Chapter 3
Would you call it luck? A cheat code? Or maybe a glitch in the system?
I wouldn't know.
All I knew was, I woke up with a new memory—one that didn't belong to Hazel, the original owner of this body. It wasn't from her past. It was something... external. Like a secret file dropped into my brain—specifically to help me survive.
This world offered me something close to hope.
A cure.
Apparently, my sickness—something called Black Death—could only be cured through a mark. But not just any mark. It had to come from a rare gender. One no one spoke about openly. A being people thought was a myth.
"Enigma," I whispered.
The name flashed again. Val Earnhardt. The memory was clear—he would experience his rare, unstable rut tonight, and because of how dangerous it was, everyone around him would flee, leaving him isolated. Perfect for sneaking in. That same memory showed where he'd be—his private mansion in Priceline Estate.
I had no idea where that was. But if there was even a sliver of hope for survival in this hellish new life... I'd take it.
Even if it killed me.
"What does it mean to be marked...?" I muttered, scrolling through the phone.
As I browsed, I found something about glands. Apparently, Omegas had scent glands at the back of their necks—soft, sensitive spots that Alphas bit into during mating or marking. It injected pheromones directly into their bodies.
Just out of curiosity, I reached behind my neck. My fingers brushed over a small, tender patch of skin. It was strangely warm and sensitive.
"Is this mine...? But I'm an Alpha... Can an Alpha even be marked?" I asked out loud, then sighed. "Whatever."
All the mark required was for his fangs to sink into my gland, his pheromones to mix with mine, and boom—my system would be purged of the poison that was eating me alive. Sure, there were warnings about it possibly leading to... sex.
But I ignored that part.
Lying on the bed, I looked at everyone that passed by outside my door. From the faint perfume-like scents clinging to them, I realized it wasn't perfume at all—it was pheromones. Strong, commanding, each scent unique, intense, and dominant. Some people didn't seem to emit anything at all, and I guessed those were the Betas. The rest who walked around freely must be using pheromone patch blockers to cover their natural scent.
Hazel had none of that. She was exposed and vulnerable.
My fingers trembled as I opened the gallery one more time. I looked for any signs of family, but there were none. Then, like a gut punch, a memory hit me—her family had thrown her out. She had been framed by her stepsister, Lora, and betrayed by those she trusted most. It was the same story again... just like my past life.
But this time... I had options.
Evening came. The strange thing? The illness started to fade. Maybe Black Death was weaker at night. Or maybe fate was cutting me a break.
I checked Hazel's bank app. Not much. But enough for a ride.
I slipped off the bed and walked to the nurse's counter, requesting discharge. They gave me strange looks, but with the original Hazel's memories guiding me, I got through the process.
Now came the real challenge.
The changing room.
Standing naked in front of the mirror, I covered my flushed face. I'd seen a million women before—but never thought I'd become one. And now I was stuck trying to figure out how to put on... a bra.
It looked simple. Just a few hooks and straps. But it took me over two damn hours to finally dress myself. My face was beet red the entire time. I didn't even want to look, but I had to. Every glance made me feel like I was peeking into someone else's privacy.
I finally put on a decent outfit that hugged Hazel's curves like it was made for her. But heels? Hell no. Even though they were short, I walked like a baby giraffe learning how to stand.
Still, I had to accept it. This was me now—until this body gave up.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my small bag, and headed out.
Only to stop cold.
Right in front of me stood Pete Cohn—one of Hazel's so-called mates. The fourth one. A doctor. Rich. Smart. And clearly arrogant.
He scowled as soon as he saw me.
"What? This your new trick?" he said, his tone oozing disdain. "You've been faking illness for nearly two years, claiming you have Black Death just to get my attention. And now that I didn't fall for it, you show up perfectly fine and try to pull another stunt? Let me make this clear—I'm never marrying a scheming Alpha like you."
His words were sharp. Cruel. But I only stared.
Up close, he wasn't as dazzling as I remembered from the memories.
I let out a tired sigh. "Then don't marry me."
His brows twitched, clearly caught off guard.
I walked past him, not looking back.
Seriously, who told him I was desperate to marry? I wasn't even planning on surviving this world, let alone tying myself down to some arrogant jerk who thinks I revolve around his pity.
Thank God the mates rejected Hazel.
Four guys? No thanks. I'd rather die single than live constantly trying to earn a man's approval.
Stepping outside, I hailed a cab.
"Priceline Estate," I told the driver. My voice was firm.
I didn't glance back. I had no reason to.
That life—those people—they didn't matter anymore. I had bigger things to worry about.
Somewhere in this city, a mysterious man named Val Earnhardt was preparing for the most dangerous night of his month.
And I was heading straight toward him.