Chapter 28 CHAPTER 028
Have you heard of the McLaren Omegas?
Castel rolls his eyes as he strolls down the dark, lonely pavement that seems to stretch endlessly into the night. His hips sway lazily with every step, while the sharp click of his heels echoes against the quiet street. He doesn't even know where he's going, and frankly, he doesn't care; anywhere is better than where he came from.
Have you heard of the McLaren Omegas?
They are known as the prettiest omegas to exist in the whole of Ravencourt City, flawless to the bone and desired by every alpha with power and wealth.
There’s a saying among elites: anyone who mates with one of the seven omegas of the McLaren family is guaranteed a life of endless wealth and prosperity.
Castel rolls his eyes again at the ridiculous rumor. Whoever came up with that must have been drunk out of their mind or lacks brain cells.
You see, Castel is the third among those so-called heavenly omegas: expensive, flawless, and coveted like a rare jewel.
And yet…he lives in hell on earth.
The night air is cold as it brushes against his skin, but Castel barely notices as his thoughts are louder than the wind.
The McLaren family looks perfect from the outside: powerful, elegant, and untouchable, the type of family everyone wants to be connected to, but no one knows the ugly secret behind those walls.
The McLaren Omegas aren't treasures; they're more like merchandise. Castel lets out a quiet, bitter laugh at the thought.
Each of them was raised like a prized possession, trained to smile, trained to behave, trained to attract the richest and most powerful alphas in the city, and trained to always follow instructions. Castel hates it.
Their beauty isn't a blessing; it's more like a curse. Castel’s jaw clenches as he walks faster.
“Prosperity, my ass,” he mutters.
If people truly knew what it meant to be born a McLaren Omega, they would run the other way because being one means your life is not your own.
Your smile is not your own; your body and, of course, your future are decided long before you were even born.
It's ridiculous, and it's even more ridiculous how his Omega siblings like what they've been turned into: objects to further their father's company.
For the third time, Castel rolls his eyes, but then he comes to a stop. He stares at the building in front of him; it's a bar, a very cheap one at that.
A smirk stretches on his face as he looks at both sides of the road. Castel knows he's being followed by his father's men. Of course, the man needs to be completely aware of everything Castel is doing, and the last place he would ever want Castel to be is a cheap, broken-down bar with awful taste in music.
Without a second thought, he pushes the glass doors and enters. And instantly, the smell hits him.
Alcohol. Smoke. Sweat. And the smell of mixed pheromones with cheap perfume.
Castel wrinkles his nose as the loud music fills his ears. The bar is small, crowded, and messy. People are laughing too loudly, glasses are clinking, and someone is arguing near the counter. Definitely not the kind of place a McLaren Omega should be seen in. Which is exactly why Castel thinks he’s going to like it.
He walks further inside, ignoring the stares that follow him. Of course, people are staring; an omega like him looks completely out of place here.
His clothes are too expensive, and his beauty too obvious. Castel pretends not to notice and walks straight to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools.
“Whiskey,” he says simply to the Beta bartender who stands behind the counter.
The Beta throws Castel a look, scanning him from head to toe before turning to mix his drink.
Castel rests his chin on his palm while his other hand drums lazily on the counter as he continues to curiously look at the bar. But then suddenly, an arm goes around his shoulder.
Castel whips his head speedily, grimacing when his gaze lands on the alpha who has taken the empty stool beside him, invading his personal space as if it's his own.
The alpha licks his eyes as he locks eyes with Castel. “What is a pretty Omega like you doing in a place like this?”
Castel slowly removes the arm from his shoulder as if it disgusts him. “First,” he says calmly, pushing the alpha’s hand away, “remove your hand.”
The alpha chuckles. “Feisty, I like that,” he says, leaning closer. His breath smells strongly of beer, and his pheromones are almost disgustingly suffocating.
Castel’s nose wrinkles again, recalling why he hates alphas: revolting creatures.
The bartender returns at that moment and places the glass of whiskey in front of Castel, but the alpha quickly grabs it before Castel can.
“Hey—” he tries to protest, but it's too late as the alpha downs the drink in one gulp and slams the glass back on the counter.
Castel stares at him in disbelief. “That was mine.”
The alpha winks. “Relax, pretty boy. I’ll buy you ten more if you come sit on my lap.”
Castel blinks, then he breaks into a dangerous laugh. Slowly, he leans forward until his face is only inches away from the alpha’s, and for a second, the alpha looks pleased… thinking he is being flirted with.
Then Castel speaks. “If you touch me again, you’re going to lose that hand.”
The alpha’s smile drops while his jaw clenches and his eyes harden in anger. “You're just an Omega; what makes you think you can play hard to get with me? Come here.”
With that, he grabs Castel's arm, pulling him forcefully off his seat to his feet.
“We're going to have a lot of fun,” the alpha licks his lips, eyes glowing with lust as he turns to leave, ready to drag the resisting Omega with him, when he comes face to face with a solid chest and a tall height.
“The Omega doesn't seem like he wants to go with you.”
Castel snaps his head to the alpha blocking their path, and his eyes widen as he realizes he's staring at the most stunning alpha to grace the stupid piece of earth.
Castel's Omega stirs awake inside of him.