RYC 7

When the man’s hand touched my shoulder, I couldn’t help but stare blankly up at his face with wide eyes. The man had a neat face and an extremely polite smile as he held something up.

“A hair.”

The touch that removed the hair from my shoulder was very simple. It didn’t even brush against my Suit. But I could sensitively feel the air that had softly swept past me scattering around me in an instant. Because his unique scent brushed past the tip of my nose along with the air.

And then he left my office.

Click.

It was only after the quiet sound of the door that I realized it.

In an instant, the strength in my knees gave way and I collapsed on the spot. I belatedly gasped for breath, but each time, his lingering scent blocked my breathing, making me feel like I was going to die.

Good heavens, if I were an Omega, I would have gotten pregnant just by breathing in the same space as that man.

I thought I should open the window right away and get rid of this damn scent, but I couldn’t put any strength into my waist. I cursed him and sat there helplessly, surrounded by his lingering scent until it disappeared. It felt as if the man was secretly clinging to my skin, and I shuddered several times.

“I heard you met Nathaniel?”

I answered the Chief Prosecutor’s question, whom I met at a nearby snack bar, by stuffing a hot dog into my mouth. The reason I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the face was because I had barely worked that morning. After taking care of things myself several times, I was so exhausted that I didn’t want to look at a single letter. In the end, I came out for an early lunch, only to run into the Chief Prosecutor. The fact that I had argued with him the day before, along with the words “salary thief,” came to mind at the same time, and I couldn’t bring myself to raise my head. The Chief Prosecutor, misunderstanding my reaction, continued.

“Well, he told me to take good care of you. I was surprised he didn’t say much. I thought he would at least be sarcastic.”

At his bitter tone, I asked in an unwilling voice.

“I guess he’s confident he can win. Was that all?”

To come into my office without permission, ruin my whole morning, and then go to the Chief Prosecutor to laugh at me. Thinking that, I felt bad and my brow furrowed involuntarily. The Chief Prosecutor sprinkled a lot of mustard on his hot dog and replied.

“He said your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

At those words, I, who had been wiping my mouth with a napkin, raised my head. The Chief Prosecutor nonchalantly ate his hot dog and continued.

“So I told him that you’re the best-looking in our team. Well, I was just stating the facts.”

“…What did he say?”

Ah, damn curiosity.

Unable to resist asking, he replied without much thought.

“He said you’re the best-looking prosecutor in our state.”

I felt embarrassed, annoyed, and all sorts of complicated emotions rose up at once. Why on earth did that man go to the Chief Prosecutor and say such a thing? Why did he even come to my room in the first place? Was it just a casual visit?

To come into my space without permission, make it reek of his Pheromones as if it were his territory, and then leave. He was a really unpleasant man.

The Chief Prosecutor didn’t talk about him anymore. I listened absentmindedly to the Chief Prosecutor’s story about his dog learning a new trick, while my head was filled with thoughts about Nathaniel Miller.

***

Being busy is a good thing. The existence of the Dominant Alpha I had met for the first time was forgotten after a day. More precisely, it disappeared because I was overwhelmed with work.

When facing a giant law firm that boasts an undefeated myth, no matter how many times I reviewed the data and evidence to be verified, it was never enough, and I had to prepare for witnesses who suddenly changed their minds or disappeared during the trial. I repeatedly checked the same things over and over again.

But even in the midst of that busyness, there was one thing I couldn’t miss. It was the monthly dinner with my adoptive parents.

The Starry Night.

The owner of the restaurant with the same name as the work of the genius painter who went insane and died was named Vincent. I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they gave him that name, but he certainly made good use of his name in the interior. He had a wall full of Van Gogh’s paintings, operated a website with designs inspired by the artist’s works, and even imitated a similar atmosphere for the outdoor tables, borrowing from his work ‘Cafe Terrace at Night,’ which was quite popular.

“I have no intention of cutting off my ear.”

The owner, who joked with a hearty laugh, was quite to my taste. I even thought about having a casual night with him, but I soon gave up when I saw the ring on his finger. It wasn’t pleasant to just look at a man of my taste whom I couldn’t have, so I tried to avoid coming here after that. Even though the food was really delicious.

Therefore, when my adoptive mother chose this place as the meeting place, both my liking for the food and my dislike for the owner came to mind at the same time. My mother liked this place because the owner of the store was very family-oriented. A typical white middle-class couple with four children would have seemed attractive enough to her. The reason I accepted without much resistance was because I thought it would be the same no matter where I went.

After all, no matter where I go, it’s not like the people I meet will change.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been here.”

The owner, who recognized my face, greeted me. I simply greeted him and shook his hand. It was only for a moment that I scanned his whole body, but I reaffirmed that he was indeed to my taste. I struggled to take my eyes off him and looked for familiar faces.

“Chrissy!”

As soon as he saw me entering, my adoptive mother waved her hand in greeting. As expected, my adoptive father was also at the table. I put on a conscious smile and walked straight to the table. I felt goosebumps on the back of my neck, but I tried to maintain my composure as much as possible. I could bet my entire fortune, though it wasn’t much, that no one in the world could know the emotions I was feeling right now.

“Mother.”

I lightly hugged her in response to her affectionate embrace and kissed her on the cheek. My adoptive father was still sitting in his seat.

“Father.”

I ended the greeting with a light word. My adoptive father nodded without saying anything and then held out his hand. It was an invitation to shake hands, but I pretended not to see it and sat down in my chair, immediately opening the thick book in front of me.

“Are you hungry? Have you ordered?”

“Ah… well, I was about to. Tom, what would you like to eat?”

My mother soon followed me and opened the menu as if it were nothing. My adoptive father withdrew his embarrassed hand and pretended to look at the menu. I repeatedly scanned the meaningless letters without making eye contact with him. After a simple order, the tedious mealtime began.