Whenever she looked at him, Johanna’s heart raced, and she felt impossibly small and powerless.
To be sitting here, speaking with the man she had only ever admired from afar… it felt so unreal, she wondered if she was dreaming.
“It was not as difficult to adjust as I thought it would be,” she managed to say.
“Adaptability is a virtue.
I like that.” The corners of his mouth curved into a smooth smile.
The stark contrast between his jet-black hair, which seemed to catch the light with a bluish sheen, and his pale skin gave the expression a strangely decadent quality.
“Why did you apply?”
“Because… I need the money.”
“And?”
“…That is all.”
Even as she said it, she fished a shard of truth from the depths of her consciousness.
Beyond the need to pay her debts… perhaps she had been swayed because the other party was none other than him.
How foolish, when feelings had no place in this contract.
“The contract is for one year,” he stated coolly.
“I require a Dominant Omega who can bear my heir within that time.”
Johanna said nothing.
“As an Omega yourself, Miss Lucerne, you must know it is difficult for an Extreme Dominant Alpha like me to produce offspring.
The chances are only viable if the partner is a Dominant Omega.”
She remained silent, listening.
“You happen to be a Dominant Omega, and Doctor Odeur believes your compatibility with me is quite high… so it is not a bad proposition.” He tossed the papers aside with a grin.
It was a mischievous, almost boyish smile that made him look much younger than his years.
Johanna could not tear her eyes away.
“We will run a few simple tests today, conducted by my physicians.
If no issues are found, we shall consider the contract.” He uncrossed his legs and rose, each movement as fluid and elegant as an actor on a stage.
“I have interviewed four Dominant Omegas so far.
Of them all, Miss Lucerne, you are my preference.”
His voice was so sweet it was intoxicating, and for a moment, she felt utterly mesmerized, as if he were releasing his pheromones.
*
In Alpha and Omega society, a Fata—or Fated Pair—is sometimes called a “mate.” More specifically, a lifelong companion, a destined partner, a one and only match.
“Your compatibility with the Marquis is exceptionally high,” the doctor noted, looking over the results.
“At this level, I would believe you if you were told you were a Fata.”
“…Is it really that high?” Johanna asked.
“Yes.
It is the highest score we have seen among all the candidates.”
It was said that Alphas and Omegas who were Fata felt a destined pull from the moment they met.
Their pheromones were perfectly compatible, and when they mated, they experienced a sense of absolute oneness.
“When you met the Marquis, did you feel anything… unusual?” the doctor inquired.
“A dazed feeling, as if you were drunk?
Or a sense that all your attention was focused solely on him?”
“No… I did not feel anything like that.”
“Hmm, I see.”
Apparently, those were the typical reactions.
Her heart had pounded, and she had been captivated by his voice and smile, but she had never been at risk of losing her reason.
No matter how compatible their pheromones were, they could not be a Fated Pair.
Luck like that was never meant for her.
“There is nothing wrong with your reproductive functions,” the doctor said, her tone clinical.
“You will have no trouble conceiving.
I assume you do not yet know your heat cycle?”
“No, I have not experienced it,” Johanna replied, her voice barely a whisper.
“It is rare for the trait to manifest so late.
I have not seen a case like yours in quite some time, Miss Lucerne.
In any event, with results like these, you will easily surpass the competition and secure the contract.” The doctor’s tone was sharp, yet not sarcastic—it was, strangely, congratulatory.
It was, she supposed, cause for celebration.
Signing this contract meant acquiring a staggering sum of money, enough to alter the course of her life completely.
Where else could a nameless illustrator ever hope to obtain such a fortune?
It was a stroke of luck.
She had to think of it that way.
In her lap, Johanna’s hands tightened their grip on the fabric of her skirt.
“Now then, we have one final test,” the doctor continued.
“It is nothing complicated.”
The final test was a mental health evaluation, which made perfect sense.
The child would resemble not only Marquis Neuwitz but also its mother; a history of mental illness would be a significant liability.
