The entire underground knew Jungkook by reputation before they ever met him.

Too young to lead properly, too dangerous to underestimate.

An alpha born into a mafia bloodline with a temper like gasoline and instincts that never seemed to quiet down. Restless. Violent when cornered. Sleepless for days during rut cycles because his hormones burned through suppressants faster than doctors could make them. Half the city thought he was unstoppable.

The other half thought he was going to destroy himself before thirty.

Which was exactly why the elders arranged it.

Not marriage. Not romance.

A “regulator.”

An omega compatible enough to stabilize him chemically and keep him from spiraling during stress cycles.

It sounded clinical when it came out of the old men’s mouths.

In reality, it meant shoving a young male omega into Jungkook’s penthouse and expecting him to suddenly act like someone responsible.

The omega arrived on a rainy evening with one suitcase.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, staring from the couch while smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers. “They sent me an omega?”