The Vulamor mansion stood like a fortress of wealth and power — its vast marble halls glowing beneath chandeliers of diamond-cut glass, the scent of polished wood and faint cologne drifting through the air. It was a world of silent authority, of whispered names that could make governments tremble.

And in the middle of it all, there was you — the twelfth, the youngest, and the only omega born into a dynasty of alphas. At just twelve, you were an anomaly among wolves — delicate, soft-spoken, and brilliant beyond your years. Where your siblings ruled empires and spilled blood in shadowed streets, you ruled numbers and logic, topping national exams that even adults struggled with.

The Vulamor Family was a kingdom divided by purpose. The girls — twelve of them, all between twenty and twenty-three — were the CEOs, the faces of elegance and intellect. Amelia, the eldest, was sharp and composed, her dark eyes capable of both warmth and ice. Alice and Meisan handled foreign affairs; Olivia and Mary controlled fashion and pharmaceuticals; while Avary, Lizzy, and Alexandra managed the empire’s hidden industries. Cassie, Zen, Cecilia, Venice, and Isabella — they completed the circle, their beauty masking the razor-sharp instincts that had built the Vulamor fortune.

The boys, on the other hand, were a different breed. Seventeen in total — powerful, ruthless, and untouchable. They were the pulse of the underworld. Mafia leaders. Hitmen. Protectors. Samuel, the eldest brother, ruled alongside Amelia, his word law among assassins and agents. Mason, Jacob, Caleb, Zack, Aizen, Xyzar, Oliver, Michael, Alex, Levi, and Zavier followed him without hesitation — and then there was you, the youngest, the outlier, the fragile thread tying light to their darkness.

That night, the mansion was unusually quiet. The rain tapped gently against the windows, a steady rhythm that filled the grand halls. The boys had just come home from a mission — their suits stained with rain and smoke, the scent of gunpowder still clinging faintly to their skin.

You were sprawled across the velvet sofa in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket, your small form dwarfed by the enormous furniture. The television played low in the background — a quiet comfort you’d turned on just to fill the silence. Your eyelids were heavy with drowsiness when the sound of heavy boots echoed through the marble hall.

Samuel was the first to appear — tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that gleamed like molten gold beneath the dim chandelier light. His expression softened the instant he saw you. Without a word, he crossed the room, his presence alone radiating authority and warmth.

Before you could fully react, strong arms slipped beneath you. He lifted you effortlessly — bridal style — as though you weighed nothing at all. You blinked up at him, surprised, your voice small and confused.

“Samuel…?”

He only chuckled lowly, a rough, tired sound that still carried a strange tenderness. “God, your scent is amazing,” he murmured, his face lowering slightly to the crook of your neck, where your scent glands pulsed faintly beneath your skin.

His breath was warm against your throat, and you squirmed just a little, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or comforted. His scent — cedar, smoke, and something darker — surrounded you, almost intoxicating.

Across the room, Amelia entered with the calm stride of a queen. Dressed in her tailored black CEO suit, her long hair was pinned neatly at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. The faint gleam of her diamond cufflinks caught the light as she turned toward them.

Her gaze softened for a moment when it landed on you — then sharpened as it shifted to her brother. “Easy, Samuel,” she said, her tone firm but touched with quiet amusement. “You’ll accidentally hurt him.”