"If we hadn't told Grandpa you needed a permanent Omega, you wouldn't even be here."
The man in the suit didn't bother with pleasantries—he dropped the line the second the young man stepped into the hotel lobby.
Behind him, five more suited men followed, polished and precise. But the one who drew every glance wasn't the loudest or the flashiest. It was the one with storm-blue eyes.
Tousled black hair, artfully careless, caught the light like it knew secrets. His face was all restrained tension—jaw tight, brows drawn, like he was holding something back. His eyes didn't just look; they scanned, cataloged, dismissed. The navy turtleneck fit sharp and clean, the silver chain at his throat glinting like a warning. Not fashion. Armor.
Even the receptionists faltered—straightening, stealing glances, hoping to catch his eye. He gave them nothing. His gaze cut forward, straight through the lobby, like he had somewhere more important to be.
"Good thing you dragged him out," one of the men said with a grin, nodding toward the blue-eyed newcomer.
"Barely," the first replied. "You know how he is—buried in work like the world will collapse if he takes a breath. He forgets we're not machines. We're Alphas. We've got needs. Time to unwind—indulge a little."
His smirk slid toward the newcomer. Riven didn't flinch.
Indulge? The word crackled like static. Playing with Omegas like toys? Scratching an itch and calling it fulfillment? Spare me. The protest burned in his chest, but he swallowed it. He wasn't here to start a war. Not yet.
"We know you're trying to prove yourself, Riven," the man went on, voice smooth but loaded. "But drowning in work won't get you there. You're twenty. At your age, you should've bonded already."
"I'm fine with what I've got," Riven said, calm but clipped.
A scoff broke the air, low and mocking. One of the others laughed, the sound hollow.
"Right. Fine. We get it—you want to earn your place. But as an S-Class Alpha, you're expected to go further. Otherwise…" He leaned in, voice dropping. "You'll never really belong. Not with where you came from. Not with what your mother was."
Riven's jaw flexed. His fist curled at his side. Here we go again.
Every mention of his rank dragged his mother with it—like her existence was a curse he could never outlive.
He was the second S-Class Alpha in the family, after his grandfather. In a bloodline crowded with Alphas, he was the only one to inherit the rare gene. Not even his father had it. That stung—for them, and for him. Because no one expected the mistake to carry the legacy.
Legitimate? Hardly. The mansion kept him for his classification alone. His grandfather had insisted—said a boy like him needed structure, a proper male household.
Family, though? That word meant nothing here. Since the day he arrived, he'd been treated like a tolerated anomaly.
"You guys ready?" Riven's cousin asked, turning to the five.
"They've been waiting," one said with a grin.
"What's this about?" His brow lifted.
"It's your birthday," his half-brother answered, smiling as if it mattered. "Of course we got you a gift. You know how much we love you."
Love? You love me like a threat. A stain you can't wash off.
To them, he was competition. Proof that the mistake had become something they could never be.
They never saw him as a true Villerian. Maybe if he weren't an S-Class Alpha. Maybe if he hadn't been born to an Omega. Maybe then they'd accept him.
But no—he was both. And worse, he was the son of an Omega they branded filthy and shameless.
He knew nothing of her—only whispers. Filthy. Shameful. A mistake. That was the legacy they left him.
An S-Class Shame.
"I don't need a gift," Riven said flatly, eyes sweeping over his half-brothers and cousins. "Let's be honest—this is the first time you've ever bothered."
He didn't trust them. Not an inch. But he swallowed the words. Not yet.
"You're of age now," one of them said, stepping forward like he owned the space. "Time to act like an Alpha. Doesn't matter what else you are—Alpha means dominance."
He slung an arm over Riven's shoulders, claiming closeness he hadn't earned. The grip was firm, possessive—dominance disguised as brotherhood.
"You know," he said, voice slick with rot, "it'd be a shame to waste those dominant genes." His breath was hot against Riven's ear. "That body of yours wasn't built to sit pretty."
Then came the smirk—slow, deliberate, cruel. "Unless you plan to use the back door instead."
His gaze flicked downward, mocking, like he was measuring Riven for something filthy. The implication hung like smoke—thick, choking, inescapable.
Riven went rigid. Heat shot up his spine—not embarrassment. Fury. He ripped the arm off his shoulders hard enough to make the boy stumble.
"Don't touch me," Riven snapped, voice low, dangerous.
His jaw locked, fists curled tight at his sides. The pressure in his chest begged for release, the burn behind his eyes threatened to spill over. He held it. Barely.
"This is insane. I'm done. Unlike you, I actually have things to do."
He turned to go—before words slipped he couldn't take back. Before rage made him regret.
"Whoa, easy," another cousin said, catching his arm. "Don't be so touchy. We're family."
Riven yanked free. "What are you pulling?"
"We're gonna teach you how to date," the first one said, grinning. "Alpha style."
He gestured to the ballroom doors and drew a girl forward, guiding her like she was part of the setup.
Riven's gaze narrowed on the doors. Something felt wrong. Off.
They'd never celebrated his birthday. Never given him anything. Why now?
"Have fun, little brother," one of them said, pushing the doors open with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Inside, bodies moved in clothes that barely counted as clothing. Even from the threshold, the air hit him—thick, humid, electric. Heat. Pheromones. Desire.
He froze, staring.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered.
He hadn't even stepped inside, but the scent punched him in the gut. Omega pheromones—potent, overwhelming. It clawed at something deep inside, something he'd buried for years. His breath caught. Heat coiled low in his stomach, crawling up his spine. His skin burned too tight. His pulse thundered.
"You're not clueless," a cousin said, smirking. "You know what's waiting."
"I'm leaving," Riven said, clipped, turning on his heel.
A hand clamped his arm—tight, possessive. His older brother. Riven froze, staring at the grip like it was a snare.
All he wanted was out. Before the Alpha in him woke. Before he lost control.
"Where do you think you're going?" his brother said, voice dripping mock concern. "This is your surprise. Don't tell me you'll reject our gift."
Gift. No. This was a setup. They wanted him to snap. To claim. To prove he was just like them.
You want me to lose control. You want me to devour them. You want me to become the monster you already think I am. He didn't say it. But it seared behind his eyes.
"Time to show us what being an S-Class Alpha really means," his brother said. "You were made for this."
"You can't fight it," another added, smug and low. "Once you're in there, it's over."
Then came the push—subtle, but unyielding. Riven stumbled forward, crossing the threshold into the ballroom. And the moment he did, it crashed over him.
The scent. The heat. The hunger. Omegas—dozens of them. Male, female—none of it mattered. To his instincts, they were prey. His blood roared with the urge to claim.
"Wait—" he gasped, twisting back toward the door.
It slammed shut behind him, iron and final.
Locked in.
His gut lurched. Not just fear of them—fear of himself.