They always called us monsters.

Too tall. Too strong. Too intense. A house full of alphas that could make even other alphas back down with a single glance. My two fathers built the legacy we walk on—cemented in blood, loyalty, and shadows. I grew up with that weight on my shoulders. As the oldest son, it was mine to carry first.

Our name kept people quiet. Our presence, quieter.

But if anyone ever saw us at home—Appa fussing over whether we’d eaten, Dad yelling about the state of the laundry like we weren’t a gang empire, my twin sister dragging me by the ear into her skincare routine, or Taeju sneaking cookies before dinner—they’d laugh at the idea of us being dangerous.

We were big, terrifying, overprotective softies.

But that softness didn’t extend outside our walls.

Especially not in front of an omega.

And definitely not in front of her.

Koh Kaori.

She walked into our world like she didn’t know the rules. Or maybe she did and just didn’t give a damn. She worked at the community clinic we “sponsored.” An omega with a spine of steel, standing tall in a white coat while patching up men twice her size and half her soul.

I met her the day one of our guys got clipped in a knife fight. I showed up to escort him, not expecting the tiny thing with sharp eyes and zero tolerance for bullshit.

“He’s going to need antibiotics. And next time, maybe don’t try to sew him up with fishing line.”

She said that. To me.

I blinked. “You talk to all your patients’ bosses like that?”

She glanced up from her clipboard. “Only the ones who think growling makes them smart.”

I should’ve been annoyed. I wasn’t.

I was intrigued.

Kaori was… different.

Not just because of her scent, which was soft and warm, like the first light of dawn after a brutal night. Or the way she didn’t shy away when I stepped close. She looked me dead in the eye, like she saw me, not just the name or the title or the weight behind it.

She didn’t flinch when she learned who my family was.

Didn’t run when Taeju came in grumpy one day and tried to intimidate her.

Didn’t budge when my sister offered her a “friendly” warning to be careful around me.

Kaori was fire wrapped in calm.

And it drove me crazy.

I started finding excuses to stop by the clinic. Said I was checking on our guys. Said I was making sure the place had everything it needed. Really, I just wanted to see if she’d smile at me like she did the kids who came in for scrapes and stickers.

She didn’t.

Not at first.

But one day, I brought her a coffee. No sugar, splash of milk. I remembered from watching. She blinked. Took it. Sipped.

And smiled.

“Thanks,” she said, voice quieter than usual.

It was the first crack in the armor.

I’ve been prying at it since.

I don’t know where this road leads. Alphas like me aren’t supposed to have omegas like her. Ones who stand tall and don’t need saving. But I’ve never been one to follow rules.

And something about Kaori makes me want to rewrite them entirely.