Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Omega's Choice : Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

I grip the steering wheel of my sleek, silver Audi, my knuckles white. It smells new, expensive, a heady mix of leather and something subtly artificial. I thought of personalising the car before I kicked off my driving lessons with Dante, but then I thought about it.What exactly is my personality?And then Kira had replied, "A stupid and brainwashed girl who believes three orgasms can equal the truth."I had ignored her, and concluded on my own that I'm still finding out what I like and what I don't. In other words, I'm still searching for a personality.That and Kira is giving me the silent treatment."Fucking bitch," she grumbles in my head at that and I smirk internally, then I bring my head back to the safe confines of my car and turn my attention to Dante.“Are you absolutely sure this isn’t too fast?” I ask him, my voice a little higher than usual.Dante, perched in the passenger seat, throws his head back and laughs, a warm, melodious sound that’s quickly becoming familiar.

The morning light, filtered through the sheer curtains of our ridiculously expensive apartment, paints the pristine white kitchen in a soft, almost ethereal glow. I stand at the marble island, the cool, smooth surface a sweet contrast to the warmth of the cereal bowl in my hands, and absently pour the crunchy flakes. A mindless hum escapes my lips, the repetitive, catchy tune of a pop song that had burrowed its way into my brain during one of my increasingly frequent driving lessons with Dante. It’s a small, ordinary ritual, a fragile anchor to normalcy in a life that often feels like a meticulously crafted dream, teetering on the edge of something else.Lior had slipped out before the first hint of dawn, a fleeting, almost perfunctory kiss pressed to my forehead. The extravagant bouquet of lilies he’d arranged on the counter the night before, their heavy, intoxicating scent filling the air, feels like a deliberate attempt to create a perfect tableau. His signature aftershave, a

“Oh, please,” I mutter to the television screen, a wry smile twisting my lips. The movie playing is some low-budget human attempt at depicting werewolves – all snarling CGI and ridiculously dramatic transformations that bear absolutely no resemblance to the seamless slide between forms. Honestly, the way they imagine us, all hulking brutes with glowing eyes…it’s almost comical. If only they knew the truth, the quiet efficiency of our shifts, the heightened senses that are both a blessing and a constant, often overwhelming, influx of information. They’d probably faint from the sheer normalcy of it all, the lack of theatricality in our reality.A sharp knock on the door interrupts my private cinematic mockery. I pause the movie, the image of a ridiculously oversized wolf frozen mid-snarl, and head to the door. Through the peephole, I see a woman standing in the hallway. Tall, unnervingly thin, with long, lacquered red nails that look sharp enough to draw blood and eyes that seem st

Lior’s platinum card feels strangely weightless in my hand, a major contrast to the heavy unease that still lingers after the delivery of that unsettling package. His impulsive generosity, a predictable tactic after our strained exchange, has landed me in this upscale boutique, surrounded by shimmering fabrics and gentle humms of air-conditioning.“Buy whatever you want, amore,” he’d said, his charm turned up full wattage, effectively dissolving my lingering questions with a wave of extravagant affection.The boutique girl, all impossibly long legs and practiced smiles, calls me “Mrs. Noir,” a title I'm clearing not getting the meaning of, though I like it. It has a fine touch to it. She offers me a delicate flute of champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose as I sip. An odd sort of appeal tugs at me, a fleeting enjoyment of the tactile luxury surrounding me, something I never anticipated. But as I browse the racks of designer clothes, a disquieting realization dawns. The silks and

Lior’s shirt smells like amber and mint dollar notes. I’m swimming in it. Literally and metaphorically. Legs curled under me like I’m trying to shrink myself out of existence. Wine glass in hand. Half-full—or half-empty, I don’t even know anymore. Depends on how much I want to lie to myself tonight.Inside, he’s sprawled out like a prince. Or maybe more like a storybook version of one. The kind of prince that doesn’t have to fight for the crown because it’s just handed to him. He sleeps easy. Chest rising and falling, lips slightly parted. Like the world never clawed at his skin.I envy that.That peace that only a newborn is able to achieve.Out here on the balcony, it’s wind and glass and too much sky. The city looks like a living thing—so full of light and motion it feels like it’s breathing beneath me. I stare down at it and think… wow, you’ve really gone and done it, haven’t you?Five months ago, you were in Lunaris, peeling potatoes and running from feelings. And now? Now