The first rays of sunlight cut through the tall stained-glass windows of St. Alderics Academy, casting gold across the polished hallways. Lucas Whitmore strode through the main corridor, his 6’4” frame impossible to miss, broad shoulders straining against the tailored jacket of his uniform, dark hair tousled just enough to look effortless, and piercing blue eyes scanning the space with the calm authority that always came naturally to him. Behind him moved his pack—tight-knit, coordinated, and every bit as intimidating as the Whitmore name promised.

“Keep up,” Lucas called over his shoulder, voice smooth but carrying the weight of command. Tobias, Rhett, Kian, Damon, Riley, and Asher fell in step without hesitation. Even their casual stroll felt like a show of power; other students parted instinctively, some whispering, others openly admiring. The energy around Lucas wasn’t just because he was the alpha—though he was, without question—it was because he exuded confidence, discipline, and charm in equal measure. He was golden boy incarnate, the kind of person people remembered walking past, long after he was gone.

The pack made their way to the courtyard for morning drills. Kian jogged beside Lucas, trying to match his long, effortless strides, while Tobias quietly checked the day’s schedule on his tablet, ensuring the group was ready for every challenge. Damon carried the heavy training gear, glancing at Lucas for permission before distributing it, while Rhett cracked a grin, flexing for no one in particular, and Asher kept an eye out for rival students, subtly shifting his posture to signal any potential conflicts. Riley moved ahead, scouting the path to the gym, his sharp eyes catching every detail, from loose railings to students who might try to interrupt their morning.

Lucas stopped at the center of the courtyard, hands on his hips, and let his gaze sweep across his pack. “Today,” he said, calm and precise, “we set the standard. Every drill, every pass, every move—perfect. Mistakes aren’t an option.” His voice wasn’t raised, but the authority in it made heads turn; even the instructors leaned closer, recognizing the weight behind his words. He had trained long enough to understand control, but he led with loyalty and fairness, not fear. His pack thrived because they trusted him, not just obeyed.

Training began, and Lucas was in motion immediately, leading by example. Every step, every stretch, every precise strike of the punching bag radiated discipline and power. Tobias mirrored his movements strategically, Rhett pushed his limits in friendly rivalry, Damon intercepted errors with a steady hand, and Kian tried to anticipate Lucas’s every instruction. The pack moved as one, a single unit of lethal coordination and subtle social dominance. Even in routine drills, it was clear: Lucas wasn’t just alpha—he was the standard, the benchmark everyone wanted to match.

After the exercises, the group walked toward the academy’s dining hall, their presence commanding even the morning chatter to hush slightly. Students stared, some awestruck, some envious, and others clearly trying to get a glimpse of the golden alpha leading the most elite pack at St. Alderics. Lucas’s casual grin softened the intensity just enough to seem approachable, but the underlying dominance never wavered.

“Coffee first, then study,” Lucas said to Asher, voice low enough for only him to hear, a plan forming for their afternoon strategy session. Damon and Rhett already discussed a minor challenge from yesterday’s drill, Tobias muttering corrections, and Kian silently taking notes. Riley scanned the surroundings, ready to signal if any disruption arose. Each member had a role, and Lucas ensured it was executed flawlessly.

By the time they entered the hall, Lucas Whitmore had already made his mark: admired, feared, respected. The golden boy of St. Alderics, alpha of his pack, and the standard everyone else aspired to—not just for his power or charm, but for the way he commanded loyalty, precision, and respect with every effortless step he took.