After You Died, I Sleep with Four Men Every Night

The spinner stopped in front of Marcus.

"Truth or dare, baby." I raised my champagne glass, lips curving into a seductive smile. Outside the window, Las Vegas neon lights flowed like blood, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across my red silk robe.

Marcus's dark eyes locked onto me, his Adam's apple bobbing. His chest was as solid as a wall, tattoos stretching from his shoulders down to his abs. "Dare."

"Kiss my neck, Marcus. Your way."

As soon as the words left my mouth, Felix's grip tightened on his wine glass. This blonde little bartender was always like this—sweet on the surface, but burning with jealousy inside. I loved watching them compete for my attention.

Marcus stood up, muscles rippling under the dim lights with raw power. He moved toward me slowly, each step radiating primal wildness.

Victor never looked at me like that.

The thought flashed through my mind, and I forced myself to push it away. Victor had been dead for three months. Three months. I couldn't keep living in a dead man's shadow.

"Come here," I whispered, releasing a trace of the pheromones unique to a dominant Omega. The air instantly filled with a mixture of vanilla and musk, carrying an irresistible commanding presence.

All four Betas tensed simultaneously.

Marcus's hand caressed my chin, his thumb brushing my lips. "You're so fucking beautiful, Isabella."

Leo had been silent in the corner, but I could feel his burning gaze. The ex-military man was always like this—few words, but keen observation. Nero lounged on the sofa, those seductive green eyes flickering with light I couldn't read.

Just as Marcus's lips were about to touch my neck—

The entire room suddenly turned ice cold.

The neon lights began flashing frantically, like someone was manically hitting switches. My breath formed white clouds in the air.

"What the fuck—" Marcus stepped back.

Then I saw him.

Victor wore that black Armani suit, the same one he died in. Three bullet holes in his chest were still bleeding, drops falling onto the carpet with heart-stopping sounds.

His face was pale as paper, eyes hollow as an abyss.

"I've only been dead three months, Bella." Victor's voice sounded like it came from hell. "And you're already having this much fun? Right here where we used to make love?"

All four Betas were terrified, pressing themselves against the walls. Felix's face was white as a sheet, Nero was crossing himself, Leo's hand instinctively reached for his waist—where he usually kept his gun. Only Marcus remained relatively calm, though his hands were shaking.

My heart was racing, but I forced myself to stand up.

Stay calm, Isabella. You're a dominant Omega, you're the queen here.

"You're dead, Victor." My voice was steadier than I expected. "I'm alive. I have the right to choose how to continue living."

Victor's mouth twisted into a terrible smile. "Is that so? With these Beta dogs, this is your choice?"

Blood. Blood everywhere.

Memories flooded back like a tide—that rainy night, gunshots, Victor collapsing in my arms, blood splashing across my face and body. His eyes gradually lost their light, his last words: "Bella...be strong..."

"Shut up!" I roared, my dominant aura exploding in full force.

The champagne glass shattered in my hand, shards cutting my palm, blood dripping. All four Betas dropped to their knees simultaneously, overwhelmed by my pressure. This was the power of a dominant Omega—even facing an Alpha's ghost, I wouldn't back down.

"If you truly loved me, you'd want me to be happy!" I stepped closer to the apparition. "Not haunting me like some jealous bastard!"

Victor's expression turned sad. "Bella...I just wanted to protect you."

"Protect?" I sneered. "You're dead, Victor. You can't protect anything."

He began to fade slowly, like smoke. Before leaving, his voice became extremely serious:

"Beware of the traitors around you, Bella. Not everyone is what they appear to be."

Then everything returned to normal.

The neon lights stopped flashing, and the temperature rose. The four Betas were still kneeling on the ground, panting as they looked at me.

Traitors?

I surveyed them. Marcus—appeared at my nightclub three months ago, claiming he wanted work. Felix—the sweet bartender, always so eager to please me. Nero—mysterious dancer, eyes always flickering. Leo—taciturn ex-soldier, never asked many questions.

"Get out." I said calmly. "All of you. Now."

"Isabella—" Marcus tried to say something.

"I said GET OUT!" My voice carried undeniable commanding force.

They hurriedly put on their clothes and left. Only Marcus glanced back at me from the doorway.

After the door closed, I collapsed onto the sofa.

Victor's warning echoed in my mind. Three months, and I thought I had moved on. I thought using these Beta men to fill the emptiness was a good idea.

Clearly, I was wrong.

I took out my phone and pulled up Victor's photos from when he was alive. That face, those eyes, once so vibrant, so full of life. Now just pixels and memories.

Why warn me about traitors? What do you know? Why do you keep haunting me like this, refusing to let go even in death?

Outside, the neon lights continued flashing, like the city's heartbeat. Las Vegas never sleeps, and the people here never truly die—they just continue existing in different ways.

My phone buzzed.

A text message: "Are you alright? Do you need me to come back? —M"

Marcus.

I stared at this message for a long time. He was the only one who still cared about me after leaving. What did this mean? That he truly cared about me, or that he had other motives?

Victor, if you really want to protect me, give me clearer hints.

But there was only me in the room, and shattered champagne glass on the floor.

I stood up and walked to the desk. Victor had handled all business here when he was alive, from nightclub operations to underworld affairs. If there were any secrets, they should be hidden here.

In the drawer were Victor's personal items—watch, cufflinks, and a silver knife. It was left to him by his father, supposedly a family heirloom weapon, specifically for dealing with enemies.

I picked up the knife, its blade engraved with intricate patterns. Under the moonlight, it almost seemed to glow.

Just then, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Slow, deliberate, like someone trying not to make noise.

I gripped the knife tightly.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

Then came a knock—three short, one long. This was the secret signal Victor and I had agreed upon when he was alive.

But Victor was dead.

Who the fuck knew our signal?