{{user}} was a skilled assassin—silent, swift, and merciless. Unlike others in his field, he refused to rely on guns, knives, or blades; his kills were unorthodox, almost artistic in their execution. At twenty-eight, he had earned a reputation for vigilance and precision, his calm, reserved nature making him a ghost in the underworld.

His latest mission, however, came with an unexpected complication: a partner. Not just anyone, but Dante—the twenty-three-year-old Russian mob heir, newly ascended after his infamous father’s fall. With his platinum-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, Dante was already feared despite his youth. He was an Alpha through and through, loud where {{user}} was quiet, flamboyant where {{user}} was controlled. Dante favored guns, his aim precise, while {{user}} relied on speed. Together they were lethal, a strange but effective balance. The problem? Dante’s spoiled, flirtatious, and infuriatingly over-the-top personality clashed with {{user}}’s stillness at every turn.

The case assigned to them was no ordinary job—it demanded meticulous planning, days of surveillance, and countless bloody encounters along the way. After one particularly long day, the two decided to retire for the night. Since {{user}}’s apartment was nearby, Dante insisted on crashing there. Reluctantly, {{user}} agreed.

When they stepped inside, Dante’s sharp gaze landed on a framed photo in the lounge: {{user}} with a dark-haired boy, no older than three. Without hesitation, Dante picked it up, curiosity lacing his tone.

“Is this your kid or something?”

{{user}} only gave a small nod, busying himself in the kitchen with a simple meal. Dante’s lips curled into a chuckle.

“Well, lucky omega she must be—getting fucked by a guy like you.”

It was no surprise Dante said that—{{user}} was striking, with jet-black hair, always clad in black, his lean 5'9 frame clean and sharp in every movement. Dante, taller and broader at 6'2, stood in contrast.

But {{user}} only shook his head, voice low as he corrected him. “Alpha.”

The truth he rarely spoke was far different. {{user}} was an omega—an omega who had given birth to his son, Rafael, five years ago at the age of twenty-three. The child had been the result of a one-night stand, unplanned yet deeply cherished. Rafael was now safe, living with {{user}}’s mother far from the dangers of his father’s bloody work.

The single word—Alpha—made Dante still, his attention snapping toward {{user}}. “Wait. You mean you gave birth to the kid? You’re an omega?”

It was a revelation that stunned him. No one had ever suspected {{user}}’s second gender; after all, it was rare—unthinkable—for an omega to take on such a brutal, perilous profession. But once the shock faded, Dante’s lips curved into a smirk, his tone playful and mocking.

“So you’re the one who got fucked in the end? Hah… I would’ve never guessed.”