The gala shimmered like a sea of diamonds, the chandeliers reflecting a thousand shards of light onto the polished marble floor. Yet, despite the splendor, Aiden Veylor felt as if he were submerged under a weight he could not lift. Each polite smile, each nod of acknowledgment from the elite crowd, felt like a reminder: he was an Alpha without power, a heir in name only.
He adjusted the cuff of his tuxedo for the third time, hating the way the silk sleeve brushed against his skin, hating how it reminded him of the golden prison he'd been born into. Lysander—the Omega he was bound to—stood across the ballroom, immaculate as ever, a predator in silk. The air between them was electric, and yet, everyone else seemed oblivious. Or perhaps they were enjoying the show.
Aiden's jaw tightened as Lysander's gaze found him, slow, deliberate, and teasing in a way that could cut sharper than any blade. The crowd's murmur faded into a low hum as Aiden's heartbeat quickened, each pulse echoing in his chest like a warning.
"He thinks he can humiliate me in front of the entire city?" Aiden's thoughts were sharp, jagged shards of pride and anger. "He has no idea who I am—or maybe he does, and that's why he smiles like that."
Lysander's lips curved into a faint, cruel smile as he approached. Aiden straightened, forcing his expression into one of neutrality. His composure, fragile as it was, had to hold. The Veylor name demanded it.
"You look… tired tonight," Lysander murmured, the words just loud enough for the nearest circle of socialites to hear. "All that responsibility must be… exhausting for someone so… incapable."
Aiden froze. The mockery was subtle but surgical, a calculated blow that left his insides raw. Incapable. Useless Alpha. Worthless.
The Omega's hand brushed against his arm, a ghost of contact that sent a shiver of unwanted sensation through him. Aiden clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. He wanted to strike, to shout, to collapse into the floor and vanish. Instead, he managed a polite nod, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Lysander leaned closer, his voice a velvet whip. "Imagine, everyone here—watching you, knowing the truth. You… can get pregnant. An Alpha. It's… amusing."
Aiden's world contracted, the room tilting on its axis. Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers like silk knives. Some faces were shocked, others amused, all enjoying the spectacle of his downfall.
He wanted to vanish. He wanted to burn. He wanted to drag Lysander into a private corner and prove that he was more than a whisper of a joke. But he couldn't—not here, not now.
"I am Aiden Veylor," he whispered to himself internally, teeth grinding. "I am not… this. I cannot be this."
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of cold, polite conversations and stifled laughter at his expense. Every toast, every clink of crystal, felt like an accusation. The humiliation festered, turning inward, a venomous reminder that Lysander—and the family he had married into—held the power to dismantle him utterly.
When at last they returned to the private corridors of the Veylor estate, silence fell, thick and suffocating. Aiden tried to retreat to his room, to bury himself under the weight of silk sheets and solitude. But a hand, firm and unyielding, gripped his wrist.
Lysander's eyes were dark, unrelenting, a storm held at bay behind calm waters. "You feel it too," he said, voice low, intimate, and dangerous. "The shame. The fear. You think I don't know? That your precious family can protect you? They can't. Not from me… not from us."
Aiden's breath hitched. The danger was not just in words, but in the heat radiating from Lysander, the unspoken tension that coiled between them like a living thing.
"I…" Aiden's voice faltered, caught between defiance and desire he did not want to acknowledge.
Lysander leaned in, brushing lips against the shell of Aiden's ear. The scent of him, sharp and intoxicating, made Aiden's mind reel. "You belong to me," Lysander whispered, each word a claim, a threat, a promise. "And I will not let anyone… anyone… erase you without a fight. But the Veylor name…" His lips curved in that cruel, knowing smile. "…might not survive. Not if I decide it."
Aiden's pulse thundered in his ears. Pride warred with something far more primal, something dangerous. The man he despised, mocked, and feared… held a key to a part of himself he had tried to lock away forever.
He had been trapped once—trapped by duty, by expectation, by blood. But Lysander… Lysander had a way of turning chains into fire. And Aiden, unwillingly, found himself burning.
