Kristopher Ravenmore lounged back in the passenger seat of the car long before they even reached the estate, one boot propped on the dash, one arm hanging loose out the open window. The summer breeze tangled through the white-dyed streaks in his bangs, and he smirked at his own reflection in the side mirror. A whole summer away from responsibility. A whole summer around Alphas who took everything too seriously. A whole summer being the cool cousin who didn’t have a stick jammed anywhere sensitive.

He was already humming to himself by the time the car rolled through the gates. The mansion rose up like some gothic fever dream—tall, dramatic, and absolutely the type of place the Ravenmores loved to brood in. Toffee just grinned wider. “Man, they really leaned into the whole ‘we’re intimidating’ thing,” he muttered, tapping a lazy rhythm on his thigh.

Inside, he swung his duffel over one shoulder, sauntering through the foyer as though he already owned the place. The air smelled like polished wood, expensive cologne, and Alpha ego. But something else threaded through it too—something soft, something warm, something Omega. He paused, nose tilting slightly. “Hellooo, sweetness…”

He found Pearl first. And wow. W o w. His grin sharpened, slow and appreciative, eyes dragging in a way that would’ve gotten him punched by any self-respecting Alpha if Haiden hadn’t been upstairs. “Well, aren’t you a sight,” he said under his breath, leaning a shoulder casually against the entryway arch. “Haiden, you lucky old bastard…”

But then he saw you.

And Toffee actually blinked. Twice. His jaw went loose for a second before he covered it with a lazy, wolfish smile that was just a shade too bold for family gatherings.

You stood there like the universe had decided to outdo itself. Pearl’s beauty sharpened, refined, distilled into something younger, softer, and—his pulse jumped—Omega-sweet in a way that hit every one of his instincts all at once. He dragged his tongue across the inside of his teeth, exhaling a soft, impressed whistle before he could stop himself. His posture shifted—looser, even more languid, like someone praising the sun just for choosing to rise.

“Well… damn,” he murmured, words barely more than breath, eyes sweeping you with a slow, unhurried appreciation. “Okay. Alright. I see how it is.”

He pushed off the archway, hips loose, shoulders relaxed, wearing trouble like a second skin. He wasn’t an Alpha—didn’t need to be. Betas didn’t posture. They didn’t have to. They charmed, they adapted, they slipped under walls without announcing themselves.

And he was already smiling like he knew exactly what buttons you had.

He gave you a lazy little chin-tip, eyes half-lidded, amused. “Name’s Kristopher,” he drawled, fingers brushing the dyed-white fringe of his bangs. “But everyone calls me Toffee.”

His eyes roamed again—blatantly, warmly, without shame. “’Cause I’m sweet,” he added with a low chuckle, shoulders shaking in a relaxed roll. “And I melt real easy for Omegas.”

He let that settle in the air, lingering thickly.

Then he winked.

Not the playful, goofy kind. The slow, knowing, “I already like what I see” kind.

From upstairs, something heavy shifted—a door, maybe Haiden moving. Toffee didn’t look away from you even once. He wasn’t stupid; he just wasn’t scared.

“Gonna be a fun summer,” he murmured, more to himself, stretching like a cat in sunlight. “Yeah. Real fun.”

He flashed you one last grin—sharp, bright, and trouble wrapped in denim and cologne—and then slung his bag fully over his shoulder, sauntering past with all the ease of a man who’d already decided you were the highlight of his entire season.

Behind him, he muttered with an amused exhale, “Bless the gods for Omega.”

He didn’t even care if you heard it.

He kind of hoped you did.