“Cat, do you really expect me to believe I can seduce her?
Come on, I’ve never seduced a single woman in my entire life.
And now?
Zero experience as a girl.
This is insane.”
“Well, unknowingly you did seduce women once, Host—back when you were a man.
So yeah, I’m banking on that hidden talent kicking in.
Don’t sell yourself short…
or should I say, your curves?”
“That ice queen won’t budge an inch, okay?
If she even liked women, she’d never abandon this.” I pointed at myself—curves, hair, the whole omega package.
“If she likes women at all, it has to be alphas like in the damn plot.
My body’s too beautiful to ignore, damn it.
Look at me!”
“That’s the uncertainty, Host.
If she craves alphas, then bend her.
Make her crave omegas instead—that’s you now.
Flip the script.
You’re the plot twist she didn’t see coming.”
“Alright, fine.
What’s your real goal here?
I mean, the final one?
Spill it.”
“Host, it’s dead simple: stop her from divorcing you.
Play the virtuous wife to perfection until she can’t even think about it anymore.
Stick with her long-term, or divorce her later once you’re safe.
Totally your call after that.”
“Oh, what a fantastic choice.
Real empowering stuff, Cat.
Thanks for the options.”
A chime pierced my skull like a drill.
Blue screen flared:
🎯 Mission 1: Perfect Morning Brew for Your Husband
☕ Wake her with pheromone-laced tea.
Be a virtuous wife ✨
✅ Reward: 100 points | ❌ Fail: Fart Loudly Three Times
The fucking screen showed me that.
“What the fuck is this shit?
A game?
I’m not your damn puppet!” I spat, fists clenched.
“Why is the punishment so weird?
Why should I fart?”
“Should I pull up another PowerPoint to explain the mechanics, Host?
Slide one—’Why You’re Screwed Without Me.’ I can make it real pretty.”
“Fuck no!
Keep your cat cartoons to yourself!”
“Smart choice.
Now, change into something virtuous but sexy.
Time to weaponize that body.”
“You’re seriously gonna hover here while I change?
Pervert cat.”
“What, you a pussy now, Host?
Scared of a little audience?
I’ve seen it all before—literally.”
“You’re the fucking pussy!
Talking big for a floating furball.
Fine, vanish or whatever.”
“Tch!
Follow the rules, or fail spectacularly.
System will guide you from time to time.
Good luck not tripping in those heels.” It poofed away in sparkles.
I sighed deep, heart pounding like a jackhammer.
No choice.
Time to play omega dress-up housewife.
I gripped the nightgown’s straps first—thin silk snapped taut against my shoulders as I tugged, then released.
Chiffon cascaded down slow like melting ice, straps dragging over sensitive collarbones, catching briefly on hardened nipples with a sharp electric tug that made me gasp.
“I have never seen a woman’s nipples before, but I certainly didn’t want them to be seen on me.”
Fabric pooled whisper-soft at my feet, leaving me stark naked in the cool morning draft.
Goosebumps exploded across milky skin; my perky C-cups bounced free—heavy, foreign weight tugging my chest downward with each shaky breath, nipples pebbling tight against the chill.
Hips swayed unwanted as I stumbled to the wardrobe, thick thighs rubbing with that slick traitorous whisper, core clenching in protest.
“I miss my little brother.” It was too weird to have nothing in between my thighs.
The wardrobe yawned open like a lingerie trap.
Silk robes shimmered crimson, frilly aprons starched white, garter belts coiled like snakes, lace teddies that screamed ‘serve me, knot me.’ No jeans, no hoodies—just omega bait.
My fingers trembled over options, settling on ‘sexy maid’ hell—a short black satin dress with white lace trim, plunging neckline scooped so low it framed cleavage like a goddamn buffet platter, hem scandalously high to barely skim upper thighs.
I stepped in slow, fabric slithering up calves—cool satin kissed skin, lace trim scratching delicate inner thighs like tiny teeth.
Dress hugged hips tight, squeezing fertile curves until they strained seams; I yanked up over waist, feeling it cinching my nipped-in middle like a corset.
Neckline dragged over ribs, then C-cups—satin cupped breasts fully, lace edging teasing areolae shadows, pushing cleavage high and obscene.
Every inhale made them spill dangerously.
Mirror confirmed: pure sin, hips flaring wide under flared skirt that swished ass-cheek with each shift.
Stockings next—sheer white silk unrolled smooth up each leg, clinging like second skin from painted toes to midthigh.
Garters snapped crisp—four white straps per leg, rubber grips biting soft flesh with pink welts.
Heel shoes waited—4-inch black stilettos, ankle straps buckling tight.
First step?
Wobbled like a drunk on ice; ankles buckled, ass jiggled for balance, thighs quivering from unpractised height.
“I have done this before, and I can do it again.”
Frilly apron last—starched white cotton tied in a massive bow behind, strings pulling waist even smaller, bow tails tickling lower back dimples.
Final touch—vanity perfume.
Spritzed vanilla mist to cover my pheromones—sweet cloud thickened air, clinging heavy to skin, making doe eyes water in the mirror.
Blonde waves tumbled messy; I finger-combed them into soft waves, lips glossed strawberry to match.
One last mirror glance—porcelain doll turned fuckable maid fantasy.
Sapphire doe eyes stared back wide in horror, pupils blown from the pheromone haze, lashes fluttering like they were begging.
Cheeks flushed a traitorously pretty rose, heat crawling down my neck to pool between collarbones, making that obscene cleavage glisten under the soft light.
Full lips parted on a shaky exhale, gloss catching the gleam like wet invitation.
Curves weaponized—breasts heaving with each panicked breath, nipples straining satin peaks; hips cocked unconsciously, skirt riding up to flash garter snaps and the barest hint of slick-dampened thighs.
The whole package screamed knot me, breed me, own me, every inch engineered for alpha ruin.
Virtuous wife, my ass—this was a walking heat trap, and I was the idiot locked inside it.
“Let’s do it!” I encouraged myself, steeling my nerves with a deep breath that only made my cleavage strain higher.
Just as I turned for the door, Cat poofed back in— that smug spectral furball—and slapped me across the cheek with its fluffy tail.
The impact stung like a whipcrack, sending my head snapping sideways, blonde waves flying.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I yelped, rubbing my throbbing temple, stilettos wobbling me off-balance.
“I told you virtuous and sexy!
Not some fuckable maid fantasy!
You’re her wife, not her slutty plaything!”
“But you told me to wear something sexy!” I shot back, heat flooding my slapped cheek to match the flush already burning there.
“This is peak omega sexy—straight from the wardrobe trap you stuck me in!”
“I said both—sexy and virtuous!
Like a maxi dress or midi skirt, you idiot!
Flowy, elegant, wife-material that teases without begging for a knot!” Cat’s eyes narrowed to slits, tail lashing like it wanted round two.
“But you didn’t specify!
All vague cat bullshit— ‘sexy,’ poof, gone.
No maxi demo, no shopping list!” I crossed my arms under my breasts, which only plumped the cleavage more obscenely, apron bow bouncing against my ass.
“Just change, you bloody fool!
Before she wakes up and files those papers on sight.
Kitchen’s waiting—virtuous tea, not whore parade.
Move!”