THREE|| The New Secretary
1176 Words
“Hahaha.”
“Hahaha.”
“Heeheehee.”
I’m not laughing. I’m crying. Positively sobbing. Maybe both.
Are my tears ducts broken? Possibly. But no— these are tears. The big, ugly kind. I’m right at the edge of a breakdown.
And why, in all the cold corners of hell is there an AC blasting in this restroom. The toilet seat feels like a frozen tombstone.
My face is numb. My dignity? Long gone.
Can a man not cry in peace?
Why the hell are the walls gold-plated? I can see my miserable reflection staring back at me . I look like I just buried my cat, then I found out on Google that it wasn’t dead, just sleeping.
Sleeping deeply, like cats tend to do at times.
Honestly, I’d take that disaster over what happened tonight.
As for what led to this—
I think I might’ve signed that contract.
⸻
“I think there might be a mistake somewhere,” I speak my mind loud and clear in confidence.
“Speak up,” the devil behind the desk commands, voice as smooth as silk. Oh, great. Apparently, I wasn’t as confident as I thought.
Is it so wrong for a man to mumble?
“Speak clearly so I can understand you,” he repeats, those lilac eyes pinning me like a butterfly under glass. Why do evil people always look so goddamn good?
Beautiful people give me performance anxiety.
“I couldn’t have signed that document. I wasn’t even in the right state of mind,” I say, trying to sound sane while avoiding eye-contact.
“Surely you can terminate it…” My words trail off as I feel his gaze sharpen. Or maybe that’s just his pheromones pressing down on me like invisible hands.
Either way, my brain is scrambling for something to say.
“What I mean,” I bow deeply, “is that I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you sir. I wasted your precious time with my…ignorant, useless self”.
Please just accept my apology and let me go.
“Raise your head,” he says, voice cutting clean through the air. Cold and crisp.
Nope. I’m not doing it.
I’m not making eye contact with a dominant alpha.
“Please,” I plead again, bowing lower, “allow me to apologize again sir. I deeply regret—”
“Would you like me to lift your head for you?”
“No, sir!” My head shoots up so fast my neck pops. Eye contact achieved. I can feel my soul leaving my body. My knees wobble.
Looking at him now, how did I think this man was just another alpha?— not like I would willingly go ahead to challenge alphas normally.
But how could I not tell that he was something more? If I get out of this in one piece, I will never drink alcohol again.
Ever.
“You’re right,” he says calmly. “You didn’t sign the contract in the right state of mind, so technically, it’s void”.
My brain lights up. This is it! He might let me go—
“But…” He smiles. Oh no. “…it doesn’t matter.”
He stands,walking around the desk like a predator circling prey. Every step is deliberate. Measured to heighten all feelings of danger.
And it’s working.
All omegas are taught never to hold an alpha’s gaze. It’s rule number one of ‘How to Not Die Before 30’. I learned that one the hard way—back in middle school, face first against a dumpster, courtesy of some teenage alpha with a superiority complex. Broken nose, bloody lesson.
You don’t forget things like that.
But right now? I can’t look away. I physically can’t.
“…Because even if you wanted to reverse this,” he says, stopping right in front of me, “you don’t have the means or the power to take me to court.”
And don’t I know it.
He’s close enough now that I can see every detail—grey suit, honey-brown hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a silver ribbon, lilac eyes gleaming like something unholy.
He smiles like the cat that got the cream. Smug and satisfied.
Then his hand—smooth, pale and deceptively gentle—tilts my chin up.
My throat tightens. He’s a dominant alpha.
He’s strong. Stronger than anyone has a right to be.
‘He won’t kill me’, I tell myself. He’ll just…make me wish I were dead.
Comforting thought, Sora. Really helpful.
He’s staring down at me. I can’t breathe.
And even with scent blockers lining the walls, I can smell him. That rich, intoxicating alpha scent cutting through the sterile air like it owns the place. His pheromones are restrained, but still strong enough to make my instincts curl up and whimper.
Oh, God. Please stop looking at me.
Please don’t use your pheromones.
Please.
“…Even if you did go to court,” he whispers, his breath brushing against my lips, “you’d never win.”
I know.
I know so please just let me go.
My heart pounds, loud enough to echo in my ears. He smiles again—slow, deliberate and fanged. Actual fangs.
Then, unexpectedly—he steps back.
“You can breathe, Sorahiko,” he says softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Liar.
I’m not falling for that.
He studies me with that predatory calm, head tilted. I stay still, hold my breath in anticipation.
I shut my eyes, bracing for whatever comes next—pain, humiliation, maybe even death. After all, I did offend a dominant alpha.
A quick death would be kind.
Instead, pain does come. Just…not how I expected.
“ACK—!” I double over, clutching my throat. This bastard just jabbed his finger into my neck.
“You can’t die yet,” he says casually, sounding almost amused. “I haven’t even had any fun with you.”
I’m wheezing. I think my throat’s broken. Is that even medically possible?
“Let’s start again,” he continues smoothly. “I’ve reviewed your application, and I’ve decided you’re a perfect fit for my company.”
Application? This man’s delusional.
“You’ve signed the contract agreeing to serve as my secretary,” he adds with an infuriatingly smug smile.
Secretary?! I didn’t apply for s**t!.
“You’ll report to my CFO for your salary and schedule,” he says, straightening his tie. “Am I clear?”.
I’m too busy choking to answer, so he grabs me by the collar and yanks me upright. My feet barely touch the ground. His scent spikes, rich and commanding, rolling over me like thunder.
Even while I’m coughing out my lungs, he’s not giving me an inch.
“I said, am I clear, Sorahiko?”
Every instinct screams at me to run. Every cell in my body trembles. But logic outweighs reason.
“Yes,” I croak. “Very clear… sir.”
- Writer
