The scent haunted him.
Not because it stirred his heart.
Because it stirred hope.
Nikolai sat alone in his penthouse office, the skyline of the capital city stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beneath his fingers, a digital file glowed softly, displaying charts, data points, compatibility markers. His silver eyes narrowed as he zoomed in on the genetic analysis: a near-perfect hormonal match. 99.7% ovum compatibility. No anomalies. No mutations. No risk of rejection.
For the first time in six years, the lab's report wasn't red.
It was green.
Yuji Nakamura.
Registered omega.
Male.
Mid-twenties. Freelance illustrator. Known address. Citizen status: confirmed. Family: none recorded. Financial status: below median. Government profile: neutral.
Unclaimed. Unmated. Unprotected.
Perfect.
He didn't smile. But the silence in the room tightened. As if the air itself recognized the weight of the discovery.
Nikolai pushed his chair back and stood, arms crossed behind his back. His tailored shirt clung to his frame like a second skin, the tension in his shoulders barely concealed. The faint scent that had clung to his coat three nights ago still lingered in his memory. Clean. Crisp. Sharp. Not sweet like the others. Not cloying.
Something else.
He had lived his entire life at the apex of the food chain. Born into power, sculpted by pressure, and polished through fire, he wasn't someone who needed people. He had influence, weapons, industries, and an empire willing to kill in his name. Omegas had thrown themselves at him for years, not for who he was, but for the Dragunov name.
But none of them ever made him feel anything. That was the problem.
His grandfather had started to worry.
"You've never once reacted to an omega," the old man had said in a tight, low voice. "Not even when locked in the same room with three unbonded ones. Are you broken, boy?"
Nikolai hadn't answered. But maybe he was.
Alpha Syndrome, the media called it—when an alpha's instincts dulled due to overexposure or mental repression. He couldn't get aroused. Couldn't complete heats. Couldn't even fake a reaction. Even the most chemically potent omegas barely registered to his senses.
It was humiliating. Dangerous.
Because in his world, heirs weren't optional.
The Dragunov legacy needed continuation, and Nikolai was the only one left to carry the weight. The board was already filled with power-hungry elders trying to discredit him, whispering rumors about his sterility. Some were even pushing for artificial solutions—labs, gene therapy, surrogates.
But those never worked. Every compatibility test failed.
Until now.
___
That day should have been routine.
Nikolai had been dealing with a rogue faction that attempted an illegal weapons deal on the lower edge of Sector 7. His informants had tracked the operation to a grimy alley behind the industrial ward. They were amateurs.
He stepped out of his armored vehicle, surrounded by guards, and walked into the chaos. A few warning shots were exchanged. Then, as expected, he shot the man in charge point blank.
Clean. Efficient.
But just as he turned to leave, something hit him.
Not physically.
A scent.
Sharp, unfamiliar warm spice and something faintly electric, like ozone after lightning.
It paralyzed him mid-step.
And then it happened.
A jolt like static electricity running through his spine. Nikolai stumbled.
For someone who had never once reacted to an omega, this wasn't just instinct—it was a shockwave.
He snapped to alert.
The world blurred, noise fading, instincts roaring awake.
His gaze swept the alley. And then, crouched behind a dented trash bin, hoodie tugged over his face, was someone—an omega.
Unmarked. Unbonded. Terrified.
And for the first time in his life, Nikolai felt it.
His pulse surged.
Alpha instincts slammed through him like a tidal wave. He barely managed to restrain himself from storming forward.
Alpha instincts slammed through him like a wave. He barely managed to restrain himself.
The omega looked up—wide-eyed, lips parted.
Nikolai's senses lit up.
Heat prickled at the base of his spine. Everything inside him howled mine.
Later, once he had stepped into the omega's apartment under the pretense of checking in, Nikolai had leaned in casually, catching another deep breath of that addictive scent. He had already ordered a discreet skin cell and pheromone scan via micro drone the moment he crossed the threshold. By the time he left the apartment, the compatibility test results had already hit his encrypted tablet: 99.98% match.
It wasn't a coincidence.
Nikolai had spent decades feeling nothing.
And this trembling, panicked creature who smelled like the first snow of spring over firewood, was the only one who'd ever made his blood stir.
Opportunity. That's what it was.
He ordered surveillance.
He initiated background checks.
And he set the next stage in motion.
This omega might have been a nobody—but to Nikolai, he was the answer.
Not a partner.
A vessel.
A key.
___
Meanwhile, across the city...
Yuji had locked his front door five times.
Then he pushed a chair against it. Then he checked the window. Then he peeked under the bed. Then, finally, with a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the floor of his apartment and stared at the ceiling like it owed him money.
"I'm being stalked by a rich lunatic," he whispered. "With manners. And gloves. And a face that looks like it belongs in a mafia drama."
He still hadn't recovered from the last visit. That man—Nikolai, whatever his full name was—had sniffed him. In his own apartment. Without permission. And said the most cursed words imaginable:
"Are you my destined partner?"
Yuji threw a pillow at the wall just remembering it.
He didn't know how things worked in this world, not entirely. Sure, he'd adapted fast. Learned the basics and so on. But things like that? People like him?
Too much.
"I should move," Yuji muttered. "To a cave. Or a mountain. Or the moon."
But even as he mumbled, he knew it wouldn't help. Someone like Nikolai could find anyone.
He was probably watching him now.
Yuji shivered.
He got up to lock the door for the sixth time.
And that was when he saw it.
A faint green light blinking above the panel.
Unlocked.
He hadn't pressed anything.
He hadn't opened it.
The door creaked.
"No no no no no—sybau"
The scent hit first. Clean. Cold. Steel. Expensive cologne. It wrapped around the room like silk before the man himself even stepped inside.
"You took longer than I expected," Nikolai said, voice smooth.
Yuji backed up.
"HOW DID YOU GET IN."
"I'm allowed access."
"BY WHO?"
"The state."
Yuji screamed internally.
Nikolai stepped further inside. Calm. Composed. No weapons, but dangerous anyway. The kind of danger that wore suits and filed paperwork after the damage was done.
"I came to offer a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
Nikolai met his eyes.
"You carry my heir."
Yuji dropped the frying pan.