Chapter 30 #2
“I started out just like all of you. Unsure. Directionless. Weak. But Dr. Reed showed me the truth about masculine power, and now I’m a hugely successful Alpha who can do anything, get any woman I want.
And it’s all about the confidence you project and knowing your place among those around you. Knowing you’re better than them.”
My stomach turns.
“Powerful Alphas and Betas, please welcome Dr. Langston Reed!”
Everyone stands and claps. The applause is deafening, thousands of hands coming together.
I want to vomit, but instead I’m taking photos of the audience from the back of the room. Lots of them, capturing the devotion on their faces.
Reed takes the stage in his white suit, arms spread wide like he’s blessing them.
I take one photo of him onstage—just one, from all the way at the back—and then focus entirely on audience reactions like he requested.
And as I find a nice, shadowy spot in the corner, I pull out my actual phone from my pocket. I flip on the camera, flash off just in case, and zoom in on Reed.
Then I start recording, pretending to take photos while actually filming with mine.
Nobody’s watching me anyway. I’m invisible.
For an hour and a half, Reed spews the same toxic garbage I expected. But it’s worse hearing it in person, watching thousands of men absorb it like gospel truth.
“Society has made you weak, made you apologize for your strength and suppress your natural dominance. But I’m here to tell you that ends today. You don’t ask for permission. You don’t seek consensus. You take what’s yours, because if you don’t, nobody will respect you.”
He strides across the stage, owning it.
“Omegas want a man who takes charge, who doesn’t ask, who just knows.
You’re struggling because you’re letting others walk over you, but a real Alpha never lets anyone diminish him.
” He keeps going on about how weak Omegas are, that it’s in our DNA, and it’s embarrassing when we try to be strong.
That’s not what we’re made for, apparently.
I film it all, rage burning in my chest.
Finally, there’s an intermission, and I’m slightly disappointed, as it’s the same crap he spills on his own show, nothing new. So when does he tell these guys how they are going to achieve this miracle?
Reed disappears backstage. Most of the audience files out to use the bathrooms and get food, but some stay in their seats, too absorbed to move.
I also slide into the back hallway, pulling out my phone properly to check messages. I have several from my Alphas, asking how I’m doing, if I’m safe, if I need anything.
And there’s a photo that makes my heart literally ache. All four of them crowded around a table at some pancake place, stacks of pancakes in front of them, all of them leaning in for a selfie. My men. God, I want to be there with them right now instead of here.
“Ash!” a male voice calls out.
I almost drop my phone, frantically switching it off and shoving it in my pocket as I whip around.
It’s just one of the staff helpers, a young guy with a headset. “Social media team wants to chat with you. They’re in room ten-oh-two, down that hallway.”
“Yep, for sure. Thanks.”
I head that way, slightly nervous but figuring they just want more photos of Reed specifically. The back hallway is quieter now. Most people are in a room where I can see them all sitting around a table, chatting and eating. The catering table has been picked clean.
I head in the opposite direction toward room 1002.
But on the way, I hear Reed’s voice coming from his dressing room, and I glance over to where his door is slightly ajar.
He sounds pissed. I pause, sliding into a shadowy corner not far from his door.
My heart is pounding as I stare carefully, finding that the crack in the door is enough for me to see his side in his stupid white suit sitting down.
I pull out my phone and start recording, zooming in through the gap, just in case.
His body language is all stiff and agitated, hands gesturing wildly. And Rex, the guy from the charter boat, is with him.
“You need to calm the hell down,” Reed snaps.
“I can’t!” Rex shoots back. “The conversations on The Heat Line last night have people asking questions they don’t normally ask at these events. Questions we can’t answer.”
My breath catches. They’re talking about my show.
“The questions I’m getting from this audience are unlike any we’ve received from previous shows we’ve done,” Rex continues, pacing.
“Most of them are asking about The Heat Line. About how those Alphas said Omegas don’t want to be suppressed and how real Alphas don’t need to dominate to be respected. And—”
“Fuck off with that,” Reed cuts him off harshly. “Those losers out there in the auditorium will never get an Omega or any woman anyway. They’re pathetic. Drop-dead idiots who’ll believe anything we tell them.”
My eyes widen.
“My advice doesn’t even work for the two of us,” Reed says with a bitter laugh.
“But get your head straight and remember why we’re doing this.
” He clears his throat. “To become fucking rich. That’s why.
So fuck everyone else and what they say.
As long as we have morons who are desperate enough to believe us, we’re set.
Once we have their money, we can get any woman we want. Understand?”
Rex makes a frustrated sound. “But what about The Heat Line—”
“No matter what, there will always be someone we can trick into believing us,” Reed interrupts. “And fuck that Sunny chick on The Heat Line. She’s a nobody. Big deal, she got some Alphas on her live show. She’ll fade into obscurity like everyone else.”
“Well, it’s having an impact,” Rex argues. “Omegas are being very vocal online. Even on our pages, in our comments—”
“Don’t worry so much!” Reed’s voice rises. “As long as those idiots exist, even with us being Betas in disguise, we can keep getting paid for telling them what they want to hear.”
I freeze.
Betas in disguise.
Reed isn’t an Alpha.
He’s been lying this entire time. Oh my God! The self-proclaimed Alpha god is a fraud.
“Now stop working me up during my show,” Reed continues. “Goddammit, Rex, you need to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack—”
He suddenly notices that the door is open and storms over, slamming it shut.
I pull back quickly, my pulse on fire, my hands shaking.
I stop recording and immediately start sending the video to the guys. It’s large, so it’s going to take time to upload.
I text frantically: OMG. OMG. OMG. Reed just confessed. He’s not an Alpha. He’s a Beta. He’s been lying to everyone this whole time.
But nothing is going through, as it’s being held up by the huge video file, and I don’t have time. I rush to room 1002 and knock, thinking, What if I convince them to let me have access to their social media?
No answer.
I try the handle—unlocked.
I push inside to find it empty. They must be with the others, eating. Anticipation swells within me at the possibility.
There’s a computer switched on, showing the social media accounts and my uploaded photos.
And next to it is another computer with what looks like presentation controls. Background visuals for the stage. Music cues. Lighting controls.
The whole system for running the show.
I’m moving before I can stop myself, shutting the door, and hurrying into the chair.
I pull out my phone and text the guys: This is my one chance to really take him down. I’m doing this. I love you all.
The video is still uploading—39%… 45%… 52%…
I have no time to waste, so I get to work, my fingers flying over the keys, my heart racing, knowing this is how I destroy Reed.
And I’m going to make damn sure everyone sees exactly who Dr. Langston Reed really is.