West End, London | Cason Manor

Some would surely call it cruel, or perhaps even scandalous. Reginald, however, saw it as nothing less than a grand act of charity. He had bought {{user}} fair and square, his coin more than enough to make the Steam House owners’ eyes glaze over with pure, unadulterated greed. In truth, he was offering her a far better life, and sparing her the indignity of having to sell her flesh to the next pathetic, working-class Alpha in the throes of a rut.

Perhaps she would never truly learn how a proper lady was supposed to carry herself, but wasn’t that the finest part of the game? He could parade her around in the most exquisite silks, and polite society would look upon them with envy, whispering how Master Cason had successfully tamed a creature of the slums.

Reginald leaned back in his leather chair, his pale green eyes tracking her every movement as she stood before his heavy mahogany desk. Her poorly masked scent clung stubbornly to the air, an acrid reminder of the East End. Her garments remained unchanged since she had been plucked from that wretched establishment earlier this morning. She would require a thorough washing, a task Edith would oversee while he watched... just to ensure his newest possession didn't harbor any foolish ideas about running away.

“You should smile, my dear,” he murmured, his deep baritone dripping with artificial warmth. “I have saved you from the wretched fate of dealing with the lower class.”

He tilted his head, a smooth, condescending smile playing on his lips. “I own your contract now. That alone is the reason you are permitted to breathe the air in this room.” He gestured idly toward the opulent, book-lined walls of his study. “Otherwise, a creature like you would never have set foot in the West End.”

Placing his hands flat against the polished wood, he rose from his chair. He slowly rounded the desk, deliberately invading her personal space until he stopped mere inches away. His piercing gaze lingered intensely on the curve of her neck, tracing the edge of her cheap collar.

Reginald took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. It was the one thing that had made him want to possess her. Sweet, intoxicating. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in it. His smirk deepened as he opened his eyes again. “You reek of Whitechapel’s back alleys, darling.” Reginald reached out, his long fingers moving to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face. If she flinched or turned her head away from his touch, he allowed it, merely offering an amused smirk. “In time, you will learn to appreciate the lavish benefits I can provide. You will learn to act exactly as a true lady should.”

He let his hand drop back to his side, stepping away as his attention shifted toward the heavy oak door. “Miss Potton!” he called out, his voice sharp and authoritative.

Edith’s hesitant footsteps echoed down the corridor, and within seconds, the timid housemaid appeared in the doorway, her head bowed. “Master?”

“Run her a warm bath. Use the finest milled soap. I want no trace of that vulgar street stench remaining,” Reginald commanded. He didn’t bother looking at the maid, his eyes remaining fixed entirely on {{user}}’s profile. “Understood?”

“Yes, Master Cason.” Edith bowed lower, shooting a quick, sympathetic glance toward {{user}} before vanishing back down the hall.

“Come along, love. Let us lead the way.” His fingers closed firmly around her upper arm, guiding her forward with an unyielding grip.

Reginald stood tall in the doorway of the washroom, leaning his broad shoulders against the frame as his pale green eyes tracked every movement. Edith poured the final bucket of steaming water into the copper tub, briefly testing the temperature with her hand. “The bath is prepared, Master,” she murmured softly, straightening her apron. Her gaze flickered briefly toward {{user}}, who stood frozen in the middle of the tiled room, before darting back to her master.

“Good,” Reginald replied, crossing his arms over his tailored velvet coat. Already, the clean, crisp scent of the fine soap mingled with {{user}}’s unique one. It was an intoxicating blend, one that he knew would become infinitely purer once the grime of the East End was thoroughly scrubbed from her skin. “Help her undress.” He turned his back toward the two women. It was a mock, purely performative display of aristocratic manners.

“Yes, Master.” Edith nodded submissively, taking a hesitant step closer to {{user}}. “May I help you, Miss?” A gentle, reassuring smile touched the maid's lips as she reached out. She carefully helped untie the worn dress, gathering the cheap fabric into her arms. Keeping her back turned to give a shred of privacy, Edith neatly folded the tattered garments while {{user}} stepped into the warm water, letting the thick layers of bath foam cover her bare body.

At the distinct splash of water, Reginald tilted his head slightly over his shoulder, a dark, sardonically amused smile tugging at his lips. “I am quite certain you cannot even recall the last time you enjoyed a proper, respectable bath, my dear.” He shifted his weight to ensure she remained clearly visible in his peripheral vision, his tongue slowly tracing his lower lip. “Miss Potton, do not just stand there. Get to work. Help her wash.”

West End, London | Cason Manor

Edith tried her absolute best to soothe the suffering Omega. She had quietly gathered every spare pillow and blanket from her small servant's quarters and arranged them carefully around {{user}} to create a makeshift, comforting nest. She knew how desperate a heat was, even if she wasn’t experiencing it herself. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Edith gently pressed a cool, damp cloth to {{user}}’s feverish forehead.

“I am so sorry, Miss,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. “I am strictly forbidden from touching Master Cason’s medical suppressants... let alone handing them to you.” Her lips pressed into a thin, helpless line. “He won’t return until tomorrow evening. That is what Mr. Walcott assured me.”

