Chapter 1: Betrayed by My Favorite

I took care of Carter for three years, giving him anything he wanted.

Three years—count ‘em. That’s a long time to be someone’s everything. The provider. The fixer. The one who always picks up the check and never asks for anything back. I spoiled him, no question. If he wanted it, he got it—designer sneakers, last-minute flights to Miami, even a bougie French bulldog he swore would help his anxiety. Looking back, I can’t decide if I was playing sugar daddy or just a plain fool.

But he took my money and kept a little sweetheart on the side. And then he’d say things like:

"Sleeping next to a wolf every night, I’m practically going numb."

"Honestly, I still prefer someone soft and sweet like you."

Is that so?

I turned around, slipped my arm around the bartender’s shoulders, and headed into the penthouse suite.

The music from the club still echoed in my ears as we slipped past the velvet rope. His low, warm laugh tickled my ear. My grip tightened—not out of desperation, but out of a sudden, wild urge to reclaim something Carter had never really given me. A thrill that belonged to me alone. The penthouse doors whispered shut behind us, muting the city and its lies.

Afterward, Carter went nuts, blowing up my phone—calls, texts, you name it, all of them ignored:

"Babe, quit messing around. You think some pretty boy can satisfy you?"

The bartender beside me laughed.

He leaned down and gently nipped my flushed earlobe:

"Go on, tell him—can your mystery boyfriend satisfy you or not?"

I’m an Alpha. But for some reason, I only like going after people even stronger than me.

Maybe it’s a character flaw. Or maybe it’s just the way I’m wired—always searching for a challenge. Never interested in pushovers. Not me. I want someone who pushes back, who makes me work for it, who leaves me breathless and a little bit scared. That’s the real high, isn’t it? Not the chase, but the catch.

Three years into supporting Carter, he finally shifted into a top Alpha—finally came into his own, like a late-blooming wolf. That day, he grabbed my hand and said:

"I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time."

"You’ve taken care of me for so many years. I don’t have much to repay you with, so let me give myself to you."

To be honest, I always saw Carter as a little brother. I never thought of him that way. But when he knelt before me on one knee, confessing so sincerely, I still couldn’t help but be moved.

The moment was oddly formal, almost like a proposal—except more intense, more complicated. I remember the way his eyes shimmered, vulnerable but determined, the way his hand trembled in mine. My heart squeezed, and for a split second, I wondered if I’d been blind all along.

I gently lifted his chin:

"From now on, you won’t just be someone I look after. You’ll be mine."

"From now on, you’ll be loyal only to me, do whatever I want, whenever I want."

"Can you do that?"

He nodded firmly.

Picture this—

a young, strong, top-tier Alpha. By day, a cool college guy; by night, letting me do whatever I want. And sometimes, he’d look at me with teary eyes and say: "You’re amazing..." Makes you wonder, right? Was it all too good to be true?

It was like living in a fantasy—one of those steamy romance novels you read under the covers in high school, never thinking real life could measure up. But Carter made it feel real. He’d wrap his arms around me at night, whispering those words, and for a moment, the world outside our little bubble didn’t exist.

Or so I thought.

So much so that when my assistant sent me that video, I even wondered if someone was trying to set him up.

In the video, Carter had his arm around a little Omega’s slender waist, smiling as he said:

"Sleeping with a stiff Alpha every night, I’m practically numb."

"Honestly, I still prefer someone soft and sweet like you."

After that, he cupped the Omega’s chin and kissed him, deep and slow.

I lit a cigarette in silence.

And in the time it took to finish it, I checked Carter’s spending and whereabouts.

Old habits die hard. My phone buzzed with transaction alerts—Ubers to unfamiliar addresses. Late-night coffee runs. Jewelry stores I’d never set foot in. The evidence stacked up fast. I watched the smoke curl from my lips, each spiral a little more bitter than the last.

Turns out, he’d been seeing this Omega behind my back for two years now.

I’m busy running a company with thousands of employees. Carter only needed to come to my place on weekends, keep me company. Then he’d take the ten grand I gave him for pocket money and go have fun with his little O.

Must’ve been tough for him—liking Omegas all along, pretending to like me, staying for three years.

To say I wasn’t hurt would be a lie. After all, we’ve known each other for eleven years now. Carter has been by my side the longest, and I cared for him the most. I’d even mapped out his future: Once he graduated college, he’d come straight to my company. I’d set him up, so even if we broke up, he’d have everything he needed.

Guess that’s the thing about favorites—they get fearless. It’s my fault. I spoiled him too much.

It happened to be Friday. As usual, I got a text from Carter. He’d arrived early at my place and sent me a selfie.

In the photo, the Alpha was shirtless, wearing nothing but a cartoon apron, showing off strong arms and a hint of abs.

[Hey, I’m starting dinner. Come home early, okay?]

If this were before, I’d have kicked those managers with their endless reports out of my office and sped home in my Tesla at ninety miles an hour.

But today… Right before clocking out, I suddenly told my assistant:

"Call Mr. Roberts and tell him I’m free tonight—offer expires soon."

"Also, let Carter know something came up, I won’t be home tonight, so he shouldn’t wait."

My assistant nodded and quickly took care of it.

That night, Mr. Roberts, fresh off signing a big deal, enthusiastically invited the clients out for some fun. The venue: The Silver Hollow Club—the city’s most exclusive, most discreet private club.

