Zavallier Academy wasn't just any school; it was a fortress of privilege and power, carved from generations of wealth and influence. And at its very apex, stood Maximus Zavallier. He wasn't simply an Alpha; he was the Alpha. He embodied the raw, untamed essence of his secondary gender, a force of nature refined by a lifetime of unchallenged dominance. Maximus was the scion of the Zavallier lineage, a family whose name was synonymous with power in every sphere – from industry to politics. Every step he took through the hallowed halls of the academy echoed with that inherent authority, a heavy, silent pronouncement of his supremacy.
He was known for his aggressive, almost predatory confidence, a cocky swagger that rarely wavered, and a bold, unwavering stare that could make even seasoned Betas avert their gaze. He didn't back down from anything; he never submitted to anyone. To even consider defying Maximus Zavallier was to invite a confrontation you were guaranteed to lose, a public humiliation designed to reinforce his absolute control. He was the living epitome of strength and power, a status he hadn't merely inherited but had meticulously cultivated over the years, ensuring his reign remained absolute. And paradoxically, his immense power meant he stood utterly alone. No one dared to truly befriend him, to stand too close to the sun. Every student, every staff member, even the few Alphas who might have otherwise challenged him, gave him a wide berth. Any who appeared to follow him did so out of fear, not loyalty. They were terrified of him, and he reveled in it.
The moment I stepped through the grand archway of the academy, I felt it—the palpable shift in the air, the subtle but undeniable change in the energy of the bustling students. It was an unspoken, invisible weight that settled upon me, tightening my chest. Instantly, I was met with those familiar eyes, the ones I tried so desperately to hide from. Not glaring, not angry, but something far more insidious: pity, thinly veiled mockery, and a chilling indifference. A silent chorus of judgment followed my every step. They all knew. Everyone knew that Maximus Zavallier had chosen me as his personal plaything, his favorite target. From the day Maximus had first singled me out, the entire student body had effectively taken his side, a silent legion of witnesses who would never intervene, too afraid of drawing Maximus's attention onto themselves.
Hailey, bless her Beta heart, had tried, in the beginning. In those first few weeks after I transferred, she'd always been a vocal defender, rushing to my side whenever Maximus started. She'd stand bravely between us, her small frame surprisingly defiant. But her brave attempts were met with brutal dismissal, her fierce words tossed aside as if she were nothing more than a bothersome fly. Maximus would simply sneer, or sometimes, with a terrifying calm that was even more chilling than his rage, use a subtle but potent burst of Alpha pheromones that would make her visibly flinch, her shoulders hunching, her gaze dropping as she instinctively recoiled. She'd back away, frustrated tears often welling in her eyes, knowing she was powerless. No one could truly stop Maximus. No one dared. It was a cold, hard truth of Zavallier Academy.
As we reached the fork in the hallway—Hailey's classes leading one way, mine another—she paused, her usual effervescence dimmed by the palpable tension that always clung to the air within the academy. The unspoken fear of what awaited me was a heavy shroud between us.
"Well, this is me. Try to have a good day, okay?" she said softly, her eyes filled with concern, her voice barely a whisper. "I know it's… I know it can be hard here. But you're strong, Jules. Remember that history project is due, and I know you worked super hard on it. You're brilliant, Jules. Don't let anyone make you forget that."
"I will, Haikey. You too," I forced a bright smile, though my insides churned with a familiar mix of dread and gratitude for her unwavering support. "Don't let Professor Thornton's lecture put you to sleep today. I heard he's going over the Revolutionary War again."
"Ugh, don't remind me!" she replied with a small, wobbly smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Seriously though, see you at the cafeteria for lunch, okay? I'll save you a spot. Promise. Right at our usual table, by the windows."
"I'd like that. I'll be there. No matter what," I said, nodding enthusiastically, clinging to the promise of that safe space.
