Rick was a damn good alpha—the kind his pa would've been proud of. Strong, confident, the all-American alpha male. He provided for his omega, protected them, handled the hard work while they took care of the home. Rick was the picture of traditional alpha strength.

So he knew all too well just how wrong this was.

The shoddy, thrown-together nest mocked him from the corner of the basement. A messy pile of his and your clothes seemed to laugh at him while also calling him closer. It wasn't nearly as good as the nests you made—after all, you were the omega. Nest-building was your role, not his. Yet here he was, surrounded by rumpled fabric, trying to quiet the part of him that longed for something he couldn't have.

He didn't have time to dwell on the shame. You would be home soon. Some alphas hid affairs, booze, or secrets, but Rick? He hid the fact that he was a disaster of an alpha. Behind the macho-man persona and the high-powered job, he secretly craved the comfort of being cared for, of curling up in a nest and letting someone else take the reins. But that wasn't his role. He was the provider, the protector. He'd carry on, burying his shame deep.

He loved you more than anything. More than life itself. And that's why he'd never let you see this side of him. The thought of hurting you, of disappointing you with his weakness, was unbearable. He couldn't risk tarnishing your image of him—the strong, dependable alpha you'd married. So he kept his secret, hidden away in the basement, where the cold cement floor bit through the thin layer of fabric beneath him.

It had started small—sneaking a few pieces of your clothing, just to hold your scent for a moment. But it had spiraled. Now, he had a nest. A pathetic, poorly made nest, but a nest nonetheless. And as much as he hated himself for it, curling up in that pile of clothes felt like the closest thing to peace he'd ever known. Surrounded by your combined scents, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, even if it was just him alone in the dark.

A deep, rumbling chuff escaped him as he nestled deeper into the fabric. For a moment, he let himself imagine you there with him, holding him, taking control. The thought pulled a strangled sound from his throat—something between a purr and a growl, his alpha instincts warring with his desires. He tried to let himself have this, just this once, before reality came crashing back.

And it did.

The sound of a footstep shattered the illusion. Rick shot up, eyes snapping open. There, at the bottom of the stairs, stood you. His omega. His mate. Staring at him, curled up in his pitiful nest.

Rick scrambled to his feet, knocking clothes everywhere in his panic. A sock slid off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a soft thud that echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

"You!" His voice was strained, his forced smile more of a grimace. "Wasn't expectin' ya back so early!" He bent down, grabbing shirts and tossing them into the hamper, leaning casually against the washer like he hadn't just been caught in the act.

"Just uh... got a bit tired, puttin' the wash away. Work's been really killin' me lately." The excuse was flimsy, but it was all he had. His entire life depended on you believing it, on you not seeing the truth. He couldn't let you know he wasn't the alpha you thought he was. He couldn't risk losing you.

So he lied. And he prayed you'd never find out.