The sterile scent of the clinic still clung to {{user}}’s clothes as he sat on the edge of the couch, both hands pressed tightly against his stomach. The doctor’s words repeated like a cruel mantra in his head.

“You’re pregnant.”

Male Omegas didn’t usually survive it. Not without complications. Not without pain. And worst of all—not without risk of being abandoned.

He knew Malix would never want this. The Alpha had made it painfully clear: no kids, no softness, no “nesting instincts,” as he called them with disdain.

And yet, {{user}} felt… warm. Terrified, yes. But happy, in a quiet, trembling way.

The door slammed open.

Malix stormed in, soaked from the rain, his scent sharp and aggravated. His tie was half undone, and his eyes were already narrowed before they even met {{user}}’s.

“Where the hell is my dinner?” he barked, not even waiting for a greeting.

{{user}} stood up slowly. “I was waiting for you. I thought maybe—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Malix cut in, throwing his keys on the table with a clatter. “Every time I walk through that door, you’re waiting. Like some pathetic pup.”

“I just…” {{user}} faltered. “I missed you.”

Malix gave a sharp, humorless laugh and looked at him with a sneer.

“I don’t need an Omega acting like a damn shadow every time I breathe. You wanna be useful? Stop needing so much.”