What did I do?!
I mean, I made the tea exactly like the mission demanded—pheromones laced in, ritual complete, points secured.
But my heart jackhammered wild in my chest as Silvia’s red eyes burned absolute holes through me, vomit still dripping slow from her sharp chin onto the crisp white shirt now ruined with dark stains.
The massive living room reeked of total burnt failure—acrid chicory tang mixing gross with my over-sweet strawberry-milk pheromones, chunky sludge pooling sticky underfoot on the priceless Persian rug.
My dungaree straps chafed raw against shoulders; thighs quivered nonstop from the draft sneaking up my hem, knees weak from her alpha glare alone.
Help me!!
She is too scary!
“Tea?
Why does it look like poison?!” CVWRS yelled frantic in my skull, disco-ball eyes bulging wide in holographic accusation as it floated closer, whiskers twitching blame.
“Host you can’t kill the target!”
You were right fucking there when I prepared it, you floating hack!
I mentally screamed back, panic rising.
“Host, I am a cat!
I mean, a system!
CVWRS, remember?”
How did this happen?!
“Wrong leaves, maybe?”
Wrong leaves?
Your shitty PowerPoint didn’t specify blends or steep times—blame your tutorial!
Silvia rose slow and deliberate like a thunderhead storm cloud swallowing the sun, unfolding her full six feet of alpha fury over my pathetic 5’3 frame.
Muscular legs flexed powerful under tailored black suit pants, gold watch ticking ominous doom on her thick wrist as she loomed close enough to feel her pine-iron pheromones choke the air.
She wiped her mouth precise with a silk handkerchief pulled from her pocket, voice dropping to lethal velvet frost.
“Explain yourself.
Now.
Or are omegas this incompetent by nature?”
I froze solid on the spot, dungaree straps suddenly too tight like binding ropes, bare thighs quivering violent from the cold draft and sheer terror spiking my veins.
“Host, damage control now!
Apologize virtuous-style—head tilt, clasped hands, the works!” The cat hissed urgent, circling my head like a vulture.
“S-sorry, honey!” I stammered out, voice cracking high as I clasped my hands dainty in front like some trained doll, tilting my head in forced submission—failing hard as tears pricked my eyes.
“I…
I burned it by accident.
Let me make a fresh one right now?
Please?”
She glared down at me unblinking, red eyes narrowing behind sleek glasses like twin rubies judging trash.
Her smooth cheeks flushed faint anger, jaw clenching sharp enough to crack walnuts.
Should I break some?
“You were only able to marry me because of my parents’ pressure.
The single reason I agreed to this farce is I can’t deny them outright.
You have one job as my so-called wife.
One.
And yet, you failed spectacularly.”
Her voice sliced colder with each word, pheromones thickening heavy—dominant pine and molten iron wrapping my throat, forcing omega instincts to whimper internally.
My eyes teared up hot despite myself, vision blurring as I shook my head frantic, blonde waves tumbling messy.
“I am so sorry, honey…
truly.
It won’t happen again.”
“Lyra.” She spat my new name like poison, checking her gold watch with a disgusted glance before throwing the sodden newspaper down onto the round mahogany table—it landed with a wet splat amid the tea puddle.
“Yes?”
“Stop calling me honey.
We are nominal husband and wife only—nothing more.
Clean this entire mansion spotless before I return from the company.
And don’t even think of showing your face there.
Stay in your lane.”
She turned sharp on her heel, suit jacket flaring like a cape as powerful strides carried her toward the grand foyer doors.
They slammed shut behind her with finality—echoes booming through marble halls—leaving me alone in the wreckage, knees buckling as hot tears spilled free down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry…
honey, please…” I whispered broken to empty air, sobbing soft on the floor amid the mess.
As soon as her pheromones faded and the front doors clicked locked, I wiped my tears rough with the back of my hand, sniffling hard.
A savage grin split my face—anger boiling over.
“Who the fuck does she think she is?
