My eyes snapped open to the weird emptiness between my legs—raw, exposed, like someone surgically removed a vital part of me.
Gender swaps aren’t normal; this omega body felt like a betrayal every second.
The dungaree dress made it all worse, heavy denim straps digging deep into my shoulders while the loose bib front flapped open constantly, letting cold air rush straight up my bare thighs like an unwanted violation.
Standing proved nearly impossible—the relentless draft hit sensitive spots that shouldn’t feel air at all, making my knees lock and skin prickle.
Every small shift sent the coarse fabric whispering roughly against my smooth inner thighs, a constant, humiliating reminder of how foreign and defenceless this body had become.
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to claw it all off.
CVWRS’s voice buzzed sharp inside my skull, grating like nails on glass.
“Host, you have it!
You can complete the first mission!”
Can you keep quiet?
I snapped back mentally, teeth gritted.
Look at her—sitting there in this massive living room of the mansion, reading her newspaper like some untouchable king on a throne.
“You will have to attack her!”
Stop with the bad motivation.
She looks powerful as hell.
At 5 foot 2, I felt tiny and fragile, a doll next to a predator.
Silvia towered over six feet even while seated—her legs stretched long beneath the marble coffee table, crossed casually like weapons ready to strike at any moment.
Brown hair swept back in a sharp, professional style framed her angular face perfectly, red eyes hidden behind sleek reading glasses that gave her an intellectual edge.
A tailored black suit clung to her broad shoulders and athletic build like it was custom-forged shell; a gold watch gleamed expensively on her thick wrist, ticking away my doom.
Those legs looked strong enough to crush steel—muscular calves flexing subtly beneath her suit pants with every shift, veins tracing power under golden skin.
Her face struck that perfect balance of gorgeous and handsome, smooth cheeks glowing warm under the morning light like polished marble, jawline sharp enough to cut glass.
Pure alpha perfection, radiating dominance that made my new instincts quiver.
Does she have a dick?
“All alphas have dicks, Host.
Welcome to ABO basics.
PowerPoint?
I am more than happy to teach you again.”
Shut up!
“Fine.”
She looks scary as fuck.
“As a virtuous wife, you need to melt that icy nature.
Make her soft toward you—start with tea.”
But she looks so damn difficult.
Like she’d snap me in half.
“You’re an actor—actress now.
You’ve played women’s roles before.
Channel that.”
Fine.
Let’s do it.
Stomach twisted, but no backing out.
🎯 Mission 1: Perfect Morning Brew
☕ Wake her with pheromone-laced tea.
Be a virtuous wife ✨
✅ Reward: 100 points | ❌ Fail: Fart Loudly Three Times
I plastered a fake smile across my face—lips trembling from raw nerves, cheeks aching from the forced effort—and wobbled forward in my heels like a newborn foal.
Ankles threatened to buckle with each sharp click against the cold marble floors echoing through the vast room; the dungaree hem swished embarrassingly high, flashing pale thighs with every awkward step, denim straps creaking under tension.
“Honey!
You’re awake!” My voice came out too bright, too desperate.
CVWRS cheered in my head like a hype man.
“You’re doing good, Host!
Keep the energy!”
Silvia didn’t even glance up from her paper.
Her eyes stayed locked on the black-and-white pages, rustling softly in the heavy silence of the room, completely dismissing my existence.
“Honey!
Are you awake?!” I tried again, louder this time, my voice cracking into an unnatural higher pitch that made me cringe internally.
Silence stretched endless.
Just the crinkle of paper folding slightly under her strong fingers.
Cat!
What is happening?
This is humiliating!
“She’s ignoring you completely.
Classic ice-queen move.”
I can see that, genius.
She’s treating me like furniture.
“Hurry up then!
Tea saves the day.” No one else could see the floating furry menace hovering beside me like a smug shadow—which I hated beyond words.
Someone needed to experiment on that thing in a lab, dissect every ounce of its endless, infuriating sass until it shut up forever.
Silvia lowered her newspaper slowly at last, right before I could whine again like a pathetic puppy.
