The Wicked Stepmother

Asahin leaned back on his elbows and looked around. The house was silent. Empty. A wave of relief washed over him—Kaylen was gone. He wasn't sure if he could have looked him in the eyes after that dream. His pulse still thrummed from it, his body strangely restless, a dull ache lingering in his chest.

He pushed himself up and made his way to the kitchen. On the table, a small note lay beneath two keys. Underneath the table, three shopping bags sat neatly. Curious, Asahin picked up the note.

"There's food in the fridge. Clothes and a new phone under the table. Lock up and keep the keys for the future. —Kaylen."

A soft puff of laughter escaped him. Kaylen was as concise with his words as ever. No warmth, no unnecessary elaboration—just straight to the point. It was almost amusing.

Asahin crouched, pulling out a pair of jeans, a deep purple T-shirt, and sneakers from the bags. The final item—a sleek, brand-new phone—had already been set up. His gaze flickered over the single contact saved under "M."

Morrison? He frowned. Perhaps Kaylen had done it to prevent suspicion if Darrien happened to see it. But wouldn't Darrien already know Kaylen's number? Maybe Kaylen had another number—one Darrien wasn't aware of.

Shrugging off the thought, Asahin gathered his things and made his way upstairs. His muscles ached, a dull reminder of his frail condition. When he had glanced at the phone earlier, he saw that it was already past three in the afternoon. Had he really slept for sixteen hours straight? Maybe, it shouldn't have been that surprising. He had been constantly sleep deprived in his previous life so, perhaps he was catching up on his rest.

After a long, hot shower, he dressed in the new clothes. They fit perfectly, which was unsettling in a way—how did Kaylen know his size so well? He brushed the thought aside and headed downstairs. He had a quick but hearty meal of scrambled eggs with bacon, and coffee later, he washed his dishes, wiped the counter, and was about to leave when something made him pause.

On impulse, he grabbed a pen from Kaylen's office, returned to the kitchen, and scribbled on the back of Kaylen's note:

"Ate. Got dressed. Grabbed phone and keys. —Asahin."

He stared at his own handwriting, a small chuckle escaping his lips. It was ridiculous, mirroring Kaylen's own blunt style. But he imagined the expression Kaylen might make when he saw it, and the thought amused him.

Stepping out onto the street, he debated walking home but quickly dismissed the idea. His body wasn't in the best condition, no matter how much sleep he had gotten. Instead, he hailed a taxi, sliding into the back seat. As the vehicle rumbled forward, he pulled out his phone and began saving contacts—his nanny, Evan. That made three now. More than he'd had in his old phone. His eyes landed on Kaylen's number again, and for some reason, he smiled.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Shaking his head, he changed the saved contact name to "Food Guy."

A quiet laugh escaped him. He wondered what Kaylen's reaction would be if he saw it.

By the time he arrived home, the sun was dipping below the horizon. Exhaustion crept up on him again as he collapsed onto his bed. This body was weak—frustratingly so. He needed a plan to build up some endurance, even if it was just a little. He couldn't do anything about his pheromones, but at least he could strengthen himself physically.

From the fragmented memories of this body's former self, he knew that every Friday, he received an injection to help with his "condition." Even with damaged pheromone glands, treatments existed to manage the side effects.

What he hadn't realized until now was just how much pheromone glands influenced the body. They weren't just about attraction and hierarchy—they affected emotions, memory, even motor skills. The stronger the alpha or omega, the greater the impact. Damaged glands could be fatal, especially for a first-class alpha or omega. Laws protected them, ensuring their safety. Severe damage to their glands could result in a life sentence for the perpetrator—or even the death penalty.

Asahin exhaled slowly. He supposed it wasn't an exaggeration. If a third-class omega like him suffered this much, he couldn't imagine what it would be like for someone stronger. At least the doctors had managed to avoid completely removing his glands. If they had… he shuddered. He might have been left paralyzed or mentally incapacitated.

A sudden noise snapped him from his thoughts. His bedroom door slammed open. Darrien stormed in, his stepmother, Tarya, close behind.

"Where have you been?" Darrien's voice was sharp, his blue eyes burning with rage.

Asahin stared. He was supposed to be the most beautiful omega in the novel, but right now, he looked utterly monstrous. If only others could see him like this.

"Why should I tell you?" Asahin scoffed, pushing himself up.

Their reactions were immediate—shock, disbelief. Tarya's face twisted into a scowl before she strode forward and seized his arm, her grip like iron.

"Listen here, boy," she hissed, "I told you to live as if you were dead. Yet here you are, drenched in Kaylen's pheromones." Her fingers dug into his skin. "What did you do?"

Asahin's breath hitched. He smelled like Kaylen's pheromones? He hadn't noticed—of course, he couldn't. But for someone to be this overwhelmed by another's scent, it would have to be intentional. Had Kaylen truly drenched him in his pheromones? What was he thinking!?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Asahin said, feigning ignorance. He jerked his arm, trying to free himself. "And let go of me."

Tarya's lips curled into a wicked smile. "You don't know? Well, maybe we can help you remember."

Two tall figures entered the room, dressed in black suits. Valmoor estate guards. Asahin barely had time to react before agony crashed into him like a wave.

He crumpled to the floor, his body convulsing. His mind was a chaotic mess, his nerves screaming in protest. He gasped, curling in on himself as his stomach churned violently.

Hands seized him roughly. He was dragged forward, his legs useless, his vision blurred by pain.

"Take him to the basement," Tarya ordered coldly. "And if he resists, drown him in more pheromones."

The stone floor was icy against his skin as he was thrown down like garbage. His head spun, nausea rolling over him in relentless waves. His breathing was ragged, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Damn you, Kaylen! But wait...

Why hadn't Kaylen's pheromones made him sick like this? If he had been drenched in them, shouldn't he have reacted the same way? But he had felt… fine. Better than fine, actually. His body had felt stronger, clearer. The best he had felt since waking in this wretched world.

Something wasn't right.

And why were Darrien and Tarya so obsessed with keeping him away from Kaylen? It wasn't as if Kaylen cared about him. Wasn't it enough that Darrien would inherit a big chunk of the Valmoor fortune and marry the Morrison heir? What threat did a defective omega pose?

Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden. He didn't want to cry, but his body gave him no choice. Everything was out of his control.

He lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wishing for unconsciousness. Anything to escape the agony eating away at his body and mind.