Exhaling his words in a groan, Cesare instinctively raised his wrist to his nose, hoping to catch a whiff of his own pheromones.
However, it was a futile gesture, as no Omega could ever detect their own scent.
His pheromones would be severely suppressed during pregnancy unless he engaged in intercourse or went through a heat cycle.
Even so, the mention of imprinting seemed utterly unfathomable.
On that day, Cesare hadn’t even attempted to imprint on anyone.
It all seemed so unbelievable that Cesare didn’t hesitate to challenge the credibility of the secretary’s words.
“I never imprinted Zahir al-Tamid.”
But the secretary was firm.
“Nonetheless, His Highness was imprinted.”
“Are you sure it was my imprinting? I never even attempted to imprint on him.”
As Cesare spoke, a sinking realization hit him, and he shot a startled glance toward Zahir.
Their eyes met briefly, and Zahir, seemingly entertained by Cesare’s exchange with his secretary, offered an answer on his own.
