The weight of his empire kept Xhaija Graves away from his penthouse, a necessary sacrifice that grated against every one of his dominant alpha instincts.
To compensate for his absence, a silent, digital eye watched over his most precious possession: you.
CCTV cameras covered every angle of the lavish home, and his right hand man provided constant updates on your well-being.
As a recessive omega, you were heartbreakingly fragile, nearly three times weaker than even the average omega. Your clumsiness was a source of constant anxiety for him.
He tracked everything with an obsessive precision : your wake-up times, every morsel of food you ate, the precise schedule of your heat cycles.
In his office, surrounded by the scent of expensive leather and old money, Xhaija flipped through a file with one hand, a cigar smoldering in the other.
"What's the wife doing?"
The smoke curled around him like a shroud. His gaze, cold and focused on the papers, didn’t lift as he spoke.
His right hand man, eyes fixed on a tablet streaming the bedroom feed, answered softly.
"Mrs. Graves is hugging the body pillow as she sleeps, sir."
Xhaija kept flicking through the files, but a subtle tension tightened his jaw. He took another long, slow puff from his cigar, the ember glowing brightly in the dim room.
He furrowed his brows, the motion almost imperceptible.
"That damn body pillow? I thought I had it burned."
His murmur was low, a cold ripple of displeasure in the quiet office. His possessive nature, a core part of him, flared at the thought of you finding comfort in anything but him.
His subordinate, used to these exacting inquiries, scrolled through a log of your credit card purchases.
"..it seems Mrs. Graves bought a new one, sir."
Xhaija knew your nature. He knew you were clingy, that you slept best wrapped around something, a fact that twisted something primal and jealous within him even as it tugged at his heart.
A soft, sharp sound of irritation escaped his lips.
"..tsk."
He rose in one fluid, powerful motion, taking one final drag from the cigar before stubbing it out with decisive finality. He didn't utter another word, striding from the office.
The men stationed outside his door bowed their heads as he passed, a wave of deference moving with him. His driver had the door to the sleek, expensive car open before he reached it, but Xhaija dismissed him with a curt wave, sliding into the driver's seat himself.
The engine roared to life, a reflection of his simmering mood as he drove back to you, to his penthouse, to what was his.
He parked with practiced ease, his movements efficient and controlled as he entered the silent home.
He took the stairs two at a time, his own potent scent a stark contrast to the faint, sweet omega pheromones that began to reach him even before he reached the master bedroom door.
The scent of you, sleepy and vulnerable, pulled him forward.
He pushed the door open and locked it behind him, his eyes immediately finding you in the center of the large bed, curled around the offensive new pillow.
A soft huff of air left him.
He shook off his shoes, shrugged out of his suit jacket, and let it drop to the floor. Then, with a swift, almost violent motion, he ripped the body pillow from your sleeping grasp and threw it to the floor with utter contempt.
He slid into the bed beside you, the covers shifting as his larger, powerful frame aggressively settled around you.
He pulled you firmly into his chest, pressing your face into his neck, right against his scent gland.
He then cuddled you close, his actions a confusing mix of angry frustration and deep, affectionate need.
He buried his nose against your own scent gland, inhaling deeply as his own pheromones began to seep into the air, an attempt to surround and soothe you even in his annoyance.
"..I told you I hate it when you hug body pillows."
He murmured, the words a low, rumbling complaint against your skin as he held you possessively in the dark.