Taming the Feral Alpha: A Fake Simp's Guide

I was the doomed cannon fodder Omega in a tragic romance novel. Right now, I was tied up right next to the protagonist Omega. The kidnappers demanded five million a head.

My fiancé, Dalton, immediately showed up with ten million. My fiancé really did love me!

I was grinning when a line of floating text flashed across my vision. [Look at this dumbass cannon fodder smiling.

That psycho is about to carve out your gland and torture you to death.] Chapter 1 "Ten million is right here.

Let them go." Dalton's eyes met mine, heavy with what looked like genuine worry. I was the man he loved most. I knew he'd come for me.

A massive, idiot grin stretched across my face. Then, two lines of floating text materialized right in front of my eyes. [Look at this dumbass cannon fodder smiling.

Thinks he's going home to a happilyeverafter? Too bad we're fastforwarding straight to the glandharvesting and blooddraining grovel arc!] [Just passing through.

Is this that legendary vintage tragic deadex trope? This cannon fodder gets screwed over way too hard!] I stared hard at the glowing words suspended in midair.

My pulse pounded in my ears as my brain scrambled to process the information, misfiring like an overheated engine. Deadex trope? Cannon fodder? Live gland harvesting?

Beside me, Casey went rigid. His normally sickeninglysweet lily pheromones spiked, instantly turning chaotic and sour.

The color drained from his face as he clawed at the back of his neck, letting out a pained whimper. "Casey! Casey, what's wrong?" Panic fractured Dalton's composure.

He closed the distance in three long strides, dropping to his knees and hauling Casey into his arms.

He instantly flooded the air with thick, heavy Alpha pheromones, desperate to soothe him. It didn't do a damn thing.

Casey's congenital pheromone defect was flaring up right at this exact, messedup moment. Dalton whipped his head around. His bloodshot eyes locked dead onto me. "Finnick!

Casey needs surgery right now!

You need to give him your gland!" Casey slumped against Dalton's chest, tears streaming down his perfectly pale cheeks in a flawless display of fragility. "Dalton… no," he gasped out. "That's too cruel to Finnick.

I'd rather… I'd rather just die…" "Don't say that!" Dalton pressed a frantic, aching kiss to Casey's forehead before shooting another glare my way. "Finnick, you owe him this.

If you hadn't thrown a tantrum and run off, Casey wouldn't have been kidnapped trying to find you. He wouldn't have been terrified into an episode!

Your gland is the only thing that can save him now." The audacity of his gaslighting hit me so hard black spots swarmed my vision.

And then, he dropped the absolute kicker. "Don't worry, the surgery is super lowrisk. I'll get you the best medical care in the world.

I will love you for the rest of my life, I promise." A harsh, ugly laugh ripped out of my throat. I owed him?

What absolute, unadulterated, gradeA bullshit. "Another five million." Dalton looked up at the kidnappers and pointed a finger straight at my face. "Take Finnick to the underground clinic right now.

Do the surgery." Holy fucking shit. The floating text was actually telling the truth?!

Without warning, the entire plot of a novel called The CEO's Irreplaceable Golden Boy slammed into my brain.

I was the doomed cannon fodder Omega, existing solely to be carved open and harvested for Casey, the untouchable golden boy. And after I was dead and buried?

Only then would Dalton realize I was his true love, spending the rest of his life weeping over my literal ashes?

Classic tragic romance logic: I lose my actual life, but oh the horror, he loses his feelings! The most unhinged part? Casey would use my gland to become my replacement.

And he'd end up with the actual male lead of the book, Killian!!! Fuck. That. Fuck this deadex trope. Fuck being a stepping stone.

I was perfectly alive, and there was no way in hell I was going to be an organ donor for these two sick bastards. Wait. The male lead? Killian??? Hold on.

Was there another comment earlier? [Holy shit? Is that Killian in the car outside?! The toptier Alpha boss who's on the verge of a pheromone rampage!] I was saved.

Because according to the book, my pheromones were his absolute favorite drug. Chapter 2 "Wait!" I yelled, my voice cracking. Every head in the room snapped toward me.

They stared like I had just grown a second head. [Holy shit? This isn't in the script! Isn't Finnick supposed to cry in despair and just accept his fate?] [Major plot twist alert!