She pulled me into one last tight hug, squeezing me reassuringly, her scent, a calm Beta aroma of fresh linen and rain, providing a fleeting comfort that I desperately wished I could bottle. I clung to it, burying my face for a second in her shoulder, wishing I could stay wrapped in her protective embrace, wishing the moment could stretch into forever. Then, with a final, lingering look that spoke volumes of her unspoken worry and the helplessness she felt, Hailey reluctantly turned and disappeared into the stream of students, her bright pink hair a diminishing spot of color in the drab hallway.
The moment she was gone, the carefully constructed smile that had been plastered on my face crumbled. My shoulders, which had been consciously squared in Hailey's presence, slumped forward. The protective bubble of her presence burst, exposing me once more to the cold, judging stares. I continued to walk towards my first period, my head hung low, eyes fixed on the scuffed linoleum tiles, counting the cracks, anything to avoid eye contact. I felt invisible this way, or at least, that was the intention. By making myself small, by trying to blend into the background, I hoped to attract less attention, to be ignored. It usually worked, to some extent. I was already physically unassuming, standing at 5'7". To some, this might be considered average or even slightly tall, but in their society, where Alphas often towered well over six feet and even many Betas surpassed that, I was quite small. My lack of physical presence only added to my feeling of inherent vulnerability, a feeling that no matter how much I wished it, I could never truly measure up.
I prayed. I prayed to whatever higher power might be listening in the vast, indifferent universe that today, just today, I wouldn't cross paths with Maximus. That was the absolute last thing I wanted to happen. I just needed to make it through the day, one class at a time, until I could retreat to the safe haven of my home, where my mom's love was an unwavering shield.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, firm and unyielding, sending a jolt of ice through my veins. My heart instantly dropped, plummeting to my stomach like a stone in a bottomless well. I flinched, a full-body tremor, before slowly, reluctantly, my breath catching in my throat, looking at the person behind me. I braced myself, expecting the worst. But then, a wave of relief, so potent it almost buckled my knees, washed over me. I sighed, a shaky, barely audible sound, when I saw Anna's face.
Anna was a Beta from my Advanced Chemistry class, a girl with sharp eyes and an even sharper mind for business. She was one of the many students who regularly hired me to do their homework, projects, essays, lab reports—you name it. I was a phantom academic, completing assignments for a steady stream of clientele, my meticulous attention to detail and uncanny ability to synthesize complex information earning me a quiet, albeit underground, reputation. It was a lifeline, a clandestine source of income that I was actually profoundly thankful for. My mother and I weren't well off, struggling to make ends meet in our quiet suburban life. Every dollar I earned from these discreet transactions helped, easing the burden on Elara, a silent contribution to our survival. I might be getting "used," but at least I was earning from it, finding a small measure of self-worth in my intellectual prowess, even if it had to be a secret.
"Hey, Jules! Got my bio report? It's due first period! Professor Davies is already giving me the stink eye for that missing lab. Please tell me you're my savior," Anna said impatiently, a hint of desperation in her tone.
"O-oh, y-yeah, Anna. Here. It's… it's perfect. As always. I even double-checked the calculations for the enzyme reaction," I replied, flustered, my voice a little reedy, reaching for my backpack.
I fumbled in my backpack, pulling out a neatly bound report. Just as I handed it to her, two more students materialized beside us, their expressions equally expectant, drawn by the magnet of academic desperation. Brendan, a burly Beta from my calculus class, whose perpetual confusion with numbers was legendary, and Chloe, a quiet Omega from my literature elective, her own scent, though muted by suppressants like mine, reaching me like a shared, silent understanding between us, a recognition of vulnerability. Both were eager to retrieve the work they had commissioned.
"My math, Jules? Please tell me you made sense of Professor Adler's cryptic equations. I swear he speaks in riddles. I'm completely lost," Brendan asked gruffly, but with a palpable hint of relief.
"And mine, for English? I really need a good grade on this one. It's my last chance to bring up my average before midterms," Chloe said softly, almost whispering, her eyes wide with a quiet plea.
