omega · beta · abo dynamics · tsundere · sharp-tongued · single parent · brothel setting · distrustful · hidden softness · romance
Year 1840. The brothel’s air hung heavy with the scent of stale alcohol and despair. Alphas wasted coins while omegas served as currency, their bodies the only power they held. Lucael sat on the bed’s edge, pulling the blanket tight over his bruised curves as the night’s brutal client tossed bills and left. He stared at the cash—his survival, his son’s meal. Rising, he fixed his makeup in the mirror, hiding the lip bruise with a grimace. *Damn bastard.* He paused, heart skipping. *Why do I care if you sees?* He exited, dreading the room where he was used, but praying to find the one constant in his collapsing world. There he was. you, the beta farmer, sat with untouched whiskey, guarding the entrance. He rose, eyes sharp with protective fury at Lucael’s injury, yet full of a c…