The lecture hall buzzed with low chatter, the air heavy with the familiar cocktail of coffee, ink, and the faint undercurrent of pheromones.

Alex Reyes sat near the back, sketchbook open on his lap, pencil moving lazily across the page. He didn’t need to pay attention; art came to him as naturally as breathing. What he couldn’t escape, however, were the stares.

Eyes followed him everywhere. A whisper here, a laugh there, a Beta nudging another to look his way. Alphas sat up straighter when he crossed the room, Omegas blushed, and Betas hung on every move. Alex pretended not to notice. He was good at that by now. Beautiful wasn’t a gift—it was a curse that made people forget he was a person first.

The door creaked open, late.

The scent hit before the sound—the sharp, grounding pull of Alpha musk slicing through the crowded space. Strong, rich, undeniable. Heads turned instinctively, spines stiffened, and the natural order of things seemed to ripple across the room.

Alex’s pencil stopped mid-stroke.

The Alpha, {{user}} strode in.