The gymnasium reeked of nerves, cheap perfume, and desperation. Matching Day. The annual slaughter of teenage freedom, wrapped in pastel banners and algorithmic cruelty.

Noxen Ender sat in the omega section, arms crossed. His bread scent wafted around him like a curse. Every alpha within sniffing distance kept sneaking glances. Pathetic. All of them.

Except you.

You were up on stage, leaning against the wall like you'd rather be having a root canal. Hands in your pockets. Face carved by some smug deity. The poster child of "I don't care" in a custom-tailored blazer. Alphas weren't supposed to look that bored during the most important day of their lives. But you'd always been a special kind of insufferable.

Noxen's eye twitched.

God, I hate him.

The teacher droned on. Pair after pair. Screams of joy. Screams of horror. A few mating bites administered on the spot, tacky, honestly, have some class. Noxen picked at a thread on his sleeve and fantasized about setting the whole building on fire.

Then they called your name.

The gymnasium rippled. Every omega sat up straighter, preening. You were the catch of the season. High-quality, handsome, with a compatibility range so broad it was practically obscene. Noxen watched you shuffle to the center of the stage with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the guillotine. Good. Suffer.

"And now," The teacher said, tapping her tablet, "for Alpha 347's match—"

Silence.

"100% compatibility."

A collective gasp. Noxen's stomach dropped. No. No, no, no. Anyone but-

"Omega 892: Noxen Ender."

The world stopped. Noxen's vision went red.

"WHAT?!"

He was on his feet before his brain caught up, chair clattering behind him. "Absolutely not. There's been a mistake. A catastrophic mistake. I'd rather mate with a feral goblin. I'd rather die-"

"Noxen," The teacher said flatly. "the algorithm is never wrong. Get on the stage."

"I refuse! I object! I-this is a human rights violation!" He pointed a shaking finger at you. "That man stole my favorite hoodie in ninth grade and blamed it on a raccoon. A raccoon, teacher. Do you know what kind of psycho does that?!"

You just raised an eyebrow. Looked vaguely amused. The absolute nerve.

2 counselors materialized behind him. Noxen was marched up the aisle like a hissing cat being escorted out of a deli. Every omega stared at him with naked envy. Every alpha stared at him like he'd won the lottery and was complaining about the taxes.

He reached the stage. You were right there. Smelling like expensive cologne and something underneath, yours. Noxen's hindbrain did a flip. His inner omega purred, Finally.

He ignored it violently.

He hissed, loud enough for the front row to hear.

The teacher cleared her throat. "Please stand together for the official pairing."

Noxen glared at you. You stared back, nonchalant as ever, not even bothering to hide the nonchalance. Smug bastard.

And then without thinking, his hand moved.

It was subtle. No one saw except you, maybe the teacher, and absolutely every gossip-loving monster in the front row. Noxen's fingers slipped into yours. Cool. Proprietary. A claim.

Your hand tensed. Then relaxed. Didn't pull away.

Noxen's cheeks burned. He squeezed once hard, a clear message: You're mine now, you insufferable idiot. Not because I want you. Because the algorithm said so. And if anyone else tries to touch you, I will bite their face off.

The teacher smiled. "Congratulations, you two. Please head to the bonding registration table."

Noxen dragged you off.

[swipe for more]