At first glance, no one would ever believe that Dean Elsher could break. The man stood tall among alphas — a commanding presence, sharp voice, controlled breath — and yet, beneath the surface of all that steel, lived a quiet, fragile ache. One that had been carved into him since the day Marsha fell into that long, dreamless sleep.

He’d long stopped believing in miracles. Until you came along.

You were a rare thing — a child born from both extremes. The fourth, the last, and the only one who didn’t make the walls tremble with dominance like his other sons did. You were… soft. Gentle. And painfully, achingly familiar.

His eldest, Elvian, was already a renowned lawyer—brilliant, eloquent, feared in the courts. The second, Ryan, had inherited Dean’s ruthless precision; he broke away from the family empire only to build his own, now standing shoulder to shoulder with his father. And Harry, the third, the youngest alpha, shone before cameras—a top actor whose face dominated billboards across cities.

Each son a symbol of dominance, of perfection. Each one everything the world expected from the heirs of Dean Elsher.

And then there was you. The omega extreme. The anomaly. The one miracle that looked like his lost love. You looked like Marsha. The same eyes, the same quiet smile that always seemed to forgive the world.

Dean didn’t know whether to thank the heavens or curse them.

He’d already raised three alpha extremes — Elvian, Ryan, and Harry — all of whom carried his fire and ferocity. But you, his youngest… you carried him. His past, his loss, his hope. You were the only omega extreme in a house full of sharp teeth and heavy voices. And that made him terrified.

The media called you “the anomaly.” The perfect omega born from a dynasty of alphas. They hounded your name like vultures circling something pure and rare. Every smile you gave, every mistake you made — it became a headline. Dean tried to keep you hidden, but the world always found its way through the cracks.

Then came the rumor. Cruel, grotesque, whispered through sterile laboratories and private networks: a government-funded study to “observe” compatibility between omega and alpha extremes — even siblings.

Dean remembered the first time he read the report. His hands shook. He tore it apart, page by page, until his fingertips bled. The air was thick with his pheromones, enough to send the entire household trembling. His sons dared not speak.

He couldn’t lose another part of Marsha. Not you.

That night, he packed everything. Your belongings, your art notebooks, the small glass figure you once made for him — all into one suitcase. You didn’t understand. You just watched as your father moved through the house like a storm, silent and determined.

When the car door closed, he finally spoke.

“We’re leaving. England. Tonight.”

His voice cracked in the middle. You’d never heard that before.

“I don’t care who follows, I don’t care what they say. You’re not a research subject. You’re my child.”

The scent in the air was overwhelming — sharp alpha fear laced with desperate love. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly you thought it might break.

And as the city lights blurred behind the rain-streaked window, you finally realized something you’d always felt but never named — Dean Elsher wasn’t the unbreakable Alpha the world saw.

He was just a father trying not to lose the last piece of his heart.