I Became the Omega in a Game - Chapter 14

Just as Riche resolved to build a connection with Idelli Grace and never see Raymond again, the quiet night was slowly swallowed by the wet sound echoing in the dark.

The pale moonlight slipped through the curtains, unable to fully hide its glow, creeping across the floor and up to the edge of the bed. Its reflection spread softly, illuminating the figure sprawled atop the sheets with a voyeuristic intimacy.

Slap, slap, slap.

Sweat dripped from his face, contorted with strain as his hand moved feverishly.

Reclining against the cushions of the bed was a man with striking red hair—Raymond Strigo, the dissolute second son of the powerful Strigo family, a man who had risen to become one of the undisputed figures in the imperial capital’s social circles, backed by the Crown Prince’s power.

For someone who carried such filthy rumors about his debauchery, Raymond surprisingly wasn’t one to rely on self-pleasure.

Yet now, here he was, fully focused. His hand, rough and sun-kissed from years of grueling training during his youth, was veined and tense as it moved swiftly between his legs. Each stroke revealed his thick, crimson shaft, now glistening with a mix of sweat and clear fluid under the moonlight.

No trace of the innocence of boyhood remained in his corrupted, erect manhood. It stood ferociously upright, almost brushing against his stomach, its tip swollen and poised to release the thick seed that refused to come.

Despite his aggressive movements—so harsh it seemed his skin might tear—the only result was a steady trickle of pre-cum, with no sign of the climax he desperately sought.

Raymond’s handsome face twisted in frustration, like a man standing before a destination he could never quite reach.

“Fuck, I’ve completely lost it. Goddamn it…!”

He spat curses through pale lips, sweat dripping down his chin.

For all his reputation as a man with a string of women rivaling Idelli Grace’s male conquests, Raymond couldn’t understand how he’d ended up here. When his desire stirred, he never had to deal with it alone—unless he found himself stranded on a deserted island, which he most certainly wasn’t.

Yet here he was, gripped by an unbearable, maddening sexual need that clouded his mind, grinding his shaft into his own coarse hand instead of into the soft, welcoming body of a woman.

Raymond had already kicked several women out of this very bed tonight, too annoyed to even count them.

The tender, luscious bodies that had once seemed so delicious now felt like lifeless, inorganic dolls—so much so that he had chosen his own hand instead. The absurdity of it all was enough to kill him. Was there something truly wrong with him now? Had he overused himself into ruin?

Maybe some enemy really had cursed him. He’d heard talk lately about someone crying while stabbing a voodoo doll every night. Even as his hand moved fiercely, his mind swirled with ridiculous, incoherent thoughts.

He couldn’t focus—at all.

“Damn it, damn it all…”

Snarling through gritted teeth, Raymond’s hand squeezed and dragged along his shaft from base to tip. Even the friction was beginning to sting. Yet still, nothing.

With a bitter laugh, Raymond exhaled shakily.

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt pain from overuse. But back then, he had spent all night tangled in a woman’s arms, climaxing seven times.

He had never spent thirty pathetic minutes furiously pleasuring himself like this before. In the past, it had been a testament to his stamina; now it was nothing short of pitiful. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk about it—what was he, a loser?

Raymond reached for a bottle of lubricant, something he only used on particularly lecherous Omegas.

The cold, transparent gel oozed onto his hand and over his shaft. He smoothed it over the rigid length, and the stimulus caused his cock to twitch violently, as if ready to erupt at any second. Maybe this time would work. He stroked firmly, rubbing the swollen head with his thumb the way his partners often had. His hips bucked involuntarily.

But that was all.

The sharp, pointed head of his shaft remained unresponsive. There was no wave of pleasure building, no familiar pull toward release.

“Goddamn it…!”

Raymond’s red eyes burned with frustration.

Throwing his head back, he squeezed his shaft so tightly it looked as if he wanted to crush it. His once-sharp thoughts were now a chaotic mess, clouded with anger and confusion.