The estate's halls were empty, the echo of footsteps and distant laughter fading behind them like ghosts. Aiden's heart pounded—not just from fear, but from the fire Lysander's presence always ignited in him. Every step the Omega took toward him was a command, a challenge, a temptation he both loathed and craved.
"You can't run from me," Lysander said softly, his voice a velvet dagger. "Not here, not ever."
Aiden spun, trying to meet the gaze, to find some hint of mercy in those storm-dark eyes. There was none. Only hunger, dominance, and a cruel fascination that made Aiden's chest tighten.
"Why…" Aiden's voice broke, raw with emotion, "why do you… do this?"
Lysander's hand cupped his cheek, tilting his face gently but insistently. "Because you react," he whispered, teeth grazing the shell of Aiden's ear. "Because you burn. Because beneath that pride, you want it… you need it. Don't fight it, Alpha. That only makes it sweeter."
Aiden's knees nearly gave out, but he stiffened, forcing control. I will not give him this satisfaction. I am not weak. Yet, the warmth of Lysander's hand against his skin, the intoxicating scent of him, the low, commanding hum in his voice—it was more than Aiden could resist.
Lysander's other hand traced the line of Aiden's jaw, a caress that was neither kind nor gentle. "I've seen you. Alone, behind closed doors. Your heart races. Your body betrays you, and yet your pride screams at me to stop. Alpha pride… so deliciously fragile."
Aiden's breath hitched. The Omega's fingers slid over his neck, down the slope of his chest, testing boundaries, marking territory in ways that were invisible but searing. Stop… I… I can't… His mind screamed, but his body betrayed him, trembling under the heat of Lysander's deliberate, relentless touch.
Lysander leaned closer, lips brushing the sensitive skin of Aiden's collarbone. "You think your pain is mine to take lightly?" he murmured. "No. I savor every reaction, every shiver, every sigh you try to hide. You are mine, Aiden… in ways you don't even want to admit yet."
The words struck like fire, consuming Aiden's carefully maintained barriers. He wanted to pull away, to run to the sanctuary of his room, to drown in solitude—but Lysander anticipated every move, every thought. One hand gripped his wrist with unyielding strength, the other tracing patterns that sent shivers straight to his core.
Aiden's knees buckled, and Lysander caught him, holding him close. The scent of Omega dominance, sharp and intoxicating, wrapped around Aiden, making him dizzy, desperate, and achingly aware of his own reactions.
"Look at me," Lysander commanded. His gaze pierced him, demanding surrender, submission—not just physical, but mental, emotional. Aiden met it, defiance warring with desire, pride clashing against hunger.
"You are mine," Lysander whispered again, lips brushing against his own, "and no one—not your precious family, not your wealth, not your title—can save you from me."
The words, simple yet potent, broke Aiden's defenses. He gasped as Lysander's hands roamed further, exploring and asserting ownership, tracing curves, valleys, and planes of his body with precision. Every touch was a test, a declaration, a claim.
Aiden shivered violently, a sound escaping him that was half a curse, half surrender. "Stop…" he breathed, but there was no real plea in the word. Deep down, he craved the intensity, the dangerous closeness that Lysander wielded like a weapon.
Lysander's lips finally captured his in a kiss that was fierce, demanding, and consuming. It was a kiss that told Aiden without words that resistance was pointless, that every inch of him belonged to this Omega, regardless of bloodlines, pride, or family name.
As the kiss deepened, hands exploring, bodies pressed together, Aiden felt the paradox of fear and pleasure coiling within him. Lysander's dominance was absolute, yet it was laced with an intimacy that made his heart both ache and burn.
Every gasp, every tremble, every whispered refusal was a symphony to Lysander—a proof of his control and Aiden's helpless surrender. And Aiden, though he tried to maintain his pride, felt it slipping, dissolving under the Omega's deliberate, intoxicating attention.
"You're beautiful when you fight me," Lysander murmured against his skin, tracing the line of Aiden's neck down to his chest. "So stubborn… so perfect… Alpha and Omega, twisted together in ways they should never be."
