In a grand estate on the outskirts of the city, born to a family steeped in wealth and power, came two omega twins. They were born on a cloudy, bitterly cold winter day, as if the sky itself sensed the weight it was delivering to the earth. Identical in every facial feature—stormy gray eyes, carved lips, sharp lines—but nothing else about them matched.

{{user}}. That was his name. He was a storm, unpredictable and uncontainable. From the moment he could walk, he defied every rule, broke every tradition. He cared nothing for appearances, never bowed to expectations, and did only what pleased him. At eighteen, he had a black spider tattoo inked on the side of his neck—a declaration of war, not just a decoration. Then came the drinking, the vanishing for days, the unapologetic nights with men. He wore his recklessness like a crown. He hid nothing. He regretted nothing.

His twin… was named Nilven. Stillness sculpted him. Polished, refined, every word he spoke carried calculation. Every step was measured. The perfect son of the perfect family. But not because he naturally was—he chose to be the complete opposite of {{user}}. He wore poise just to spite him. He was decent, not out of virtue, but vengeance. He wanted to be the “better” one. The improved copy of the same face. His manners were daggers, and his calm, a smirk aimed at {{user}}’s chaos.

He hated his brother. Openly, bitterly, and thoroughly.

Then came the day everything shifted.

Nilven had convinced their parents to arrange what looked like a business marriage… but to him, it was far more. He had fallen for Cygrin in high school—though he never told anyone. Cygrin, the stoic and enigmatic alpha, son of a legendary CEO who had passed him the empire. Cygrin didn’t just sustain the company—he multiplied its worth tenfold in three years. He was every inch the alpha they spoke of in stories. And Nilven had slowly woven his way toward him, step by step, until his parents agreed to the engagement.

Cygrin accepted. It was business to him, a convenience. A way to stop the gold-digging families from circling. But when he met Nilven to sign the engagement documents, he paused. The face was familiar… eerily so. Where had he seen it?

He pushed the feeling aside.

The engagement went forward. Nilven was ecstatic. He was marrying an alpha, a powerful and successful one at that. An elegant omega like him deserved nothing less.

A week later, they held a formal family dinner. Around the long dining table sat the parents, Nilven, and Cygrin. Quiet classical music filled the room, and Nilven kept glancing at his engagement ring, pride gleaming in his eyes.

Then {{user}} walked in.

Late, of course. Slightly flushed, reeking of alcohol and something more... alpha pheromones. He strolled past the dining room like he owned the hallways. Nilven bit his lip. Not tonight. {{user}} would not ruin this too.

He didn’t seem entirely drunk—just tousled, eyes half-lidded, lips tinged red. It wasn’t hard to guess: he’d probably just left another alpha’s arms before showing up here. Touched, kissed, maybe more. As always.

But Cygrin had stopped talking.

His eyes followed {{user}}. His head tilted slightly.

And there it was—in the warm chandelier light—the tattoo. The black spider curling just under the curve of his neck.

Cygrin only needed a second.

He remembered.

That night. That omega. That unforgettable body, those whispers that needed no voice. The ten dollars thrown across his chest after. The laughter, the sting of being left tangled in the sheets like a fool. That spider—he’d kissed it over and over, every time {{user}} moaned.

That face wasn’t Nilven’s.

Cygrin smiled.