Not Just an Incubator: The Omega's Revenge

Ava POV

The morning sickness was not just violent; it was a purge.

It felt like my insides were trying to turn themselves inside out, wringing me dry. I gripped the porcelain of the toilet bowl, my knuckles white, retching until there was nothing left but acidic bile and the metallic taste of misery.

"Ava, are you done?"

Ethan stood in the doorway of the bathroom. He was dressed in a pristine grey suit, every line sharp and unyielding. He checked his watch, a gesture of practiced indifference.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, wiping my mouth with a towel that suddenly felt too rough against my skin. "It's just... the baby is strong."

"Right," he said. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't kneel beside me. He just looked at me with a flicker of impatience, as if my vomiting were a scheduling conflict. "I have to go. The meeting with the investors from the East Coast cannot wait."

He had been "working late" for three weeks straight.

When he came home, he didn't smell like the office. Underneath his heavy, synthetic Alpha scent—a musk that felt engineered rather than earned—there was something else. Floral. Sharp. Like lilies that had been left in the sun too long, beginning to rot.

*Ethan?* I reached out through the Mind-Link later that day.

Static.

*Ethan, are you there? I feel... anxious.*

The connection clicked open, then shut. Like a door slammed in my face. *Busy, Ava. Stop worrying.*

The isolation was suffocating. The Pack members whispered when I walked by, their voices dropping to a low hum like insects.

"Look at her," I heard a female Gamma whisper in the kitchen. "Walking around like she owns the place. Doesn't she know?"

"Shh," another hissed. "The Alpha will hear you."

Know what? What didn't I know?

That evening, the front door opened, bringing a draft of cold air. Ethan wasn't alone.

"Ava," he called out. "Come meet our guest."

I walked into the living room and froze.

Standing next to Ethan was a woman who could have been my sister, if my sister were carved from ice and venom. She had the same dark hair, the same pale skin, the same curve of the jaw. But where I was soft, she was sharp. Where I was plain, she was stunning.

She wore a red dress that clung to her curves like a second skin.

"This is Olivia Hayes," Ethan said, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "A distant cousin of yours, actually. And a new business partner."

Olivia looked me up and down. Her eyes were devoid of warmth, scanning me like livestock.

"So this is Ava," she said. Her voice was smooth, like velvet over gravel. "She looks... robust."

"It's nice to meet you," I said, extending a hand that trembled slightly.

Olivia didn't take it. She just smiled, a tight, predatory expression. "Charmed."

Dinner was torture. It was a performance I hadn't rehearsed for. Ethan laughed at Olivia's jokes, a sound I hadn't heard in months. He poured her wine. He leaned in when she spoke, creating a private world at the table that didn't include me. He looked at her with a hunger I had never seen directed at me.

"So, Olivia," I said, my voice sounding thin in the heavy air, "what kind of business do you do?"

"I specialize in acquisitions," she said, staring straight at Ethan over the rim of her glass. "I take things that have potential and make them... valuable."

I felt sick again.

Later, during a gala the Pack was hosting, I excused myself to the restroom. On my way back, I passed a shadowed alcove. Two Warriors were talking in hushed tones.

"It's brutal," one muttered, shaking his head. "Bringing the mistress into the house while the wife is pregnant."

"Olivia isn't just a mistress," the other replied, his voice dripping with cynical knowing. "She's his intended Mate. Look at them. He only took the Omega for the bloodline compatibility. He needs an heir, and Olivia can't give him one."

The world tilted on its axis.

I stumbled back, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle a cry. *No. That's impossible.*

I ran upstairs to our bedroom, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to smell him. I needed to prove them wrong.

I grabbed the shirt he had worn yesterday from the hamper. I buried my face in it, inhaling deeply, searching for the lie.

There it was. The lilies.

But it was stronger this time. And mixed with it was Ethan's scent—his *real* scent, not the cologne. It was the smell of sex, musky and undeniable.

My hands shook so hard I dropped the shirt. It hit the floor like a dead thing.

I went to his study. I needed answers. I tore through the drawers, papers flying like frightened birds, until I found the file again. The medical report I had seen once and ignored.

"Project: Synthetic Bond – Experimental Application on Omega Subject."

And below that, a handwritten note in Ethan's sharp script: "Target: Artificial Pheromone Induction. Success rate: 85%."

It was a spell. A chemical witch's brew to fake a Mate bond.

I sank to the floor, the room spinning around me. The "warmth" I felt? The "comfort"? It was drugs. It was lies.

*Ava...*

My father's voice broke into my mind again. It was weak, fading like a dying ember in the wind.

*Papa?*

*Ava... run... he is not... who he says... I am... dying...*

"Papa!" I screamed out loud.

I scrambled for my phone, my fingers slipping on the screen, and dialed Ethan. He picked up on the third ring.

"What?" He sounded annoyed, distracted.

"My father is dying," I sobbed, the words tearing from my throat. "Please, Ethan. I need to go to him. Please come with me."

There was a pause. I heard a woman's laughter in the background. Low. Husky. Olivia.

"I can't, Ava," Ethan said coldly. "The merger is happening tonight. Olivia needs my help. Send a driver. I'll see you when you get back."

The line went dead.

I sat in the dark study, clutching my stomach. The moon hung outside the window, a cold, unfeeling eye watching my ruin.

He chose her. He chose business. He chose the lie.

I looked down at my belly.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered to the life inside me, tears dripping onto my hands. "I'm so, so sorry."