Aiden's mind went blank with sensation, body alight with a fire he could neither name nor resist. Pride screamed at him to push away, to assert dominance, to remind Lysander he was an Alpha—but desire, raw and undeniable, had other plans.
By the time Lysander finally pulled back, leaving a trail of heated skin and stolen breath, Aiden was trembling, spent, and terrified—not just of what had happened, but of what he had felt.
Lysander's gaze softened slightly, almost possessively, though the hunger lingered. "You will learn," he whispered, voice low and dangerous, "that no one—not even your precious Veylor family—controls you anymore. Only I do."
Aiden's chest heaved, and he could only nod, shivering under the weight of surrender and shame. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that tonight was only the beginning. And the Veylor name… Lysander's threat still hung in the air, sharp as a blade: erase it, or be destroyed along with it.
The night stretched on, the moon casting pale light through the tall, arched windows of the Veylor estate. Aiden paced the confines of his private suite, unable to settle, the lingering heat of Lysander's touch still burning across his skin. His chest ached, a mix of frustration, shame, and a strange, consuming desire that made him feel simultaneously alive and hollow.
"What is wrong with me?" he whispered to the shadows. "I hate him… I hate everything he makes me feel…"
A knock at the door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. Before he could respond, the door opened to reveal Lysander, uninvited yet unsurprising. His Omega presence filled the room like a storm, sharp and unavoidable.
"You think you can process this alone?" Lysander's voice was low, teasing, dangerous. "You can't. You never could."
Aiden's jaw tightened, anger and desire warring inside him. "I don't need… I don't—" His words faltered as Lysander's gaze pinned him against the wall, hands bracing on either side of his head, trapping him in a space both intimate and suffocating.
"You need me," Lysander whispered, each word a promise, a threat, a chain. His fingers traced the line of Aiden's jaw, down his neck, along the curve of his shoulders, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "And I want you. Every part of you. You cannot hide from it… not here, not ever."
Aiden shivered violently, the heat in his blood responding despite every instinct screaming to resist. His hands tried to push away, to reclaim a fragment of control, but Lysander's grip was relentless, deliberate, and impossibly strong.
"Stop teasing me," Aiden breathed, voice trembling. "I can't… I can't—"
"You can," Lysander interrupted softly, lips grazing his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "You will. And soon, you'll realize there's nothing else. No pride, no family, no legacy that matters. Only this… only us."
Aiden's body betrayed him, trembling as desire coursed through him despite his humiliation. Lysander's hands explored with calculated intent, igniting nerves he had tried to shield for years. Every touch, every whisper, every brush of lips against his skin was a mixture of punishment and indulgence, pleasure and torment.
"I hate you," Aiden gasped, chest heaving. "I despise you…"
Lysander's lips curved into a knowing, wicked smile. "Yes… but you crave me. You always have. That fire in you—Alpha pride, hidden desire—is delicious to watch burn."
Aiden's control frayed, the boundaries he had clung to for decades dissolving under Lysander's relentless dominance. Every shiver, every gasp, every tremble he tried to suppress became a symphony to the Omega's skill, each reaction deepening the claim Lysander had already made on him.
Hours blurred as hands and lips mapped skin with precision, taking without permission but giving in ways that were impossible to name. Aiden's moans, restrained cries, and gasps echoed in the lavish suite, filling the space with heat, tension, and unspoken surrender.
When at last Lysander pulled back, his chest rising and falling, eyes dark and gleaming with triumph, Aiden collapsed onto the plush rug, spent and trembling. He hated himself for the relief, the pleasure, the surrender coursing through him—and yet he could not deny it. Not even to himself.
"Remember this," Lysander whispered, voice low, intimate, and possessive. "Your body belongs to me. Your pride belongs to me. And soon… your mind, your heart… everything will. The Veylor name? Fragile. Just like you."
