Chapter 211: My Body Requires An Alpha…

I sit on the hospital bed, staring at the glass wall as evening settles over the city.

The sun dips low on the horizon, its final light spilling across the sky in streaks of orange and gold, fading into soft lavender. The buildings beyond the window catch the dying light, their windows flashing like scattered jewels before darkness claims them.

Night creeps in—slow, patient—wrapping the world in deepening shadows.

It’s been days.

Days of lying here, staring at the flawless white ceiling, memorizing every empty detail.

Days of watching the light shift across the glass wall—from the pale gold of morning to the harsh white of noon, to this… this quiet, melancholy glow of evening that makes everything feel temporary.

Days of counting the hours between visits, the minutes between messages… the seconds that stretch into something endless when I’m alone with my thoughts.

Angel left.

He accepted the overseas photoshoot, packed his bags, and boarded a plane to somewhere far from here. He’s building his career the way I told him to—chasing the dreams I pushed him toward.

Maybe it’s better this way.

For both of us.

I sigh and lower my gaze to my hands resting in my lap.

The IV is still attached, the thin tube running up to a bag of fluid that drips steadily, endlessly—a quiet metronome marking time I can’t escape.

The tape tugs at my skin, a small, constant discomfort I’ve almost stopped noticing. I don’t know how much longer I have to stay here.

My condition isn’t improving. If anything, it’s getting worse.

The ache has settled deep into my bones—no longer sharp or sudden, just there. Constant.

A dull throb that reminds me something is wrong. Something is changing. Something is slipping away.

It feels like my soul is slowly leaving my body. Like I’m fading from the inside out… and no one has noticed but me.

My phone buzzes on the bedside table—a soft, insistent sound in the silent room. I blink, pulled from my thoughts, and reach for it.

Deniz: I’ll be there in an hour.

Another message appears before I can reply.

Deniz: Do you want me to bring something sweet?

A small smile forms on my lips—the first real one I’ve felt all day. My thumbs move across the screen.

Me: Dark chocolate cake.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Deniz: Okay.

Me: I’m waiting.

I turn off the screen and set the phone back down, the faint smile still lingering. The room doesn’t feel as empty now—just knowing he’s coming.

In an hour, he’ll walk through that door with a box of dark chocolate cake… and that quiet smile that makes everything else fade.

The silence remains. But it feels different now.

A knock sounds at the door—three quick raps. It opens before I can answer.

Dr. Liea steps in alone, a file tucked under her arm. No nurse follows her this time—only the soft click of her heels against the polished floor, the faint rustle of her white coat, the quiet authority she wears like a second skin.

“Good evening, Mr. Kael.”

I offer a faint smile. “Evening, Doctor.”

She sets the file on the bedside table and takes a seat on the small couch beside the bed, crossing her legs neatly at the ankle. Her expression is calm. Professional. Familiar.

But something in her eyes feels different tonight.

Softer… perhaps. More careful. Like she’s choosing her words before she speaks them. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

I study her for a moment, weighing the question. How am I feeling?

The answer is complicated. Too heavy for something so simple.

“I’m fine,” I say instead.

A small pause.

“But the ache…”

I search for the right words, my gaze drifting for a moment before returning to her. “It’s still there.” Another pause. “Sometimes it feels like it’s becoming a part of me.”

My voice lowers slightly. “Like I wouldn’t know who I am without it.”

Her smile fades—just slightly, just for a moment. Something flickers in her eyes… gone before I can name it.

“I understand your condition,” she says gently. “And as I’ve told you before, these things take time.”

She picks up the file and opens it, her gaze moving across the pages with practiced ease.

The soft rustle of paper fills the silence.

“Your recent tests came back normal,” she continues.

A small pause. “We can now say your transition is complete.” She lifts her eyes to mine.

“You’re an Omega.”

The words settle between us. Heavy. Unavoidable.

She studies me over the rim of her glasses. “We’ll be discharging you soon.”

I stare at her.

Her voice is calm. Reassuring.

Everything is fine. The tests are normal. The transition is complete. I should feel relieved.

But my body tells a different story.

She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose, her gaze returning to the file.

“Your earlier reports showed significant changes in your pheromone profile,” she says, her finger tracing a line of text I can’t read.

“They’re fully Omega now. Completely recalibrated.”

She looks up at me. There’s something in her expression— something close to wonder.

“You’re very lucky, Mr. Kael. It’s extremely rare for an Alpha to transition into an Omega after losing their rut.”

A brief pause. “Ninety-nine percent become Beta.”

Her gaze holds mine.

“You’re in the one percent.”

I frown, her words settling in my chest like stones. “Then why do I still feel this way?” My voice tightens. “Why does my body still ache?”

A breath. “Why do I feel like I’m disappearing?”

She closes the file slowly, her movements careful—deliberate. When she speaks, her voice is softer than before.

“Because your body now needs an Alpha.”

I go still. The words linger in the air between us—fragile… and impossibly heavy.

“Mr. Kael.” She sets the file aside and folds her hands neatly in her lap.

“You’re an Omega now. Your body requires an Alpha’s pheromones for stability.”

A pause.

“For balance.” Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Without them…”

She chooses her words carefully. “The symptoms you’re experiencing will continue.”

“The ache. The weakness.” A slight pause. “That feeling of fading.”

Her voice lowers. “It won’t go away on its own.”

I stare at her, my mind struggling to keep up.

My body requires an Alpha…

She meets my gaze, her eyes kind—but unwavering. “Honestly, I came here to discuss your relationship.”

A brief pause.

“Last time, you didn’t tell me much about your partner. May I ask now?”

I stay silent, my hands resting in my lap.

“What is his trait?” she asks gently.

My gaze drops.

To my hands. To the IV taped against my skin. To the faint bruises left behind from earlier insertions. My fingers curl into the sheets, the fabric twisting tightly between them.

My partner’s trait.

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