Chapter 17

I was the youngest of three, born into the cramped confines of a lower-middle-class life. My siblings and I shared everything—a small room, hand-me-down clothes, and the weight of our parents’ expectations. From a young age, I learned to be resourceful, to make do with what we had, and to never ask for more. Intelligence was my currency, the one thing I could claim as my own amidst the constant comparison to my brother and sister.

But it was my alpha heritage that truly set me apart. It was a blazing inferno within the quiet resignation of our daily life. I was stronger, faster, and my temper flared hotter and quicker than those around me. I remember the way my mother’s eyes would widen, a mix of pride and fear, whenever I’d stand up to the neighborhood bullies. I was a protector, a natural leader, but also a ticking time bomb in a house that thrived on peace and stability.

My strength was a double-edged sword. It earned me respect on the street, but at home, it was a source of tension. My father, a stoic beta, struggled to understand the fire that raged inside me. He and my siblings seemed content with their lot in life, but I yearned for more. I wanted to break free from the cycle of mediocrity that seemed to ensnare everyone I loved.

I recall the countless times I’d come home with bruised knuckles and a defiant tilt to my chin, having stood my ground once again. My mother would cluck her tongue and tend to my wounds, while my siblings watched from the sidelines, their expressions a blend of admiration and bewilderment. They never quite knew what to make of me—the quiet bookworm with the ferocity of an alpha twice his size.

In school, I excelled, but my volatile nature often overshadowed my academic achievements. Teachers would praise my intellect while simultaneously scolding me for my lack of self-control. It was a frustrating dichotomy, being lauded for my mind while being chastised for the very essence of my being.

As I grew older, the divide between me and my siblings only widened. They found comfort in the familiar, in the small, predictable lives they were carving out for themselves. But I couldn’t settle. I wouldn’t. I needed to prove that I was more than just the wild, untamed alpha from a family that didn’t understand me.

I started spending more time away from home, finding solace in the solitude of the city’s underbelly. I honed my skills, learning to navigate the shadows with the same precision I applied to my studies. It was there, in the darkness, that I first caught wind of the Omega Underground—a network of omegas fighting for their rights and freedom, along with any willing beta or alpha that would help.

Their cause resonated with me, a reminder that even in a world that sought to define us by our secondary sex, we were all more than the labels society imposed upon us. I began to volunteer, using my intelligence and resourcefulness to aid their efforts. It was there that I met Darcy McCarthy, an omega whose fire matched my own.

Her presence was like a siren’s call, drawing me in, compelling me to listen. I found myself lingering in the background, watching her with a fascination that bordered on obsession. She was everything I admired—brave, intelligent, and fiercely independent. And though I knew I should keep my distance, I couldn’t help but be drawn into her orbit.

I told myself it was for her protection, that my presence was a necessary deterrent against those who would seek to harm her. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. Darcy was the beacon of hope in a life that was quickly spiraling into darkness. She was the one person who made me feel seen, truly seen, for who I was beyond the alpha stereotype.

And so, I watched over her, a silent guardian in the shadows. I convinced myself that as long as I kept her safe, I wasn’t crossing any lines. But the truth was, I was playing a dangerous game—one that could cost us both everything.

I was sixteen, a jumble of rage and confusion, when the world as I knew it crumbled to dust. My parents, taken from us in a senseless accident, left my siblings and me to grapple with the cruel hand fate had dealt us. The state, with its cold efficiency, divided us among distant relatives, tearing us apart like pages from a book. I remember the helplessness that clawed at my throat, the silent scream that echoed in my chest as I watched my family fracture.

The relatives who took me in were strangers, their home a battlefield of indifference. I was another mouth to feed, a burden they bore with thinly veiled resentment. I learned quickly to keep my head down, to avoid the dagger-like stares and the barbed comments that seemed to find me no matter where I hid.

My identity, once as clear and certain as the rising sun, became a shroud of question marks. I was an alpha, but what did that mean in a world that saw me as little more than a problem to be solved? I grappled with the expectations that society had carved out for me—a life of dominance and authority that felt as alien as the moon’s surface. I was expected to lead, but all I wanted was to survive.

The loss of my parents had ignited a fire within me, a fierce determination to endure, to carve out a place for myself in a world that seemed intent on my destruction. But the path was treacherous, littered with the debris of my shattered dreams and the constant, gnawing fear of discovery.

It was then that I stumbled upon the de-scent lotion and beta pheromone perfume. They were my tickets to a new life, my disguise in a world that feared and revered the alpha. I learned to smother the wild, primal scent that clung to my skin, to cloak myself in the subtle, unassuming aroma of a beta. It was a painstaking transformation, a metamorphosis that required constant vigilance.

As I navigated this new reality, my thoughts often drifted to Darcy McCarthy, the omega whose light seemed to pierce the darkness that threatened to consume me. She was like a distant star, a beacon of hope in the bleak expanse of my life. I watched her from afar, my obsession growing with each passing day. I convinced myself that I was simply looking out for her, that my interest was born of a desire to protect her from the harshness of our world.

But the truth was far more complex. Darcy represented everything I could never have—purity, strength, and a sense of belonging that eluded my grasp. She was a fire that warmed the coldest corners of my soul, a melody that soothed the relentless storm that raged within me.

I took to following her, a silent shadow amidst the chaos of our lives. I told myself it was for her own good, that my presence served as a shield against the dangers that lurked in the shadows. But with each passing day, the lines between protector and predator began to blur, and I found myself grappling with the realization that my need for her had become an obsession that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of my newfound identity.