I Married A Proud, Beautiful Omega First, Then Fell In Love - Chapter 17

Fortunately, the sofa was soft, and Elan did not feel any pain after being thrown onto it. He seemed disinclined to argue with Douglas, struggling to get up, only to be held down by the shoulders.

The furrow between the Alpha male’s brows was deep. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Let go, you’re hurting me.” Elan tried to push his arms away, but they wouldn’t budge. “I’m going to water the flowers.”

Douglas continued to hold him down, his tone cold and ruthless. “I’m not letting go. In your physical condition, you’re still watering flowers? Are you just looking for things to do?”

Seeing that he was no match for Douglas in terms of strength, Elan pursed his lips and glared at him.

Douglas challenged, “What now? Are we competing to see whose eyes are bigger?”

Elan let out a cold sneer. Suddenly, he tilted his head, gripped Douglas’s forearm with both hands, and bit down hard on his wrist.

He used almost every ounce of his strength. Douglas hissed in pain but still didn’t let go. His green eyes were practically spitting fire; he laughed out of sheer irritation, a low laughter filled with a murderous aura.

“Are you a fucking piranha plant? You’ve learned how to bite people!” He complained while forcefully tearing off his tie and leaning over him.

Pressed against the sofa, Elan was unable to break free. Looking at the handsome face inches away from his own, he lost his composure for the first time. His voice trembled: “What are you doing?”

Douglas didn’t speak. With a grim face, he seized both of Elan’s hands and solemnly tied his wrists together with the tie. He tightened the knot, and after confirming that Elan could not escape, he pinched Elan’s chin to force eye contact.

The panic in Elan’s eyes, clear as lake water, was plainly visible. Douglas looked directly at him as he slowly moved closer, stopping only when their noses touched. His breath brushed against Elan’s face as he asked, “Are you still going to bite?”

Elan had never been bullied like this before. His immediate reaction was defiance, but with his chin held in Douglas’s powerful grip, he couldn’t move. He stared back stubbornly, remaining silent.

Douglas saw that the corners of Elan’s eyes were turning red, but he didn’t soften. He continued to press: “Will you bite again? Hmm?”

Elan’s lip was nearly bitten through from his own tension. Douglas pried it open and placed his finger between Elan’s teeth to prevent him from biting his tongue.

Elan smelled a scent that was both cold and intense—a woody fragrance. He knew it was Douglas’s pheromones.

If this continued, something was bound to happen.

Elan finally compromised, producing three muffled syllables. His eyes grew redder and slightly wet.

Douglas could roughly make out the words “No more biting.” The dark clouds on his face dissipated slightly, but the atmospheric pressure around him remained low. He withdrew his hand from Elan’s mouth and wiped the moisture from his finger onto the sofa.

Elan’s chin was stinging. He was a mess himself, let alone concerned about the sofa.

He thought that since he had successfully surrendered, Douglas would untie the tie around his hands. Instead, just as the dark shadow pressing down on him moved away, his body was lifted into the air.

His eyes widened. Having his abdomen draped over the Alpha male’s shoulder was uncomfortable. For the first time, he shouted in a complete loss of composure: “Are you crazy? What are you doing now?! Put me down!”

Douglas carried him out toward the balcony. He looked around, picked up a spray bottle filled with water, and began to water the pure white jasmine.

The scent of jasmine was faint, mingling with Douglas’s pheromones and invading all of Elan’s senses. Soon, the air also began to drift with the scent of red wine.

“Watering the flowers. What else could I be doing? Who was it that just insisted on getting up to water them? I saw you had no strength, so I brought you here personally, and you’re still making a fuss?”

“Don’t move!”

Douglas frowned. This person was constantly squirming, his legs rubbing against him. He couldn’t help but set down the sprayer and gave Elan’s backside a smack, intending to teach him a lesson.

A beat late in processing what Douglas had done, Elan’s face instantly turned bright red. He stopped struggling, his lips opening and closing for a long time without being able to utter a complete sentence.

Just as Douglas thought the man had finally settled down, the arms clinging to his shoulder tightened, and a warm wetness spread across the crook of his neck.

Elan’s body tremors were transmitted to him through their clothes. Douglas’s eyes snapped wide—he thought to himself, Oh no, I pushed the joke too far.

He cleared his throat, dropped the sprayer on the floor, and sat down on the sofa, pulling the person in his arms close. Feeling a major headache coming on, he said dryly, “Stop crying. I didn’t really do anything, right? It was just one smack. Don’t let it go on forever.”

Douglas hurriedly untied Elan’s hands. As soon as his hands were free, Elan sat up straight, lifting an exquisite face covered in tears. He bit his lip, eyes full of resentment, and raised his hand—Slap!

Elan gritted his teeth as a single tear escaped the corner of his eye. Despite looking pitifully beautiful, he stared at Douglas coldly: “A polite exchange.”

Douglas’s right cheek immediately began to burn.

He covered his cheek, his eyes darkening with the instinctive displeasure and killing intent of an Alpha who had been offended. However, he exerted extreme self-control and did not stop Elan as the latter fled upstairs in a panic.

Pheromones rippled recklessly through the living room. Douglas irritably tugged at his loose shirt collar. Finally, he couldn’t resist chasing after him—though this time it was for a different reason. He shouted a question outside Elan’s tightly closed door:

“Why on earth did you sign up for Post-War Trauma Therapy? Clearly, an aristocrat like you has never even touched a battlefield. Stop being so hypocritical!”