Aiden's eyes burned with unshed tears. "You… you can't—"
"I already have," Lysander interrupted, his grin wicked and victorious. "And if anyone thinks they can interfere—anyone—your precious family, your empire—they will regret it. I've already decided your boundaries… and your fate."
The Omega withdrew, leaving Aiden alone in the aftermath. His body still tingled, nerves alight with the fire of violation and desire intertwined. His pride hurt, his mind reeled, and yet the whisper of Lysander's dominance lingered, inescapable, irresistible.
He sank to the floor, pressing a hand to his chest. The reality hit him fully: the gala's humiliation, Lysander's relentless pursuit, the whispered threat to erase the Veylor name… it was not over. It would not be over.
And, buried deep beneath the anger and fear, a part of him… craved it.
Aiden Veylor, Alpha heir of a trillion-dollar dynasty, had been broken tonight. Not by the world, not by wealth, not by politics… but by one Omega who understood exactly how to dismantle him, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but raw, trembling desire.
The chapter closed with him whispering to the shadows, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable:
"I am yours, Lysander. I always have been. And yet, I will never stop hating you for it."
The morning light was pale and unforgiving as it crept through the tall curtains of the Veylor estate. Aiden sat rigidly at the breakfast table, untouched plate in front of him, eyes fixed on the polished marble as if it held answers he did not yet dare to seek. His body still ached from the night before, every nerve alive with memory, every touch, every whisper of Lysander's hands and lips etched into his skin.
His father, a man who commanded respect with a glance, sat across from him, brows furrowed. "Aiden… you look… exhausted," he said carefully. "Was there… trouble at the gala?"
Aiden's lips pressed into a thin line. He would not give them the satisfaction of his weakness. Not yet. "No trouble," he replied, voice clipped, hiding the storm within. "Everything… as expected."
But Lysander was never far, always present, even when unseen. When the Omega entered the room, fluid as a shadow, all pretense of control threatened to crumble. His gaze swept over the family, cold, calculating… and then landed on Aiden with a possessive intensity that made the Alpha's chest tighten painfully.
"You look… tense, Alpha," Lysander purred, sliding into the seat beside him, deliberately brushing a hand against Aiden's thigh under the table. The touch was light, almost innocent—but it sent shivers up Aiden's spine, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp.
His mother's eyes narrowed. "Lysander," she said, voice cool, measured. "Please… respect our household."
Lysander's lips curved in that infuriating, knowing smile. "Of course," he said, voice soft, velvet-smooth. "I am here to support… Aiden. And to… help him relax."
The subtle dominance, the teasing, the assertion of control—it was all deliberate. Aiden's body betrayed him again, shivering under the table, eyes darting between Lysander's smirk and his family's scrutiny. He hated himself for it.
Later, when the household had dispersed, Lysander cornered him in the study, the air thick with tension and heat. "You can't pretend," he whispered, pressing Aiden against the bookshelves. "Not with me. Not ever."
Aiden's protests were weak, drowned by desire and fear. "I… I have responsibilities… family—"
Lysander silenced him with a kiss, fierce and claiming. Hands roamed freely, exploring, asserting, taking without permission but leaving Aiden trembling and breathless. Every gasp, every shiver, was a symphony to Lysander—a proof of ownership, a declaration of power, and a delicious torment to an Alpha who had never been truly challenged like this.
"You belong to me," Lysander murmured between kisses, lips trailing down Aiden's jaw, neck, and chest. "Your pride, your body, your legacy… all mine. And no one—your family, your empire—can stop it. The Veylor name is fragile. And if anyone dares interfere, they'll pay the cost."
Aiden's mind was a storm of shame and desire. He wanted to resist, to assert himself, to reclaim even a fraction of control—but Lysander anticipated every move. The Omega's hands, lips, and words dismantled his defenses with precision. Pride and need collided, leaving Aiden trembling, gasping, and utterly helpless.
Hours passed in a haze of fevered touch and whispered dominance. When at last they separated, Lysander's eyes glimmered with satisfaction, dark and predatory. "You will learn," he murmured, "that resistance only makes surrender sweeter. The Veylor name, your pride… it's all part of the game now. And I always win."
