Chapter 4

I had gotten too involved. I was not merely acting as his doctor, but as someone who was growing curious about him.

The thing people with emotional cognitive disorders were best at was dragging others into their own emotional wasteland.

"I'm inspecting the factory tomorrow," Lucas said abruptly. "You're coming."

"What do I need to prepare?"

"Gas mask."

He stood up, adjusting his suit. "That place is crawling with Alphas."

After the glass door closed, I exhaled in relief, only to find a note tucked under the takeout box.

The note read: [Good analysis. Wrong conclusions.]

I smiled as I tucked the note into the drawer.

I then wrote on the first page of the treatment notes: [The patient's defense mechanism of denial is strong, but he has begun to communicate. Progress +2.]

I rubbed my aching shoulders, my thoughts drifting to the Blue Jacaranda in the sunroom. It was a plant that took twenty years to bloom.

I wondered why Lucas was willing to wait that long.

*****

One day, Lucas' rut hit without warning.

As soon as I stepped into the office that morning, I caught a faint, elusive whiff of cedar.

I found it strange. As a Beta, I shouldn't be able to detect pheromones at all.

Behind the glass wall, Lucas' office was empty, but a sliver of light seeped out from beneath the door to the inner room.

"When did it start?" I asked.

I pulled out my tablet, bringing up the Alpha biological cycle chart.

Jenny reported, "At 8 a.m., the security alarm went off, and we found him wrecking the gym."

She then handed me a suppressant injector. "The medical team got kicked out," she said.

I took the injector and cautiously pushed open the door to the sunroom. After that, I froze in place.

The sunroom had turned into a war zone.

Shards of flowerpots littered the floor, and the precious Blue Jacaranda had been snapped clean in half.

Lucas was curled up in the corner, his suit jacket nowhere to be seen, his white shirt soaked through with sweat and clinging to his back.

When he looked up, I caught a glimpse of those beast-like vertical pupils.

"Get out." Lucas' voice was gratingly hoarse.

I stood my ground.

I remembered a line in the psychology textbook.

That line stated: [An Alpha's rut-induced pheromones can trigger adrenaline surges in Betas.]

That was why I could sense the cedar. It was because my body was basically sounding the alarm.

"Mr. Shaw, I'm here to—"

A vase whizzed past my ear and shattered against the wall.

Shards sliced across my cheek, warm blood trickling down.

I wiped my face, and my hand was smeared with blood.

"I said, get the hell out," Lucas demanded.

He then staggered to his feet, a tsunami of pheromones crashing down on me.

Any ordinary Omega would've passed out by then, but as a hapless Beta, I could only grit my teeth and force myself to keep moving forward, my body trembling uncontrollably.

"According to Article 12 of the contract, your health falls under my medical care," I said, my voice shaking but my steps steady.

Soon, we were only 6 feet apart.

Just as I was about to step into his strike zone, Lucas suddenly collapsed to his knees, letting out a low growl that bordered on a whimper.

He buried his face in his hands, his nails digging deep into his scalp as if trying to claw out the torment screaming in his mind.

My training kicked in, overriding my fear.

I lunged forward and grabbed his wrists. "Stop that! You'll hurt yourself—"

The instant I touched him, an electric jolt shot up my arm.

Lucas' skin was scalding hot, and his muscles spasmed violently beneath the surface.

Textbooks stated that it was a case of pheromone overload, a common phenomenon among Alphas who had suppressed their instincts for too long.

"Let go..." Lucas uttered.

He struggled, but his strength was a mere shadow of what it used to be.

"Not yet."

I produced the suppressant and, seizing his moment of weakness, jabbed it into his jugular vein. "Mr. Shaw, you might need to sleep it off," I said to him.

The suppressant worked almost instantly.

Lucas' pupils dilated as his body pitched forward. I barely had time to spread my arms before the six-foot-plus Alpha came crashing down, pinning me to the floor.

His scalding and damp breath fanned across my neck.

Lucas' words came out slurred from the drugs. "W-Why aren't you afraid of me?"

I thought it was a good question.

I was filled with thoughts as I was lying in a mess of shattered porcelain.

Was it because he was paying me three times my salary?

Or due to the pride I had in my professionalism?

"I guess it's because I'm a Beta," I eventually responded.

Once I confirmed Lucas was soundly asleep, I struggled to wriggle out from under him.

His white shirt was stained beyond recognition with blood and dirt, and his right arm seemed to have been dislocated.

However, what truly unsettled me was the unnatural outline on Lucas' back.

Through his soaked shirt, several parallel ridges stood out sharply.

My professional ethics wrestled with my curiosity for a full three seconds.

I then carefully lifted the hem of his shirt.

Right then, I gasped in shock.