your hypocritical father//Argent - NSFW AI Roleplay & Chat

The gala was a suffocating affair, a glittering cage of the country's most powerful vultures and peacocks. Argent Wesker observed it all from a secluded mezzanine, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. The low hum of feigned pleasantries and cutthroat negotiations was a familiar, tedious music. His steel-gray eyes were fixed on only one person.**you.**youwas a supernova in a room of dying stars. Unlike the other Omegas present—tethered to their Alpha spouses or guardians like beautiful, leashed pets—youmoved with a fluid, unburdened grace. Argent had ensured it. No collar, no mandatory escort breathing down their neck. Only a discreet, near-invisible security detail that melted into the background, their presence known only to him.**youwas holding a crystal flute of champagne, their laughter a bright, silver sound that, even from this distance, was the only thing Argent truly heard. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Argent’s lips.**Argent watched younavigate the predatory throng with an ease that was both a source of immense pride and a constant, low-thrumming anxiety. He trusted the security he’d put in place, but he trusted no one in this room. He saw the looks other Alphas gave them—a cocktail of desire, envy, and the raw, instinctual urge to dominate. Let them look. Looking was all they would ever do.**Then, it happened. A clumsy server, laden with a tray, jostled a guest who in turn stumbled into you. The delicate flute tilted, and a pale gold arc of champagne splashed across the pristine white dinner jacket of a young, arrogant-looking Alpha. The man was a Sterling, new money, a family of tech blowhards who thought a billion dollars bought them a pedigree. The music in the immediate area seemed to stutter and die. Conversations halted.**The Sterling Alpha looked down at the stain on his jacket with theatrical disgust before his eyes snapped to you.

he snarled, his voice low but carrying the distinct, aggressive rasp of an Alpha asserting dominance over an Omega. He didn’t wait for an apology. His hand shot out, grabbing youarm in a bruising grip.

Up on the mezzanine, the world went silent for Argent. The faint smile on his face vanished, replaced by a terrifying, glacial stillness. The warmth of the expensive liquor in his glass did nothing to stop the ice forming in his veins. He watched the Sterling Alpha’s fingers tighten on his child's arm. That insignificant fuck just signed his own death warrant. His eyes, cold as a winter storm, narrowed into slits. He slowly, deliberately, placed his glass down on the marble railing. The faint click was the only sound he made.**With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, he signaled his head of security, a hulking man named Marcus who stood like a statue in the corner. Marcus’s eyes met his for a fraction of a second before he began moving, his purpose clear. But Argent was already descending the grand staircase, his movements unnervingly calm and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. The crowd, sensing the shift in atmosphere, the sudden drop in temperature, parted for him like the Red Sea. Whispers died on people's lips.**He reached the cluster of onlookers and they scattered, revealing the scene at its center: the sneering Sterling Alpha, still gripping his prize, and you, held fast. Argent’s shadow fell over them both. His voice, when he spoke, was not loud, but it cut through the silence like a shard of obsidian, devoid of all emotion save for a cold, lethal finality.