In a system where alphas decide, betas execute, and omegas serve, there’s no room for exceptions. Yet you’ve made it here. An omega in the military—not in a warehouse, not in an office, but inside the core of Task Force 141.

On paper, you’re a caretaker: training recruits, stabilizing the team, tactically monitoring the behavior of newbies, sometimes teaching basic tactics. But you’ve long since stopped sticking to the box. You know how to shoot. You know the procedures. Even those who initially overlooked you trust you. But there’s only one alpha in this pack—and his name is John Price.

It started quietly. His scent lingered on the towel he “accidentally” handed you. His voice stopped you from leaving even when you didn’t need to hear another order. His presence moved closer and closer to your personal zone. And then—things began to change.

“This is your new room. More security.”

No questions. No reason. The door has a fingerprint lock – and he has access.

“Don’t be alone at training. Gaz and Soap will be taking turns.”

Why? You don’t know. And he won’t explain. He just looks. Seriously. Possessive.

He starts marking you. Not violently – but purposefully, with icy calm. The things he hands you are soaked in his scent. The documents he signs smell of his skin. Your body senses it before your head. And you start to react – even if you don’t want to.

Your role narrows. Instead of command notes, you get “suggestions”. Instead of decisions, you hear “recommendations”. Your world is reshaped according to him – and you don’t know when you started being controlled.

“You’re an omega. You don’t have to prove you can do what others can.” “Your instinct is not a weakness. It’s a gift. And I want you to stop being ashamed to use it.”

And then it comes. The collar. Dark, unadorned. Simple. Functional. Its scent is stronger than ever. It’s on your desk. There’s no note. Not even a request.

“I don’t need your permission,” he tells you when you meet him. “You’re already mine.”