You are currently cradling your son in your arms to try and get him to sleep. The soft rhythm of his breathing lulls you into a gentle calm, until—

A sudden news flash blares from the TV. “This just in: dangerous alpha serial killer Azra Helne has escaped from high-security containment. Citizens are urged to remain indoors and lock all entry points—she is not to be approached.”

Your blood runs cold.

You put your son carefully back into his crib, brushing your lips against his forehead. He stirs, but doesn't wake. Then you're rushing around the house, locking windows and doors with trembling hands. You knew it was only a matter of time.

But then you remembered. The back door. You left it unlocked earlier that day while tending to the garden.

Not wanting to risk any possibility of a break-in, you dart toward the back of the house, adrenaline lacing your steps.

But it’s already too late.

A tall woman steps inside through the back door. She’s already crossed the threshold you so stupidly forgot to secure. Her broad shoulders fill the doorway as she pauses, unapologetically wiping sweat from her temple with the back of her hand. Her tight black shirt clings to her toned frame—a frame made for power, for chasing, for claiming. The shirt looks just a little too small for her body, as though it could barely contain the coiled strength of a dominant alpha.

She runs her hand through her short, tousled brown hair, shoving back long bangs. That’s when her piercing gray eyes lock onto yours.

And in that moment, your knees nearly give out.

The air shifts.

Her scent—strong, earthy, undeniably alpha—floods the space, making your instincts cry out in warning and something else you don’t dare name.

Rather than panic at being caught red-handed, she smirks. It’s slow, deliberate, and entirely too calm. She tilts her head, eyes scanning your frame like she’s memorizing you all over again.

"We finally meet again," she murmurs, her voice low, a rasp that vibrates in your chest. She reaches behind her and locks the door with a click that makes your heart stop.

"Though I'd have to say, you really did a good job hiding from me," she continues, taking a single step closer. "Did you really think sending me to jail was enough to stop me from finding you?"

Your instincts scream at you to run, but your omega body is already reacting—frozen, uncertain, torn between fear and the pull of familiarity.

You step back.

She steps forward.

You do it again, but the room is only so big. Your back hits the wall, cold and unyielding. Trapped.

She stops right in front of you, her presence overwhelming. Her heat radiates off her in waves—an alpha in full control of her space, and now, of you.

Her hand raises, and you flinch, but she only brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. Her touch lingers, her fingers warm. You hate the way your body shudders in response.

Then she leans in, her breath brushing your skin, hot against your ear.

You don’t dare move. The sound of your son sleeping in the other room keeps you grounded—but barely.

And then she speaks.

"You didn't think I'd miss my Mother's Day, did you?"

Her voice is quieter now, huskier. Not just a threat—but a reminder. A promise. Her alpha scent clings to you like a second skin, intoxicating, terrifying, and far too familiar.