(Text number two)

After everything has been set in motion,
the woman is ecstatic.
She has never seen the alpha like this.
Hell — he’s never been like this himself.
He hasn’t fully clocked it yet.
But he follows the plan.
Next comes drama.
Because once the woman relaxes — it’s over.
So we push.
The alpha meets up with friends.
Goes to meetings he doesn’t technically need —
but for her, they’re damn important.
Even if they’re bullshit,
he has to sell it.
Sit in a Mercedes out of town
and watch movies if you must.
No options here.
For the world, the alpha is busy.
Busy with urgent matters.
Do. Not. Touch. The phone.
Do not answer the woman’s calls.
Someone needs to understand
that we’re important as hell
and don’t come running on demand.
So — keep watching the movie.
Location is critical.
Your iPhone location has to match your story.
If she checks Find My and sees you’re not where you said you were —
we’re finished.
So.
We eat junk.
Basically — we rest.
Then we return to the usual setup:
if it was a “meeting” — no whining,
but everything screams:
“Woman, not to brag,
but if it weren’t for me,
we wouldn’t even have the evening news.
There would be no news at all.
The world would collapse,
a meteor would wipe out Earth,
the economy would crash,
and the country would be finished.”
The woman is a little nervous.
A bit twitchy.
Maybe had a drink.
She storms toward him.
She’s confused —
should she pity him
or switch to bitch face?
Read the room.
If she rushes in with pity —
we stand there like we’re barely alive.
But posture says:
don’t pity me, I’m strong.
She clucks around,
doesn’t know where to put herself.
We go change clothes.
Upstairs, we grin wickedly,
laugh,
and punch an invisible punching bag.
Then we go back downstairs
with the same expression
of real male pain.
The kind a woman will never understand.
What it’s like to step into the world
where it’s war, competition, pressure.
Heavy stuff.
But the alpha is strong.
He won’t complain.
And he won’t need to.
Her maternal instinct kicks in
and throws him straight into her arms.
“Baby, how are you?
How was your day?
Was it hard?”
The alpha shakes his head.
He’s a man.
He won’t whine.
The woman curls up beside him,
terrified,
not knowing how to help.
The alpha pulls her under his wing.
“Don’t be afraid, woman.
I’m holding the world.”
She purrs.
She’s happy.
God, how good it feels
to be married to a strong man.

Scenario Two
The alpha comes home from a party.
The wife is in you’re dead mode.
The alpha stands there and listens.
The wife is yelling.
She’s unhappy.
Fair enough.
We remember how good the party was
and switch to silent mode.
Face shows understanding.
He gets it.
Yes, yes, she’s right.
He’s seen the light.
He agrees with absolutely everything.
No objections.
The woman goes quiet for a moment.
Tears might appear.
We comfort her.
When she’s not looking, we smile —
damn, that party was good.
The woman calms down a bit.
We fight the urge to throw up,
hold the stomach —
but there’s no other way.
So.
Camera.
Action.
Alpha in frame.
“Baby, I missed you so much.”
The woman freezes.
Really?
Bambi eyes — the poor thing actually believes it.
And again, he pulls her against his chest.
He waits.
No pressure.
She’ll feel what kind of man he is.
Her man.
Not a pushover.
She screamed.
She lost it.
And he stands there — solid, strong.
He doesn’t make excuses.
Yeah, he went out with the guys — because he can.
After all, he was saving the world.
Slowly, she thaws.
She relaxes.
He’s drunk — loosened up.
He reminds her of his old version —
a little reckless,
a little wild,
not giving a damn.
His shirt is unbuttoned.
A man is still a man.
He smells like testosterone and sex.
She won’t refuse him.
No.
She won’t.
He kisses her.
Long.
Tender.
Then again.
He lays her back on the couch —
and they’re off.