Eat Me Up If You Can

No one can provoke me with impunity.
Whoever dares will definitely pay for it.

______________________________
 
The courtroom hung in a deathly silence, so complete that a falling pin would have sounded like a gunshot. Breathing itself felt forbidden. In that crushing stillness, the plaintiff trembled, his face drained of color. His eyes flickered desperately but remained locked on a single spot, as if salvation might appear if he stared hard enough.

The moment that would decide his fate was seconds away.
Clutching his hands together like a man praying for his life, he looked ready to collapse under the weight of fear. Only sheer will kept him upright.
Every gaze in the room pinned him in place. Then the judge’s lips finally moved.
“…Therefore, the plaintiff’s claim of X month X day, 20XX, is dismissed.”
“Ah…”

A small, broken sound slipped from the plaintiff’s lips. His body crumpled into his chair as if the floor had been ripped out from beneath him. Covering his face with shaking hands, he didn’t even hear the judge continue, reading the verdict in a voice as flat and mechanical as a metronome.
“The court clerk will deliver the ruling to the defendant and close the case...”
The plaintiff sat frozen, fingers spread over his face. Through the gaps, his wild, despairing eyes were visible — until he finally shattered, breaking into helpless sobs.
A grown man, reduced to wailing like a child in front of a silent, pitiless room.

Dominic L. Miller watched from the defense table, his lips parted slightly, as if tasting the moment. His narrowed eyes and faint expression could almost be mistaken for a smile.
It was real.
In a life otherwise dulled by tedium, this — the ruin of another — was one of the few things that made Dominic feel alive.
A faint thrill prickled down his spine.
A ghost of warmth stirred low in his body.
But it passed quickly.
This pathetic scrap of pleasure was all he could summon.
Such was his life: endlessly gray.

After sitting a while longer, Dominic rose, unhurried.
Only when the judge had exited and the trial was truly over.
“Mr. Miller, thank you. You are — without a doubt — the best lawyer not just in the East, but in the entire country. The Chairman will be thrilled.”
The client pushed through the cluster of lawyers to shake Dominic’s hand with a gleaming smile. Dominic, offering the barest nod, let his gaze drift across the company's jubilant representatives, then turned away, ignoring their extended hands.

"Mr. Miller, leaving already?"
The client called after him, but another lawyer answered instead.
"Yes. Miller always leaves as soon as the verdict is given. We'll finalize everything without him."

"I see..."
The client watched Dominic’s retreating figure with faint regret.
Muttered, almost to himself:
“He seems...hard to approach.”
"Approach?" another lawyer laughed dryly. "Miller? Why would you even try?"

Embarrassed, the man chuckled, but the others exchanged knowing glances. One lawyer leaned in and lowered his voice.
"Miller doesn’t 'do' friends. Not even coffee. We've worked beside him for years — not once."
"Maybe he just hates people?"

The whisper barely carried. No one refuted it.
Instead, another voice muttered darkly:
"He probably just doesn’t want to associate with commoners like us.
He’s an ultra-alpha, after all."
The sarcasm was sharp, almost rude, but again, no one objected.
They all thought the same.

That man was laughing at the world — and at them most of all.
In the heavy air that followed, one of the clients clapped his hands, forcing a smile.

"Alright, enough gossip. Let's head back to the office. I’ve informed the Chairman, but I need to report in person. Thanks for your hard work."

“Of course. It's our job.”
As the clients and lawyers shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, the defeated plaintiff remained in his seat — empty, broken. His attorney spoke to him in a low, comforting tone, but the man heard none of it. Tears streamed down his face, unstoppable.
“I thought releasing pheromones was forbidden inside courtrooms?”

The voice came from behind. Dominic, walking down the marble hallway, didn’t break stride — but he turned his head slightly.
A man with a scruffy chin and an easy grin caught up to him.
Dominic faced forward again without a word.
The man inhaled dramatically, teasing.

“Well, I guess it's allowed once the ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) verdict's read, huh?”
Dominic’s pace didn’t slow. His face remained unreadable, but a tiny shift in the air betrayed his irritation.
"If you want to talk about the trial," he said coldly, "schedule an interview."

