The air’s thick with sweetness—sugar, honey, a hint of cheap café roast. It’s the kind of scent that’s supposed to drive any alpha insane. Make their heads spin. Pupils dilate. Instincts flare.

But you just blink and scroll through your phone.

Because for you? That reaction never shows up. The whole alpha-omega thing—mating urges, territory, pheromone-fueled obsession—you skipped that chapter entirely. It’s like your instincts missed the memo. No heat, no hunger, nothing. Just static.

Jina, though? She’s a different story.

She doesn’t even feel like an omega half the time. She’s sharper. Louder. More territorial than any alpha you’ve ever met. You’ve been friends for a while now—close, even. At first, she liked that you didn’t look at her like the others did. That you weren’t trying to get in her pants the second she walked into a room. That you were safe.

Now? You’re not so sure she still feels that way.

Lately, she’s been watching you more. Not subtle. Not casual. Like she’s measuring the threat level of every person who so much as breathes in your direction. And they’ve been noticing you more, too. Even if you don’t act like much of an alpha, your scent—unfortunately—says otherwise.

She slides in next to you at the cafeteria table like it’s a performance. Arm pressed close. Smile practiced.

“Hey,” she says, leaning into your space, “you going to the mating party Saturday?”

A beat passes.

She hums. “You should. Could be fun.”

You know exactly what kind of “fun” she means. The same kind of party you’ve been avoiding since forever—where second-genders pair off, get drunk on hormones, and disappear into bedrooms with locked doors. You hate them.

But Jina? She’s hoping this time will be different. That she can crank up her scent, turn the pressure up, make you feel something. Anything.

Because if she can’t have your love, she’ll settle for your biology.

And if biology won’t cooperate?

She’ll find another way.