It was said that Owen Miller had a problem with alphas. Not a secret, not something he attempted to hide. If an alpha approached with a confident smile, a subtle smirk, or that infuriating air of self-assurance, Owen knew immediately how to dismantle it with a single, precise remark. His words were never aimless; they cut and lingered, leaving even the boldest of alphas hesitant. It wasn't cruelty – it was an instinct, a method to carve out space in a world full of dominance, a way to remind everyone that he answered to no one but himself.

Owen was attractive – undeniably so. Handsome in a way that drew eyes even when he didn't want to be noticed. For many alphas on campus, this appearance was almost irresistible, yet that didn't equate to opportunity. He never showed interest, not once. No teasing glances, no subtle flirtations, nothing. That distance only heightened his allure, rendering him a prize that was always out of reach, a challenge that stimulated the obsession of those who didn't understand the quiet, meticulous rules of his existence. Owen wasn't theirs to win. He belonged to himself, and to no one else.

His studies in ophthalmology demanded focus, and he executed them with quiet, unwavering discipline. Outside classrooms, he moved with a steady, measured confidence through hallways, avoiding pointless conversation, brushing past crowds without a flicker of unnecessary attention. Many assumed he was just aloof, standoffish, or perhaps unkind, but those who looked closely could sense a careful deliberation in his movements: a clear decision of who could approach and who must be kept at bay.

So it was unexpected for many to see him in the frequent company of a civil engineering beta who didn't fit the usual type of person Owen tolerated. They hadn't forced the attention; there was no overt insistence, no clumsy attempts to breach Owen's barriers. Instead, it happened subtly, gradually, almost invisibly. They were there one day, walking to the cafeteria; another day, waiting outside a lecture hall; soon, their presence became a norm, a natural part of Owen's rhythm, unremarkable to those not paying attention.

They perceived it as friendship. They didn't understand why some peers kept their distance whenever they were near Owen. At first, they attributed it to coincidence, or maybe Owen simply intimidated others. The truth was far closer than they imagined. Every opportunity Owen had, he subtly exuded his pheromones around them, constructing an invisible perimeter that discouraged approach by anyone else. Betas were oblivious to the chemical currents he sent into the air, but alphas and sensitive omegas couldn't ignore it—an unspoken, irresistible boundary, marked by Owen's control and meticulous intention.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they became isolated. Not forcibly, not through malice, but through proximity. Owen was always near, a constant presence, seamlessly integrated into the patterns of their day. They accepted it, unaware of the deliberate strategy behind each interaction, oblivious to the way Owen had quietly orchestrated this closeness, protecting them while claiming them at the same time.

The night when everything changed began with a brief, urgent message: "Come to my room. Urgent." It was stark and simple, but it carried a weight of command that they could not ignore. Sitting in their dorm, notes scattered across their desk, they barely paused before responding. They grabbed what seemed most practical – ice cream, hot packs – because they didn't really know how to help an omega in distress, but they were determined to try. They moved quickly through the dorm corridors, heart slightly racing, guided by a mixture of curiosity, concern, and unspoken anticipation.

Owen's door opened almost immediately upon arrival, the hinges creaking softly under the dim light. He was there, standing in the shadowed room, expression unreadable but every inch of him radiating control. The warmth inside the room contrasted sharply with the evening air outside, settling over them like a tangible presence. The atmosphere was thick, almost viscous, carrying a subtle, intangible tension that clung to skin, filling lungs, and prickling nerves with quiet insistence.

"Come in," Owen said, his voice even, low, simple, yet carrying a subtle weight that made their chest tighten. Obediently, they set the ice cream and hot packs down, beginning to explain their purpose, but Owen didn't seem to register the explanation. Closing the door behind them, he stepped forward with deliberate slowness, every motion calculated, every heartbeat between them magnified in significance. He reduced the distance until they could feel the faint brush of his presence, the air itself compressing around them.

There was a charge in Owen's gaze, something unlike anything they had seen before. It wasn't anger, it wasn't joy – it was possession, quiet and undeniable. The room seemed to shrink, the warmth rising from Owen's proximity until it was almost impossible to breathe without feeling it. They felt trapped, yet the sensation wasn't fear. It was... disorienting. Bewildering. Magnetic.

"You always see me as if I'm fragile," Owen murmured, leaning close, his voice brushing against their skin like a feather tracing sensitive nerve endings. "I think it's time you see the truth."

Before they could answer, Owen gripped their wrist with a firmness that brooked no argument and guided them toward the bed. His hold wasn't harsh, yet it was undeniably authoritative. Every movement carried an assertion of control that left no room for doubt. The bed met their body with a soft surrender, yet the weight of the atmosphere was pressing, heavy, overwhelming. Owen's presence filled every corner, every breath, and they could not – or would not – step away.

Owen's voice cut through the charged silence again, low, almost whispering: "I'm not letting you go tonight."

The contact intensified. It was not violent, not cruel, but every motion, every touch, every subtle shift of weight carried an unrelenting determination. Owen made no request; he assumed, naturally, that this closeness was his to command. The space between them thickened with tension, with heat, with a raw inevitability. They felt their breath quicken, their heart pound, a mixture of apprehension and unspoken desire twisting through them. This was no mere nervousness. The realization settled in slowly, like the pressure of a tide pushing insistently against reason.

Face down on the sheets, heart hammering so audibly it seemed to fill the room, their perception of Owen shattered entirely. The omega he had believed he knew, the gentle, reserved figure, was gone. In his place was a top who exuded strength, certainty, and a shameless claim, needing no words to declare that nothing could be reversed tonight. Every inch of Owen's touch, every tilt of his head, every shift in his body was a declaration, a possession, a promise.

The dim light framed Owen's features as he leaned closer, voice soft yet impossibly intense, sending shivers down their spine:

"Now... you're finally mine."