Chapitre 21: Amusement
Standing silently beside Dorian, I feel the weight of his presence bearing down on me, suffocating yet inescapable. He hates it when I speak to others in his company, let alone engage in anything that could be misconstrued as independence. His rules are simple: I am here to be seen, not heard. To smile, not to laugh. To be an outlet for his desire.To exist as the flawless doll he has paid me to be.
And so, a doll I shall be.
I remind myself of the perks—the sponsorship deals, the small but steady stream of acting roles. Opportunities I could have only dreamed of before Dorian entered my life. For someone like me, a struggling actor clawing to stay afloat in a city that chews people up and spits them out, this arrangement is more salvation than it is damnation. Or so I tell myself.
But some days, I wonder if I am lying to myself.
Dorian has his moments. Occasionally, he takes me to dinner at the most exquisite restaurants, and for a brief flicker of time, I feel special, as though I am more than just a transaction. I ignore the pitying glances from strangers, the whispers I catch when they think I'm out of earshot.
"He's just another one in Dorian Black's collection."
"Poor thing, he doesn't know what he's signed up for."
But I do know. Me, and every omega who came before me, we all knew. Dorian Black is not the kind of man you fall into without knowing the risks. He's not gentle. He's not forgiving. He doesn't pretend to love us, and in return, we don't expect love from him. Yet, somehow, we always fall anyway. We always hope—foolishly, pathetically—that we might be the exception.
Not me, though. I won't make the same mistake.
I refuse to let myself fall for the glimpses of humanity he occasionally shows, the rare moments when he isn't scowling or brooding. He is who he is: ruthless, cold, unrelenting. Even in his bed, he isn't gentle, and my body bears the marks of his unkindness. The pain, both physical and emotional, is something I've resigned myself to enduring. After all, if the omegas before me survived it before being discarded, so will I.
Still, I can't help but wonder about the one who came before me. The omega who seems to haunt him, even now. Dorian won't even allow his name to be spoken. The first time I asked, his reaction was so violent I thought the walls themselves would shatter. His face darkened, his jaw clenched, and he hurled a glass across the room with such force it left a dent in the wall.
Who was he? And what did he do to Dorian to leave him so... undone?
My thoughts are interrupted by a shift in the room's atmosphere. Whispers ripple through the crowd like a tidal wave, growing louder with every passing second. I glance around, curious. At first, I don't see what's causing the commotion, but then I notice Dorian.
His entire body has gone rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly I fear he might shatter his teeth. His hand grips his champagne glass with such force I half expect it to explode in his palm. Following his line of sight, I turn my head—and then I see them.
The crowd parts almost reverently, as if even they can feel the gravity of their arrival. A tall, imposing figure strides into the room, commanding attention without so much as lifting a finger. Beside him walks someone so breathtakingly beautiful that it momentarily robs me of air.
I thought I had looked stunning tonight. I thought the tailored suit, the carefully styled hair, the hours spent preparing would be enough to turn heads. But standing there, in the presence of him, I feel like a child playing dress-up.
He moves with an effortless grace that makes the rest of us seem clumsy by comparison.From afar, I can already tell the omega has blonde hair, a striking halo of gold that catches the light with every subtle movement. Judging by Dorian's reaction—his clenched jaw, the storm brewing in his cold eyes—it's clear. This man, this flawless creature, must be an ex-plaything.
And that makes me even more curious.
I watch the duo, my gaze fixed on the interplay between them. It's fascinating, like watching an intricate dance where every movement, every glance, tells a story I'm desperate to understand. The tall man at the omega's side commands the room effortlessly, his presence magnetic and undeniable. But it's the omega who steals my focus.
He stands by the man's side, quiet yet radiant, like an exquisite trophy put on display. But he isn't diminished by his silence. No, he owns it. He shines with a confidence that seems untouchable, his poise sharp enough to cut through the whispers surrounding him.
And then there's me—standing awkwardly by Dorian's side, trying to mimic the omega's elegance and falling woefully short. Next to him, I feel small, insignificant. He exudes the kind of power that makes everyone around him fade into the background. Even now, as Dorian and I watch him, I can feel myself shrinking.
I glance up at Dorian, half-afraid he'll snap under the weight of his own fury. His knuckles are white against the glass in his hand, his breathing controlled but shallow, the way it always is before he does something reckless.
The tall man leans down to say something to the omega, his voice low and intimate, before stepping away to join another conversation. And that's when Dorian moves.
I barely have time to react as he strides across the room, his steps swift and purposeful. I hurry after him, my legs struggling to match his long, angry strides. The polished floor is slick under my feet, and I nearly stumble in my haste.
"Dorian, wait—" I try to whisper, but my words die in my throat. He doesn't hear me. Or maybe he doesn't care.
He stops abruptly, his towering figure casting a shadow over the blonde omega, who is now turned away, speaking to someone else. The air between them is electric, crackling with tension.
"IVAN," Dorian's voice booms, loud enough to make heads turn.
The omega freezes mid-sentence before turning slowly to face us. The room seems to hold its breath as Ivan meets Dorian's gaze, and I finally see him up close.
If I thought he was beautiful from afar, I was wrong. Up close, he is otherworldly. His sharp features, his porcelain skin, the piercing green of his eyes—it's enough to make my chest tighten. He is perfection incarnate, a vision so flawless it almost hurts to look at him.
And in that moment, I know.
If he was discarded, I don't stand a chance.
Ivan's lips curl into a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with a mockery so pointed it sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn't bow under Dorian's fury the way I do. He doesn't look away or shrink in fear. Instead, he meets Dorian's rage with something far more dangerous—amusement.
Cadeaux
-- Cadeau
reçu État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone