The boss didn't make me wait long.
Thirty minutes after my request, I was called up. No words. No explanations. Just an alert on my wrist console and a hallway that cleared in seconds.
When I stepped into his office, he was already seated behind the long obsidian desk, hands folded neatly on its surface. His expression was unreadable. Calm. That special kind of calm that made your skin itch.
"Sit."
I did.
No one else was in the room.
That was almost worse.
He didn't speak right away. Just studied me, eyes gleaming faintly in the overhead light like something reptilian. Still, even with nothing said, the tension was immediate. I knew the weight of this meeting, and he knew I knew. That was half the game here—pretending we weren't both already playing it.
"The omega spoke," he said at last.
It wasn't a question.
I met his gaze. "Yes."
"To you."
"Yes."
"He used a word."
I nodded slowly. "Love."
The boss didn't blink.
Didn't even breathe differently. He leaned back a fraction in his chair, but it was too measured to be considered surprise. That sort of expression didn't exist in men like him. Every reaction was a tool. Every silence a test.
"Do you know what that means, Rhea?"
I took a breath. Not too deep. Just enough.
"I think so."
He waited.
The silence was heavy, almost expectant.
So I leaned forward slightly, just enough to show intent, not threat. "It means he's imprinted on me. Not like a puppy. Not like a child. It's deeper than that."
The boss raised a brow. Still silent.
I continued, tone steady. "It means he trusts me beyond logic. Beyond instinct. Beyond programming. He listens to me without fear. Responds to my scent like it's a tether. A trigger."
"And you see that as an advantage," he said.
"I do."
"You think this can be… utilized."
"Yes."
He studied me for a moment longer, like he was trying to peel apart my words to find the lie beneath them.
"You want to keep him."
I didn't flinch. "I want to use him. As intended."
Another pause.
Then a slow, unsettling smile curved across his mouth.
"And you're confident this bond won't compromise you."
I nodded. "I'm not here to fall in love with a pet," I said. "I'm here to get results."
The boss steepled his fingers.
"And if he grows... possessive?"
"Then he obeys faster. Works harder. Reacts with more clarity. He already recognizes my scent as a source of safety. With consistent exposure, it can be developed into an exclusive behavioral prompt."
He tilted his head. "So what you're saying is... love has made him programmable."
"Yes."
My voice didn't shake.
But inside, Nyx was pacing.
You hate this. You hate every word coming out of your mouth.
I did. But I said them anyway.
Because I had no choice.
Because if I didn't define what this bond meant, they would.
And if they defined it—if they decided it was a liability—he would suffer for it.
So I turned him into a weapon.
Into a system. A method. A tool of control, sharpened not by discipline, but by emotional attachment.
Love as code.
Me as the key.
Silence stretched long between us again. The kind of silence that didn't just fill the space—it tightened it.
Finally, the boss sat back.
"You'll file daily reports," he said. "Verbal and biometric logs. I want his reactions tracked minute by minute. I want scent analysis recorded before and after sessions. I want graphs of your proximity compared to his neurological spikes."
"Understood."
"You'll meet with me weekly."
"Yes."
"And if I sense this is affecting your judgment—"
"It won't."
Another pause. Then, almost casually:
"If I decide he's compromised, I'll have him reset. You understand that?"
My hands were folded in my lap.
Tight.
Still.
"I understand," I said.
He stared for another long beat. Watching.
Then nodded.
"Good."
And just like that, the meeting was over.
But I knew I'd just sold something sacred.
And I would sell it again. Every day.
If it meant keeping Nine safe.
If it meant keeping him mine.