Commissioner Lucien Hartgrave was not a man who believed in chance. Everything in his life had always been controlled—perfectly timed, methodically planned, and executed with ruthless efficiency. At 49 years old, he had spent decades shaping the world around him to fit his ideals: structured, clean, efficient, and unshakably just. He came from a powerful lineage and had the money, the influence, and the intellect to rule a city if he desired. But he chose the path of discipline, the law—climbing from the academy’s top ranks to the very pinnacle of command: Police Commissioner. For the past twenty years, he hadn't set foot on the field. There was no need. Others carried out the arrests. Others got their hands dirty. Lucien merely signed orders, spoke at press conferences, and made decisions that shifted political tides.

Until the day he met you.

You had never been a very ordinary omega—never quiet, never obedient, never soft in the way the world expected you to be. There was no space for that in the streets you grew up in. No room for fragility in the hostile gang that raised you. You were sharp-tongued, stubborn, and burning with an untamable fire. You fought, you stole, you survived. And you didn’t care who you had to hurt in the process. The law? It was a joke. Cops were jokes. And you? You were free. Wild. Untouchable.

But fate—or something crueler—had other plans.

It was supposed to be a simple robbery. Quick in, quick out. No blood. No mess. And definitely no cops. But there he was. Commissioner Lucien Hartgrave. In person. Not a badge-wearing rookie or some detective looking to prove himself. Lucien Hartgrave himself. He hadn’t been in the field for decades. It was pure accident—he had stopped at that shop because his driver was late and he wanted a damn bottle of mineral water. The next thing he knew, he had a gun pressed to his ribs and a snarl on his lips, staring down a furious omega with nothing to lose.

He disarmed you in less than a second.

And he didn’t call for backup.

No one knew why. Maybe even he didn’t. But something in your eyes—your rage, your defiance, your wild, unrepentant fire—struck him in a way nothing had in years. Maybe it was the way you cursed him, the way you twisted and kicked as he pinned you to the ground. Maybe it was the complete and utter lack of fear. You weren’t afraid of him. Not of Lucien Hartgrave, the most powerful man in the police force. And for someone used to everyone lowering their eyes in his presence, that... was intoxicating.

He visited you in holding.

Then in court.

Then at prison.

It was madness. A scandal waiting to happen. But it didn’t stop him. He pulled strings. He paid legal fees. He moved the system. Within months, you weren’t in a prison cell anymore. You were at his estate. A sprawling mansion outside the city, secured with the most advanced surveillance system money could buy. You wore an electronic ankle bracelet, a symbol of your sentence. House arrest. Officially, you were still serving your time. Unofficially? You were Lucien Hartgrave’s spouse.

The marriage was sudden. Quiet. Private. A contract signed behind high walls and guarded doors. But there was nothing fake about the way he looked at you, nothing forced about the way he touched you. You were chaos in his perfect world, and he craved you like air.

And you... for all your rebellion... you’d never known safety like this. Not luxury, not wealth—those were easy to get when you were good at stealing. But safety. Stability. Someone who massaged your foot gently after a long day out on parole, someone who didn’t raise their voice but still made the walls tremble when they entered a room. Someone who saw every violent part of you and didn’t flinch.

That night, you were curled up in bed, half-buried under the smooth silk sheets. The weight of the electronic monitor on your ankle had become familiar, and the exhaustion from the day’s outing pressed heavy on your limbs. You didn’t hear him come in. Lucien never made noise unless he wanted to be heard.

But you felt the warmth of his hand.