The Forgotten Clan

03 [ Alpha and Omega ]

She turned on her heel, walking toward her desk—which, unfortunately, was inside his office instead of in her own private space like a normal secretary. That, of course, was entirely his fault. Mr. Fenrir had insisted she work within arm’s reach, claiming it was to ensure he stayed productive. In reality, it was just so he could prevent himself from sneaking ‘treats’ into the office. Apparently, her presence alone was enough to deter him from his usual debauchery.

Tsk. Self-centered bastard.

She sat down, clicking away at her keyboard, forcing herself to drown out the presence of her overgrown-child of a boss.

"Amica~"

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Go. Back. To. Work." She enunciated each word, her tone sharp.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smirk before laughing to himself.

"Yes, ma’am."

Amica was deep in emails, drafting reports, and trying to mitigate the latest financial disaster that Mr. Fenrir had conveniently ignored. The joys of working for an Alpha who acted more like a spoiled prince.

A knock on the door interrupted her typing. The head of accounting, Mr. Levrone, peeked in. "Ms. Amica, the financial reports from last quarter—"

"On your desk. Checked, corrected, and highlighted for the errors your team keeps making. You’re welcome."

Levrone blinked, muttered a quick thanks, and left. Amica barely had time to sigh before another interruption.

"Amica, do we have the contract for—"

"Filed under urgent matters. Sent to your email an hour ago. Do your job, Jonathan."

Another one down. She resumed typing.

Then, inevitably, the biggest headache in her life strolled up to her desk and plopped a file onto it with exaggerated importance.

"I need this reviewed."

Amica looked up, unimpressed. "You? Giving me work? I must be hallucinating."

Mr. Fenrir grinned. "I do work, you know. I just let you handle the boring parts."

She flipped open the file, scanned it for three seconds, and then snapped it shut. "No."

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean, no?"

"No, as in, this contract is a joke. Who wrote this? A toddler with a crayon? This clause alone would let them sue you over the color of your suit."

Mr. Fenrir blinked. "Oh. So… I shouldn't sign it?"

She shoved the file back at him. "Only if you want to lose half your assets overnight. Read your damn contracts before dumping them on me."

He leaned against her desk, watching her type. "You’re always so busy, Amica. It’s almost like… you actually work."

She didn’t even look up. "Amazing observation, Sherlock. Maybe if you did your job, I wouldn’t have to do it for you."

Mr. Fenrir laughed. "But where’s the fun in that?"

She groaned, rubbing her temples. "For me. The fun is for me, sir. You know, the person who has to babysit you daily."

His smirk widened. "Come on, admit it—you’d be lost without me."

She met his gaze, completely deadpan. "One day, I’ll file a workplace harassment complaint."

Mr. Fenrir burst out laughing as he walked back to his desk. Amica sighed and went back to work, muttering under her breath.

This job would be the death of her.

Amica let out an exhausted sigh as she leaned back into her chair, eyes skimming over the pile of completed reports on her desk. Sometimes, she had trouble believing she was the one who had managed to finish them all. The monotony of work had blurred her sense of time, and she only realized how long she had been sitting when she stretched her stiff body and glanced at the clock. 7:15 PM. Not that she was hungry or anything, but the thought of finally leaving the office for the day was a relief.

She turned slightly, her gaze landing on Mr. Fenrir, who was still buried in his paperwork. A rare sight. Most of the time, he wasn’t even present at work, but on the occasions he was, he carried an air of unwavering focus. He was their boss for a reason, after all.

Not wanting to disturb his concentration, Amica silently packed her things. Her bag, her folder of additional work to take home, and—

Rustle.

Mr. Fenrir’s head lifted at the sound, his sharp gaze locking onto her. He was wearing his reading glasses, something she wasn’t used to seeing. It made him look... different. Less authoritative and more approachable, though the intensity in his golden eyes remained.

“I will now be going home, Sir Fenrir. I have errands to attend,” she informed him, her voice composed as always.

Mr. Fenrir offered a small smile and nodded. “Will you be alright? It’s quite late.”

Amica gave a short nod. “Yes, sir. I will be alright.”

His gaze lingered on her for a moment before returning to his papers. Amica watched him briefly, noting how rigid his jaw was. He was tense, too focused, almost as if he was forcing himself to ignore something. Her mind instinctively pieced the puzzle together.

She had been here for nearly eight years. She knew how things worked around Mr. Fenrir.

A miracle indeed.

“Tsk. That’s why I’d much rather be human than deal with mating season syndromes,” she muttered under her breath as she walked toward the exit.

Her research on alphas had taught her a few things. Those who chose not to mate during the season often relied on suppressants, but their effectiveness varied based on bloodline purity. Given Mr. Fenrir’s status as an alpha of noble lineage, the usual suppressants might not be enough for him.

There was only one thing that could truly ease his struggle.

Mating with an omega.

Omegas were rare. So rare that society treated them like coveted treasures. Their unique physiology made them the perfect partners for alphas, and their ability to give birth in just five months made them ideal for those seeking to expand their bloodlines. Power-hungry families did everything they could to secure an omega mate, knowing that a child born from an alpha-omega pairing had a higher chance of possessing supernatural abilities.

If that were the case, Mr. Fenrir would be better off with an omega. Considering his noble lineage, there was no shortage of suitors who would willingly throw themselves at him.

Amica halted mid-step.

“Why am I even thinking about this?” she muttered, shaking her head. Mr. Fenrir was more than capable of handling himself. This wasn’t her concern.

Yet, the thought of omegas and their place in society left a bitter taste in her mouth.

People romanticized omegas, seeing them as delicate, beautiful creatures meant to be protected. But in reality, it wasn’t protection—it was control. They were sought after, yes, but not because of who they were as individuals. It was because of their biology, their ability to produce strong offspring. Many omegas didn’t even have the privilege of choosing their own partners. Their lives were dictated by contracts, arranged pairings, and the highest bidder.

Even in the modern era, an omega’s freedom was a fragile thing. A simple mistake—a lost suppressant, an unexpected heat—could shatter their independence in an instant. A single misstep could mean being claimed, marked, and bound to an alpha they never wanted.

She wasn’t an omega, but if she were, she knew she’d fight tooth and nail to avoid that fate.

Shaking off her thoughts, she exited the building and made her way to the parking lot. Her car was parked near the far end, and she quickly unlocked it, sliding into the driver’s seat.