Did she marry a maid or a wife?
Bitch, I’ll show her virtuous!” I snarled under breath, kicking at the ruined rug edge.
[Hidden Penalty Activated: Tea Sabotage Detected]
[Quality Fail: -20 HP | Trust -5% | Next Mission Penalty: Double Farts 💨💨]
“What the actual hell?!” I yelped aloud, clutching my stomach as phantom pain stabbed.
“Well, you passed the technical mission.
But failed the hidden quality check,” CVWRS drawled smug, rematerializing with a sparkle poof.
“Hidden missions?!
You never mentioned those!”
“The rules you need to follow—read the fine print next time, Host.”
Suddenly, my gut twisted violent—two loud, wet farts ripped free in rapid succession, echoing embarrassing off marble walls.
The stench hit worse than the tea—sulphur-omega mix that made my nose wrinkle.
Face flaming red, I glared murderous at the cat and lunged, swinging my heels wild like weapons.
“You floating shit!
Get back here!” I screamed while lunging wild at the smug cat.
It dodged fast with mocking laughter and poofed straight through solid walls like some glitchy ghost from a bad game.
My dungarees flapped clumsy around my thighs with every move.
Farts still threatened an encore during each frantic step, and my gut cramped hard from humiliation as I skidded across the polished marble floors.
My heels slipped out from under me and nearly sent me sprawling flat on my face.
The floating menace cackled loud from the other side of the foyer wall.
Its disco-ball eyes winked with pure taunt.
“Catch me if you can, Fart Queen!”
I was about to hurl a heavy decorative vase right at the plaster wall when my phone rang shrill from the vanity pocket.
The cheap plastic trill cut through my rage like a sharp knife through butter.
An unknown number flashed bright on the screen.
My heart still pounded hard in my chest as I snatched the phone up quick.
My thumb swiped accept without thinking twice.
“Moshi moshi?
Who the hell are you?”
A harried woman’s voice exploded through the speaker with thick exasperation in every word.
“Lyra?
Have you already gone completely mad this early in the day?
It’s me—your agent!
Get your ass over here to the studio right now!”
“Ah…
what happened?” I stammered while my brain short-circuited from the shock.
Lyra’s real life crashed hard into mine—full schedules, auditions, and this omega actress gig all piled on top of the reincarnation nightmare I couldn’t escape.
“You are the heroine!
Did you forget your own damn shoot today?” She barked loud like a drill sergeant on caffeine.
“The heroine in Sarah’s Secret—biggest drama of the season!
Wardrobe’s waiting, and the director’s fuming mad.
Move it!”
“What?
I’m the heroine?” My jaw dropped wide open, and the phone nearly slipped from my sweaty fingers.
A small fry like me—5’3 omega bombshell or not—landed the starring role of her life?
Back when I was a man, my acting career was pure trash and nothing else.
I played supporting character’s throwaway boyfriend who got dumped hard in episode 2 every time.
Or cannon-fodder villain punched first by the protagonist in act 1 without fail.
Bit parts in dive-bar indies just piled up rejection emails like endless debts.
Now?
Even in this cursed opposite gender, swapped into Lyra’s perfect body, I was going to be a star.
Front and centre under hot lights with fans screaming my name?
CVWRS popped back mid-air with a sparkle.
Its whiskers twitched full of glee.
“Host!
Original Lyra was rising starlet—cannon-fodder wife by day, drama queen by night.
Lean in hard!”
The agent kept yelling without pause.
“Yes, heroine!
The role of the protagonist’s girlfriend.
Perfect symmetry!
Be here in 20 or you’re fired.
Go now!”
The line clicked dead with a beep.
I stared at the blank screen while my pulse raced wild in my ears.
Heroine?
In this total mess of a situation?
Opportunity glimmered bright through all the chaos around me.
I could escape the mansion prison for once and flex my actor skills for real this time.
Maybe even derail the divorce plot from the inside out.
As for cleaning the house, I will clean it later.