“Hnn…”
The dense pheromones of an Extreme Dominant Alpha crashed over her, and an involuntary moan escaped her lips as her body recoiled.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late to stop the jolt that shot through her.
It set every nerve on fire and made her limbs twitch.
His scent was the very essence of winter—the sharp bite of ice crystals and the paradoxical comfort of freshly fallen snow.
Her reason dissolved into mist.
Trembling, she struggled to focus her gaze on him, on the Alpha.
The dam she had so carefully constructed had been shattered by the relentless flood of his presence, and the sweet, alluring scent of an Omega began to seep from her pores.
Leonid detected it instantly.
One eyebrow arched in faint surprise as he leaned closer, his nose hovering near the nape of her neck.
Her fragrance was a delicate bouquet of peach, orange, and a whisper of some unidentifiable blossom.
He closed his eyes, savoring it.
It was sweeter, more intoxicating than any Omega pheromone he had ever encountered.
It was enough to stir his body, despite his revulsion.
Damnation.
He bit back the curse, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a grim smile.
The reports had been correct; their compatibility was dangerously high.
He had always found Omega scents cloying, repulsive.
“Hoo…”
Letting out a long breath, Leonid slowly straightened.
He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped his hands and the back of his neck.
Though they had not touched, the familiar feeling of filth crawled over his skin, as if her vulgar scent were clinging to him.
The woman was still staring, her eyes glazed, her body trembling as if seized by a current.
He had moderated his release, yet her reaction was this extreme.
She was, without a doubt, a naturally sensitive Omega.
His habitual contempt surfaced as his gaze raked over her.
Her expression was fierce, flushed with a heat that stood in stark contrast to the glacial cold of his eyes.
“Congratulations, Miss Lucerne.”
The handkerchief fluttered from his hand, landing softly on her blouse.
“You may sign the contract.
My aide will deliver the signing bonus on your way out.
See that you receive it.”
A damnable arousal made his groin feel tight and heavy.
With practiced ease, Leonid suppressed the impulse and turned his back on her.
He walked to the door and exited the drawing room without a single backward glance.
*
“Johanna!
Are you all right?” Victoria rushed into the room, her voice laced with concern.
Johanna watched, immensely relieved, as her friend quickly locked the door.
She could not bear the thought of anyone else seeing her in such a state of disarray.
“My goodness, the Marquis looked furious.
I had a terrible feeling…”
As a Beta, Victoria could not sense the pheromones, but she had seen Leonid’s flushed face and blazing eyes as he stormed from the room.
The oppressive aura he left in his wake was enough to make anyone shrink back.
She could easily guess what had transpired.
“He used his pheromones on you… I am so sorry.
You must have been terrified.”
Victoria’s face was etched with a guilt that was not hers to bear.
She had introduced Johanna to this arrangement to save her from a loan shark, but her heart ached, knowing the true cost of that salvation.
“Here, drink this.”
Johanna took the glass and drained it in one gulp.
The cold water seemed to quench some of the fire coiling in her stomach.
Her body still felt unsteady, but she fought to clear her head.
“Thank you…”
“Do not thank me.
Just rest until you feel better.
I will make sure no one disturbs you.” Victoria gently dabbed Johanna’s damp forehead and cheeks with a handkerchief before moving to the door.
Johanna stared blankly at her friend’s back as she cracked the door open to speak with someone outside.
Her head spun, and she felt herself teetering on the edge of consciousness.
The violent stimulus that had shaken every cell in her body was slowly receding, but the memory of his pheromones crashing over her replayed endlessly in her mind.
His scent had been even more potent than Ilian Redis’s.
She could not tell if it was because of her secret feelings for him or simply their innate compatibility.
A moment later, Victoria returned, and under her gentle care, Johanna slowly began to regain her composure.
As her friend wiped away the cold sweat and offered her more water, her expression was one of profound pity.
“I never imagined the Marquis would do something so… impulsive,” Victoria murmured.
