communication crystal.
The roaring instantly choked off, replaced by suppressed, heavy breathing, as if someone were being strangled.
"A rejected Alpha who couldn't even keep his destined mate," Alan's quiet voice dripped with contempt and icy mockery, each word stabbing into Damian's tattered ego. "What right do you have to yell at my Omega?"
He didn't wait for a response.
With a sharp crack, the expensive crystal shattered to dust in his hand.
Silence fell.
Genevieve stared at him, watching the glowing particles trickle through his fingers.
"You…"
She'd barely spoken when Alan silenced her with a possessive kiss. Unlike his previous gentle touches, this kiss carried an Alpha's undeniable claim—commanding and profound, yet tinged with tender reassurance.
Only when she was breathless did he pull back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his warm eyes reflecting only her.
"Now," he whispered, his voice husky against her ear, "I am your Alpha."
That night, Genevieve didn't return to her empty apartment. Alan took her directly to his manor.
When the master bedroom door swung open, Genevieve froze in amazement.
He'd created a "nest" just for her. The room featured her favorite colors—serene moon-white and silver-gray. Plush carpet covered the floor, deep enough for her toes to sink into. By the bedside stood several Star Velvet Grass plants—rare flora from the Forsaken Lands that released a calming scent.
Most importantly, Alan's powerful yet gentle pheromones permeated the space—not domineering, but protective, like the warmest blanket wrapping around her soul.
This place felt safer than any refuge she'd ever purchased with her wealth.
For the first time in her life, she had a true home.
During their most intimate moment, with their pheromones thoroughly intertwined, Alan retrieved an ancient dragon-skin scroll from the bedside magical cabinet.
As it unfurled, dense clauses in ancient elven script covered its surface, radiating powerful magic. This was a "magical blood contract for family property sharing" witnessed by the highest gods—binding both parties to share all property, power, and glory until death.
This was the most sacred contract ancient Alpha families reserved only for establishing a sole mate—a future mistress of the house.
Alan offered her the scroll and an enchanted silver needle.
Genevieve didn't bother reading the empire-shocking clauses.
She simply gazed into Alan's tender, loving eyes. Without hesitation, she pricked her fingertip with the silver needle and let a bright drop of blood fall onto the signature line.
As her blood merged with the parchment, the contract erupted in brilliant golden light. A magical mark of eternity briefly appeared on both their hands before fading beneath the skin.
The bond was sealed.
"You didn't even read it?" Alan's voice was husky with emotion.
"No need." Genevieve kissed his chin, surrendering herself completely. "I trust my Alpha."
Alan held her tighter, whispering his solemn vow:
"And I will never betray that trust."
