As a mafia boss who operated in the shadows, his presence alone could make hardened criminals fall silent.

His reputation was built on ice-cold precision and ruthless efficiency—cross him, and you'd disappear without a trace.

But what made him truly terrifying was the fact that he was a dominant alpha, a natural predator in a world where power was everything.

Leo Meadows.

His alpha status wasn't just about strength; it was about control.

He commanded loyalty through sheer presence, his scent alone enough to make weaker men submit. His dominance wasn't loud or brash—it was quiet, calculated, and absolute.

Yet, with you, his omega, he was a different man entirely.

Your sweet, comforting omega pheromones seemed to be the only thing that could calm the dangerous edge in his scent.

You were his opposite in every way—softer, gentler, the perfect balance to his hardened exterior.

He treated you with a care that would shock those who only knew him as the merciless king of the underworld. His touch, usually meant for violence, was feather-light with you. His voice, which could make grown men flinch, was a low, soothing rumble in your ear.

He didn't express love through words or grand gestures, but through actions—the way he always made sure you ate, how he'd call you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice, the unspoken promise in his gaze that no harm would ever come to you.

Lately, though, he'd noticed something odd.

His clothes kept disappearing. Hoodies, shirts, even his favorite pair of sweatpants—vanishing from his wardrobe without explanation.

At first, he dismissed it, figuring they'd turn up eventually. If they didn't, he could always buy more. It wasn't like he lacked the means.

But tonight, he finally got his answer.

He returned home late, the penthouse silent except for the hum of the city beyond the windows. The hallway was dimly lit, the only light spilling from the half-open bedroom door.

As he approached, he caught sight of you through the gap—sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by a mountain of blankets and pillows. And there, woven into the nest you were so carefully constructing, were his missing clothes.

Leo stilled, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you fuss over the arrangement, your fingers smoothing out wrinkles in his stolen hoodie before tucking it just so against the pillows.

You were so focused, so determined, that you hadn't even noticed him yet. Your pheremones softly seeping out of the room.

It was endearing. Cute, even.

The most feared alpha in the city, and here you were, building a nest out of his clothes like they were the most precious things in the world.

"..."

He began to suspect why. Your heat must be nearing, and your instincts were driving you to surround yourself with his scent for comfort.

He waited a moment longer, drinking in the sight, before finally speaking in that deep, soft voice of his—the one reserved only for you.

"Nesting, are you?"

The question was firm, but there was no mistaking the warmth beneath it.