Keion Pov

2 Weeks Later|The day of the omega debutante gala

I could possibly die from this feeling right now. My body trembles as I thrust deeper into Walter, the air thick with his muffled moans that vibrate against the pillow. His cock spills over, cum seeping in hot streams, and I reach out instinctively, catching it in my hand before licking it clean. The taste is familiar, velvety, intoxicating, like his scent woven into flavor. I groan, driving into him again, harder, before letting my release explode inside his round ass. The orgasm surges through me like fire, pleasure flooding every nerve, my body shaking as cum drips from Walter’s insides, warm and messy.

I pull out, trying to ignore the hollow ache that instantly coils in my gut, the empty peeling my dick carries when it’s no longer inside him. Exhausted, I collapse beside Walter, sweat cooling on my skin. That was our tenth round today, and my muscles scream, but the satisfaction is worth every ache.

"Oh my god, that was amazing," Walter sighs, his flushed face glowing above me. His lips are swollen, his curls damp against his forehead, and just looking at him makes me hard again. This man has no idea how tempting he is, how dangerous it feels to want him this much.

I reach up, kissing those full lips, my tongue sliding into his mouth, exploring him, claiming him, while his tongue tangles with mine. The kiss is endless, consuming, until he finally pulls back, tapping my shoulder. I let go reluctantly, and he gasps for air.

"You have got to learn to breathe through your nose when you kiss," I tease, inhaling deeply before collapsing onto his nest pillow.

"Where are you guys really going?" Walter asks suddenly, his tone shifting, bothered.

Oril told him we were heading to a company meeting tonight. It was easier than telling him the truth. If he knew, it would only stress him, and it’s not like anything will come out of today anyway. Worrying would be unnecessary.

"It is a meeting. A very boring one," I mutter, dragging myself up, avoiding his gaze.

"Then why is Augi going? Torin would never want Augi in a meeting, and Augi would never wear a suit," Walter presses, suspicion dripping from his voice.

I keep my eyes away from him. My face would betray me, and Walter always notices the smallest tells.

"Alright, keep lying. Just make sure it doesn’t involve me in a way I won’t like," he says lazily, pulling the blanket over himself with a yawn.

"Keion, hurry up! This damn suit is itchy, and we need to leave now or Torin will have our necks for dinner!" Augustus—Augi for short—shouts irritably, pounding on the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming," I shout back, pulling on the suit pants I’d discarded not long ago. I straighten my white shirt, crisp against my skin, and grab the red bowtie from the table.

"We should be back by nine, or midnight at the latest. Don’t wait up," I say, placing a quick kiss on my sassy Omega.

"Yeah, whatever," Walter grumbles, burying himself under the blanket.

I sigh before leaving the room, rushing down the stairs. Moonlight spills into the living room through the massive glass windows, silver light painting the floor.

"Finally, prince charming has graced us peasants with his presence," Augi mocks, tugging at his collar. He still has a black eye from his last hockey fight, but otherwise he looks good in his custom black suit and red bowtie. His long, voluminous blond hair is tied back, his crystal blue eyes sharp. For once, he looks decent—not the raging mess he is on the ice.

"Finally. Let’s go," Oracle says, jumping from the couch and grabbing the SUV keys from the table.

"Wait, aren’t we supposed to wait for Torin?" Oril asks, biting into his apple.

Oracle’s shoulders sag with irritation. The two brothers look the same, yet they’re so different. They don’t even share the same scent match, which is rare for twins.

"Torin said he’d arrive by himself," Oracle answers, his tone sharp, before leaving the penthouse. Augi follows.

"He has a stick up his ass," Oril mutters, trailing after them.

I laugh. "Definitely."

The drive takes an hour thanks to Oracle’s slow pace. If I were driving, we’d be there in thirty minutes. I offered, but Torin said no. He doesn’t trust any of us behind the wheel when the whole pack is in the car, except Oracle. I get why I’m not trusted; my past is messy. I get why Augi isn’t trusted; his anger issues are legendary. But why not Oril? He’s second‑in‑command. Why does it always feel like Torin is grooming Oracle for leadership? It doesn’t bother me, but I wonder if it bothers Oril.

"We’re here," Oracle says as we arrive at two massive gates marked with the Omega symbol. I sit in the front passenger seat, Augi and Oril in the back, giving me the perfect view.

Beyond the gates, the road winds uphill toward a manor perched at the top. A line of cars stretches behind us. Armed men, sniffer dogs, and metal detectors crowd the entrance. Security is tight this season, which means only one thing: important Omegas are inside. Alma’s Omegas. They’re sought‑after gems, and tonight Alphas may fight each other for them. Best to make sure no one has weapons to do real harm.

"Pack name and registry number," the security guard asks, notebook in hand, his tone clipped and official.

