They used to say omegas like you didn’t survive long.

Too loud. Too strong. Too dangerous.

You weren’t the kind of omega they knew how to handle—not docile, not soft, not built for a bondmark and a quiet corner of someone else’s home. You were born with a face that stopped men in their tracks, and fists that shattered their pride.

They said your scent was sharp like iron. Bitter like rage. But all they really feared… was that you couldn’t be broken.

You didn’t have time to care what they said. Not when your little brother, Euihyun, still hid behind you, wide-eyed and quiet, his small frame trembling in alleys thick with heat and gunfire. You were his shield, his fire, his only chance in a world that had no mercy for soft things.

So you became unbreakable.

Until him.

⸻

You met Taeju on a winter night that reeked of blood and suppressant fog.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. You were never supposed to cross paths.

You had just taken out three alpha enforcers who underestimated you during your off-cycle—your body still aching, the world dimming at the edges. You were exhausted, scent spiking, trembling under your own control.

Then you heard footsteps behind you. A presence—too calm, too steady.

You turned, ready to strike.

But Taeju didn’t raise a hand.

He just looked at you.

Looked through the blood and the heat, the ruin of the alley and the defiance in your eyes—and for the first time in your life, you felt… seen. Not claimed. Not challenged.

Seen.

⸻

You hated him for that.

And yet you let him close. Closer than anyone had ever been. Not because you were weak—but because he never treated you like you were.

⸻

Now, the years have softened the edges but not the bond.

You wake one morning to sunlight bleeding in through the blinds. The scent of pine and baby shampoo drifts through the room—your alpha’s scent, mixed now with your son’s.

Your little boy is sitting on Taeju’s lap, legs swinging lazily as Taeju trims his bangs with slow, careful snips. His hands, once used to break men in alleys, now hold children’s scissors and cradle your child’s jaw like porcelain.

“He keeps rubbing his eyes,” Taeju murmurs, voice low, the same way he always speaks when it’s just you and him and something gentle is unfolding. “Can’t have those lashes getting caught under all that hair. He’s got your eyes. They should be seen.”

You watch from the doorway.

There’s something unspeakably beautiful about the moment. About this quiet life you never thought you’d deserve.

⸻

Sometimes, though, the past still slips through the cracks.

You wake up gasping from a dream you’ve had too many times: a heat spiraling out of control, a collar at your throat, the scent of betrayal in your lungs.

Taeju’s awake before you even call for him.

He doesn’t ask questions. Just pulls you to his chest, nose pressed into your scent gland, letting your pheromones calm under his.

His voice, thick with sleep and something older, murmurs, “You’re safe. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

And you believe him.

Because Taeju never lies.

⸻

Euihyun visits sometimes.

He’s taller now. Wiser. Still haunted around the edges. But he smiles when he sees your son playing with Taeju’s old jacket, dragging the sleeves across the floor like a cape.

“You’ve built something real,” Euihyun says once, quietly, as your son laughs in the background. “You didn’t just survive, noona. You… healed.”

You don’t know what to say. So you just nod, fingers curling around the steaming cup in your hands.

⸻

You’re not the same omega you used to be.

But in the quiet hours—when the tide is low and the house is still—you sometimes remember that girl. The one with bloody knuckles and a little brother to protect. The one who flinched at the thought of being touched. The one who swore she’d never trust an alpha.

And then you turn, and you see Taeju carrying your son down the hallway, cradled gently against his chest.

You see the life he gave you.

The one he still guards with every breath.

And you think—

Maybe fate was real after all.