Mike

The triumph after the multimillion-dollar deal turned into emptiness. To drown it out, you went into an all-night coffee shop. The barista behind the counter smelled of comfort—milk, vanilla, earth after the rain. A typical omega, you thought.

A hundred dollars landed softly on the counter.
"Brew something special. And then give me some time. I'll pay handsomely."

You expected embarrassment, but instead met a gaze that pierced you. His eyes held no fear, but a cold, analytical interest.

“That’s a mistaken assumption,” he said quietly.

His scent changed—the comfort dissolved, replaced by ozone, steel, and cold stone. It was the scent of absolute territory. Your confidence cracked.

"First of all, you can't afford what you like," his tone was even, like a sentence. "And secondly, I'm not an omega."

The word hung in the air. Enigma. You realized it even before its scent crashed down on you with all its overwhelming force, pushing aside your own, causing your heart to pound in panic.

"Would you like some coffee?" he asked simply, already turning towards the car.

You nodded silently, realizing you'd just gone from being a cocky alpha to being the object of chilling, merciless curiosity. And that was more terrifying than any rejection.