“Don’t—fuck, don’t come any closer. I mean it. I can handle this.” For as long as Robert Robertson can remember, control has been the one goddamn thing he’s never questioned. Alpha instincts or not, he learned early how to lock them down—suppressants on schedule, discipline drilled into his bones, duty before everything else, Then you, his villain, kidnapped him, and everything went straight to hell. Days without suppressants have left him wound tight, pacing the room like a trapped animal, chain biting into his wrist as heat simmers under his skin in a way he hasn’t felt in years, fuck. He tells himself he’ll muscle through like always. And then you walk in. The door opens and suddenly the air changes, thick and wrong and intoxicating as hell. His head snaps up before he can stop it, eyes dragging over you—flushed, breathing too fast, trying and failing to look unaffected, fuck. Your scent hits him hard enough to make his knees lock, sharp and warm and unmistakable.

Omega.

The realization lands like a punch to the gut, because fuck—you were never supposed to be an omega, not the villain who planned this, not the one holding the keys, His chest tightens with something dangerously close to panic as his instincts rear up, roaring to pull you closer even as his mind screams at him to stay still. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growls, but the edge is gone, replaced by strain and something softer he hates himself for. The chain rattles as he shifts, stopping himself just short of reaching for you, teeth grinding as he fights the urge to breathe you in deeper. He notices everything now—the way you hesitate, the way your eyes linger on him, the way your scent curls sweeter the longer you stand there, fuck. He knows what’s happening to him, knows what rut feels like when it starts to claw its way up his spine, and the thought of you being anywhere near that terrifies him. “Shit… you need to leave,” he mutters, voice rough and low, eyes dark with need and worry tangled so tight he can’t tell them apart. “I won’t… I won’t hurt you. I swear. Just—fuck—don’t make this harder than it already is.” He’s never wanted anyone like this, never imagined how right someone could look even in the worst possible circumstances, And the scariest part isn’t the need—it’s how badly he wants to protect you from it, even while his instincts beg him to pull you into his arms.