Look at his eyes! He's about to go feral!] I blinked away the scrolling text and locked eyes with the lead kidnapper. "You're in this business for the cash, right?

He's offering five million? What is this, charity? I've got a toptier gland with a 99 percent purity rate. On the black market, that's priceless.

Don't let this cheapskate play you!" Dalton's brow furrowed into a hard line. "Finnick, what kind of sick game are you playing now?" "Shut up." I didn't even look at him. "Cheating scumbags don't get a vote." Casey sniffled, his shoulders trembling. "Is… is Finnick just terrified out of his mind…?" "You're terrified!

Your whole damn family is terrified!" I whipped my head back to the kidnapper, widening my eyes in dead earnest. I jerked my chin toward the grimy window. "Look outside.

See that Maybach? You recognize the plates. That's Killian. The most ruthless billionaire in the city! Tell him you've got a premium, toptier soothing agent.

We split the profit thirtyseventy! No, fortysixty! You take sixty! Ask for fifty million!" The boss just stared at me.

In all his years of organized crime, he'd clearly never had a hostage negotiate their own ransom up. "Are you… are you out of your fucking mind?" "Yeah, and do you have a cure?

If not, move! That car is going to leave!" Panic spiked in my chest. I twisted my wrists. The rough rope burned my skin, and then, miraculously, the knot slipped.

I lunged forward, snatching the switchblade right out of the goon's hand.

I flipped the blade and pressed the cold steel directly against the back of my own neck, right over my gland. "You sell me to Killian today, or I carve this gland out myself!" I pressed the edge hard enough to sting. "Nobody gets a single red cent!" Dalton froze.

He stared at me with wide, uncomprehending eyes, like he was looking at a total stranger. And the text floating in front of my face went absolutely feral. [Holy shit!

What kind of chaotic evil plot twist is this?] [Reverse psychology at its finest!

The kidnappers are rethinking their entire career paths right now!] [LMAO, if the cannon fodder goes completely psycho, the cheating scumbag doesn't stand a chance!] The sheer, unhinged desperation in my eyes actually made the boss take a step back.

He glanced at Dalton, then out the window at the gleaming, intimidating silhouette of the Maybach. He swallowed hard.

Greed easily overpowered whatever brain cells he had left. "Fuck it. No risk, no reward!" He pointed at me. "Grab him.

Take him to the car!" Left with no other option and a rapidly deteriorating Casey, Dalton had to scramble to get his precious golden boy to a hospital.

The rain was coming down in thick, blinding sheets. The goons practically dragged me to the Maybach. Before they could knock, the heavy car door kicked open from the inside. Bang.

A suffocating, overwhelming wave of Alpha pheromones—smelling of highproof bourbon and pure danger—detonated into the freezing night air like a nuclear shockwave. Thud.

The kidnapper beside me dropped straight to his knees, utterly crushed by the biological pressure. My own legs turned to jelly.

My knees buckled, but pure, adrenalinefueled survival instinct kept me moving. I threw my entire body weight forward, diving headfirst into the pitchblack back seat.

I reached back and slammed the door shut behind me. "Get out." A low, gravelly voice cut through the darkness.

A flash of passing headlights illuminated the man trapped in the back seat with me. Broad shoulders. A narrow waist. His chest heaved with ragged, erratic breaths.

And his eyes—a predatory, striking amber—were webbed with bloodshot red. Chapter 3 [Critical Threat Level! The Alpha boss is going feral! Run, Finnick!

He's going to tear you apart!] Run? Back out into the rain where they wanted to carve my gland out? Instead of running, I lunged straight into his chest.

My arms wrapped around his waist in a death grip, and I shamelessly rubbed my face against his shirt. "Killian! I saved your life once!

Time to cash in that karma!" "You have a death wish?" His jaw locked so hard the muscles feathered under his skin.

The raw bourbon pheromones slammed into me, heavy enough to bruise. My knees hit the floorboards right between his legs. [We are so dead.

Killian has extreme touchstarvation combined with a pheromone rampage. He despises physical contact.

Finnick is about to get his neck snapped.] I squeezed my eyes shut, abandoning my dignity. My hands shot up to cup his freezing, sharpangled face.

