Chapter 18

When I was nineteen, I heard whispers in the undercurrent of the city, hushed tones that spoke of the McCarthy estate and the positions they were seeking to fill. The rumors of high pay and the chance to step inside the hallowed halls of one of the most influential families in the region were too tempting to ignore. It was an opportunity that seemed tailor-made for someone in my precarious situation, someone who needed to blend in, to become invisible in plain sight.

The decision to apply was an easy one. I had perfected the art of pretense, the de-scent lotion and beta pheromone perfume, my constant companions. They were my camouflage, my shield against a world that would condemn me for the alpha I was born to be. I slathered the lotion onto my skin, the scent of bourbon and cedar fading until it was undetectable beneath the nondescript aroma of a beta.

I stood in front of the polished mahogany doors of the McCarthy estate, my heart a steady drumbeat in my chest. The interview was a blur of questions and affirmations, my answers were practiced and convincing. I was a beta, diligent and unassuming, eager to serve and uphold the esteemed reputation of the McCarthy family. They bought the lie, hook, line, and sinker.

The moment I stepped onto the estate grounds as a member of the staff, I felt a surge of triumph. It was a victory, not just of deception, but of survival. I was in, closer than I had ever dared to dream. But with proximity came the risk of exposure, a dance along the edge of a blade that could cut deeper than any physical wound.

I watched her from the corners of rooms, from behind the veil of my new identity. Darcy McCarthy, the omega whose strength was the stuff of legends within the Omega Underground. I listened as others spoke of her in hushed tones of awe and admiration, her ability to navigate the oppressive expectations of her family while secretly honing her skills as a coder.

The more I learned about her, the more I found myself drawn into her orbit. I couldn’t help but be captivated by her resilience, her determination to carve out a life of her own making. It was that admiration that compelled me to act, to aid her in the pursuit of her independence. I used my connections, my knowledge of the city’s digital underbelly to help her secure clients for her coding work. I was careful, meticulous in ensuring that my assistance remained a ghost in the machine, untraceable and unknown.

As the days turned into weeks, my role at the McCarthy estate became a well-rehearsed performance. I moved through the grand corridors and opulent rooms, a specter among the elite, always watching, always listening. And all the while, I waited for the chance to make myself indispensable to the woman who had unwittingly become the center of my world.

The first time our paths crossed, it was like a punch to the gut. Her coconut and vanilla scent wafted towards me as she glided down the corridor, her blue eyes reflecting an inner fire that no amount of political maneuvering could extinguish. I froze, a statue among the luxury, as the realization hit me like a wave—she was my scent match. The world seemed to narrow to that one undeniable truth, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

But I was a specter, a mere beta in the grand scheme of her life. I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, not when the stakes were so high. My heart hammered in my chest as I forced myself to nod respectfully, to blend into the background as she passed by without a second glance. It was torture, this proximity without the possibility of connection.

I was torn, caught between the desire to wrap her in my protection and the reality that such a thing was impossible. I had nothing to offer her, no sanctuary from the life she was born into. The Omega Underground had been my lifeline, my connection to a world where I could be more than the sum of my genetic parts. But they couldn’t even help us now.

So, I did the only thing I could—I continued to watch over her from the shadows. When she was out with her father, paraded around like a prized pony at an auction, I slipped into her room. My actions were a violation, I knew that, but I told myself it was for her safety. I hid cameras in strategic locations, places where they would go unnoticed by her or the rest of the household staff.

I began to really observe her, to learn the rhythms of her life. I watched her code, her fingers flying across the keyboard with a deftness that spoke of her passion for the work. I saw the way she curled up in her nest, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she found a moment of solace in the chaos of her world. I noticed the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when she spoke to her father, the subtle way she recoiled from his touch.

With each passing day, my protective instincts grew stronger. I hated the life she was trapped in, the expectations that weighed heavily on her shoulders. I wanted to tear down the walls of her gilded cage, to set her free from the political machinations that sought to control her.

But I was just a ghost in her life. My resources were limited, my options even more so. I could do nothing but watch and wait, my heart aching with the knowledge that I could offer her no reprieve from her suffering. The cameras were my only link to her, a silent witness to her struggles.

As I sat in my modest room in the staff quarters, the screens before me flickered with images of Darcy. I drank in the sight of her, committing every detail to memory. I was playing a dangerous game, one that could cost me everything if I was discovered.

But as I watched her, I knew that I would risk it all for the chance to see her safe and free. The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating, a secret I held close to my heart as I continued my vigil, ever watchful, ever waiting.