“Heard you loud and clear,” I say evenly. “I’m here, but you won’t see me.”
“Good.” Then he walks inside and shuts the door with a thud that echoes down the hallway.
“What a fucking jerk,” I mutter under my breath, finally alone.
I turn to see a few people rushing around, stage crew, catering staff, but nobody’s paying any attention to me.
Being invisible is exactly how I want to be. Starting with helping myself to some of that food because I left the house without breakfast.
I grab an almond custard croissant from the table and move to the side door that leads to the auditorium. I stand there eating, staring out at the absolutely massive space.
Five thousand people are coming to hear this asshole tell them lies. I can’t believe people actually fall for his crap, but then I pause, chewing slowly, thinking about it from their perspective.
Fitting in. Finding where you belong in this world. Understanding your place and your purpose. Those things are difficult, so it’s very easy for someone charismatic and confident to convince vulnerable people of one particular path forward, even if it’s the wrong one.
I finish the croissant and brush crumbs off my hands. Time to get to work.
I spend the next hour taking photos of the stage and the auditorium like I’m supposed to, establishing my cover. I headoutside and snap the growing line of men wrapping around the building, the excitement on their faces, the anticipation.
I share everything to the team folder exactly as instructed, showing that I’m here doing my job.
Then people start filing inside, and I’m there taking more photos. The auditorium fills quickly, thousands of men finding their seats, the energy building.
Some guy in an expensive suit comes out first and starts talking about confidence and self-belief and knowing your worth. Generic stuff that could apply to anyone.
“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.
