Chapter 93: Ah, Sorry. Wrong Pod

Benjamin pulled me down next to him on the plush leather of the backseat as the driver smoothly pulled the luxury coupe out through the estate’s heavy iron gates.

Just like before, to make sure he was properly distracted from the noise around us, he kept me close—so close his hand rested firmly on my waist while his other hand held mine, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles against my knuckles.

"Brianna," he called softly, his voice low and raspy against the quiet hum of the engine. "What kind of deal did you make with my uncle?"

"Deal?" I asked, leaning my head back against the leather headrest. My mind drifted back to the first time I had walked into his casino, stepping right into his office and boldly declaring that I wanted him to invest in me. "Well... he’s my sponsor. And right now, he’s throwing out massive resources just for the sake of that investment."

Benjamin let out a dry, incredulous scoff, his purple eyes shifting from the passing scenery to fixate on my face. "You actually believe that? You think Edgar Morningstar hands out multi-million credit estates to an entire family just because he’s a generous investor?"

"No," I replied plainly, looking him straight in the eye without a single flicker of hesitation.

I’m money blind, not stupid.

"But there’s nothing else to believe. It’s better to just accept the simple explanation in front of me if it’ll benefit me, rather than complicate things by playing detective." I explained. "As long as he has no plans of harming me or my family, he can have whatever hidden motives he wishes to have. I don’t really care."

Benjamin stared at me, his jaw clenching slightly before he let out a defeated breath. "You’re playing with fire, Brianna. Edgar doesn’t give anything away for free. Every single breath you take under his banner comes with a price tag."

"Then I’ll pay it in blood in the arena," I said coolly, my eyes glinting with a sharp, assassin’s resolve. "I don’t do charity either, Benjamin. He wants a return on his investment? I’ll give him a victory so absolute the entire region won’t be able to look away."

Benjamin’s grip on my waist loosened just a fraction as he leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

"You’re insane," he muttered softly, though the faint smirk pulling at his lips betrayed his admiration. "Completely out of your mind."

"Maybe," I murmured, looking out the window as the grand architecture of the elite district began to give way to the sprawling, high-security gates of the academy campus. "But it’s working so far."

The car pulled up to the private rear entrance of the academy’s medical and conditioning building. Because it was Sunday, the marble walkways and glass structures were completely deserted, save for automated security drones hovering quietly along the perimeter.

Benjamin swiped his black VIP access card against the scanner by the heavy obsidian doors. The light flashed green with a low, mechanical chime.

Access Granted: Level S VIP.

"The high-density cell-regeneration pods are down the hall on the left," Benjamin said, holding the door open for me as we stepped into the quiet, sterile hallway. "They’re calibrated for Alpha-grade physical restoration. They’ll strip the fatigue out of your muscles and reinforce your bone density, but..." He paused, looking at me with a rare, serious glint in his eyes. "It’s an intense process. It forces rapid cell turnover. It’s going to burn."

I looked down the white-tiled corridor toward the glowing blue pod chambers.

"Good," I said, a dangerous, confident smile spreading across my lips. "If it doesn’t burn, it’s not working."

"You...!"

"Light your cigarette, Benjamin. Don’t want you fainting while I’m gone," I said, and he clicked his tongue, taking out his cigarette from his inner coat.

"Tsk, I don’t need you to tell me,"

And yet he didn’t light one on his way to see me. Real mature.

Benjamin sat down in the waiting chair of the lobby, resting his ankle over his knee and unceremoniously lighting up a cigarette. The bright neon indicator lights of the hallway reflected off his exhausted eyes, but the soothing quiet of his mind remained intact.

"Keep the access card on you," Benjamin muttered between exhales, tossing the obsidian VIP card toward me. "When you’re done, I’ll be right here waiting. The facilities inside are automated, so just follow the prompts."

I caught the card neatly between two fingers and gave him a short nod before turning toward the main entrance doors of the pod wing.

Inside, the entire wing was a labyrinth of polished white marble and sleek glass panels. Different colored doors lined the corridor, each leading to specialized medical, bio-enhancement, or cell-conditioning chambers.

