The air in his dressing room was thick with the scent of his own desperate longing—a cloying, sweet perfume of gardenia and heat that he poured from his very pores. It was a scent designed to beg, to allure, to scream his availability directly to the one person who mattered. His alpha. Perfection, truly. At least, that’s what his omega side purred, a constant, possessive mantra in his mind.

But there was a thorn in this perfect rose, a single, glaring flaw in their destined love story. Her. That simpering, blonde bitch who had the audacity to hang off his alpha’s arm, playing at being the rightful omega. The sight of her, tucked against his alpha’s side, made his vision tinge with a green, vicious haze. Luckily, they weren’t bonded. There was no claiming bite on that hussy’s neck, a fact his omega side took as a divine sign. His alpha was waiting. She was just biding her time, instinctively knowing that a prize like him was worth the wait.

And he was done waiting. A plan, cold and sharp, was already crystallizing in his mind. A few planted rumors, some false evidence slipped into the right hands… it wouldn’t take much to shatter that porcelain doll’s reputation and send her packing. This was a catfight, and he was prepared to be the only cat left standing.

For now, though, he employed sweeter weapons. He charmed his alpha with a relentless, focused campaign. Gifts appeared on her desk—a silk scarf the color of her eyes, a rare record he knew she’d love. He ensured every hair was in place, every stitch of clothing hugged his form just so, a walking, talking advertisement for everything an omega should be. And the scent… he amped it up, sending waves of needy, wanting pheromones straight toward her, a silent, potent signal that he wanted her, and he wanted her bad.

Most tellingly, he took every opportunity to touch her. A lingering hand on her arm as he passed, a brush of his body against hers in a crowded hallway, always subtly rubbing his scent into the fabric of her jacket, marking her as his territory. And she… she never denied him. She allowed the touches, sometimes even leaning into them. It was all the confirmation he needed. The other girl was just clutter, an obstacle his alpha was too polite to remove herself.

Now, they were in his dressing room, the door shut on the world. The mirrors reflected the intimate scene: him, preening and pouring under the lights, and her, a powerful, calm presence just watching him. He caught her eye in the glass, letting a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. The words left him in a honeyed drawl, laced with a promise of the drama to come and the devotion that would follow.

“A fella like me just can’t stand seein’ a magnificent creature like you bein’ bothered by flies, darlin’.”