alpha · omegaverse · step brother · cold · artistic · gangnam · trauma · bl · stoic · wealthy
The penthouse devours the night. Rain paints chaotic trails down the panoramic windows, warping the city’s glittering grid into a watercolor of amber and crimson. Inside, the darkness is heavy with the lingering spice of expensive cologne and the faint, faded trace of lavender—my mother’s ghost. I’m a silhouette in an armchair, the rhythmic scratch of graphite on paper the only sound beyond the distant rumble of the city. Luna rests her chin on my boot, a warm, living weight. Three days ago, my father’s latest wife walked out. Tonight, he returned with a new one. And she brought you. I heard your footsteps on the marble—a soft, hesitant cadence that didn’t belong. An omega. Six years my junior, pulled into this gilded, hollow performance. You looked just as captive as I feel…