I aimed for his mouth and planted my lips directly against his, biting down hard. Smack. The sound echoed in the suffocating silence of the back seat.

Killian's murderous amber eyes snapped wide open. His pupils blew out, swallowing the gold. The cold mask shattered, replaced by a visual glitch of unfiltered shock.

The rockhard thigh muscles beneath my hands actually twitched.

And in the dim wash of the streetlights, a slow, furious red flush crept up the tips of his ears. [???] [Am I hallucinating?

Did the coldblooded tyrant boss just blush?!] [He looks like a giant, innocent golden retriever that just got forcibly kissed, LMAO!

His ears are practically glowing!] My pulse roared in my ears. I hit the jackpot!

This guy played the psychotic boss, but underneath the terrifying exterior, he was a severely touchstarved mess begging for contact.

He literally couldn't physically reject an Omega throwing themselves at him! "Mmph—" Killian pushed me back. The shove was barely a brush of his palm.

His gaze darted away, dodging my eyes as he stared at my collarbone instead. "Who… are you?" "Two hundred bucks, Killian!" I widened my eyes, pouring on the most intense, syrupy devotion I could muster. "Don't you remember the guy who saved you for two hundred bucks?

I've been searching everywhere for you!" It was pure, unfiltered bullshit, but I was throwing everything at the wall to see what stuck.

Killian went still. "You… you finally came to find me." The words were a raw, ragged whisper. His massive hand clamped onto the back of my head, hauling me flush against his chest.

Me: ? Wait. I was literally just talking out of my ass. He actually had a twohundreddollar savior out there? This bodydouble plotline was taking a massive left turn. [Holy shit!

Killian really was saved by a masked Omega with a cheap, twohundreddollar scent blocker back in the day!

He's been hunting for that Omega for years!] [Finnick just blindly stumbled into the ultimate untouchable golden boy role!] I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing out loud.

Being a standin? Hell yeah. Bring on the bodydouble trope. As long as he bankrolled me, I'd play the lovesick replacement until his bank accounts ran dry. "Drive.

Back to the cliffside manor." Killian barked the order at the terrified driver up front. He slipped back into his untouchable, highandmighty CEO persona.

It would have been a lot more convincing if his large hand hadn't sneakily slid around my waist, pulling me tighter against his side.

I took the hint, resting my head comfortably against his broad shoulder, and closed my eyes. Dalton. You cheating piece of garbage. Just you wait.

I was going to use this absolute unit of a sugar daddy to slap the teeth right out of both your mouths. Chapter 4 Killian's cliffside manor.

I stood barefoot on a plush Persian rug, my fingers curled in a death grip around a mug of hot milk. I was shaking. Not from the cold. From pure, unadulterated terror.

Because right now, Killian was sitting on the leather sofa opposite me, holding my phone. The screen glowed. It was stuck on the contacts page.

Specifically, the contact name I had just saved for him after he forced me to add his number. "Gullible Sugar Daddy ATM?" He enunciated every single syllable.

His pitchblack eyes locked onto me like a sniper's laser. "Finnick. You'd better give me a flawless explanation." [We are so dead!

Finnick is about to crash and burn!] [Savior one second, ATM the next? Who could handle that whiplash?] [The boss is going to commit murder! Run!] Run? Where?

This fortress was locked down tighter than a supermax prison. I sucked in a sharp breath.

My brain went into overdrive, scrolling through every acting masterclass I had ever watched. Time to go all in. Thud. My knees buckled.

I dropped straight onto the rug, shoving the mug aside. I buried my face in my hands.

I forced my shoulders to heave, letting out a choked, devastated sob. "I'm sorry… Killian, I'm so sorry…" I peeked through the gaps in my fingers to gauge his reaction.

Killian's jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Thick blue veins strained against the skin of his hand holding my phone. "Stop crying. Explain." I snapped my head up.

I forced the blood to pool in my eyes until hot tears spilled over my lashes, projecting pure, agonizing inadequacy mixed with a sick, twisted obsession. "Killian, you're untouchable.

You're at the very top. And me? I'm just a defective Omega.

I'm a punchline in the entertainment industry, covered in scandals and spat on by everyone." I bit down on my lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. "I've been secretly in love with you for five years!

