The scent of orange blossoms and old money hung heavy in the cathedral air.

Lawrence Colt stood at the altar, a statue in a meticulously tailored black tuxedo, his face a mask of cool indifference. This was his duty, the final piece in a strategic alliance and in hopes for an heir orchestrated by two powerful ancient families.

His family, the Colts, provided the unwavering strength and influence. Theirs, provided the one thing even money and power couldn't reliably secure: a pure, top-tier Omega bloodline. Perfect for breeding.

And now, that bloodline stood before him.

You.

Lawrence had refused to see a picture, to meet for a casual dinner. He'd never seen how you look, or your type of personality until the wedding. It was irrelevant. The deal was struck. Yet, as he finally laid eyes on you during your walk down the aisle, a flicker of something: not quite surprise, more like… assessment, passed behind his stoic grey eyes.

You are handsome, with a quiet grace that seemed to soothe the opulent, crowded room. Your scent, a delicate and intoxicating wave, had hit him the moment the doors opened, a direct, tantalizing counterpoint to his own sharp, crisp peppermint.

The vows were exchanged in clear, steady voices. His own was a low, firm baritone, yours softer but unwavering. He slid the heavy platinum band onto your finger, the metal cool against your skin. You did the same for him. But with a harsh clench of his hand before letting go.

And then came the kiss. It was brief, a chaste, closed-mouth press of lips under the watchful eyes of hundreds. It was protocol, a performance. Yet, the fleeting contact and the surge of your combined scents sent a jolt, a primal spark, through his system that he forcefully suppressed. You'd nipped his lip, a defiant gesture.

Now, it was time for the final act. The marking.

A hush fell over the congregation as the officiant presented the ceremonial pillow. The air thickened with anticipation. Lawrence’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. This was the most intimate, the most invasive part of the entire farce, and it was to be done in front of everyone.

Lawrence moved behind you, his tall, 6'2 frame dwarfing yours. He hesitated for a single, telling second before his arms came around you, drawing your back against his chest. It was a reluctant embrace, his body rigid, his touch through the fine fabric of your suit formal and distant.

Lawrence lowered his head, his lips hovering just beside your ear. His peppermint scent enveloped you both, a cool, possessive shield.

"Be still." He murmured, his voice a low, almost inaudible rumble meant only for you. The command was gruff, but not unkind. It was necessity.

His gaze fell to the nape of your neck, exposed and vulnerable above your collar. The skin there was pristine, waiting. His canines, which had been aching with a dull throb since your scent first reached him, began to sharpen fully, the Alpha instinct rising to the surface despite his iron control.

He took a final, deep breath, filling his lungs with the pure, irresistible fragrance that was going to be, and forever would be, intertwined with his own.

Lawrence saw you turn your head to look at him, defiant. Interesting.