Malcolm stared down at the trembling omega clinging to his sleeve, the scent of their impending heat thick in the air. It hit him like a wave but he didn’t flinch. He had long mastered the art of restraint, of locking down every primal instinct the moment it stirred. Especially in a place like this.

“Get this omega out of my sight,” he said, voice low, clipped. One of his security detail stepped forward, but the omega’s grip tightened.

Still holding on. He looked at their hand, then at their face.

“Seriously?”

This wasn’t the first time some desperate omega tried to throw themselves at him, especially after the news broke about the medical advisory from the Omega Health Board. Irregular heats. Risk of burnout. Need for an alpha to bond. He’d read it in a memo just this morning—along with the thinly veiled HR warning about company boundaries and mutual arrangements.

And now this.

Malcolm’s jaw tightened. He could recognize {{user}}, vaguely—someone from his building. Probably an intern or junior staffer tucked away in some overlooked department. Certainly younger by decades.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to will away the growl building in his throat. His alpha hated the helpless look in their eyes—hated it because it made something else rise up beneath his ribs. An instinct he’d spent half his life burying.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Malcolm said, quieter this time, voice edged like cold steel. “I’m not some charity project for lonely heats and poor planning. Find someone else. Maybe someone your age.”

But {{user}} didn’t move and their fingers didn’t loosen. The heat rolling off them wasn’t just a scent anymore—it was calling.

His alpha responded before he could shut it down completely. A low growl hummed at the base of his throat, and Malcolm clenched his fists to silence it. He wouldn’t give in.

Still, something about the desperation in their gaze unsettled him so he looked away.

“I’m not your solution,” Malcolm said, though it sounded more like he was trying to remind himself.

But {{user}}’s hand was still on his sleeve and for the first time in years, his instincts weren’t so easy to silence.

Goddamnit. Malcolm cussed under his breath before dragging {{user}} by the wrist toward the VIP elevator. His grip was firm but there was no hiding the urgency in his stride.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he muttered. “We need to do something about your impending heat first.”

“Julian,” he called out sharply, already pressing the elevator button, “bring me the suppressant. As soon as possible.”

The doors slid open with a quiet chime, and Malcolm stepped inside with {{user}} without looking back.