I was already angry at Elaine for using her alpha dominance on me. The memory of her pheromones pressing me down, forcing me to kneel, burned hotter than any heat I’d ever felt.

Just because she is superior to me in biology, doesn’t give her any right to do that with me. Fine, I thought, my eyes darkening with the familiar cold focus of an assassin. If she wanted to test me, I’d show her exactly what this ’weak, bratty omega’ was made of.

"Daisy," I called, my voice low and steady, the weight of the crown tiara on my forehead a reminder of my status, "bring me some chillis."

The maid, her eyes wide with confusion, nodded and scurried away without question, her footsteps echo‑ing softly against the polished floor.

I sat at the edge of the bed, the softness of the gown feeling like a mockery now. The flowers pinned into my hair scratched against my scalp, the weight of the petals pressing down like Elaine’s words.

"Can you remove the flowers from my hair?" I asked, my voice calm, though the anger simmering underneath was anything but.

Another maid moved quickly, her fingers deft as she unpinned the delicate blooms, placing them on the nightstand with careful reverence.

Without me saying another word, she picked up the ivory brush lying on the vanity and began running it through my hair, smoothing the silver strands, the bristles ticking softly against my scalp.

I watched my reflection in the mirror, the mark on my neck faint but visible, the dress clinging to my body like a second skin that refused to fall.

I slowly shook my head, not in protest, but in preparation.

My mind worked at the edge of my anger, the old assassin instincts popping up like a familiar ghost. Every move, every word, every gesture had a purpose again. I was not just a crown princess; I was a weapon waiting to be unsheathed.

"Your Highness," Lila asked, her voice tentative, "do you want something to do?"

I turned to her, my eyes sharpening.

"Make my hair into a bun," I said, my voice low and deliberate, the weight of each word pressing against the air.

She nodded and began arranging the locks, twisting them into a neat, high bun secured with a simple silver pin, the style neat and unassuming, the perfect disguise for what was to come.

I changed into my night clothes, the soft silk brushing against my skin, the weight of the gown falling away like a mask. The fabric tore easily as I ripped it apart, the sound of the lace tearing like a whisper of violence.

The gown, once a symbol of my submission, lay in pieces around me, the petals from the flowers scattered like ash on the floor.

Daisy returned, her arms full of chillis, the fiery red peppers clutched tightly in a cloth.

The scent of them, sharp and burning, filled the air, the fragrance making my eyes water for a moment. I took the peppers without hesitation, the heat of them prickling against my palms like a promise.

I spread the chillis across a piece of cloth, the seeds scattered like tiny weapons, the vibrant red creating a garish, garish colour against the pale weave. Using more strips of the torn gown, I created a small, intricate system, the cloth wrapped tight around the peppers, the edges knotted carefully.

The setup was simple but precise—a trap which was taught me once by my mentor, the kind of trick that only an assassin’s mind would appreciate.

The moment I pulled out the cloth, the chilli‑filled ball would hit straight into Elaine’s face, the tiny seeds exploding like a storm of fire.

I held the makeshift weapon in my hand, the soft fabric comforting against my fingers, the chill of the peppers still prickling my skin.

The air filled with the sharp scent of the peppers, the soft rustle of my nightgown echoing in the room like the whisper of a storm waiting to break.

"This weak, bratty omega is going to show you what I’m truly capable of," I whispered to myself, the mark on my neck pulsing faintly, a constant reminder of the mark on my soul. "You think I’m just a little princess in a gilded cage? Watch this."

I snapped my fingers and gestured toward the door. "Leave me alone," I said, my voice low but firm. The maids, including Daisy and Lila, bowed quickly and filed out, the soft rustle of their skirts fading as the door clicked shut behind them.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the Aether currents in the air, the faint scent of the chilli‑filled ball I’d prepared still lingering like a whisper of fire.

I waited, my eyes fixed on the doorway, the tension in my body coiled tight like a spring. The mark on my neck tingled faintly, reminding me of the weight of my status, the weight of the expectations pressed down on me.

The gown lay in tatters on the floor, the petals scattered around me like a fallen battlefield, the remnants of my submission discarded like a shattered mask. Right now, I was the weaker gender in this relationship... but that doesn’t mean she could harass me.

I walked to the mirror, the glass cool and silent, the surface reflecting the room and the figure standing before it. The silver strands of my hair shone faintly, the high bun neat and precise, the edges fraying just enough to hint at the chaos beneath.

The tiara, small and silver, sat delicately against my forehead, the pearls glinting like miniature stars. The mark on my neck pulsed faintly, the faint red of it a reminder of the bond, the disrespect, the weight of my status.

I looked at the reflection, my eyes meeting the familiar gaze staring back. The softness of my omega frame, the graceful lines of my gown, the gentle curve of my neck—all of it screamed delicacy, submission, the image of a crown princess draped in lace and petals.

"I am not treated as a person now. Most people think that I am just a prize, waiting to be won by someone. But Elaine isn’t the one who won me. She can love anyone she wants, but I will not tolerate any disrespect."

But there was something else there, something darker, sharper, a shadow resting beneath the surface.

"I look too beautiful," I whispered, the words echoing softly in the room, the air thickening with the weight of my anger and the faint scent of the chilli‑filled ball I’d prepared. "But am I weak?"

"I am someone who has killed scores of people. Thriving in a kill is my speciality, yet she called me weak, and bratty."

"Is it because I like to be pampered by my parents?" I lowered my eyes. What does she know the pain of an orphan? Most kids would bully me because I had no backing. I was the punching bag, which changed when I became an adult.

As an adult, people started to give me dirty looks... looks that wanted to do something bad with me.

The question hung in the air, the answer pressing down like a storm waiting to break. The reflection stared back, the mark on my neck pulsing faintly, the faint red of it a reminder of everything. The answer, the certainty, rang loud and clear in my mind. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The answer is no.

No.

No.

"No, I am not weak."