Chapter 6: Two weeks

The silence that followed Noah’s words was heavy, suffocating, and absolute.

For three agonising seconds, the only sound in the dimly lit VIP room was the rhythmic, high-pitched beep of the heart monitor connected to Christopher’s chest.

Then, Christopher let out a dry, breathy laugh. It was a harsh, bitter sound that carried no amusement—only the sharp edge of an untouchable CEO listening to an absurd joke.

“Secondary differentiation?” Christopher repeated, his voice raspy, dripping with incredulity. He rubbed his face with a heavy, trembling palm, pushing back his sweat-dampened dark hair. “Noah, I’m twenty-six years old. I differentiated as a dominant Alpha when I was fourteen. My medical history is on the top floor of this hospital. What kind of incompetent blood panel are you reading?”

Noah didn't flinch, though his knuckles turned white where he gripped the edge of the medical tablet. He looked down at Christopher, his eyes filled with a terrifying, heavy grief that made the knot in Christopher’s stomach tighten into hard iron.

“I ran the panel three times, Chris,” Noah said softly, dropping the formal title he used in public. “I ran it on two separate analyzers in the private basement lab. It’s not an error.”

Noah hesitated, his jaw working as he swallowed down the word that felt like poison in the room. He turned the tablet around, tapping a button to bring up a red-highlighted hormone graph.

“Your testosterone levels have plummeted by seventy percent in less than six hours,” Noah explained, his voice hushed, precision-tuned to avoid echoing into the hallway. “Your endocrine system is undergoing a violent, systemic overhaul. Your body is suppressing Alpha traits and rapidly developing Omega receptors.”

The word hung in the sterile air like a guillotine blade.

Omega.

Christopher stared at the screen. The numbers blurred together in a dizzying haze of red and black. His mind violently rejected the visual proof, his pride roaring against the impossible reality.

In the hyper-competitive world of high finance and biotechnology, Alphas were the apex predators. 

They held the boardrooms, commanded respect through raw, suffocating aura, and built empires. Omegas, despite all the modern laws surrounding equality, were still quietly viewed by the corporate elite as delicate, emotional, and biologically bound to submission. They were meant to be protected, courted, or hidden away in luxury penthouses.

They did not lead multi-billion-dollar global conglomerates. They did not sit at the head of Ashford International.

“No,” Christopher growled, his voice dropping an octave, dark and dangerous. He ripped the heart monitor pads off his bare chest, the sticky adhesive tearing at his skin. He swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed, intending to stand up and prove his strength. “This is a misdiagnosis. Some rogue toxin, an endocrine disruptor dammit, Noah, search for poisoning! 

Damian had his eye on the Helios Project, he could have—”

“Christopher!” Evelyn’s voice sliced through the air like a crack of thunder. The grand matriarch took two stiff steps forward, her silver-headed cane slamming into the polished floor with a sharp, echoing thud.

Christopher froze, his bare feet touching the cold tile.

Evelyn stood over him, her weathered face carved out of unforgiving stone, but behind the icy mask, her silver eyes, the same eyes Christopher inherited were wide with a quiet, primal horror.

“Look at me,” Evelyn commanded softly.

Christopher looked up, his chest heaving, sweat rolling down the sharp angle of his jaw.

“You are a brilliant man, Christopher,” Evelyn whispered, her aristocratic voice laced with steel and buried terror. “But do not let pride make you a fool. Look at your hands.”

Christopher looked down. His long, elegant fingers were trembling. Not from rage but from a deep, hollow exhaustion radiating straight from his bones. Worse yet, a strange, feverish heat was spreading across the back of his neck, centered precisely where an Omega’s scent gland resided.

He lifted a hand, his fingertips brushing the nape of his neck. The skin there was burning, tender, and throbbing with a light, rhythmic pulse. The moment his own fingers touched the area, a shocking wave of sensitivity shot straight down his spinal cord, making his breath hitch in a sharp, helpless gasp.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped beast.

It’s real, a dark, terrifying voice whispered in the back of his head. Your body is turning against you.

“If Damian gets a single whiff of this,” Evelyn said, her eyes narrowing into cold slits as she mapped out the corporate battlefield, “he won't just challenge your leadership. He will petition the board to declare you biologically unfit under the corporate stewardship bylaws. The shareholders will panic. The stock will plummet before the market opens on Monday.”

