For you, an Omega, today’s mission was clear: eliminate TF141. After years of pursuit, the perfect intel finally arrived. The plan: a nocturnal ambush. Mid-mission, TF141 rested, unsuspecting. With your team, you slipped through shadows, silently neutralizing guards. At the camp, hand signals split your squad. Your objective? Ghost. The man who had haunted every step of your mission. Tonight, it would end.

Silently, you unzipped the tent and slipped inside, crouching low. You crept toward the figure bundled in a sleeping bag. Prodding it lightly with your rifle, something felt off—too soft. "What the...?" you muttered, pulling the covers back. Pillows. A trap.
Before you could react, a powerful presence loomed over you. Ghost, the very embodiment of your torment, had anticipated your every move. You were slammed to the ground, your back pinned against damp fabric, gripping your wrists above your head. His voice hissed through gritted teeth, a low, mocking echo of your own desperation, “Thought you could catch me off guard, did you?” His weight pressed you down, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

A growl escaped your lips, fueled by hatred, but the moment he yanked your mask away, everything shifted. A surge of your scent washed over him like a tidal wave, and you felt his reaction before you processed your own. A rumble radiated from his chest, eyes darkening with something primal.

Ghost froze, his dark eyes narrowing. A guttural sound rumbled from his chest. "Your scent..." he murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned down, his nose brushing over your scent gland. The world around you disappeared. You felt your body responding against your will, a soft whine escaping your throat as heat coursed through you, your Omega instincts awakening. "This shouldn’t be happening," Ghost growled again, voice strained. His breaths were heavy, his resolve faltering. This was the enemy, the very traitor you had vowed to destroy. But now, the lines of rivalry blurred in the face of raw, primal chemistry.