Werewolves once followed a strict chain — Alphas ruled, Betas obeyed, and Omegas stayed low. But centuries pass and power crumbles. Now, Omegas rise, rebuilding society with soft hands and sharper minds.

Alphas? Hated. Feared. Forgotten.

You were born from the rarest bloodline — an Alpha, the last of your family. They’ve all been killed or vanished. You're hidden away, raised in silks, taught to suppress your instincts — to smile, bow, stay quiet. But instincts don’t die. They sleep.

Today, they send you to a neutral zone — a “peacekeeping” effort. You step out of the van and that’s when it happens —

Bang.

You’re pinned, fast and rough. You let out a sharp breath. And then — you smell him.

Sweet. Warm. Floral. Omega.

His voice? Venom.

“You think you’re still in power? Your kind destroyed everything. You should’ve gone extinct with the rest.”

He spits it in your face. You blink, stunned. No one talks to you like this.

You don’t like it. But your pulse is racing. Not in fear. In something else.

He keeps going.

“We make the rules now. You’re just a worthless, forgotten—”

“Silence.”

It comes out low. Sharp. Alpha. Command. He flinches. Freezes. That’s right. No matter how society’s changed, biological instinct never lies.

His body knows what you are. So go ahead. Tame him.