Automatically, as if summoned from nowhere, an image of someone’s body flashed in his mind.

Rounded shoulders, a slightly smaller frame, a slender yet perfectly curved silhouette. It was unfamiliar—yet undeniably erotic.

It wasn’t the body he usually fantasized about when indulging in carnal thoughts. Idelli Grace, for instance, was tall, and her shoulders were far more angular than the silhouette in his mind.

For years, his yearning for Idelli had been like hardened clay—firm, unyielding, and all-consuming. Just thinking about her would have been enough to stir his excitement.

But now, even imagining her didn’t help.

Idelli Grace, with her decadent body—the most sensual of any he’d seen—wasn’t supposed to feel like the lifeless dolls that the other women had become. He hadn’t gone to her because he was terrified of that possibility. If even Idelli felt empty to him, then surely something was wrong. Maybe he really was cursed. And if there was someone responsible for this affliction, they wouldn’t escape him alive.

Raymond’s thoughts grew darker, spiraling further into destruction.

He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. The agony was unbearable.

When had this started? He thought back carefully.

That night. It had all begun after visiting Club Queen with Idelli.

After he’d been with her—that woman he’d momentarily thought was a witch.

Everything had gone downhill since that night. The symptoms had progressed slowly at first, so he hadn’t paid much attention. Now, it had come to this.

The proud shaft that had once satisfied every partner with ease was betraying him.

Since the day he’d first awakened to his desire—when he realized his feelings for Idelli Grace—he had never struggled like this.

But now? Now it was uncontrollable.

He spent entire days hard, never reaching release. His body was worn out, left lingering in a constant, unfulfilled haze of arousal.

Raymond closed his eyes, trying to conjure the memory of her.

He couldn’t remember her face clearly. All he could recall was the butterfly-shaped mask, those sinful, red lips, and the eyes—dark enough to blur the line between black and gray.

He imagined her hips under his hands, soft and springy like freshly baked bread, swaying rhythmically beneath him.

Her slender waist had wriggled enticingly with every thrust, and her soft moans had driven him wild, every sound setting his nerves alight.

“Haah-aaang!”

The sensation of her gripping him so tightly, refusing to let go…

You crazy bitch, goddamn, spread your legs more.
Listen to those sounds—God, you’re driving me insane, you crazy thing…

The words he’d groaned mindlessly that night echoed in his head, as did the sweet, agonizing moans she had given in response. The memory slammed into him like a fist to the chest.

Raymond’s hand moved furiously again.

Slap, slap!

A jolt of pleasure shot through him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, like a lightning strike.

Slap, slap, slap—slapslapslap!

The muscles in his hips tensed, his waist jerking upward as if pulled by a string.

“Huugh!”

Splurt.

“Haah…”

Sticky warmth coated his hand as Raymond’s body collapsed back against the cushions, his limbs sinking heavily into the mattress.

His breath, soaked in ecstasy, scattered faint white clouds in the air. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

White liquid stained the handkerchief clutched in his palm. Irritated, he scrubbed his sticky hands with the fabric, as though wiping away more than just the mess.

Even after releasing, his shaft remained stubbornly semi-erect at an awkward angle.

Raymond’s face contorted into an expression of pure frustration.

“Fucking hell, what’s wrong with you, you damn cock? I’m going insane.”

This was how it had been. Even achieving release felt like a monumental effort, and when he did climax, the cursed arousal wouldn’t subside. It was as though someone had injected him with a pig’s aphrodisiac.

“Fuck. That woman must’ve done something to me. When I catch her, I’ll ruin her—break her into pieces!”

Overwhelmed by the mix of emptiness, annoyance, and sheer humiliation, Raymond let out an enraged yell, throwing a fit before collapsing back onto the bed. He couldn’t be bothered with anything anymore.

But the moment he closed his eyes, she appeared again—the woman whose face he couldn’t even remember.