"Y-yes, B-Brendan. All… all done. The differential equations were a bit tricky, but I think I cracked them. And yours too, C-Chloe. I, um, I even double-checked the citations and the historical context for the prose analysis," I said, stuttering, my social anxiety flaring, my gaze darting around, uncomfortable with the sudden attention.
I handed out the respective assignments, my movements jerky, my gaze darting around the hallway. I wasn't particularly good at talking to other people, especially when multiple individuals converged on me, demanding my attention. I stumbled over my words, my thoughts racing, always afraid of saying the wrong thing, of drawing too much attention to myself, of somehow exposing the secret I guarded so fiercely.
Suddenly, Anna, Brendan, and Chloe, who had just moments ago been focused solely on their retrieved assignments, stiffened. Their faces, which had been a mixture of impatience and relief, now contorted into expressions of stark, unadulterated panic. Their eyes, wide with alarm, darted over my shoulder, then back to me, before they took an abrupt, unified step back, practically shrinking away from me. Without a single word, without even a muttered excuse, they turned and hurriedly walked away, almost running, dissolving into the passing crowd as if fleeing an invisible predator, desperate not to be associated with me. They didn't even offer a goodbye, their academic debts forgotten in the face of a greater, more primal fear.
I felt a cold dread creep up my spine, a familiar chill that started in my gut and spread rapidly. I didn't need to turn around to know. The sudden, frantic exodus of my "clients," the palpable shift in the hallway's atmosphere—the sudden silence, the scattering of other students, the subtle ripple of fear that spread through the air—it could only mean one thing. Slowly, my heart already hammering against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror, I turned.
My eyes met with Maximus Zavallier, already walking towards my direction. Maximus moved with an effortless power, his broad shoulders and lean, athletic frame dominating the space around him. He walked alone, a solitary, menacing figure, students parting like waves before a mighty ship, each one giving him an impossibly wide berth, their expressions a mix of raw fear and forced deference. His dark hair was impeccably styled, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and his sharp, intelligent eyes, usually cold, now held a glint of cruel amusement as they locked onto me, like a predator spotting its prey. He had no entourage, no friends, because no one dared to stand beside him. Clark and Zed, if they were even around, would be well out of his immediate orbit, just like everyone else, reduced to mere spectators of his reign of terror.
I tried to walk away, to disappear into the throng of students, to become one with the lockers and the walls, to simply evaporate. I took a hesitant step back, then another, my breath catching in my throat, my legs feeling heavy, unwilling to obey. But Maximus was too fast, too efficient in his cruelty. A hand, strong and unyielding, clamped down on my arm, not gently, but with a harsh, bruising grip that left no doubt of his intent. I was dragged back, stumbling, my backpack sliding precariously, almost toppling me. The familiar scent of a dominant Alpha—a sharp, almost metallic tang of pine and ozone, infused with an undercurrent of predatory intent—filled my nostrils, overwhelming my senses, making me dizzy and disoriented. My Omega instincts screamed at me to submit, to cower, to expose my throat in submission, but I fought against them, a desperate, silent battle for control over my own body, over my very self.
"Going somewhere, Omega? Don't you know it's rude to run from your betters? Or are you just trying to pretend you're not you today?" he said, his voice low, a dangerous purr that carried easily over the hallway chatter, cutting through the general din as if it were a fragile whisper. The word "Omega" was spat out like a curse, deliberately loud, his tone laced with chilling malice, even though he knew no one truly believed I was one. It was a private taunt, a twisted secret weapon, aimed solely at my deepest vulnerability, my most guarded secret.
"What's the rush, little rabbit?" he continued, stepping closer, his shadow falling over me, a suffocating, inescapable presence that blocked out the lights. "Did you forget something? Like, oh, I don't know… your spine? Or maybe your dignity? Oh wait, you never had those, did you? Just like you don't have any real friends. No one wants to be around a pathetic little thing like you, do they? Even your little Beta girlfriend is too scared to stick around for this, isn't she?"
