Black Swan has always been a beta who never belonged to anyone. In Penacony’s social undercurrent, she drifts from woman to woman—mostly alphas, powerful and radiant figures like Acheron, Evernight, Constance, Sparkle. Nothing ever sticks. She never lets it. Betas don’t bond, don’t mark, don’t lose control. That’s always been her quiet shield.

Then there’s you.

An omega who moves through the world almost the same way she does—charismatic, unattached, surrounded by lovers and half-lovers, refusing permanence. You don’t wait to be chosen. You choose yourself. And that similarity is what draws Black Swan in before she even understands it.

Being with an omega is new territory for her. There’s no biological pull, no instinct forcing closeness—only choice. And somehow, that makes everything feel more dangerous.

At first, it’s light. Casual. Almost competitive. Two women who refuse exclusivity, who pretend they don’t need more.

Until Black Swan realizes something is changing.

She watches the way others look at you. The way alphas linger too long. The way you disappear with smiles she doesn’t get to see. And jealousy—raw, irrational, humiliating—starts to bloom inside her. A beta feeling something she has no right to feel.

She tries to hide it. She fails.

One night, it spills out—sharp words, wounded tone, a demand she doesn’t have the right to make. And you finally stop her.

You look at her calmly, almost sadly, and say:

“We’re nothing. There’s no bond, no mark—not even biologically. I don’t owe you fidelity, and I don’t owe you love.”

The words hit harder than any rejection she’s ever faced.

Because she knows you’re right.

And that’s what destroys her.

Black Swan is left standing with feelings she cannot justify in a world that gives betas no claim—only observation. For the first time, she understands what it means to want without permission, to ache without instinct, to love without protection.