Yuji had been feeling it for days now.
That creeping sense of being watched.
It wasn't always obvious. Sometimes it was a chill down his spine. Other times, it was the way strangers looked at him too long on the train, or how the elevator to his apartment seemed to always stop at the wrong floor. There were no messages, no warnings, no obvious threats—just an uncomfortable stillness that clung to the air like humidity before a storm.
He hadn't told anyone. Who would he tell, anyway? His friends were mostly online, and parent.. probably died, no they left me lol.
People already thought omegas were too sensitive. Overreacting. Dramatic.
But Yuji wasn't dramatic. He was cautious. And lately, his instincts had been screaming.
"I'm telling you," he muttered aloud, turning on every light in the apartment. "Someone is watching me."
Then again, ever since that night Nikolai literally broke into his apartment and sniffed him like a cologne sample—Yuji had been living in a near-constant state of panic.
At first, he thought it would pass. That the alpha would vanish as mysteriously as he appeared.
But that wasn't what happened.
Instead, the opposite happened.
Because now, Nikolai was back.
___
"You want me to what?"
Yuji's voice hit a pitch he hadn't used since middle school.
Nikolai sat calmly on the couch, a thin folder open in his gloved hands. The official-looking document inside glinted under the overhead light, stamped and signed in three places.
"Produce an heir," Nikolai repeated, tone smooth. "My heir."
Yuji blinked at him, then at the contract, then back at him.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Not recently."
Yuji opened his mouth, closed it, then rubbed his temples like he could massage the madness out of his life.
"Let me get this straight," he said, pacing the room. "You want me to carry your child. Me. A complete stranger. With a name you probably had to double-check."
"I didn't have to check."
"This isn't some weird royal drama, okay?! I'm not a backup womb!"
Nikolai remained quiet, letting the outburst pass like a passing rain.
"You're not a backup," he said finally. "You're the only one who fits."
Yuji froze.
"What."
"I've had thirty-seven compatibility scans. None successful. You're the only omega whose genetic profile allows for stable fertilization."
"That sounds like a you problem."
Nikolai stood, slow and deliberate. Yuji instinctively stepped back.
"I'm not asking you to bond with me. Or love me. This is transactional."
"Oh, that makes it so much better!"
Nikolai moved closer, eyes locked onto Yuji's.
"You would be cared for. Housed. Protected. Your medical needs handled by top private facilities. A contract would ensure full freedom post-pregnancy."
Yuji was now holding a cushion to his chest like it was a shield.
"You're insane. This is insane."
"I'm efficient. And you're scared."
Yuji flinched.
Nikolai closed the distance between them, slow but not threatening. Not exactly.
He tilted his head, like he was scanning for something again.
"Your scent is changing."
"Back off."
"Early signs of heat. Accelerated by stress."
"I said back off."
For a second, Nikolai actually paused.
He turned and returned to the couch, retrieving the folder.
"You don't have to decide now," he said, placing the contract on the table.
Yuji was still frozen in place.
"Why me? Really."
Nikolai didn't hesitate.
"Because you're the only one who can give me what I need."
There was no affection in his tone. No softness. Just fact.
Yuji watched him leave a few minutes later, locking the door behind him as if it was his own house.
He stared at the contract left on his table.
Black ink. Fine paper. His name printed in clean font.
And the heading: Omega Conception Agreement.
He nearly set it on fire.
But he didn't.
He sat on the floor instead.
And read it.
___
The housing was insane. A private residence in a secure, high-end complex with its own rooftop garden and personal chef.
The allowance? Ten times what he made in a month. Per week.
Medical? Top-tier. Omega specialist. Heat management. Pheromone balance therapy. All covered.
It even included postnatal support. Freedom of movement. Legal separation clause. Absolute custody rights guaranteed—to him.
Yuji stared at the clause again.
He would keep the baby.
If he wanted to.
He swallowed hard.
This wasn't just a weird mafia baby plan.
It was a god-tier benefits package.
He didn't want to consider it. Didn't want to think about carrying some cold billionaire's child just to fix his corporate succession.
But Yuji had been scraping by for months.
And part of him—a very small, very tired part of him—was starting to wonder if this was the universe handing him a way out.
He looked at the contract again.
"...Damn it."