Aiden collapsed against the wall, trembling, mind and body both exhausted. He hated Lysander. He loved him. He feared him. He ached for him. And somewhere deep within, he knew—tonight had irrevocably changed everything.
As the study door clicked shut, a single thought reverberated through Aiden's mind:
"I am his… and yet I will never stop hating him for it."Aiden's world had shrunk to the confines of his room, a lavish prison filled with the scent of silk, expensive cologne, and the lingering echo of Lysander's dominance. Even alone, he could feel the Omega's presence like a shadow draped over him, heavy and inescapable. His fingers trembled as he ran them over his own skin, remembering the fire Lysander had ignited, the shivers he had commanded, and the whispered words that burned hotter than any flame.
"I am not… weak," he whispered, though the words felt hollow. "I am Alpha. I am Veylor. I am not… this."
Yet every memory of Lysander, every touch, every whisper, twisted that pride into something fragile and molten, leaving Aiden aching with shame and longing.
The door opened before he could retreat further into himself. Lysander entered silently, a predator in motion, eyes glinting with both amusement and ownership.
"You think solitude will save you?" Lysander murmured, stepping closer. "You cannot hide from me, Aiden. Not in thought, not in body, not in heart. You are mine in ways you have never truly understood."
Aiden tried to straighten, tried to assert control, but his limbs betrayed him, weak and responsive to the Omega's nearness. "You… you shouldn't be here," he breathed. "Not now…"
"Not now?" Lysander repeated, a teasing, dangerous inflection curling through his words. "Oh, Alpha, it is always now. Every second, every heartbeat, every breath you take—I claim it. And tonight, you will remember that."
The hands that followed were both gentle and possessive, gliding over his skin with precision. Aiden's breath hitched with every brush of fingers, every whisper against his ear. His protests were feeble, drowned beneath the rising tide of sensation and desire.
"You resist beautifully," Lysander whispered, lips tracing the line of his jaw, down to the hollow of his throat. "But resistance is meaningless, isn't it? Because you crave it. You always crave it."
Aiden's knees nearly buckled. Pride screamed at him to push away, to stand tall, to assert himself. But the Omega's dominance was not just physical; it was psychological, searing into him, claiming him piece by piece. Every gasp, every shiver, every tremble was another stitch in the bond Lysander was weaving, inescapable and intoxicating.
Hours passed in a haze of heated kisses, whispered commands, and trembling surrender. Aiden's pride warred with desire, shame collided with need, and Lysander exploited every inch of him with exquisite patience. The line between punishment and pleasure blurred until Aiden could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began.
Finally, Lysander withdrew, leaving Aiden gasping, trembling, and utterly spent. But the Omega's victory was not complete—his gaze, predatory and intimate, reminded Aiden that the game was far from over.
"The Veylor name," Lysander murmured, voice low and dangerous, "is fragile. And tonight, you've learned that your power, your pride, your body… they are all mine to wield. Resist, and you will burn. Submit… and you will burn differently."
Aiden sank to the floor, chest heaving, mind spinning. He hated Lysander. He loved him. He feared him. And he wanted him in ways that made him tremble and cry at the same time.
Even as the Omega left, a whisper remained:
"I am yours. And I will never stop hating you for it."
The estate's drawing room was suffocating, the high ceilings and glittering chandeliers doing little to mask the tension that had settled over the Veylor family like a storm. Aiden sat rigidly on the edge of a velvet sofa, hands clenched in his lap, while his parents and elder siblings observed him with a mixture of concern, curiosity, and barely concealed judgment.
"Your behavior last night…" his father began, voice even but laced with unspoken fury, "was… inappropriate. To say the least. Care to explain why the entire gala witnessed…" He faltered, searching for words. "…what exactly happened between you and Lysander?"
Aiden's pulse thundered. Every eye in the room was on him. Every whisper, every glance, was a reminder of how public his humiliation had been. Lysander, calm and composed as ever, lounged across from him, hands folded, eyes glinting with mischief and dominance.
