Prologue: This Novel Sucks (And Then I Died)
"Ciel struggled, whimpering as the duke pinned him down.
'L-let go,' he begged.
'No,' the handsome man said, voice deep and dangerous. 'You tell me no... but your body says otherwise.'
Ciel bit his lip, tears sliding down his cheeks, betrayed by the heat rising in his body.
The duke then—"
"Okay. Stop. Right there."
The voice came from the bed on the left—raspy, bone-dry, and thoroughly unimpressed.
In the sterile hospital room, soaked in fluorescent light and the smell of antiseptic and lemon wipes, Jack—bald, gaunt, dying—shifted weakly in his sheets and gave the narrator across from him a look of pure judgment.
"That's sexual assault, Rose."
"It's not!" Rose huffed from her wheelchair, clutching her battered notebook like scripture. Her IV line jiggled as she adjusted the desk tray strapped to her armrest.
Jack gestured feebly toward the ceiling. "He said no, Rose. 'No' means no."
She waved the notebook like a scepter. "It's fictional. It's the allure, Jack."
He squinted at her like she'd grown a third bald head. "The allure of being molested by a duke with a superiority complex and a moral compass made of wet cardboard?"
"Yes. It's called dark romance. Readers eat this up."
"They need therapy."
"I need chemo, Jack. This novel is what's paying for it."
He coughed. "Your readers are into some freaky shit."
"They pay my bills. They can be as freaky as they want."
She cleared her throat and continued dramatically:
"Ciel gasped, pressed against the car seat, his pheromones flaring like summer wine.
'I hate you,' he sobbed.
'Too bad,' the duke growled. 'I'll have you anyway—'"
"Pause. Hold up. A car just showed up?"
Rose didn't look up. "Yes."
"You said there were dukes in this. Like… horse-and-buggy dukes or Tesla-driving dukes?"
"It's a modern omegaverse world with an active aristocracy. Keep up."
Jack blinked. "So… Wi-Fi and legal omega auctions. Cool, cool."
"Don't test me, Jack."
"Ciel ran, barefoot and swollen-bellied, clutching the child inside—"
"Pregnant?! I thought he was a guy!"
"Yeah, he's an omega. He can get pregnant. Omegaverse. I literally explained this a few minutes ago."
"Sorry, wasn't paying attention. Tell me more."
"So basically, there are secondary sub-genders—alphas, omegas, and betas. Pheromones, marking, knotting, heat cycles…"
"I can accept all that," Jack said, "but how do they give birth?"
Rose froze.
"I don't know," she admitted. "We kind of… brush over it."
Jack stared at her. "Is it the butthole? Or worse—does the dick bloom like a flower and bam, the baby's out?"
"JACK!"
"I'm curious! Sue me!"
"C-section. Okay? Surgery."
He chuckled. "So sterile."
She sighed so deeply her IV line twitched. "Can I finish now?"
Jack made a smug zipped-lips motion.
"Thinking he'd escaped, Ciel found himself trapped in the arms of a villain.
The villain cornered him, blood on his hands, obsession in his eyes—"
"WAIT. Random villain aside, why are these supposedly high-authority, super-hot alphas obsessed with an omega from a cabbage farm?"
Rose didn't even blink. "It's in the title. PheromoneObsession. He's got a rare scent-pheremones triggers,it's like alpha crack. And the dukes are yanderes. Obsession is what they are."
"You're just making up words now."
"If you interrupt me one more time," Rose warned, "I swear to God I'll write you into this story as a side character with chronic diarrhea."
Jack grinned. "Do it. Let the readers suffer with me."
---
But after a few more lines… she paused.
No groan.
No smart-ass quip.
No sarcastic "oh, not this again."
Just… silence.
Her pen hovered mid-air.
"...Jack?"
Still nothing.
The only sounds now were the hiss of oxygen, the tick of the vitals monitor, and her own shallow breathing.
"Jack?"
The monitor beeped.
Once.
Again.
Then a long, sharp tone.
Rose's heart dropped.
"Jack?!" Her voice cracked as she tried to stand—her wheelchair jerked awkwardly, IV line dragging.
"Nurse! I—I need help! He's not—he's not breathing! JACK!"
The door burst open.
White coats. Clipboards. Rapid orders. The whirl of a crash cart. Wires. A defibrillator.
"Clear!"
Nothing.
Again.
Rose was ushered back, trembling, stunned. Her fingers curled around the edge of her notebook.
Not yet. Not today. Not him.
A nurse turned gently. "I'm sorry. He's gone."
"No…" Rose whispered. "No, he can't—"
She pushed forward, past the arms trying to hold her back. "Just one second. Let me—just one."
They let her through.
She reached for his hand—still warm.
She wrapped both of hers around it, knuckles white.
"Asshole," she whispered. "You weren't supposed to go first."
Her voice shook. It never got easier. Losing someone. Not in this ward. Not ever.
She leaned closer, forehead nearly resting against his.
And then—one last breath.
Shallow. But there.
Jack's lips twitched. His mouth moved.
A soft rasp scraped past his throat:
"Your novel… sucks ass."
He smirked.
The monitor went flat.
And this time, it really was the end.