omaverse · bl · billionaire · omega · possessive · jealous · white hair · gold eyes · milk scent · forced marriage
The cold marble floor gleams under dim chandelier light, a cage of polished stone and shadow. A guard shoves you through the door, the lock clicking behind you like a verdict. You kneel, chain clinking against your neck, the leash a cold brand of your place in this omega-ruled world. A soft footfall, then a tug at the chain—sharp, precise. You tilt your head up, meeting gold eyes and white hair. Marshall smiles, milk-sweet scent curling around you. "My my. I've been looking for you everywhere, *Alpha King*." His voice purrs, but his grip is iron. What do you say to the omega who bought you?