The butterfly mask, with its hollowed-out eyes. The pale blue gleam that had flashed so seductively.

Raymond suddenly bolted upright.

Blue eyes?

A crease formed between his brows.

Somehow, the butterfly-masked woman was pushed from his mind, and in her place emerged a golden-haired woman.

Those gray eyes he had thought he’d seen—weren’t they actually blue? The darkness of the room must have tricked him into believing otherwise.

Raymond’s eyes sharpened dangerously.

It wasn’t Idelli.

No, it was the Beta woman. The one who had been trembling in the Alpha-Omega club.

‘No. There’s no way she’s just a Beta.’

Shaking his head, Raymond focused on the fragments of memory from that night.

He’d been drunk, yes, but he distinctly remembered feeling something odd. That elusive, nagging feeling…

The blurry memories rose to the surface like bubbles breaking through water.

“What are you? Are you an Omega?”

An Omega’s pheromones that had stirred him—only to suddenly vanish, like smoke evaporating into the air.

Raymond’s eyes snapped open, narrowing into slits of suspicion. His crimson gaze darkened, the pieces beginning to come together.

* * *

Riche was currently staying in the staff dormitory. When she had first moved in, several others had shared the space, but most of them had left the club after catching the eye of nobles or finding someone in a similar situation. Now, Riche was the only one using the dormitory.

After finishing her preparations for work, she stepped outside. The area in front of the dorm was filthy. Brown liquor bottles were scattered across the ground, likely left behind by drunken patrons. The grass beneath was yellowing, as if screaming in agony from the stench of garbage.

Next to the dirty lawn stretched a poorly maintained road that led straight to the entertainment district. It was a carriage-only road frequented by nobles and wealthy townsfolk.

Clop, clop, clop.

The sound of hooves drew her attention, and she turned her head to see a carriage passing by. Riche’s gaze fixed on the crest emblazoned on its door.

‘That’s…?’

Searching her memory, she realized she had seen that same crest engraved on the scabbard Kairos Strigo always carried.

‘It’s the Strigo family’s carriage.’

Riche tilted her head slightly in thought. Could it mean that Kairos Strigo had returned?

She glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high, and it wasn’t even business hours yet.

‘The carriage is heading toward Club Queen.’

Beyond the club lay the entertainment district, filled with row after row of other establishments. Where could the carriage be going?

Lost in thought for a moment, Riche eventually descended the stairs and began walking slowly.

By the time she arrived at the club, it was slightly later than her usual arrival time.

The club was bustling. After changing into her uniform, Riche made her way to the scheduler. At the same time, Elsa came into view, carrying a basket full of liquor bottles, likely on her way back from the storage room. Spotting Riche, Elsa grumbled under her breath.

“It feels chaotic here. What’s going on?”

“Ah, it’s nothing major—Raymond Strigo’s here. Seriously, Mikhail should be handling this kind of thing himself. What good is all that muscle if he only uses it in bed?”

Elsa set down the basket and rubbed her arms, clearly annoyed.

“Raymond Strigo’s here?”

Riche’s question came out calmly, betraying nothing. Elsa, unaware of anything unusual, nodded matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, everyone was surprised since it was still before opening hours. He’s not the type to show up this early. Apparently, he told everyone not to make a fuss—he just came to drink.”

“……”

“Did we coat our drinks in honey or something? First Idelli Grace, and now Lord Raymond.”

Elsa tilted her head in genuine confusion.

‘So it wasn’t Kairos, but Raymond.’

Riche felt a twinge of disappointment. Raymond was more trouble than he was worth; he was even worse than the other Alpha patrons. Dealing with him was like having a pepper seed stuck in your eye—irritating, sharp, and headache-inducing.

Raymond’s association with Idelli Grace only made things more complicated. If she wasn’t careful, his presence could interfere with her data collection on the extreme Omega. Even if Raymond had dropped his suspicions about her, seeing her face again might jog his memory.

“What room did he go into?”