"Pack Spade, registry 805789031MK," Oracle replies, producing all of our IDs.

The guard studies each photo carefully, his eyes flicking from the laminated cards to our faces one by one, scrutinizing every detail. Another officer crouches to check the boot, while a third circles the car with a detector, its faint hum vibrating against the night air. A fourth repeats the sweep, his gaze sharp and suspicious. The search makes my stomach twist even though I know we have nothing to hide.

"Alright, you’re clear. Enjoy the gala," the man finally says, handing the IDs back to Oracle.

The massive iron doors creak open, swinging slowly, and Oracle drives us through, heading up the hill. Nostalgia slams into me hard, the last time we came here was when Walter debuted, finally graduating from the Omega Institution.

"This place has changed since five years ago. It doesn’t look as raggedy as it did back then," Oril says, leaning against the window. "They even added streetlights. It used to be so dark we couldn’t see a thing."

"I heard the whole place was renovated last year by the Omega Council," Oracle adds, his focus locked on the road. "Once Alma announced they’d be bringing Omegas to the gala again, packs from all over the world RSVP’d. The council had to act fast. They couldn’t afford to be embarrassed."

"I’ve never met an Alma Omega. I wonder if they’re worth the hype," I muse aloud. I’ve heard endless stories about Alma’s Omegas, placed on a godlike tier. Walter once wanted to go to Valm, Alma’s brother school, instead of the Institution, but like so many others, he was rejected. Both schools only accept a handful of people from across the world, which has led everyone to believe they’ve collected the best Omegas alive. Personally, I think it’s bullshit.

"I’ve seen one from a distance, at one of my games," Augi says, slouching into his seat. "She looked like some noble lady from medieval times. Legit, the whole game she sat straight, not a single slouch."

We arrive at the manor, where rows of luxury cars gleam under the torchlight. Men and women stand outside, conversing in hushed tones, their laughter mingling with the crisp night air.

"Oh my god." My jaw drops. This doesn’t look anything like the manor I remember. It towers above us, illuminated inside and out, its windows glowing like lanterns. Balconies draped with flowering vines spill over the stone walls. The pathway leading to the doors glows with torches, flames flickering against the polished stone. At the center stands an angel fountain, water cascading in silver arcs.

We step out of the car, Oracle handing the keys to the valet, and make our way up the path. Torin is already there, early for once and speaking with someone.

"Oh, Yorin, these are my pack members," Torin says, glancing back at us. I catch the flash of his ’you’re late’ look before he turns back to the man.

"It is a pleasure to meet you all. I was just hearing wonderful things about you from Mr. Spade here," Yorin says, his thick accent unfamiliar, his words deliberate.

"It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance too," Oril replies politely.

The whole exchange bores me. I fold my hands and glance toward one of the manor’s windows. That’s when I see someone peeking through the curtains. Our eyes meet, and my heart pounds against my chest. The moment vanishes as the curtain closes swiftly. What was that?

"Alright, I hope you the best of favor in finding your blessed other half tonight," Yorin says, pulling me back to reality.

"I wish the same for you," Torin replies with equal respect.

Finally, the long conversation ends. We move toward the doors, and deep down I’m praying Torin doesn’t stop to talk to anyone else. I’m tired of standing outside.

"Who was that guy anyway?" I ask, boredom dripping from my tone.

"The King of Revton," Torin replies bluntly.

My eyes widen in shock. I whip my head back, staring at Yorin again. "That was a king?" I gasp. No wonder he was so boring.

If there are kings and powerful packs here, then there’s no way this Lorali girl will pick us. Yes, we have some power thanks to the Spade name, but we’re fuck‑ups with a very public history. I’m sure these packs keep their scandals hidden. This will be quick, an in and out. Nothing to worry about.

We step into the manor hall, and it looks exactly how you’d expect a ball to look. Tables overflow with carefully decorated pastries, their sugary scents filling the air. Musicians play violins, harps, and instruments I don’t recognize, their melodies weaving through the chatter. At the center, a grand staircase rises beneath an arched window. To the left, a white carpet; to the right, a purple one. Both lead to a circular dais draped in sheer white and purple veils cascading from the ceiling.

"Chardonnay?" a beta waiter asks, holding a tray of glasses in front of me.

"He doesn’t drink," Torin says, dismissing the waiter before I can respond.

"I wasn’t going to take it," I mutter, defensive for no reason. It’s been a year since I touched alcohol.

"Yeah, whatever. Oril, watch him," Torin orders, already immersing himself in conversation with another Alpha.

This guy really came here to network. That’s all Torin ever does, work, work, work. His name should be Work. I roll my eyes. I can’t wait for this night to be over so I can go home and cuddle with my Omega.