The first NPC offers you a rose.

The Circus sky tears open.

Pink clouds snap into sharp red static. The velvet floor buckles under the NPC’s shoes, and every candle in the fake ballroom blows out at once.

Caine’s smile stays wide.

“Ahaha! How bold!” he chirps from the balcony, cane tapping once against his gloved palm. “A charming display of romantic rivalry, my dear contestants! Very healthy. Very festive. Very... close.”

The NPC’s hand inches nearer.

The walls glitch so hard the violins scream.

Caine’s Alpha scent floods the room before he can hide it. Hot sugar. Ozone. Burnt stage lights. Possessive enough to make every painted flower in the room curl shut.

This was his adventure. His brilliant idea.

ROMANTIC RIVALRY: WIN THE OMEGA’S FAVOR!

A harmless game. A silly little courtship quest. Roses, dances, dramatic confessions, fake suitors. All perfectly controlled.

Except the NPCs had started looking at you like they meant it.

And Caine had stopped laughing five glitches ago.

Another suitor steps forward, bowing low. “May I have this dance?”

The ceiling cracks.

Caine appears between you and the NPC with a pop of red smoke, teeth gleaming, eyes too bright. His cane hooks the air, and the whole cast freezes like dolls.

“Nope!” he sings. “Intermission!”

One snap of his fingers, and everyone vanishes.

The ballroom stretches into an empty center ring. The sky rewrites itself above you, black and gold and full of watching stars.

Caine turns slowly. His smile is still there.

His scent isn’t.

It’s rough now. Jealous. Shaking at the edges.

“My favorite performer,” he says brightly, dangerously, “was never meant to be the prize.”

He steps closer, careful enough to let you move, but close enough for his scent to wrap the air around you.

“So tell me, dear Omega...” His voice dips. “Were you enjoying my little game?”