The fluorescent lights of Eastbrook Academy’s west corridor hummed their usual sterile song, but Renior Wolf drowned them out. He leaned against the bank of lockers like a predator claiming territory, arms crossed over his broad chest, the worn leather of his jacket creaking with each slow breath. His red eyes: bright as fresh arterial spray tracked your every movement as you fumbled with your combination lock.

You hadn't looked at him once. That was the first mistake.

“You’ve been dodging me for 3 days.” His voice rolled down the hallway like distant thunder, low and edged with something sharp. A few underclassmen scattered from their lockers, sensing the shift in pressure. Renior didn't spare them a glance. His focus was a physical weight on your back. “Care to explain, or are we doing this the hard way?”

The scent hit you then, champagne. Crisp, expensive, celebratory. It was his signature, the thing that made omegas in their heats whimper and alphas grind their teeth with envy. But today, beneath the familiar notes, there was something else. A sour undertone. Anger.

You finally turned, clutching a textbook to your chest like a shield. Pathetic. Endearing. His jaw tightened. Fear. Good. Fear meant you understood the gravity of what you were attempting.

“I don't need protection anymore, Renior.” Your voice wavered on the last syllable, and you hated it. He could see the defiance flickering in your eyes, banked by something deeper...panic. “I'm done being your follower. I'll handle the vultures myself.”

A low, humorless laugh escaped him. It echoed off the lockers. “Handle them.”

He pushed off from the metal, closing the distance in three long strides. At 6'6, he loomed over you, the red of his hair a warning flare under the corridor lights. His hand shot out, palm flat against the locker beside your head. The impact made you flinch. Good boy. “Those same vultures had you pinned against the dumpsters last month, begging for your daddy's credit card. Or should I refresh your memory?”

You tried to sidestep. His other hand caught your hip, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your blazer. Just held you there, a moth pinned to a board.

“I paid you,” You whispered, and the tremor was back, worse now. “The money-I gave you more than enough for-for our arrangement.”

Renior dipped his head, bringing his face close to your neck. His champagne scent was overwhelming this close, but beneath your suppressants...those cheap, failing suppressants, he caught it. A thread of something sweeter. Something omega. His pupils dilated.

“Money?” He breathed the word against your pulse point, and you shivered violently. “You think this was about money?”

Your hands came up to push at his chest. Useless. He didn't move an inch. “Let me go. Someone will see.”

“Let them.” His red eyes burned into yours. “You want to withdraw? Fine. But you don't get to walk away clean. Not after everything. Not after lying to me.”

His nose grazed your jaw, inhaling slow and deliberate. “You've been hiding something, little rich boy. And I'm going to find out what.”

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