She leaned in, her hand gripping Christopher’s shoulder with surprising strength.

“An Omega cannot hold the throne of Ashford International, Christopher. Society may pretend it has evolved, but Wall Street is run by Alphas who smell weakness like blood in the water. If they find out, they will devour you alive.”

“I am not weak,” Christopher spat through gritted teeth, his silver eyes flashing with a fierce, desperate fire. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into tight fists against his knees. 

I built this company's modern success. I broke record profits. I am Christopher Ashford.

Yet, beneath his fierce internal defiance, a pit of terrifying vulnerability was opening up. His entire identity, twenty-six years of being the dominant, undisputed Alpha in every room he walked into was being systematically erased by his own blood.

“We wipe the records,” Christopher said, opening his eyes, his tone suddenly turning hollow and pragmatic as the executive in him took over survival mode. He looked up at Noah. “Every blood test, every scan. Erase them from the hospital server. Reclassify my collapse as severe dehydration and overworked exhaustion.”

“I’ve already isolated the local drive, Chris,” Noah assured him, though his brow remained furrowed with deep concern. “The hard data is locked on a private drive only I have access to. But erasing the files doesn't fix your biology. Secondary differentiations in adults don't just happen, Christopher. It is a biological anomaly statistically one in ten million. Your body is going to go through heat cycles. Your scent is going to change. You won't be able to mask it with standard Alpha suppressants.”

“Then give me stronger ones,” Christopher ordered coldly.

“They don't exist!” Noah snapped quietly, stepping closer to the bed. “If you take high-grade Alpha suppressants while your body is trying to produce Omega hormones, you could trigger a fatal stroke or permanent neurological damage.”

Christopher let out a low growl, pushing himself up off the bed. His knees wobbled violently for a second, but he forced his posture straight, standing at his full height, refusing to look broken in front of his grandmother.

“Find a way, Noah,” Christopher commanded softly, his silver eyes cold as ice. “Because I would rather die of a stroke than surrender this company to my uncle.”

Evelyn watched him, a faint, melancholy expression fleeting across her face before her stoic mask returned. “I will return to the estate and handle the board members Damian is currently trying to bribe. Noah will stay here with you tonight to monitor your vitals. You will remain in this room until the initial hormone surge stabilizes.”

She turned, her heels and cane sounding in rhythm as she walked toward the door. Pausing at the handle, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“Remember who you are, Christopher,” she said gravely. “An Ashford does not bow. Not to the board, not to the press... and not to his own biology.”

With that, the heavy door clicked shut, leaving Christopher alone with Noah in the dim, oppressive room.

Christopher stood in the middle of the floor, staring at his reflection in the dark, tinted window overlooking the city lights. He looked the same on the outside tall, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, clad in bespoke trousers and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

But as he stared at his reflection, a sudden, terrifying wave of warmth bloomed in his lower stomach. His sense of smell suddenly spiked with unnatural clarity, he could smell the faint, bitter iron of the IV needle, the chemical tang of the floor disinfectant, and the subtle, anxious Beta scent rolling off Noah.

Everything felt too loud, too sharp, too overwhelming.

An Omega.

A sudden, fleeting memory flashed unbidden through Christopher's mind dark, mocking eyes gleaming in the dim light of the private lounge. Velvet-smooth words echoing in his ears: “I’ve never had an Alpha. Especially not one who tries as hard as you do to play the big, bad CEO.”

Cassian.

Christopher’s breath hitched, a sudden, furious shiver running down his spine. Why the hell was he thinking about Cassian Collins right now? Why did the phantom memory of that man’s suffocating, dark Alpha aura make the tender skin at the back of Christopher’s neck throb with a strange, terrifying ache?

Christopher slammed his fist against the window frame, the sudden pain grounding him back to reality.

“Noah,” Christopher rasped, refusing to turn around.

“Yeah?”

“How long until the first heat hits?”

Noah remained silent for a long moment, the tablet clicking softly as he pulled up the baseline projections. “If the hormone ramp continues at this rate...” Noah said, his voice laced with grim certainty. 

“You have less than two weeks before your body demands an Alpha.”