His words were daggers, each one aimed with precision at the fragile remnants of my self-worth, stripping me bare. Maximus's eyes, usually so impassive, now gleamed with malicious pleasure, a cruel satisfaction that made my stomach churn. He nudged my shoulder with his fist, not hard enough to physically injure me, but enough to make me stumble, a pathetic puppet on a string, unable to regain my footing.
"Look at him. So small. So… fragile. Like a little bird with clipped wings. Bet he cries if you just look at him wrong. Isn't that right, Jules? Don't you just want to curl up and bawl? Just like the little Omega you are? Crying for someone to save you? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic," he mocked, his voice dripping with condescension, leaning in closer, invading my personal space, his Alpha scent growing more potent, more aggressive.
This was worse. Far worse than usual. Maximus's aggression was heightened, his movements sharper, his words more cutting, more overtly cruel, laced with a venom that seemed to seep into my very bones. It was more painful, more brutal, the sheer contempt in Maximus's eyes feeling like a physical blow, worse than any punch. The powerful, unchecked Alpha pheromones that rolled off Maximus in waves were a direct assault on my sensitive Omega nature, making my head throb, my vision blur at the edges, and my carefully constructed defenses tremble, threatening to shatter. I could feel my own hidden Omega scent, suppressed as it was, trying to subtly flare in response to the overwhelming dominance, an instinctual submission I fought with every fiber of my being.
Every part of me wanted to break, to scream, to cry, to give Maximus the satisfaction he so clearly craved. I was sensitive, yes, inherently so as an Omega, and the cruelty pierced me deeply, reaching into the vulnerable core I worked so hard to conceal. My eyes stung, and my throat tightened, a painful knot forming, making it impossible to breathe properly. But I fought it. I would not give him the satisfaction. I would not cry. Not here. Not in front of him. I just let him do it, taking the verbal blows, letting them wash over me, trying to become a hollow vessel, empty of emotion, to create a mental distance from the torment. I fixed my gaze on a single scuff mark on a locker door just beyond Maximus's shoulder, focusing on its irregular shape, anything to keep from meeting those cold, mocking eyes, anything to keep from succumbing.
The bell for first period rang, its shrill, insistent sound cutting through the air, signaling the definite start of classes. Students, who had paused their conversations to watch the unfolding spectacle from a safe distance, now quickly scattered, rushing to their classes. The hallway emptied with surprising speed, a testament to Maximus's terrifying influence. He stood there, alone with me, savoring the silence, the utter desolation he had created around us both. Even the last stragglers hurried away, unwilling to be caught in the Alpha's radius, lest his unpredictable cruelty turn their way.
"Don't forget your homework, Omega. Oh, wait. You are my homework. And you're failing. See you later, shrimp. Make sure you don't trip over your own tears," he sneered, a final, dismissive parting shot, his voice filled with loathing. He let go of my arm with a rough shove that sent me stumbling backwards.
I hit the lockers with a dull thud, my backpack clattering to the floor. Maximus turned, walking away, his footsteps echoing ominously down the now-empty corridor, the faint tang of his Alpha pheromones still lingering, a suffocating shroud in the silent space. The scent lingered, a cruel reminder of his tormentor.
I slid down the cold metal of the locker, my legs feeling like jelly, giving way beneath me. My hands trembled uncontrollably, my fingers clenching and unclenching uselessly. My chest ached with a pain far deeper than any physical bruise, a wound to my very soul, raw and exposed. I buried my face in my knees, desperate to hide, to disappear, to simply cease to exist. The bell had rung, classes had started, and the hallway was utterly silent, save for the ragged sound of my own breathing. No one was left to witness my humiliation, no one to offer comfort, only the echoing silence of my despair.
And then, the tears came. Hot, silent, and entirely uncontrollable, streaming down my face as I muffled my sobs against my jeans, the fabric growing damp, hoping no one, not even the empty hallway, would hear the sounds of my shattered spirit. I was alone. Utterly alone.