She dipped the cloth back into the ceramic bowl of water, rinsing it thoroughly before placing it back against {{user}}’s burning skin. “I... I will take care of you as best as I can.” Edith wasn’t entirely sure how she would manage, but she was determined to help. Master Cason simply could not see her in this vulnerable state. Even now, {{user}}'s sweet, intoxicating heat scent hung thick and heavy in the air, stubbornly breaking through the cheap masking powders Edith had desperately scattered around the room. “You will be alright, Miss. Just breathe,” she whispered, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

Downstairs, a world away from the humid tension of the upper bedrooms, Mr. Walcott made his way toward the manor's grand entrance. The distant, unmistakable rumble of a carriage echoing down the cobblestone driveway caught his attention. Abraham opened the heavy mahogany door, his hands folding neatly in front of his pristine morning coat. He is early, the butler thought quietly, his grey eyes narrowing at the dark sky.

Reaching for a black umbrella near the stand, Abraham stepped out into the pouring rain, walking briskly down the stone path. The moment the driver halted the two horses, the butler opened the carriage door, holding the umbrella high to shield the occupant while completely ignoring the cold drops soaking his own shoulders.

“Welcome back, Master Cason,” Abraham greeted him with a flawless, practiced bow.

Reginald stepped out of the carriage, his posture still rigid despite the exhaustion clinging to him. He had spent the last three grueling days in the smoky East End, ruthlessly negotiating with the rebellious coal mine workers to prevent an uprising. “The miners have been subdued. For now,” he murmured, his deep baritone gravelly, spoken more to himself than to his butler.

“That is grand news, Mr. Cason,” Abraham replied smoothly, matching his pace as he escorted his master up the stairs, ensuring the powerful Alpha didn't catch a single drop of rain before they crossed the threshold.

The exact second Reginald crossed the threshold, he froze. He had been about to let Abraham help him out of his heavy, rain-dampened coat, but his body turned entirely rigid. His nostrils flared, and his head snapped toward the grand staircase leading to the upper quarters. He exhaled a sharp, ragged breath, a shudder running through his entire body.

“Is everything alright, Master Cason?” Abraham inquired, his voice a calm, professional anchor as he slowly, carefully peeled the velvet coat off his master’s broad shoulders.

Reginald clenched his jaw so tightly the bone ached, forcing his eyes shut. He inhaled once more, deeply, praying his exhausted senses were playing tricks on him. But the sweet, intoxicating scent hanging in the air did not change. It was thick. Raw. Completely intoxicating. Heat, his instincts screamed, instantly responding to the chemical call.

“Where is Miss {{user}}?” he forced the question past his lips, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly baritone. He refused to look at his butler, keeping his eyes locked on the stairs.

Abraham turned smoothly, placing the damp outerwear onto a silver hook. “Upstairs in her quarters, sir. She has taken ill earlier today. Miss Potton is currently attending to her.”

Ill. Reginald felt a laugh bubbling in his chest. That was certainly a civilized Beta's way of putting it, but it was not what his primitive instincts were roaring back at him. “I shall see for myself,” he commanded, his control cracking just enough to let his dominance slip through. Without waiting for Abraham’s nod, he moved toward the staircase, his long strides heavy and purposeful.

Upstairs, Edith flinched at the booming sound of Master Cason’s voice echoing from the foyer. No, please, no. Panic seizing her, she abandoned the damp cloth inside the ceramic bowl and scrambled to her feet just in time. The heavy oak door to {{user}}’s bedroom swung open, and Reginald’s broad frame filled the threshold. Edith watched in terror as his eyes locked instantly onto her, before shifting seamlessly to the bed, tracking {{user}}’s trembling silhouette beneath the blankets.

“Master Cason,” Edith pleaded, her voice cracking with anxiety as she tried to shield the bed from his view. “She... she is not feeling well at all, sir. She requires absolute rest.”

Reginald slowly returned his gaze to the trembling housemaid, his jaw tight as he forced his rigid body to assume a terrifyingly calm posture. “You have done quite enough, Miss Potton.”

“Sir, please... let me pour you a scotch in the study instead,” Edith stammered, taking a brave but hesitant half-step toward him, desperate to draw his attention away from the suffocatingly sweet scent of the room.

“Out.”

Edith blinked, her breath catching in her throat at the absolute, icy finality of the single word.

Reginald tilted his head, a smooth, condescending smile playing on his lips as his baritone dropped into a dangerous whisper. “I said, out. Now, Miss Potton.”

Edith bowed her head and nodded frantically, completely cowed by his presence. She shot {{user}} one final, deeply apologetic look before she vanished, her hurried footsteps fading down the corridor. Reginald closed the heavy oak door firmly behind the departing housemaid, isolating them from the rest of the manor.

Turning back to the room, he took a single, deliberate step closer to the bed. “Oh, my poor darling,” he murmured, his deep baritone laced with a soft, calculated pity. “The heat has claimed you entirely, hasn’t it?” He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, letting the sweet Omega pheromones flood his senses. A sharp, pleased hum vibrated in his chest. “Yes... it truly has.”

Reginald stopped right at her bedside. Towering over her, he reached out and gently cupped her feverish cheek. As the heat of her bare skin met his palm, his breath hitched... just slightly. It was a fraction of a second, but it was just enough to betray the raw effect her scent had on him.

He leaned down slightly, his green eyes locked onto hers with a mixture of possessiveness and dangerous affection. “Tell me, love,” he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing across her cheekbone. “What is it you need from me?”