Wave to the Sky (Omegaverse)

Chapter 18: Victory

I remained silent, stunned by Carl's revelation. It was a bitter realization that he had outmaneuvered me. He laughed triumphantly, relishing in his newfound power. I had underestimated him greatly; never did I imagine that someone I perceived as harmless would turn out to be so cunning.

"That's all I wanted to say," he declared. "I'll leave you to enjoy your remaining time as the President of FunHouse."

"How... How did you do this?" I managed to choke out, my voice trembling with anger and disbelief.

"Ah, now that's the question," he gloated. "The stag party was my brainchild, remember? I made sure it was filled with omegas, knowing how alphas like us would react to their scents, especially during their heat cycle. I drugged your drinks with aphrodisiacs, causing your body to behave erratically. Imagine being surrounded by an omega's scent in a room."

His explanation sent a chill down my spine as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. That omega in heat, the strange behavior—it was all orchestrated by Carl.

"I guess that omega is content with the money he received," Carl remarked casually. "But enough about that. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know. Farewell, dear brother."

As he walked out, leaving me to grapple with the aftermath of his scheme, I couldn't contain my rage. I hurled the coffee mug he had used, shattering the television screen in a fit of frustration. My mind raced with thoughts of revenge, but for now, I had no choice but to concede defeat.

I dialed home, resigning myself to the inevitable. I would join them for dinner, knowing that my position was hanging by a thread. Carl may have won this battle, but I vowed to reclaim what was rightfully mine, no matter the cost.

As I sat on the sofa, trying to calm my racing thoughts, a glimmer of hope ignited within me. The omega from the video—finding him could be my ticket to taking down Carl once and for all. But how? Carl had intentionally obscured the omega's face in the video, leaving me with no leads. Frustration boiled within me, and I hurled my phone to the floor in exasperation.

But then, a plan began to form. I recalled the uniform the omega had worn that night: a blue vest and tie, a white dress shirt, and navy-blue pants. Armed with this knowledge, I ventured out of my apartment and into the city, determined to find the bar where the omega worked.

Despite my efforts and the aid of GPS, hours passed with no success. The city sprawled before me like an endless maze, each street offering no clue to the elusive bar. Exhausted and disheartened, I found myself wandering aimlessly.

"Sir, care for a drink? Perhaps some beer?" a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see a young man with red hair and freckles, offering his services.

"Wait, what?" I muttered in confusion.

"Beer?" he repeated, unfazed by my distraction. "Or maybe a meal?"

"Arthur!" a voice called from the bar, and the waiter excused himself momentarily before returning to me.

"If you're thirsty or hungry, step inside," he suggested, gesturing toward the bar. I glanced at his attire: a white dress shirt with a simple black bowtie—no blue in sight. But something about the establishment caught my attention: a weathered sign reading "The Beanstalk."

Fatigue weighed heavily on me, and the promise of refreshment beckoned. I followed the waiter inside, taking in the modest surroundings. Seated at a table, I ordered a cheeseburger and a non-alcoholic drink.

"One cheeseburger and a fruit juice, coming right up," the waiter assured me with a smile, leaving me to contemplate my next move.

As I sat in the cozy atmosphere of The Beanstalk, eating my meal, my thoughts drifted back to the pressing matter at hand: SkyHaven. The prospect of Carl taking over as President sent shivers down my spine. His approach mirrored Dad's conservative mindset, a far cry from my own innovative ideas.

Dad and I had always been at odds, our differences starkly apparent. Charlotte often remarked that I took after Mom more than Dad, likely due to Dad's frequent absence during my upbringing.

My vision for the company clashed with the traditional values upheld by Dad and, by extension, Carl. Their reluctance to embrace change hindered SkyHaven's potential for growth. It was frustrating to witness, knowing that my ideas could propel the company forward.

As I finished my meal, I realized that The Beanstalk was unlikely to yield any clues about the omega from the video. Disappointed, I prepared to leave when a familiar voice called out: "Arthur!"

Turning, I saw two figures carrying a large, tinted glass, obstructing my view. Intrigued, I waited for them to pass, only to find the waiter had vanished without a trace.

Shrugging off the odd encounter, I resumed my search, but my phone interrupted with an unexpected call. Glancing at the screen, I saw Layla's name displayed.

"That's strange," I muttered, answering the call. "Hello? Layla?"