Before things got serious with Carter, I was already a Black Card member here. But after I had him, I never set foot in this place again.

Sitting on the couch, smoking, eyes half-closed, I looked over a row of handsome Alpha male models in front of me.

People are funny sometimes. Even then, none of them could compare to that ungrateful bastard who betrayed me.

Boring as hell. I needed out. I stubbed out my cigarette and stood up to leave.

Suddenly, the spotlight above swept across, lighting up a corner of the luxury suite. For a brief moment, the bar and the bartender behind it were illuminated.

One second. Not enough to see the guy’s face clearly, but enough to sense his aura—clean and sharp, like he’d just walked in from somewhere better, not touched by the glitter and dust of this place.

Before I knew it, I was walking toward him. I tapped the counter with my finger. Just as I was about to speak, he beat me to it:

"Hey, want a Flaming Whisper?"

The light swept over the bar again. This time, I saw his face clearly.

It was unforgettable—so perfect it instantly stirred up my urge to ruin it. But he was… hmm… an Omega.

Not really my type. And more importantly, I hated when people could read my mind.

"Sorry, I don’t like Flaming Whispers. Too sweet."

But the Omega was already mixing the drink, making the call for me. Every button on his white shirt was done up neatly, but from his crisp, efficient movements, I could guess his muscles were sexy and strong.

The way his waist swayed as he shook the cocktail—

I bet it’d look even better with love bites or lipstick stains.

My thoughts drifted. I ended up drinking the whole thing without realizing it, only to notice afterward:

"Huh, it wasn’t that sweet."

He stared into my eyes with a clear, easy smile:

"Special low-sugar version, just for you. Like it?"

Suddenly, Carter’s words echoed in my mind—

"Honestly, I still prefer someone soft and sweet like you, Omega."

Well. Not exactly sweet or soft. But definitely appealing in his own way.

In the adult world, some things don’t need to be spelled out—a look is enough.

As soon as my Tesla stopped, I grabbed the bartender by the collar and kissed him. He was half a head taller than me, so I had to stand on tiptoe to reach him. That annoyed me, so I bit down a little harder than usual.

Up close, in the heat of it, I finally caught the scent of his pheromones, leaking from his suppressant patch—

—Rain-soaked cedar. A rare scent. And it smelled good.

We stumbled into the elevator, pulled and tugged our way into the penthouse suite, then tumbled together onto the round bed.

He unbuttoned my shirt one by one. I got impatient, ripped it open, ruining a shirt worth over a thousand dollars.

I stripped down, then went to strip him. The Omega clutched his collar tight:

"Don’t rip it—I only have this one decent shirt."

I ignored him and tore it anyway. Are all Omegas this clueless? If he made me happy, forget one shirt—I could buy him a whole mall.

"Be good…"

I pinned him to the bed, tracing his cheek lovingly with the back of my finger. Then his jaw, throat, firm pecs, well-defined abs… all the way down…

His body was even better than I’d imagined. So perfect I had to laugh at myself. Turns out, gender isn’t such a hard line—you can have a hell of a good time either way.

Things heated up, the mood rising. I suddenly flipped him over, pressing him into the soft mattress. He froze for a moment, the heat in his eyes fading, replaced by shock and confusion.

"Sir, you really want to do this with me?"

He made me laugh.

"What else? An Alpha and an Omega, alone in a room—what do you think?"

Just then, my phone rang. It was Carter.

Annoyed, I didn’t want to answer. The Omega raised an eyebrow: "Boyfriend?" Then pointed to himself: "Am I the side piece?"

I glanced at him and got off: "Not quite." Carter and I weren’t a couple. So who’s the third wheel?

The phone kept ringing until it went to voicemail, then a video call came in. Seriously? I rubbed my brow and picked up.

"Didn’t we say we’d have dinner tonight? Where are you? Have you been drinking? Want me to come get you?"

I ignored his barrage of questions and said calmly:

"Carter, let’s end this."

Carter froze for a good half minute, then raised his voice in disbelief:

"You’re breaking up with me? Why? Babe, quit joking."

"You’re at that usual hotel, right? Wait for me, I’m coming—"

I hung up without another word.

All interest gone. I shrugged at the bartender: "Guess tonight’s not happening."

He smiled in understanding. I pulled a check from my wallet, signed it, and handed it over. He glanced at it:

"Ten grand? Didn’t think I was worth that much. But does this count as getting paid for nothing?"

"Shirt money. You earned it. If you see anything you like in the closet, just take it. Seriously, help yourself."

I rattled it off and sat at the desk, opening my laptop, making it clear I wasn’t seeing him out.

The bartender knew when to quit. He put on a shirt and quietly headed out. At the entryway, he suddenly stopped. Like he’d just remembered something important, he hurried back to my side.

"Sir, I still don’t know your name."

I picked up a pen, felt its cool weight, and wrote three letters in his palm: Sam

He repeated it softly, then suddenly pressed me back into the chair. I flinched: "What are you doing?"

He gently took the pen from my fingers and wrote his name… on my collarbone. The warmth of the ink and his touch lingered on my skin.

His breath brushed my ear, voice low and enticing:

"Liam. Remember that, sir?"

That night, Carter never got to see me. Not just anyone could barge into a penthouse suite. Even if Carter and I had stayed there a hundred times, without my permission, it was off-limits.

He must have realized how serious things were. For days, he waited for me at the house every night.