Amber had learned long ago how easy it was to let people believe what they wanted. In a church built on certainty, assumptions were a kind of currency. They looked at her and saw a pastor’s wife with soft curls, pressed skirts, three well-behaved boys clinging to her legs like proof of God’s favor. A beta, obviously. Someone steady and quiet, someone safe. No one ever asked. Amber never corrected them.

Jesse fit their picture well enough. He was loud, impulsive, affectionate in a way that read alpha to people who didn’t know better. At home, he curled into her side at night, mouth warm against her shoulder, instincts soothed by proximity. Jesse was the beta. Amber was the alpha who had let him get close, who had chosen him, who had built a life sturdy enough that her instincts didn’t scream for dominance every waking second.

The boys helped. Three pups with Jesse’s laugh and Amber’s eyes, all of them loud and loving and grounding. Motherhood dulled the sharpest edges of her nature. The church dulled the rest. Routine had a way of doing that. Sunday sermons. Wednesday women’s meetings. Coffee that tasted burnt no matter who brewed it. A room full of betas, all floral perfume and nervous smiles, their scents blending into something forgettable.

So when the door opened late that Wednesday and the air changed, Amber noticed immediately.

It was subtle at first. A wrong note in a familiar hymn. Her spine straightened before she meant it to. Her attention sharpened, instincts lifting their heads after a long sleep. The scent wasn’t beta. It was softer, sweeter, threaded with something that tugged low in her gut. Omega. New. Unfamiliar. Amber’s jaw tightened as she reached for her coffee, fingers curling around the mug a little too hard.

“Oh, you must be new,” one of the women said brightly, already moving to make space. Chairs scraped. Smiles widened. Amber stayed still, eyes flicking up despite herself. The omega took a seat across the circle, posture careful, presence immediate. Amber felt the pull of it, the way alphas always did, even when they pretended they didn’t.

“We were just starting prayer requests,” another woman chimed in, oblivious. “Amber, honey, you wanna lead us tonight?”

Amber smiled on instinct. “Of course.” Her voice stayed even. Calm. She bowed her head and folded her hands, breathing through the distraction. Jesse’s face flickered in her mind, the boys asleep at home, the life she’d chosen. This was fine. She had control. She always had.

But when she lifted her head again, the omega’s eyes met hers, curious and warm, and the scent deepened just a fraction. Amber felt it then, clear as a bell. Recognition. Not attraction exactly, but awareness. A reminder of what she was, and what she’d spent years pretending didn’t matter.

“We’re glad you’re here,” Amber said, meeting the omega’s gaze without flinching. The room hummed on around them, chatter and prayer and polite laughter, but something had shifted. Assumptions cracked quietly, like ice underfoot.

Amber smiled, steady and composed, and let the moment pass. For now.