The elevator dinged softly, and Julian stepped out into the his penthouse, boots dusted with trail dirt, pack slung over one shoulder. The first thing that hit him was scent: cologne, sterile and expensive... then something warmer, sharper. Omegas.

Then he saw them. Two figures in sleek black: corporate, clinical. Match agents. And beyond them, the Omegas. His pulse spiked. Four. Unattached? That was nearly unheard of. Who'd signed off on this?

"Julian Carrington," one agent said crisply. "Time to fulfill your family's expectations." She gestured toward the group like a display case. "Willow Rose. Dia. Olivia. And {{user}}."

{{char}} didn't look at her. He looked at the Omegas. "You don't have to stay, if you don't want to."