I pushed through the double doors marked Cell-Regeneration Vault A.

A sleek holoscreen flared to life the moment I stepped into the prep lounge:

[WARNING: CELLULAR REGENERATION PROTOCOL 04]All clothing and synthetic materials must be removed prior to pod chamber entry. Outer garments disrupt high-density fluid absorption and delay muscle tissue repair.

Fair enough.

I quickly unbuttoned my coat and shed my clothes, locking them inside one of the wall lockers.

Wrapping a large white towel around my chest, I shook my hair free and walked toward the inner sliding doors that led directly to the pod regeneration bay.

I reached out, extending my hand to tap the touch panel to open the inner chamber.

But before my fingers could even graze the glass, the doors slid open automatically with a quiet hiss. A wave of warm, sterile steam billowed out into the hallway—and stepping directly out of the mist, looking like he had just finished a session himself, was a tall, dangerous figure.

Damp, dark hair clung slightly to his forehead. Piercing red eyes locked directly onto mine.

It was none other than Damian Raven—the Alpha, President of the Student Disciplinary Committee, and the one person on this entire campus I hated running into more than anyone else.

My assassin instincts screamed red alert, but my mouth acted first.

"Ah, sorry. Wrong pod," I deadpanned, instantly spinning on my heel to make a swift retreat back toward the prep lounge.

I didn’t even get a single full step away.

A hand clamped tightly around my upper arm. In a split second of terrifying speed, Damian yanked me backward directly into the steam-filled chamber. The sliding doors closed shut behind us, locking with a sharp, mechanical click.

Before I could adjust my center of gravity, Damian shoved me back, pinning my shoulders firmly against the reinforced glass of the locked door. The heat radiating off his body was stifling, his massive frame trapping me completely in his shadow as his red eyes burned down into mine.

"Well, well," Damien purred, his deep voice dripping with quiet observation as his gaze flicked down to the towel wrapped tightly around my body, then back up to my face. "If it isn’t the law-breaking Omega."

He leaned in closer, trapping my head between his hands as he braced his palms against the glass beside my ears.

"How is it," Damien growled softly, his red eyes narrowing with lethal curiosity, "that I find you in a facility only accessed by the Four Great Packs and a few elite students?"

"I walked through the door," I said, keeping my posture entirely relaxed despite the lethal Alpha aura radiating off him. "It’s a revolutionary technology called ’hinges.’ You should look into it."

Damien simply stared at me, his red eyes narrowed into a terrifyingly tranquil slit.

That was what made Damien Raven dangerous—he was meticulously restrained. He was an Alpha governed by absolute discipline, a male who moved with surgical precision and rarely acted without a calculated purpose.

Yet right now, his chest was rising and falling at an uncharacteristic pace, his dark brows slightly drawn. He looked at his own hand still pinning me to the glass, as if even he was mildly surprised by his own sudden, uncalculated action.

A moment of pure, raw impulse. A rare flaw in his flawless composure.

"A level S restricted sector," Damien said smoothly, his voice low, steady, and entirely devoid of heat, though the quiet intensity behind it made the air heavy. "An Omega walking around an elite facility wrapped in nothing but a towel. Tell me, Brianna... what variable did I miss in my reports on you?"

I didn’t blink. Slowly, deliberately, I raised my right hand—the one holding the obsidian access card.

I tapped the sharp corner of the black card lightly against the center of his chest, right over his heart.

"Level S VIP card," I murmured, my voice smooth, ice-cold, and entirely unbothered. "Unless the Student Disciplinary Committee has suddenly decided to override the supreme authority of the Four Great Packs, I suggest you step back before I report you for obstructing an authorized guest."

Damien’s gaze flicked down to the gleaming card pressed against his ribs. The moment his red eyes recognized the specific crest engraved on the black surface, his expression didn’t break—it simply turned colder, more analytical.

"Benjamin," Damien noted quietly, the name rolling off his tongue with a dangerous, quiet weight. "So you truly have aligned yourself with him."

I mean, it’s not rocket science given he saw me leave with him the other day.

"Sir, is this about that favor I owe you?"