A Scene Too Familiar

"Look at him. He must be so shocked he can’t even move or say anything."

"Of course he is. That pitiful Omega’s only hope of survival was being the Crown Prince’s fiancé."

"The king might pity him. Or he might throw him away like the useless thing he is."

"But honestly, Lord Philia is far more suitable for His Highness. Pure, kind, beautiful. Compared to Cherion..."

The voices wouldn’t stop. They circled him as if his silence gave them some sick pleasure.

Cherion rubbed his eyes. The bright lights above him were blinding. The two decorative chandelier lights above him were bouncing on the walls and ceiling, creating a starlight effect in all directions. Also, there were between 100 or more individuals in this room looking at Cherion as he stood in the center, dressed in heavy silks and stiff brocade, collars too high, sleeves too fancy for any normal gathering.

Cheiron rubbed his eyes again.

Where the hell was he?

Everybody was keenly watching him. For a brief moment, Cherion wondered if he was dreaming of an expensive historical drama as their lips moved in silent cruelty. He half expected a director to yell "Cut!" and for someone to shove a mic in his face.

But then....

"Cherion, are you even listening to me?"

And then one voice cut through the rest.

Cherion glanced in its direction and promptly forgot how to breathe, not out of fear this time, but because whoever was speaking was unfairly beautiful.

There was another man standing right next to him. Perhaps younger, with softer features. Pretty like porcelain left out in the heat too long, starting to crack where no one could see. But his soft smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The younger one touched the handsome one’s arm and said, almost in a whisper, "Your Highness, perhaps he’s in shock. After all... breaking off an engagement like this without warning..."

"Wait." Cherion lifted his hand, his brows pinched. His mouth worked faster than his brain. "What engagement? With you?"

He pointed straight at the handsome shining man.

Everyone in the hall gasped in shock. One or two of the guests even dropped a glass onto the floor when Cherion opened his mouth to speak.

The golden-haired man, whom Cherion assumed was royalty, had just snorted.. "Fine," he said with thin patience. "Since you’re having trouble listening tonight, I’ll say it again."

It was the kind of voice that could win over a nation or choke the life out of it.

"I, Prince Yerel Darrath of the Glorian Empire, officially annul my engagement with you, Cherion Hale. From this moment on, you’re no longer my fiancé."

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the porcelain man’s wrist, pulling him in like he was showing off something he’d just claimed. "Philia is the one for me."

His ears buzzed, not with grief but with the sick punch of recognition.

Philia. Yerel. Cherion.

These names weren’t random. He knew them all too well.

Cherion looked down at himself. He was wearing this ridiculous coat, embroidered like a costume. It was all embroidered like a costume. Lace scratched his wrists. He had his boots polished to an absurd sheen. His stomach turned in an instant.

This scene. This moment.

And then it clicked.

"Oh no," he whispered. His hand flew up to cover his mouth. His eyes went wide, wild, as he stared at the two men before him. It wasn’t heartbreak, but a sheer horror.

The others mistook it for delayed grief. Yerel raised a brow, smirking. "I guess a delayed reaction, but finally the shock hits you," he said.

No. Cherion wanted to scream. This had nothing to do with being shocked over a stupid engagement. This was way worse than that.

Because he knew exactly where he was.

This was the beginning Chapter of that smutty omegaverse novel he’d read a few years ago because it had a character with his name. The one where "Cherion Hale," the pathetic cannon-fodder Omega fiancé, was dumped by the Crown Prince, Yerel, in favor of the pure, gentle Philia and then quietly erased from the story.

And now?

He was inside it.

Cherion’s breath stuttered. He needed to leave before the entire scene consumed him.

"Fine," Cherion suddenly blurted out, the tone of his voice more aggressive than he’d planned.

Yerel’s expression flickered. "What?"

Cherion blinked back at him. "I said fine. I heard you. You’re breaking the engagement? Okay. Fine. What, are you deaf now?"

The crowd’s whispers intensified, crashing like waves against Palace’s marble walls.

"How dare he speak so rudely to His Highness like that."

"Well, can you blame him? He’s being discarded in front of everyone."

Cherion managed a smile. Or something close to one. His legs wanted to give out, but his mouth moved first. His head tipped, just slightly, the way you’d nod at a waiter who’d gotten your order wrong.

What did Yerel think would happen? That he would cry and cling to his boots and beg him not to replace him? Being pathetic wasn’t his style. He gladly let Philia play the weeping heroine if he wanted to.

"Enjoy your drama," Cherion said, turning before they could respond.

His legs were shaking beneath him with every step, but he never hesitated to keep going.

He shoved past through the crowd, ignoring the hissing and whispering, made it to the balcony, and finally out into the fresh air.

The cool breeze hit him like a slap across the face. It was so refreshing.

At last, his body gave in. He leaned against the stone railing and began to shake again as he started to look up at the tall window.

And there he was.

The reflection staring back wasn’t really him. The reflection staring back wasn’t his. Pale hair, too perfect to be natural. Blue eyes polished like glass marbles. A face powdered smooth until it stopped looking human. He looked like a showroom mannequin for God’s sake.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered.

He slapped his own cheek so hard that the sting spread across it.

"Oh, brilliant." He winced, rubbing at it. "So it’s not a dream. Fantastic. Just fantastic."

He needed a plan and a way to slip from this cursed narrative.

But before he could gather his thoughts, footsteps approached.

Cherion turned.

Philia stood in the doorway. His features were soft and his eyes glimmered as if they contained unshed tears. His smile, though, was carefully painted.

"Is everything all right?" Philia asked softly, walking toward him. "I wanted to make sure you’re... well."

Cherion just stared at him. He couldn’t speak, the words were stuck in his throat.

In front of him was the novel’s protagonist Omega, the perfect one who replaced Cherion.

Something twisted in Cherion’s stomach. It was neither jealousy nor pain, but the cruel knowledge that the plot had already begun.

Before he could say anything, the smile on Philia’s face faded. Philia suddenly stopped smiling, and his smile was as quickly gone as wine spilling from a chipped cup.

"You know," Philia said quietly, "for someone so pitiful, you still act as if you are above me. Don’t you think it’s a little bit arrogant?"

Cherion blinked as he was caught off guard by Philia’s comment.

Philia stepped even closer to Cherion, and the quiet malice in his tone made it clear that Philia meant every word. "Do you think you were worthy enough to be with His Highness? Did you think that someone as unimportant as yourself could ever stand next to him?"

The smile was still there, only smaller and less enticing than the first time Cherion saw it.

As Cherion’s back met the railing, he felt himself grip the guard rail tightly with his fingers.

Philia’s previously sweet smile returned, even though it had changed into a brittle type of smile that resembled glass, but his eyes were filled with malice. He leaned in, close enough for Cherion to catch the sweetness of his perfume.

"You were never meant to last in his life."

And then Philia’s hand moved forward.

Cherion’s foot slipped. Then his stomach turned abruptly and sharply once more.

The world was tilted. It was too late when he reached for the railing.

As he fell, the wind roared in his ears.

Hold on... this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His thoughts raced through the details of the story as he remembered them.

This was not part of the plot.

But the last thing he saw before everything went dark was Philia’s sinister grin.

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