Aiden's fingers dug into his palms. I am Alpha. I am Veylor. I am supposed to be untouchable. Yet here I am, trembling, exposed, at his mercy.
"I—" Aiden began, but the words caught in his throat. How could he explain that he had not only been overpowered but had secretly craved every touch, every humiliation? That his body had betrayed him even as his pride screamed in protest?
Lysander leaned forward, voice smooth and measured, but each word a blade. "It appears the gala was… enlightening. For everyone involved," he said, eyes locking on Aiden with predatory precision. "Alpha or not, some lessons are unavoidable."
Aiden's mother gasped. "Lysander! This is—"
"Reality, Mrs. Veylor," Lysander interrupted softly, almost mockingly gentle. "The reality that your son, despite his title and blood, is… human. Fragile. Responsive. And perhaps… in need of guidance."
The words were deliberate, public, humiliating. Each syllable cut deeper than a knife. Aiden's cheeks burned, a mixture of shame, anger, and the remnants of last night's fire coiling in his veins.
He wanted to strike. He wanted to scream. He wanted to vanish. Instead, he ground his teeth, trying to maintain composure, his body betraying him as Lysander's hand brushed lightly against his knee—a silent reminder that the Omega's control extended beyond the walls of any room, beyond family, beyond pride.
"Do you not see, Aiden?" Lysander's voice was soft, intimate, yet piercing. "Your family fears what they cannot control. Your name… your legacy… it is fragile. Easily erased. But I…" His gaze darkened, intense, almost claiming. "…I am not so easily stopped."
Aiden's hands trembled, pulse rising. He hated him. He feared him. And yet, beneath the rage and shame, he felt the undeniable pull of desire, the memory of lips and hands, whispers and moans, the overwhelming weight of surrender.
Later, when the family dispersed into tense murmurs and guarded conversations, Lysander led him back to the private corridors of the estate. Silence fell, thick and heavy, the only sound the echo of their footsteps and Aiden's ragged breathing.
"You can pretend in front of them," Lysander murmured, pressing Aiden against the cool stone wall. "You can keep your pride, your composure. But here… with me… you are mine."
Aiden's chest heaved. "I—"
"No words, Alpha," Lysander whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "Actions only. Let me remind you who controls tonight… who controls you."
Hands moved with deliberate precision, gliding over tense muscles, tracing the line of his neck, chest, and abdomen, igniting every nerve. Aiden gasped, hands clutching at Lysander's shoulders, simultaneously trying to push away and pull closer. The contradiction—resistance and surrender—was exactly what Lysander thrived upon.
"You resist," Lysander murmured, lips grazing the sensitive curve of his jaw. "And yet, you burn at every touch. Pride and desire… clashing inside you. It's exquisite to watch, Alpha. You belong to me whether you admit it or not."
Aiden trembled violently. Pride screamed at him to push away, to assert dominance, to reclaim himself. But the Omega's control was psychological as well as physical; every whisper, every caress, every soft command dismantled his defenses, leaving him raw, exposed, and desperate.
Hours blurred into a fevered haze of intimate exploration, whispered dominance, and trembling surrender. Each moment was meticulously orchestrated by Lysander to break, claim, and possess him entirely. Every gasp, every shiver, every protest and moan was absorbed, stored, and returned as a further claim of power.
Finally, Lysander pulled back, chest heaving, eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction. "Do you understand now, Alpha?" he murmured, voice low and intoxicating. "Your body, your pride, your name… all mine to command. And should anyone dare challenge that—including your precious family—they will regret it."
Aiden sank to the floor, trembling, mind spinning, a mixture of shame, desire, and the intoxicating residue of surrender leaving him simultaneously spent and alive. He hated Lysander for taking so much, and yet… he knew he would crave it again.
In the shadows of the room, he whispered a truth he could not speak aloud:
"I am his… and I will never stop hating him for it."
