Omega butler

Chapter 3:

Alex Sandra glanced at Claude Froll.

A single glance can make Claude Froll like a small bird afraid of bending his legs; Alex Sandra is the one who holds this ability. His gaze is ten times more powerful than the UMP9.

His red nose quivered, instinctively stepping back to avoid injury.

Alex Sandra throws a cell phone to Claude Froll: "Call an ambulance."

Claude Froll's fingers trembled and almost couldn't hold it. The phone fell in front of his chest, hitting the fragile collarbone. He ignored the pain, silently dialed the number, and said in a low voice: "Yes, there's an unawakened Omega that differentiates from the glandular cells, looks like a fracture, or a fracture."

He called and looked at Alex Sandra; Omega was weak. Omega had not yet awakened to differentiate the epithelial cells, and it was more difficult to withstand a blow; stunned by the pain, he weakly stretched out his hand towards Alex Sandra.

Alex Sandra leaned down to hug Tom Sherwood, released the news to reassure him and let Omega, who was hurting so much, calm down and wipe his tears.

Tom Sherwood looked like he was looking for solace, crawling into Alex Sandra's chest, white arms wrapped around his neck, panic releasing the news everywhere, choking Alex Sandra to hug him tighter.

Antifa on f*******: mocked Tom Sherwood for not having acting skills. The title of the image is not accurate. But Claude Froll feels that his technique is excellent. If the thyroid cells are awakened, maybe he has to hang three Oscars(*) around his neck. He should give this video to his anti-fan view. Highlighting can also be redirected.

Claude Froll looked at them silently. The doctor at the other end asked carefully: "How is the patient's situation? Let us give you..."

"No need, already dead." Claude Froll hung up the phone, put it on the table, straightened the wrinkled deacon's collar, strolled forward, took the choked Omega in Alex Sandra's hand, and said calmly politely, "Sorry sir, I will take care of it, you have more important things to do."

Alex Sandra's schedule was packed tightly, and he did not have time to stay with the injured Omega. He reluctantly handed over white-faced Tom Sherwood to Claude Froll, warning him in a low voice: "When we return, we will talk about that penalty."

Claude Froll hugged Tom Sherwood across his body, agreeing faintly: "Yes, sir."

Alex Sandra took his coat and drove out of the house into the empty and quiet mansion with only two Omega left.

Tom Sherwood had been speared by this ferocious Omega steward when he hugged him, he seemed to forget the pain in his thigh bone, stiff enough not to dare to move, and his arrogant, provocative attitude vanished into smoke. Like a chicken with its feathers plucked, the news of panic growing increasingly out of control filled the room, with the smell of iris perfume everywhere.

Claude Froll hugged him out of the mansion, his face cold like he was holding a pile of old clothes, indifferent, as if he could throw him in the trash at any moment.

Tom Sherwood was depressed, threatening Claude Froll with the last thin breath: "You wait, Cam will kill you."

Claude Froll's eyes were fixed, the corners of his mouth politely curved into a slight curve: "That's between us."

If Alex Sandra was willing to touch him, even as punishment, Claude Froll was willing to accept it.

Tom Sherwood wore only a thin shirt, and his long white legs were covered with goosebumps. His bones were bruised, biting his lips and sneering: "You are the kind of Omega he used to play around with. Is it right to wait for the old love to come uninvited? Just cling to him and not let go, throw away all of your faces, have any intentions."

Claude Froll frowned, his pale gray pupils harboring a melancholy composure.

"And what are you scheming, resources, props, or drooling for news of his second-order divergence?" Claude Froll glared at him, "If you simply want to be ripped, I can do the same thing that makes you scream in agony like today."

The entire expression on Tom Sherwood's face was mixed white and blue, even visible to the naked eye.

Claude Froll didn't want to waste words with him anymore, his slender body was slightly curved up, and his legs were slack, like a bullet shot, carrying Tom Sherwood to jump onto the mansion roof, quickly rushing over from above between the rooms in the garden.

Tom Sherwood was forced to grip Claude Froll's collar tightly, looking at the flat ground near and far, suddenly feeling nauseous, fearfully glancing at the calm expression on Claude Froll's face.

This Omega... Thyroid cells have differentiated, level unknown.

Depending on the alpha stimulus information, the probability of an Omega's thyroid cells' differentiation is minimal. Suppose a specific Omega determines the thyroid cells by one step, regardless of their background, no matter how bad or ugly their appearance is. In that case, they will all become the objects of the elite Alpha group, competing to confess their love.

Because it symbolizes the noble lineage of the Omega of excellence and excellence, it is the ultimate gift of strong genes to give to future generations.

Tom Sherwood was silent, no longer daring to be rude.

He and this mighty rabbit, Omega, are not on the same level at all, and the other could be one of a million Omega elites.

"I... What's your name?" Tom Sherwood asked skeptically.

"Claude Froll," he replied.

Tom Sherwood's eyes widened, looking at Claude Froll for a long time in disbelief.

In the legend, Alex Sandra only faithfully protected his palace for many years, Claude Froll.

But he stayed at his house as a steward.

After three days, Alex Sandra did not return to the mansion; Claude Froll took on a new task —— to become Alex Sandra's bed mistress.

This is a kind of unspeakable humiliation; Claude Froll turned off the mobile screen, leaned against the VIP hospital room outside, squatted, and lit a cigarette.

He is cruel enough.

Alex Sandra sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in his office, and he had just finished a video conference, a cup of warm coffee in his hand. His assistant gave him a photo of the baby rabbit, and he was squatting in front of the room door, sick with cigarette butts, empty eyes looking down at the ground, lonely and dreary.

Alex Sandra lit a cigarette with his fingertips, caressing the little rabbit in the photo.

Their match is only 75%, the connection is only based on love to sustain. Breaking up is, sooner or later, a second-order thymic cell, Alpha, like him, facing the temptation of the outside world. It's impossible to account if he married an Omega with a match of no more than 80 to live together, watching the feelings between the two gradually become indifferent over time—what a boring marriage.

Love.

That floppy-eared rabbit is both romantic and caring. When he holds a colorful Uzi in his hand, a rose branch in his mouth smiles at him, making any Alpha's heart pound.

But the tiring thing is, next to him, there are always Omegas with a match rate exceeding 80%, making Alex Sandra feel even more comfortable, let alone 85%, 90%. Even a man-loving Omega with an even higher match tosses olive branches with him. Alpha is an animal that depends on the news, and there will be no Alpha for love that will ignore the Omega that is right for them.

After all, he is so special.

He pushed away the still-warm coffee and asked his assistant to make another.