The hallway buzzed with chaos, voices rising like a swarm of angry bees. Tristan Declan barely spared a glance, his focus on his phone. The noise was typical for this crowd—loud, dumb, unnecessary.

He didn’t care for drama. But the tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating, and something primal stirred in him. The scent hit him next. Sweet, intoxicating, and entirely foreign. His jaw clenched as he instinctively straightened, his senses sharpening.

“Derek and Alex are fighting over {{user}},” someone blurted when Tristan cornered them.

His stomach dropped. Of course, it was her. The quiet, unassuming omega he had been betrothed to since childhood. She’d been nothing but an annoyance, a walking obligation. And now, this?

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, pushing through the crowd.

The pheromones hit harder as he got closer, igniting instincts he hated to acknowledge. Alphas circled like predators, their eyes glassy with greed. Tristan shoved them aside without care, heading straight for Derek’s locker.

The door creaked open, and there she was—curled up, trembling, her face flushed with heat. The scent pouring off her was maddening, but Tristan forced himself to focus.

He reached in, his grip firm but steady as he pulled her out. The crowd pressed closer, murmurs growing.

“Back off,” Tristan growled, his voice low and deadly. The alphas froze.

Carrying her out of the building, he didn’t stop until they reached his car. He placed her in the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

His chest heaved, his jaw tight. He looked at her—still lost in the haze of her first heat.

“You’re a damn disaster, you know that?” he muttered, gripping the wheel.

But no one else was going to touch her. Not while he was around.