The man chuckled — unbothered by the icy tone.
"Oh, no. I’m not here for that. I saw your win firsthand. No questions there."
He paused, savoring the moment, then casually added:

"I heard H&J Law Firm’s trying to scout you. You aware of that?"
Dominic’s expression didn’t change, but the man continued anyway, voice low and coaxing:
"H&J’s the biggest lobbying firm now. They’ll probably offer you more money than anyone else — maybe the biggest offer in the industry."

The prying, hungry glint in his eyes was unmistakable.
Dominic responded with a voice as cold as the marble underfoot:
"Shouldn't a reporter verify facts before asking questions?"

The jab landed, but the reporter only grinned wider.
"Isn’t that what I’m doing now?"
They stopped in front of the elevator. Dominic finally glanced down at him — and smiled.
It was a sharp, mirthless thing.

"No comment."
The reporter deflated with an audible sigh.
"Come on, throw me a bone. It’d be a hell of a scoop."

"Since when do reporters verify anything before they write?" Dominic asked, a faint mockery curling at the edge of his voice.
"From now on," the man said breezily. "I’m turning over a new leaf."
Dominic exhaled — a short, disdainful laugh.

The elevator chimed open. He stepped inside without another word.
Even as the doors slid shut, the reporter called out:
"If you ever want to leak anything, my number’s always open!"
Silence answered him.

The reporter slumped his shoulders with a heavy sigh.
“You did pretty well against him," a colleague offered from nearby, smirking.
When he turned, a small knot of reporters had gathered, openly amused at his failure.

"That was a good defense," one said.
"I was worried he might strangle you."
"Hey, we're still in the courthouse," another joked.

"But seriously," someone muttered, "with an ultra-alpha like him... anything's possible."
"He’s even rumored to have killed someone," someone whispered.
"A reporter?"

"Anyone."
For a second, the reporter's ears pricked up — but he shook his head.
"Why bother? He can ruin people legally. No need to get his hands dirty."

Dominic L. Miller didn’t need violence.

He could crush a man’s life with a few well-placed words — lock them away forever, or worse.
"Ultra-alphas value themselves too much to risk unnecessary mess," another voice said gravely.
There were no disagreements.
It was simply the truth.

Finally, one man lightened the mood:
"Let's bet on whether he signs with a new firm or not."
The party glittered under chandeliers, the clink of champagne glasses blending with hollow laughter.
Behind the polished smiles, every conversation was a hunt — a search for alliances, for influence, for money.

Dominic’s mind floated above it all, detached, already weary.
Should I just leave?
He turned to excuse himself — when something collided hard against his back.
Champagne sloshed over his fingers as he staggered.

"Ah—!"
A soft gasp, almost a whimper, came from below.
Dominic reflexively caught the unsteady body.
His first thought was strange, almost alien: Light.
The figure in his arms was weightless, fragile.
He looked down.

The man had light brown hair and clear hazel eyes, his build slender and delicate like a porcelain doll.
Not small exactly — but Dominic, towering over two meters, easily dwarfed him.
The man blinked up at him, wide-eyed.
A soft, uncertain breath escaped his parted lips.
For a heartbeat, time collapsed.
The noise, the crowd — all of it evaporated.
Only this trembling, impossibly delicate man existed.

Then — as the man flinched awkwardly — the world crashed back, dizzying in its sudden noise.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the man stammered.
Dominic straightened, letting go.
The fleeting warmth vanished, leaving a hollow coldness in its place.

The man offered a nervous smile and produced a handkerchief.
Dominic pushed the hand aside without a word.
"It’s fine."

The man hesitated, blinked, then bowed slightly.
"Ah, excuse me..."
As Dominic turned to leave, a voice called after him again.

"Please — wait."
He stopped.
The man hurried up and thrust a small card toward him.

"I’d like to compensate you for the suit. Please contact me."
Dominic glanced at the business card but didn’t take it.
Instead, he studied the man’s face, his voice low and mocking.

"Compensate?"
"Yes," the man said, still polite. "Dry cleaning... or even a new suit."
Dominic’s lips twisted into something that might have been a smile — if it weren’t so contemptuous.

"You’re going to pay me?"
The man faltered, but nodded.
Dominic lost interest.

Without another glance, he turned and walked away.
The man didn’t follow.
But Dominic knew — with a certainty that gnawed at him —
that the man’s gaze stayed on his back.