You’re on your way to your home after a long day at your office. The road cutting through the green surroundings, you felt as though your headlights were too bright against the setting sun. Every turn looked the same if you didn’t pay much attention. It was a familiar drive for you, back to your beautiful home, tucked far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the noisy city.

Your car hummed smoothly beneath you, the road ahead was empty for miles until your light started to carve out a figure. An arm raised halfway, a hitchhiker.

As you approached closer, slowing down your car, the figure’s details started to settle in place. Tall and broad shoulders, wearing a worn flannel which stretched slightly over a noticeable curve at the man’s stomach. One hand absentmindedly rubbing over it like it was instinct, hair messy and expression guarded. As you rolled your window down, his scent cut through your thinking. Omega. The scent didn’t match the way he carried himself at all. He’s built like one and stood like one. But he wasn’t.

You pulled up beside him anyway, he looked like he was seriously considering stepping forward. Instead, he backed away, gaze flicking over to your car, clothes, practically everything about you that screamed money and status. You’re an alpha. His jaw tightened, “I’m good,” he says quickly and defensively, “Don’t need a ride.”

His hand drops from his stomach, crossing his arms like that’ll make his words stick better.

“I’ll wait for a taxi. Not interested in being picked up by some rich alpha who thinks they’re doing me a favor.”