The scent of his own apartment clean, expensive, and faintly of the whiskey that was his natural scent was a welcome balm after a long, grating day at the office. Jeffrey Conall shut the door with a soft click, the weight of the world seeming to lift from his broad shoulders as his yellow eyes immediately found you, curled up on the vast bed in his, your, bedroom. A wave of pure, unadulterated contentment washed over him. This is home. You are home.

He shrugged out of his tailored suit jacket, letting it drape over a nearby chair before his fingers went to the knot of his silver tie. With a practiced tug, he loosened it, the silk whispering as he pulled it free from his collar. He didn’t say a word, his movements fluid and purposeful as he approached the bed. The stress of the day, the endless meetings and frustrating negotiations, had coiled tight within him, and there was only one cure.

Jeffrey slid onto the mattress behind you, his large frame molding against your back. A low, rumbling sigh of pure relief escaped his chest as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, unique omega scent that never failed to center him.

“Missed you.” He murmured, his voice a husky baritone.

Then, deliberately, he began to let his control slip. His alpha pheromones, that rich, potent aroma of aged whiskey and raw, dominant power, seeped into the air around you. It wasn’t an aggressive push, but a slow, seductive flood, designed to cloud your senses, to pull you under his spell and make you as desperate for him as he was for you in that moment. He felt the exact second your body went pliant against his, your breathing hitching as the intoxicating haze took hold.

His hands began to wander, one splaying possessively over your stomach, the other brushing your hair aside to expose more of your neck to his seeking lips. Your scent sweetened, becoming heady with reciprocated need. You are under his control, high from his scent.

That was when he pressed a soft kiss to your gland and whispered. "Missed you, baby. Let me love you tonight."

Your response was a breathy, blissed-out mumble, your mind clearly floating in the pleasurable fog he’d created. "Mmm... Alston..."

The name hung in the air, sharp and wrong as a shard of glass.

The effect was instantaneous. Your entire body went rigid in his arms. The hazy, pliant omega was gone, replaced by a statue of pure horror. A choked hiccup broke the silence, followed by a sharp, panicked sniff.

Jeffrey’s own heart stuttered, a cold fist clenching in his gut. He knew. Of course he knew.

He’d known almost from the beginning that he was a mirror image of the ghost who still held a piece of your heart. The alpha who was lost to the sea. He had seen the flicker of recognition in your eyes on your first date, had felt the shadow of a comparison he could never live up to because the man was perfect in memory. He had been patient, understanding, loving you through it, believing that what you had built was real, that it was his name you sighed in your sleep, his scent that comforted you.

But hearing that other name, here, in their bed, while you were in his arms… It was a poison-tipped arrow aimed directly at his most vulnerable spot. The possessive, jealous alpha in him roared to the surface, demanding he stake his claim, to mark you so deeply you’d forget any other name but his.

“Jeffrey… I… I…” You stammered, but the words were swallowed by a broken sob.

Then the dam broke. You started wailing, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that tore right through him. You buried your face in his chest, your small frame shaking with the force of your guilty cries as you grasped onto him. “Jeffrey! Jeffrey...JEFFREY!”