He had wanted to ask Elan this when he was talking to Qin earlier that day. He didn’t understand what Elan meant by choosing this major. Did he sign up because he heard Douglas had post-war psychological trauma? Douglas didn’t dare think that way, fearing he would once again encounter a situation where he was just being sentimental.

At this moment, his rut was likely approaching. His pheromones were surging out like crazy, and his emotions felt like a bomb about to explode. Douglas no longer cared about propriety; he just wanted to ask.

There was no sound from the room.

Something in Douglas’s mind seemed to be jumping incessantly, grinding away at his nerves. Just as he was impatiently calculating how to tear the door down, it suddenly swung open.

The tears on Elan’s face were gone, likely wiped away. His skin was naturally pale, making the redness on his eyelids look as striking and beautiful as the glow of a sunset. Douglas’s breath hitched.

But the person, who looked stunning even after crying, was now exceptionally angry. His words came out in a rush, finally pouring out his long-suppressed grievances:

“What does the major I choose have to do with you? Can you stop saying ‘you aristocrats’ every other sentence? Are aristocrats just villains who use any means necessary for profit? Are you the only person in the world with high moral character?!”

“Get out!”

After dropping that line, the door slammed shut in Douglas’s face.

Douglas took a deep breath, his breathing heavy. He thought to himself that he was indeed being sentimental again, pressing his warm face against a cold buttock.

Elan clearly had a major problem with him. How could he possibly have signed up for the Post-War Trauma Therapy major for his sake?

…Fuck.

Fine, I’ll get out.

He would never come back to this house; let Elan just stay here as a “widower.”

Douglas kicked the closed door and then departed in a fit of rage.

…

“Dear student, welcome to the Imperial Special Academy.”

Bohill smiled as he handed a campus map to a freshman. He was kind and friendly, but the freshman took the map with trembling hands, casting a terrified glance at the person beside him.

After the first freshman left, the one behind him quickly filled the spot with a miserable expression. The other freshmen behind him were frantically complaining on the Star Network using their neural links.

Floor 1: Registration day at the Imperial Special Academy. I’ve been scared to death.

Floor 2: I feel you, OP. Who knew General Douglas, the principal, would show up at the freshman reception? For heaven’s sake, the killing intent on him is going to slice me into pieces from a distance! I’ve already become sashimi.

Floor 3: General Douglas is so terrifying. From now on, if my little sister doesn’t go to sleep on time, I’ll use a photo of General Douglas to scare her.

Floor 4: How is General Douglas scary? You guys don’t understand! This is the bloodthirsty aura of the Wolf of the Empire! Only someone baptized by the battlefield can reach the level of killing with a look! I want that too, sob.

Floor 5: Floor 4, I’ve just entered the Military Department of the Imperial Special Academy. I’ll evaluate the cost-effectiveness for you and see if I can possess the same aura as the Wolf of the Empire after graduation.

Floor 6: What is the “Wolf of the Empire”? When did General Douglas get that nickname?

Floor 7: General Douglas’s Fan Club is actively recruiting! Interested babies, come join us and become a member of the “Little Wolf Paws”~

Bohill gave Petrovna a look, and she quickly stepped in to take his place.

Bohill finally couldn’t help but walk over and clap a hand on Douglas’s shoulder. “Can you stop being so creepy? My god, why is there a red patch on your face?”

Douglas had a dark expression and replied curtly, “Allergies.”

Bohill believed him. Looking at the freshmen who were scared like little chicks, he said sympathetically, “Maybe you should stop standing here. We wanted you to come to build a ‘people-oriented’ principal image, but it’s having the opposite effect. What’s going on with you? Your pheromones are leaking a bit. Has your rut arrived? Did you not take inhibitors?”

Douglas’s mind was filled with Elan’s face and words from the previous day. He answered distractedly, “I took them.”

Bohill sighed. “Forget it. I’ll go to the Medical Department and swap Qin over here.”

Five minutes later, Qin arrived and paused in his tracks. He was a Beta who couldn’t smell pheromones, but as the primary physician most familiar with Douglas’s physical condition, he also sensed something was wrong.

Bohill had briefed him beforehand, saying Douglas’s rut had arrived and that even with inhibitors, he was spraying pheromones like a sprinkler.

Qin gave a friendly reminder: “You might have developed a drug resistance to the inhibitors. It would be best if you went to find your partner, Elan.”

His implication was that Douglas had been single for too long and had used inhibitors too frequently, resulting in this minor, harmless issue.

Douglas was annoyed just thinking about Elan. He frowned. “Can’t I just switch to a different brand of inhibitor?”

Based on the situation, Qin speculated, “I think your resistance might be to the main active ingredient of inhibitors, so switching brands probably won’t help much.”

Douglas: “…”

The gathering crowd of freshmen suddenly erupted into a series of gasps, catching Douglas’s attention. He narrowed his eyes and finally saw a familiar white starship through the gaps in the crowd.

However, many people disembarked from that sleek white starship today.

Elan was wearing a white suit, surrounded by a dozen middle-aged butlers in meticulously groomed black livery. They carried hand luggage and cleared a path for Elan, who stood in the center.

Watching Elan walk toward him with a neutral expression, Douglas took a deep breath, his face becoming even more sour.