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I walked the perimeter. Reinforced the property. Checked the security grid three times. Rewrote the firewall code just to feel something. I alphabetized the weapons locker. Twice.

I even cleaned the espresso machine.

Because if I’d let myself go anywhere near that door - if I’d even glanced toward the room wheremyomega was moaning like a symphony of sin - I would’ve kicked it off its hinges and reminded all three of them who the fuck I am.

But I didn’t.

Because I’m better than that.

I’m disciplined.

In theory.

And still, I heardeverything. Every soft cry. Every broken gasp. Every filthy sound of slick and knotless fuckery echoing through thisancestral home, might I remind you.

Ash’s grunts. Theo’s reverent muttering. Kai’s laughable attempt at dirty talk like he’s auditioning for a porno called The Alpha Who Never Shuts Up.

She gave herself to them. All three.

And I stayed away.

Not because I didn’t want her, but because I want her more than they ever will.

They shouldn’t evenbe here.

This was supposed to bemine. Shewas supposed to be mine.

Claimed. Controlled. Adored.

Kept under lock and scent-guard, not rolled in slick like she’s been basted in alpha gravy and passed around for seconds.

But no. They got there first.

Not because she chose them, but because I let them

Which is worse.

They don’t understand what this means. They think bonding is about thrusting and pheromones; like it’s a group project where everyone brings their own cock and takes turns with the omega-shaped piñata.

Idiots.

I waited. I planned. I studied. I read every case file, every suppressed report, every dusty book about bonded instinct cycles.

I’ve trained for this.

Meditated. Cold showers.

Learned fucking breathing techniques.

And she still chose them.

Except - she didn’t. Not fully.

Because the bonds may be there, humming under her skin like static electricity, but they haven’t knotted her. Not yet.

There’s no final claim. No lock. No seal.

Nomine.

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