“He is usually so meticulous about controlling his pheromones.”
Johanna forced a weak, awkward smile.
“I suppose he wanted to confirm our compatibility for himself.”
“Even so…” Victoria sighed, unable to criticize her employer any further.
Her eyes shifted to the documents on the table.
“Is that the contract?
Have you read it?”
“Not yet…”
Leonid Neuwitz had not given her a moment to even glance at it.
He had swept in like a tyrant, humiliated her, and then vanished.
Recalling his chilling gaze, Johanna gave a humorless laugh.
It was a look that extinguished any flicker of hope.
Perhaps it was for the best.
Resignation would surely be less painful than nurturing such presumptuous feelings for him.
Pushing herself up from the back of the sofa, Johanna said, “I need to read it.
I feel a little better now.”
“Very well.
But… that handkerchief…”
“Ah.” Her gaze finally fell on the forgotten square of cloth—the one Leonid had used to wipe himself clean before tossing it on her in disgust.
An indescribable emotion churned within her as she picked it up.
His manner of insult was similar to Ilian’s, yet fundamentally different.
Ilian Redis, a man of the underworld, used crude, raw vulgarity.
Leonid Neuwitz… his was an elegant contempt, the feeling of being mercilessly crushed by a being from an entirely different echelon of existence.
“…Is it the Marquis’s?” Victoria asked softly.
“…Yes.”
“Shall I take it?”
“No, it is all right.
I doubt he will want it back.”
“That is true…”
The Marquis’s infamous mysophobia was legendary.
Johanna offered Victoria a faint, wry smile, folded the handkerchief twice, and slipped it into her pocket.
Then, feigning composure, she reached for the contract.
Her fingertips trembled, but Victoria kindly pretended not to notice.
Johanna began to review the document.
Though her formal education was limited, her mother, raised as a nobleman’s daughter, had ensured she was not foolish.
Besides, her work as an illustrator had familiarized her with contracts.
This one was relatively straightforward, though riddled with clever wordplay.
She skimmed past the legal jargon, focusing on the key clauses.
In this agreement, she was ‘Party B.’ ‘Party A’ was Marquis Neuwitz.
[The term of this contract shall be one (1) year.]
[Party B shall not disclose any part of this contract to external parties.]
[Within one month of signing, Party B must undergo a formal marriage ceremony with Party A and perform the public duties of the Marchioness.]
[Immediately upon signing this contract, Party A shall pay Party B a signing bonus of 80,000 Rubels.]
[Upon Party B’s full completion of the contract within one year, Party A shall pay Party B the full compensation of 800,000 Rubels.]
[Should Party B fail to fulfill the objective within the contract period, Party B may still receive half the compensation, 400,000 Rubels, at the discretion of Party A, provided Party A deems that Party B has not been negligent in her duties.]
[This contract may be terminated before the end of the term by mutual agreement between Party A and Party B.]
[The contract period may be extended by mutual agreement between Party A and Party B.]
May be extended…?
The other clauses were expected, but that one made her pause.
The phrase ‘at the discretion of Party A’ was nothing but a loophole.
The Marquis would pay the 400,000 Rubels regardless, considering it hush money, even if she failed to produce an heir.
And she already knew from his aide that she would have to play the part of a Cinderella who had miraculously captured his heart.
I had not considered the possibility of an extension.
She only wanted to fulfill her duty for one year and then leave without a trace of greed.
The thought of staying by his side for two years, or three, was terrifying.
People said that physical intimacy bred emotional attachment.
Even if their encounters were nothing more than a dry, biological function, could she truly remain detached while sharing a bed with him?
What if she fell for him even harder?
What if this secret love grew into something too monstrous to contain?
Swallowing a sigh, Johanna turned to the final page.
Her eyes scanned the text until they snagged on a single, brutal clause.
[Party B shall not harbor personal feelings for, nor expect to receive them from, Party A.
Likewise, Party A shall not harbor or force personal feelings upon Party B.]
The words struck her right where she was most vulnerable.