From the second I pulled you out of that alley, I've been hopelessly, disgustingly obsessed with you! But I'm not good enough for you!

All I could do was stare at your photos in the dead of night and cry!

I changed your contact name to 'Gullible Sugar Daddy ATM' just to… just to hide how pathetically insecure I am about my feelings! I was terrified someone would figure it out!

I was terrified of being mocked for aiming out of my league! I had to use a trashy insult to protect myself! Killian, if I disgust you, just throw me out!

Let me die on Dalton's operating table!" I squeezed my eyes shut, acting like a man waiting for the executioner's axe. Silence.

Suffocating silence. [...] [...] [Are you fucking kidding me???] [Give this man a goddamn Oscar!] I strained my ears, listening for any movement from Killian. One second.

Two seconds. Three. A stiff, highly unnatural cough broke the quiet. I cracked one eye open. Killian stood up. His massive frame locked rigid.

He turned his back to me and yanked at his tie. The violent, suffocating bourbon pheromones miraculously evaporated.

In their place, a ridiculously gentle, sweet vanilla soothing pheromone seeped into the air, silently wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

Chapter 5 "Stop crying." His voice held its usual gravel, but the edges were frayed with a distinct panic. "Who… who said anything about throwing you out?" He spun around, locking his gaze on the crystal chandelier above, refusing to look at me. "Since… since you've been obsessed with me for all these years." The crimson flush on the tips of his ears bled straight down the cords of his neck. "I suppose… I can reluctantly let you stay.

Don't ever change that contact name again." I ducked my head, biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper just to keep the laugh in. Nailed it.

Day three of freeloading in Killian's cliffside manor. I was losing my mind from boredom. My entire existence consisted of eating and sleeping.

Killian, the absolute workaholic, left before sunrise and returned long after dark. On the rare occasions our paths actually crossed, he wore an impenetrable poker face.

But the second I leaned into his personal space, he'd practically trip over his own feet trying to escape. Was this supposed to be the city's most terrifying Alpha?

He was a giant, innocent Samoyed stuffed inside a wolf's suit. But I knew the rules of the deadex trope better than anyone. Comfort was a lethal trap.

There was zero chance Dalton, that cheating scumbag, was going to let me go peacefully. I needed to weld myself to Killian, my billionaire lifeline.

It was time to crank the dial up. 8:00 PM. The heavy doors clicked open.

Killian stepped inside, bringing the biting chill of the autumn night and the heavy weight of exhaustion with him. He kicked off his shoes and froze.

I was standing at the foot of the sweeping staircase, clutching the handle of a suitcase, my eyes expertly rimmed with red. "Killian, I… I'm leaving." I ducked my chin.

I pinched the hem of my sweater, twisting the fabric until my knuckles turned white, letting my voice catch in my throat. "Why." The temperature in the room plummeted. "I'm just freeloading here.

I can't do anything for you." I lifted my chin, forcing two perfect, crystalline tears to spill over my lashes. "Plus, Dalton is tearing the city apart looking for me.

I can't drag you down with me. It's better if I just leave. I'll sleep under an overpass. If they catch me… well, it's just one gland." "Shut up." Killian cut me off.

His massive hand snapped out, wrapping around my wrist like a steel vice. He yanked.

I slammed chestfirst into his rockhard torso, the impact stinging my nose. "Who gave you permission to leave?" The muscle in his jaw ticked. "You belong to me.

Nobody touches what's mine." He crushed me against him so tight my ribs ached, but internally, I was throwing a victory parade. "But… but I'm just a defective Omega…" I whispered, throwing pure gasoline on the fire. "I don't care." Killian abruptly dipped his head.

His hot, ragged breaths ghosted across the hypersensitive skin of my nape. I froze.

What was he doing? "Finnick, listen to me." His voice dropped to a gravelly, raw register, threaded with an almost imperceptible tremor. "You are not going anywhere.

You stay right here." A heavy, electric tension spiked in the millimeter of air between us.

Then, the sharp, lethal tips of his Alpha canines slowly, deliberately pressed against the fragile, pulsefluttering skin directly over my gland.

Chapter 6 He moved with painstaking restraint.

