"I'm telling you, Leo, just read the first three chapters! If you don't like it, I'll pay for your protein powder for the next six months."Leo leaned back against the gym bench, the scent of iron and sweat clinging to him as he wiped his forehead. He looked at his best friend, Sarah, who was waving her phone in his face with a manic glint in her eyes.
"Sarah, I'd rather watch paint dry," Leo deadpanned. "It's always the same garbage. Some 'Alpha' guy growls, and the 'Omega' guy turns into a puddle of tears. It's pathetic. Why doesn't he just—I don't know—use a chair? Or a brick? Why is everyone so weak?"
"It's about romance, you caveman! It's 'The Tyrant's Fragile Lotus.' It's a classic of the genre!"
"It's a headache," Leo grumbled. But... six months of free, high-end protein was a bet he couldn't ignore. "Fine. Send me the link. But when I tell you it's trash, you're buying the expensive strawberry-flavored isolate. No cheap stuff."
Three hours later, Leo was tucked away in his office, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He was a man of efficiency, desperate to clear his desk before the sun went down. He had a date tonight—a second chance with a woman he'd accidentally stood up once before. By the grace of God, she'd agreed to meet him again, and Leo wasn't the type of man to make the same mistake twice.
A sharp ping echoed in the quiet office.
It was Sarah. [So? Where's my review? I know you're crying over the heartbreak already.]
Leo sighed, typing back with one hand: [It's trash. You owe me the strawberry stuff.]
[Liar!] she shot back instantly. [You haven't even passed the fourth chapter yet. I can see your reading progress on the app, you cheat!]
Leo rolled his eyes. [I'm at work. I'll finish your little soap opera when I have time.]
True to his word, Leo finished his tasks early and headed home to prepare. However, his efficiency turned out to be his enemy. After showering and dressing in his best suit, he realized he had over three hours to kill before he needed to leave for the restaurant.
Restless and bored, he sat on his couch and pulled out his phone. The Fragile Lotus was still open.
"Let's get this over with," he muttered.
Three hours later, Leo was face-palming so hard his forehead was a dull red. It was worse than he imagined. The protagonist, Prince Lian, was currently trembling like a leaf in a hurricane just because the Male Lead—General Huo—had looked at him too sternly.
"Punch him!" Leo shouted at the empty living room. "He's literally standing right there with his back turned! Just grab the vase and knock him out! Why are you crying?!"
He was so deeply immersed in his own irritation that he almost missed the time. His eyes darted to the clock. Crap. He jumped up, did some quick last-minute touches to his hair and headed out, the nonsensical plot still simmering in his mind. Pride should mean something, he thought as he drove. Biology or not, no man should let himself be walked over like that.
He finally reached the restaurant—a remarkably classy and elegant establishment he had chosen specifically for his lady. As soon as he stepped inside, the soft chime of a bell announced his arrival, and a waiter in a crisp tuxedo approached him with a professional nod.
"Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes, under Leo," he replied, adjusting his cuffs. He was led to a secluded, candlelit table where he waited with practiced patience, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the tablecloth.
Lena arrived barely five minutes later, a vision of curated blonde hair and a pale, delicate frame. Leo stood immediately, offering a genuine smile. "You look incredible tonight," he said as they exchanged pleasantries. "And your perfume—it's great."
"Thank you, Leo," Lena replied, sliding into her seat with a practiced grace. "I'm glad you could make it this time."
"About last time, I really am sorry. Work just—"
"It's fine," she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway, I had the most exhausting day. I spent three hours at the clinic. Do you think I need more lip filler? I feel like the volume is dropping."
Leo looked at her, truly looked at her. "I think you're beautiful exactly the way you are, Lena. You don't need to change anything."
She didn't blush. She didn't smile. She just let out a shallow, musical laugh. "Oh, Leo. You're so sweet, but you clearly don't understand aesthetics."
As the dinner progressed, the "sweetness" faded into boredom. Leo tried to engage her, but the conversation was a one-way street.
"How is your project going?" he asked.
"Oh, it's fine. But did I tell you about the dress I saw today? It would look perfect with my new shoes..."
She never asked about his day. She never asked about his work. He realized then that she was a fine porcelain vase: beautiful to look at, but completely empty. When the check was settled, Leo offered to drive her home.
"No, that's alright," Lena said, checking her reflection in a compact mirror. "Maybe next time you'll earn the right to know where I live."
Leo watched her walk away, knowing deep down there wouldn't be a next time. He got into his car and saw a message from Sarah.
Sarah: [How was the date? Did you fall in love?] Leo: [I've had worse. Barely.] Sarah: [Lmao. Get home quickly so we can talk about the book!]
Leo groaned, pulling out of the parking lot. Talking about the book would only piss him off more than the failed date. As he reached the intersection, his mind was still on the "logic" of the Omegaverse. Sarah's books are terrible. No man in real life would ever act like that.
Suddenly, a pair of headlights blinded him. A car swerved violently into his lane, the roar of screeching tires filling the cabin. Leo slammed on the brakes, his heart leaping into his throat, but the momentum was too great.
His car spun out of control, the world tilting at a sickening angle before slamming into a massive concrete pillar.
In the sudden, terrifying silence—before the glass had even finished shattering—a cold, distorted whisper echoed directly in his ear, sounding like it came from everywhere and nowhere at once:
"You will die today."
Before Leo could process the words, the world went pitch black.