The sound of the door closing behind me was louder than thunder.
For a second, all I could do was stand there—half-bent, trembling, trying to breathe through the pain in my head and the scent of him.
His scent.
It filled the entire apartment: dark cedar, smoke, a faint undertone of wild mint. It wrapped around me like invisible arms, coaxing, suffocating, claiming.
My knees buckled.
"Sit," came his voice—deep, steady, and commanding in that way only an Alpha's could be.
I half-crawled, half-stumbled to the nearest couch and sank into it, clutching my arms around myself. My body was burning up from the inside, every nerve sparking like a live wire.
I shouldn't have come here.I really shouldn't have come here.
But what choice did I have? Half the Alphas in the city were prowling the streets, drawn to my uncontrolled pheromones like wolves to blood.
The room swam. My vision blurred again, but not before I saw him move—tall, fluid, controlled. He returned with a towel and pressed it to my forehead, where blood had smeared down to my lips.
"Who hurt you?" His tone was low, dangerous.
My throat tightened. "N-no one. I just... fell."
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at me, eyes sharp, unreadable. Every inch of him screamed Alpha dominance, the kind that made your instincts curl inward. But there was something else too—restraint.
I could feel his pheromones shift, pushing back against mine like a wall. Protecting me. Containing me.
"I don't know you," he said finally, voice dropping. "But you smell like trouble."
You have no idea, I thought.
I wanted to laugh, but my mouth was dry. "I'll leave soon. I just need to—ride it out."
His brows furrowed. "You're in heat."
The way he said it—flat, clinical—should've been reassuring, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
He stepped back, crossing his arms. "You shouldn't be out in public like that."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't on my calendar," I muttered before I could stop myself.
His lips twitched. Twitched. The Alpha King—coldest man in the novel—almost smiled.
I blinked. Did I just... sass the monarch of all Alphas? In the middle of my heat? Maybe the fever had cooked my brain.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Stay there. Don't move."
He disappeared into the kitchen. I sat, staring at the minimalist decor—the marble counters, the grey walls, the massive window that overlooked the city.
This was the view the old me—the stalker—used to spy on.
The same window.The same couch.The same man who now stood a few steps away, brewing tea as if he wasn't radiating lethal pheromones.
The irony could kill me.
I wiped my forehead with the towel and muttered under my breath, "If I survive this, I'm never reading another omegaverse novel again."
When he returned, he handed me a steaming mug. "Drink."
The warmth seeped into my hands. "Thank you."
He sat across from me, watching quietly as I sipped. His gaze was sharp, dissecting. It wasn't lust—at least, not yet. It was curiosity.
Something flickered in his eyes when he finally spoke again. "You live nearby."
It wasn't a question.
"Uh... kind of," I said carefully. "Moved recently."
His fingers drummed against the table. "Strange. I've lived here for years and never saw you before."
"Probably because I'm very good at not being seen," I said without thinking—then froze.
Great. Way to sound suspicious.
One brow arched, elegant and dangerous. "Is that so?"
I coughed. "Uh—figure of speech."
He didn't respond. Just leaned back, studying me like one might study a puzzle missing a piece. I suddenly understood why the book described him as terrifyingly calm. He didn't need to growl or bare fangs; one look from him made your instincts roll over and submit.
I clenched my hands, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I'll be out of your way soon. I just—didn't know where else to go."
"Your scent will draw more Alphas if you step outside."
"I'll manage."
"Will you?" His tone softened, but only slightly. "You're trembling."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Something shifted in the air. His pheromones spiked—just a little. Not threatening, but stabilizing. It was like a wave of heat washing over my skin, cooling the fever underneath.
My breathing eased. For the first time since the attack started, I didn't feel like I was burning alive.
My voice came out small. "You're suppressing your scent for me."
He didn't answer.
A beat passed. Then another.
Finally, he stood. "You can use the guest room. I'll have someone bring suppressants."
I blinked. "You're just—letting me stay?"
He turned slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk ghosting his lips. "You barged into my home bleeding and half-delirious. You think I'd toss you out?"
"Yes?" I squeaked.
That earned me a low chuckle. A real one this time. Smooth and quiet, but unmistakably amused.
"You're strange," he said.
"I get that a lot," I muttered.
When he disappeared down the hallway, I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The guest room was simple—white sheets, clean scent, too big for comfort. I collapsed on the bed, clutching the pillow as my body continued to wage war with itself.
His scent still lingered in the air. Not strong enough to trigger my instincts, but enough to calm me.
I stared at the ceiling, mind spinning.
He didn't recognize me.
Thank the moon goddess.
Because if he did... if he remembered the pathetic, greasy omega who used to live across the street, peeking through her window like a creep—I would dig a hole and bury myself alive.
Still... something in the way he'd looked at me earlier—like he was trying to place a face he couldn't quite recall—made my stomach twist.
I buried my face in the pillow. "This is fine. Totally fine. I'm not doomed at all."
Hours later, I woke to a faint knock. The Alpha King—no, he—stood by the door, holding a glass of water and a small packet.
"Suppressant," he said simply.
"Thank you." I accepted it, our fingers brushing for half a second. Electricity shot through me like lightning.
He must've felt it too, because his eyes flickered.
"You're stabilizing," he said after a pause.
"I'm trying not to combust," I replied, voice dry.
Something that might've been amusement tugged at the corner of his lips again. "Good."
He lingered at the doorway for a heartbeat too long, silver eyes studying me in that unnerving way.
Then he said quietly, "You remind me of someone."
My heart skipped a beat.
I forced a smile. "Must be the hair."
He nodded slowly, still thoughtful. "Perhaps."
Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.
I sat there in silence, pulse racing.
Oh, moon above. He felt it. The faint recognition. The whisper of familiarity.
If he ever connected the dots—if he realized I was the same omega who used to stalk him through a dirty window—I'd be dead before sunrise.
But as the scent of cedar and mint faded into the night, I couldn't shake one terrifying thought.
What if, deep down...he already knew?