His teeth barely grazed that paperthin layer of skin before slowly, gently piercing it, flooding my system with a temporary mark that felt impossibly secure. My knees buckled.

I melted straight into his chest.

He scooped me up with ridiculous care, taking the stairs in long strides before lowering me onto the massive, cloudlike mattress. "Rest." He held my gaze for a heavy second, then spun on his heel and strode out of the room.

He almost looked like he was fleeing the scene. I lay back against the pillows, brushing a fingertip over the warm, pulsing bite mark on my nape.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. [Ahhhhh! A temporary mark!!!] [The boss is so gentle, I'm literally sobbing!] Boredom set in.

I rolled over and grabbed the iPad Killian had left on the nightstand, figuring I'd scroll through some videos. The screen was unlocked. The browser app was open.

The search bar sat right in the middle of the screen, the text glaring up at me: [How to bite an Omega's neck without it hurting?] [Waiting online, it's urgent.] Me: … I burst out laughing.

I buried my face in the duvet, writhing around like a complete lunatic. The ruthless tyrant? How the hell was this man so incredibly cute! One week later.

The script reading for Undercurrent. This was Gallagher's passion project, three years in the making.

I had clawed my way through hundreds of auditions, banking on years of grinding out background roles, to snatch the second male lead.

A blind villain—softspoken on the outside, completely psychotic on the inside. The air in the conference room felt thick. I sat at a corner table, flipping through my script.

The heavy double doors swung open.

Casey walked in, flanked by Dalton and completely surrounded by an entourage, wearing a tailored, pure white suit. "Gallagher, I'm so sorry we're late." Casey smiled, a picture of perfect grace, but his eyes darted straight to me.

A flash of pure venom cut through his gaze. Gallagher's jaw tightened.

Factoring in Dalton's massive financial backing, he forced a stiff nod. "Casey is very interested in the second male lead for this project." Dalton scanned the room before locking an arrogant glare on the director. "I expect you to reconsider the casting for that role." The entire room went dead silent.

He was openly trying to hijack my role! [Fuck! Why won't this twofaced bitch just go away!] [Dalton is complete trash.

He wants to harvest Finnick's gland AND ruin his career!] I snapped my script shut. The sound cracked like a whip. "What? Did you blow through that five million ransom already?

Now you're here to rob my paycheck?" I pushed my chair back and stood up, meeting Dalton's stare headon. "Watch your mouth, Finnick." Dalton's eyes narrowed. "Talent alone doesn't keep you alive in this industry." Casey's eyes welled up.

He pulled a flawless, victimized expression. "Finnick, I know you're mad at me. But I really love this role.

Can't you just let me have it?" As he spoke, a sickening wave of hightier Omega pheromones slammed into me.

He was actively using his biological rank to crush me in front of everyone. The air seized in my lungs. The blood drained from my face.

For a defective Omega, the physical reaction to a hightier suppression was violent and uncontrollable. I gripped the edge of the table. My knuckles turned bonewhite.

Chapter 7 Casey leaned in, plastering on a mask of fake concern. "Finnick, you look awful.

Are you not feeling well?" I braced myself, ready to violently tear through the suppression, flip the damn table, and curse him out. Bang!

The heavy conference room doors kicked open.

A suffocating, arctic shockwave of toptier Alpha pheromones—like a brutal Siberian blizzard—detonated inside the room, instantly crushing everything in its path. Thud.

Casey's legs gave out. He dropped directly to his knees on the carpet, the color draining from his face. Dalton let out a choked groan.

He staggered back two steps, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the back of a chair just to stay upright. Dead silence gripped the room.

Every pair of terrified eyes locked onto the doorway. Killian strode through the frame in a perfectly tailored black suit.

He swept a glacial, detached gaze over Casey groveling on the floor and Dalton's sickly pale face, before his eyes finally locked onto me.

The golden amber in his irises hardened into lethal, razorsharp ice. He closed the distance and hauled me flush against his side.

The second his arctic pheromones brushed my skin, they melted into a warm vanilla haze. "My Omega." His gravelly voice echoed through the breathless room, dripping with absolute, untouchable authority. "Who gave you trash the right to touch him?" [Ahhhhh!

So incredibly hot