The assessment took roughly forty minutes, and the results showed she was healthy, save for a touch of melancholy.
“It is not severe enough to develop into depression, but you should still try to maintain a positive outlook.
It is better for both you and the baby.”
Johanna remained silent.
She had not even signed the contract, yet the advice, given with the casual assumption that she was the one chosen, felt deeply unsettling.
She concealed her discomfort behind a polite nod.
At least the news was not bad.
When she emerged from the examination room, Victoria was waiting in the corridor.
Johanna met her friend’s gaze as a footman guided her through the mansion, eventually arriving at the same drawing room where she had first met the Marquis.
The footman knocked twice.
A curt command came from within.
“Admit her.”
The door swung open.
Johanna exchanged a final glance with Victoria, who remained in the hall, before stepping inside.
Her nerves stretched taut as she scanned the room.
Leonid Neuwitz was not on the central sofa but was instead seated in an armchair by the window, a pipe held between his lips.
“So, you have come,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the window.
“Yes,” she answered politely, glancing at him before following his line of sight.
There was nothing outside but the sprawling green expanse of the garden.
Johanna looked back at him.
Only then did he turn, exhaling a plume of smoke as he rose slowly to his feet.
A lazy, dismissive smile played on his lips.
“I have seen the test results.
They are satisfactory.
It seems my intuition was correct.”
He spoke with the tone of a man appraising livestock.
His lips smiled, but his eyes were utterly cold.
It was to be expected.
He despised Omegas; he was merely using one to produce an heir.
“We shall sign the contract immediately,” he declared.
“I have no time to waste, and I wish to have this tiresome business concluded as soon as possible.”
Startled by the sudden haste, Johanna’s eyes widened.
She had come here resolved, but she had not anticipated signing the contract this very moment.
A desperate, primal urge to flee surged within her.
“The contract is over there on the table.
Do you see it?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Do you require a lawyer?
I can summon one for you.”
“No…”
“Read it and sign.” He paused.
“Ah, no.
On second thought.”
Just as she reached for the document, he strode toward her.
Her body went rigid.
Trapped in the narrow space between the sofa and the table, she could only stand there, blinking, as the distance between them vanished in an instant.
Scarcely a handspan separated them.
Her heart plummeted, and she drew a sharp, silent breath.
As she stood frozen, he studied her, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
“Release your pheromones.”
“I… what?” she stammered.
“The tests claim our pheromonal compatibility is high, but I must confirm it for myself.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out all thought.
Johanna clenched her jaw, her fists tightening until her knuckles turned white.
“Why are you holding your breath?” he drawled.
“Breathe.”
The command broke her paralysis, and she exhaled a long, shuddering breath that quivered like a violin string.
“Release your pheromones,” he repeated.
“Or shall I go first?”
“N-no…”
A wave of pure terror washed over her.
These were not just any pheromones; they belonged to the man she secretly idolized.
With the feelings she still harbored for him, there was no guarantee she would not completely unravel.
And here, in a formal drawing room… she could not bear the thought of making a fool of herself, especially not before an Alpha who so openly despised Omegas.
The image he would form of an Omega swaying, intoxicated by his scent, was painfully clear.
“Just a moment, I am not ready…”
“I have no time for this.
What preparation is needed to simply release a scent?
It is not as if I am asking you to strip and writhe on the floor.”
He had no intention of indulging her.
His impatience was plain—a raw, irritable desire to be done with this whole affair.
Johanna flinched and stumbled backward, collapsing onto the sofa.
A colossal shadow fell over her, threatening to swallow her whole.
She looked up at him, trembling like a rain-soaked stray, but he did not retreat.
He tilted his head, his gaze boring into her.
Placing one hand on the back of the sofa, he propped a knee on the cushion, caging her.
He leaned forward, his face a blank, indifferent mask as he loomed over her.
Johanna pressed her clasped hands against her solar plexus.
As if mocking her terror, a sound like escaping air hissed from between his teeth, and he slowly released his pheromones.