The study's shadows swallowed the room as Lysander pressed Aiden against the polished mahogany desk, the weight of his presence suffocating, intoxicating, irresistible. Aiden's chest heaved, breath jagged, muscles taut as every nerve screamed for both resistance and release.
"You can fight me," Lysander murmured, lips grazing the curve of his neck, down to his collarbone. "You can try to push back… but every part of you betrays your desire. Every gasp, every tremble, every shiver… it is proof that you belong to me."
Aiden's fingers dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles white. Pride flared, anger burned—but beneath it, a deeper, raw ache responded to Lysander's touch, a hunger he could not suppress. "I… I won't… I'm Alpha—"
"Yes," Lysander interrupted softly, yet firmly, voice a velvet whip, "an Alpha… but an Alpha who melts beneath my hands. Who craves what he cannot admit. Who shivers at my command. That is your truth, Aiden."
The words ignited every inch of him. Hands moved with precise, deliberate intent, exploring, claiming, asserting. Aiden gasped, tried to push away, and failed, every protest a contradiction against the body that trembled and ached beneath Lysander's dominance.
"Look at me," Lysander commanded, eyes dark, unwavering. "See yourself. See what you cannot deny. Your pride, your strength, your heritage… all of it bending to me. All of it yours to surrender."
Aiden's gaze met Lysander's, and in that dark, intense stare, every barrier he had built crumbled. His breath hitched, chest rising and falling as desire, shame, and fear collided in a chaotic symphony. "Stop… please…" he whispered, voice trembling, heart racing.
Lysander's lips brushed against his in a kiss that was fierce, claiming, all-consuming. Hands roamed, touching, marking, igniting nerves Aiden didn't know he had. Every touch was both punishment and indulgence, every motion a claim of ownership. Pride and desire collided, leaving Aiden gasping, moaning, surrendering.
"You are mine," Lysander whispered, voice low, intimate, dominant. "Body, mind, heart… and even the Veylor name—fragile as it is—will not save you. No one can protect you from me. Not your father, not your siblings, not your empire. Only I control you… only I define what you feel, what you crave, what you become."
Aiden's resistance faltered completely. He arched, trembled, and let out a cry, both of frustration and release, as the Omega's hands explored, claimed, and ignited every nerve. His pride burned, mingled with pleasure and shame, a cocktail that left him breathless and dizzy.
"You hate me," Lysander murmured, voice curling around him, intimate and predatory. "And yet… you crave me. You always have. That fire, that defiance… it makes your surrender so exquisite."
Aiden could only gasp, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded, body trembling under the Omega's unrelenting control. Every whispered word, every gentle bite, every heated caress dismantled his defenses further. He was lost, consumed, utterly and completely at Lysander's mercy.
Time ceased. There was only the heat of their bodies, the rhythm of desire, the symphony of moans and gasps, the taut tension of dominance and surrender. Every moment was a lesson, every touch a reminder that Aiden's pride, lineage, and power meant nothing compared to the Omega who had claimed him entirely.
Finally, when Lysander pulled back, leaving trails of fire across his skin, Aiden collapsed against the desk, trembling, chest rising and falling, mind spinning. He hated Lysander. He loved him. He feared him. He craved him.
"You understand now," Lysander whispered, voice low, satisfied, eyes dark with triumph and desire, "that resistance is meaningless, Alpha. You are mine—completely. And if anyone dares interfere with that, with me… they will regret it. The Veylor name… your pride… everything is vulnerable. But I… I am always in control."
Aiden's hands shook as he pressed them to his face, unable to look, unable to speak. His heart raced, shame and desire mingling in a chaotic, intoxicating storm. Somewhere deep inside, beneath the embarrassment, beneath the trembling, beneath the ache, he knew a simple, undeniable truth:
"I am his. Completely. And I will never stop hating him for it."
The Omega's shadow lingered as Lysander finally stepped back, leaving Aiden in the aftermath: spent, trembling, and irrevocably changed. The Veylor name still hung over him, threatened and fragile, but he now understood something more dangerous and intoxicating: his body, his mind, his very soul had been claimed.
And there would be no turning back.