Villainess Marked For Her Alpha Chapter 130: Will I Have to Choose Only One?

It’s official now—I like won. I still can’t fully believe it, but the truth is staring right in the face. I am a woman, right? And I like won... which is also correct, isn’t it?

The alphas around —Hellen with her warm honey-citrus scent that pulls in, Ivory’s chili heat that makes my skin tingle, Reyes’ cedar-steel strength that grounds even when I’m shaky.

They’re all won, and my body reacts so strongly—my core gets slick, nipples tighten up, heat builds low in my belly just from their scents brushing or their touches lingering.

Am I a lesbian all of a sudden? Bisexual maybe? The labels make my head spin and feel confused.

But the biology in this ABO world feels like it should be straight—alphas knot ogas no matter what bodies they have, male or female; it is pure instinct wired deep inside, pheromones taking over everything, ignoring old gender lines.

Back in my old world, I was straight through and through—only guys caught my eye, crushes on boys, zero spark or thoughts about girls.

Never looked at won twice, no fantasies, no pull at all. This feels like completely new ground, hitting like a sudden heat wave I can’t escape. Where do I even start sorting through all this?

Is there a book which can help ?

Let tell you—even though I have transmigrated into this world, I still like to read novels. Most protagonists don’t read novels after they transmigrate, but I do.

Also, I am the heroine, aren’t I?

The scents affect different now. When Hellen spoons dinner into my mouth, her eyes soft and close—sudden slick between my thighs, craving her strong arms pinning down gentle but firm.

Ivory scoops up princess-style, chili thick in the air—nipples ache hard, mind flashing her ’thicker girth’ stretching open.

Reyes sneaks a kiss on my cheek—heart races wild, core clenches empty and needy. It’s not like seeing them as ’guys in skirts’; it’s pure alpha want, their feminine bodies full of power that screams mate to .

But at the end... will I have to choose only one? Yes, I have to. I can’t string along all of them, can I?

The dreams give away every ti. Dr. Ana laid it out clear—knots from all three locking tight, owning every inch. I wake up panting and soaked, fingers frantic between my legs but never enough.

Back then, my dreams were cute dates with guys, simple fade-to-black. Now? Rutted hard and raw, marked with bites, bred full—their hands roaming, hips slamming, knots swelling inside.

The rules of this world. ABO changes everything—female alphas knot just as fierce; ogas slick for any compatible alpha. No strict ’straight’ or ’gay’; it’s all about alpha-oga pull.

But deep down, my old self feels like a straight girl dropped in chaos. Panic whispers things like Did I turn gay? No, it’s not that—biology got turned up loud here, the world rewired my responses. Liking them doesn’t wipe out who I was; it just adds new layers on top.

The old crushes from mories? They feel faded and distant now. What gets my pulse going today? The alphas’ laughs filling the room, their scents wrapping around , their claims making feel safe and wanted.

Lesbian label?

Maybe it fits.

Fluid and changing? More likely.

Oga nature pulls toward happiness—it’s wired deep, so maybe I start by leaning in, not fighting the scents and touches that light up.

Let Hellen feed slow tonight, her callused fingers brushing my full lips longer, honey-citrus blooming close as I suck the spoon clean deliberate, erald eyes locked on her ice-blue ones till she blushes.

Tease Ivory by wiggling deliberate on her lap during movie ti—useless legs or not, shift my hips faint against her thighs, feel that chili heat spike as raven waves tickle her neck, her broad hands gripping tighter.

Let Reyes’ kisses land deeper next ti, cedar-steel grounding as her lips lingers hot on my cheek, trail to jaw if I tilt just right, core clenching slick under her gloved palm.

Test it simple. Is it won in general, or pure alpha power—their knots, scents, claims—that floods needy? This world’s new; so is this side of —old straight girl layering oga fire, no labels needed yet.

Dr. Ana’s knot-talk flashes sudden, Lily’s bully-shadow lurking, making shake my head hard, raven strands flying. Focus here. But deep down, choice looms... one alpha at the end, right? Hellen’s nurture, Ivory’s fire, Reyes’ steel—pick one, but what happens to the other two?

This thought hit hard, guilt bubbling up hot in my chest like Ivory’s chili scent gone sour.

Here I was, sprawled in my bed, useless legs limp under the sheets like dead weight—paralyzed from my parent’s poison, an oga wreck who couldn’t even stand for a bath without help. Yet they still liked .

Hellen, Ivory, Reyes—their eyes softened every ti they looked my way, hands gentle on my skin, scents wrapping safe even when I felt broken.

Why? I stared at the ceiling, raven waves fanned wild on the pillow, erald eyes stinging. Back in my old world, people chased perfect legs, endless energy, not the ones who needed carrying. Crushes faded fast at flaws. But here?

They do everything for without a second thought—Hellen bathing gentle, Ivory carrying everywhere, Reyes fixing my chair with quiet focus.

No complaints, just soft smiles and scents wrapping safe. Except... they ask for rewards sotis that turn my cheeks nuclear pink. It makes my core clench slick, but guilt crashes right after.

Why ? They could find soone else—perfect ogas with working legs, full heats, no baggage. Plenty out there, slick and mobile, chasing alpha knots without my limp drag.

My legs might never fully work. I’m broken goods—raven waves and curves aside, a burden needing lifts, baths, care. Am I selfish, soaking their devotion while doubting? Keeping them close when healthier girls wait?

No. Their eyes say different—they choose this , flaws and all.

Am I selfish? Only if I push away what feels right. Let them stay... for now.