Red eyes pierced through her glasses like twin lasers, locking onto me with zero warmth; her voice hit pure ice-cold steel, slicing the air.
“Where is my tea?
I’m waiting.”
Huh?
What the actual hell?
Did she seriously think I was her personal maid or something?
Heat flooded my cheeks in burning embarrassment, ears ringing as alpha pheromones—sharp pine and iron—thickened the air around her, making my knees weaken instinctively.
“Host, don’t think weird things.
Virtuous wife duty is to fulfil her husband’s every wish without question.
That’s your mission core.”
Tch!
Fine.
Play the part.
I clasped my hands delicately in front like a proper servant, tilting my head coyly like some perfect porcelain doll from hell.
“Of course, honey!
Just give me a minute.” My voice pitched artificially sweet, syrupy—I nearly gagged on the cloying words crawling up my throat.
“Host, don’t act too sweet.
It raises suspicions—dial it back.”
Fuck you, backseat driver!
The kitchen waited beyond tall arched doors polished to a mirror shine—gleaming marble counters stretched endless, ornate silver tea set sparkling under crystal chandeliers, jars neatly labelled “Pheromone Enhancer Drops – Omega Grade for Omegas” and “Morning Blend” in elegant script.
My hands shook visibly as I poured fresh water into the heavy porcelain kettle; the gas flame roared blue and hungry beneath it, heat licking up immediately.
Wrong tea leaves went in by pure panicked mistake—bitter chicory instead of the proper fragrant black tea blend sitting right next to it.
I added five generous drops of my own pheromones straight from saliva, mixing it in with a wooden stirrer that carried my sweet strawberry-milk scent rising thick and cloying in the swirling steam.
“Host, it’s disgusting,”
Do you have any other idea?!
Steeped far too long while I fumbled utensils—five minutes turned to ten.
The liquid turned inky charcoal black, bubbling ominously.
Stirred in sugar clumsily with a silver spoon that clinked loudly against the porcelain rim.
Done.
Total disaster brew steaming toxic in the cup.
Cat, the mission says ‘wake her up.’ But she’s already sitting there, eyes open?
“She isn’t truly awake until the full tea ritual completes.
Be a virtuous wife.
Wake your husband properly with the offering.”
Virtuous wife?
My ass hurts just thinking it.🎯 Mission 1: Perfect Morning Brew
☕ Wake her with pheromone-laced tea.
Be a virtuous wife ✨
✅ Reward: 100 points | ❌ Fail: Fart Loudly Three Times
[Complete: You got 100 points!
Good job!
🎉]
“Congratulations, Host!
First win!”
Yay!
First mission down!
Confidence surged through my veins like cheap adrenaline.
I strutted back with heels steadier now despite the dungaree flapping, silver tray rattling slightly in my sweaty grip.
Silvia remained frozen in the exact same position—newspaper refolded neatly beside her crossed legs like a barrier.
I handed her the steaming cup carefully, avoiding eye contact entirely.
“Your tea, honey~” The words dripped out too flirty; I cringed inside.
She took it without looking up once, lifted it straight to her full lips with long fingers, and sipped deeply in one smooth motion.
Swallowed once, throat working visibly.
Paused for a split second.
Her red eyes widened just a fraction behind the glasses.
Then her face twisted suddenly—nose wrinkling in pure disgust, cheeks hollowing as she fought the vile taste invading her mouth.
Then…
she vomited explosively.
Black sludge sprayed violently across the newspaper in a dark arc, splattering chunky streaks across her crisp white dress shirt and gold watch.
An acrid stench exploded through the room—burnt chicory mixed horribly with my over-sweet pheromones, wet bits landing with sickening plops on the marble floor and priceless antique rug.
She gagged violently once, twice, her strong hand slamming the porcelain cup down so hard it cracked against the table, hot tea pooling dark and sticky across the Persian weave, seeping into centuries-old threads.
CVWRS pinged in pure panic, voice screeching in my head.
“Host, what did you do?!”