THE FATED OMEGA MATE

Chapter two:Elias

I froze. I didn’t mean to hold his gaze. I didn’t want to, but something in me couldn’t look away. Not until his lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like amusement. Or a warning.

“You’re an Omega,” he said simply. Not a question.

My breath caught. “How do you…?” I trailed off, instantly regretting it. Of course, he knew. A man like that didn’t guess. He sensed.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself. “If you knew… why did you accept my application?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just watched me.

Then, slowly, he stepped around the desk, hands in his pockets, boots silent against the marble. The weight of his presence wrapped around me like velvet and steel. I thought maybe he would lean in. Maybe growl something low, something dangerous.

Instead, he just smirked cool, cruel, and utterly unreadable.

“Because I was curious,” he said, a voice like fine whiskey and dark smoke. “I wanted to see what kind of Omega walks into the lion’s mouth without knowing he’s the prey.”

My stomach tightened. Heat flared up the back of my neck, shame and something sharper twisting together.

Then, with a single step closer, his voice dropped quiet, but clear.

“Welcome to hell.”

And I believed him.

It was already 12:30Am and i was supposed to be home three hours ago. That f*****g bastard named DAmain wasn't kidding when he said that i should get ready for hell because this is f*****g actual hell.

It was officially my first day on the job, and I already hated my boss.

I have redone the project plans five times. Five. On day one. Each time, Damian Blackwell dismissed them with a casual wave of his hand and some vague, infuriating remark like “Try again, with less… incompetence.”

He hadn’t even looked properly. Just skimmed, smirked, and sent me back to start over.

But if I hated him, I loved my office.

It wasn’t big, but it was beautiful, tucked into the corner of the floor with a wide glass window overlooking the city. At night, the skyline glittered like spilled jewels. The furniture was modern, all sleek lines and deep colors: black leather, espresso wood, brushed steel. The desk had a satisfying weight to it. There was a built-in shelf lined with books I would probably never touch, but they looked impressive, and a soft floor lamp cast a warm glow over everything. It felt like someone had designed it to impress without trying too hard.

Too bad the only thing ruining it… was him.

It was nearing 3 a.m., and my eyes were starting to glaze over. I caught myself dozing off mid-sentence for the third time, blinking hard and stretching in my chair. Maybe if I just

Someone cleared their throat.

I startled and looked up and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Damian stood in the doorway of my office, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled just high enough to make it obvious the man lived in a gym, and his expression said: Tell me what the hell you think you are doing.

I stood too fast, nearly knocking over my chair, and shoved the finished documents toward him. “Here. Everything’s done.”

He didn’t even look at them. He just took the file, turned on his heel, and walked off without a word.

I blinked after him, stunned. “Sir um, Mr. Blackwell, I just wanted to ask if I could...”

He cut me off with a hand wave. “I have work to do.”

Was he kidding?

I didn’t mean to say it out loud. “If he’s kidding, I swear.”

He stopped.

Turned back.

Smiled.

I felt my soul leave my body.

“No, I’m not kidding,” he said coolly, raising a brow. “Though… you do talk to yourself a lot.”

I flushed. I was too tired to care. “It’s either that or throwing something at your head.”

He chuckled...chuckled, like he was enjoying this and turned away again.

And then, I did it again. My tired brain betrayed me.

“He’s hot though,” I muttered.

He stopped again.

“… Who’s hot?” he asked, without looking back.

I panicked. “Nobody.”

He didn’t push it. Just said over his shoulder, “You can go. It’s 3 a.m. But I expect you here by 9.”

I stared after him, utterly done with life.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Next Morning

I looked like I had been run over by a truck. Twice.

My hair was a mess, my eyes were dry from staring at a screen for too long, and coffee wasn’t even touching the exhaustion clawing through me. But I was back in the office by 8:59. Barely.

As I shuffled toward my desk, I heard a familiar voice.

“Good morning,” came a smooth, chipper tone. I looked up to see Kenneth, one of the executive secretaries, immaculately dressed, with a perfectly rehearsed smile and the kind of vibe that said I run this floor and I know it.

He glanced at his tablet, then back at me with mild amusement. “Mr. Blackwell wants to see you. Immediately.”

Of course, he does.

I walked to Damian’s office and knocked.

A sharp “Come in” carried through the door.

I pushed it open and froze.

A blonde girl was there, smoothing her hair and tugging at her clothes. Her limp was obvious as she slipped past me without a word.

I kept my gaze on the floor.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Damian demanded.

I said nothing. Footsteps drew closer until he was right beside me.

“I said, look at me.” His voice was hard, loud enough to rattle the silence.

I lifted my eyes slowly. His shirt was untucked, hair in disarray, his neck streaked with fresh red marks.

Silence pressed in, broken only by the faint ring of a phone somewhere outside the office.

“Good,” he muttered, turning away.

“Why call me here just to shout at me?” I asked, my voice cold.

“I didn’t call you to yell. I called you to tell you. You are coming to the bar with me tonight.”

“Why me? You could take her,” I shot back without hesitation.

His glare cut into me. I glared back.

“Because I want you to,” he said flatly. "Leave early today. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

I sighed, walking back toward my office. But my decision had already been made.

I wouldn’t be going with him.