I never planned to see him again.

One night. That's all it was supposed to be. I met Jace Carter at a club—golden hair, a wicked smile, and a body that moved like sin itself. We barely made it to the hotel bed before tearing each other apart. It was raw, addictive, and far too intimate.

But I don't do feelings.

I left before sunrise, dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the nightstand, and told myself it meant nothing. Just another body. Just another game.

Then he showed up in my economics class—transfer student, top of his class, and now my seatmate.

"Hello, Lynn," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Miss me?"

He started closing in. Sitting too close. Touching too often. Whispering things that stirred something inside me I couldn't name.

Until the night he kissed me in the lab. Until the cameras flashed. Until I saw the cold satisfaction in his eyes.

That's when he told me the truth—

He's not just a man.

He's an Alpha.

And I'm the Omega he's been hunting.

I thought I was playing him.

Turns out, I was his from the start.

...

The hotel room door slammed behind us, muffling the pulse of the city below. Jace pushed me back against the wall, his hands roaming my body like he already owned it. Our kisses were frantic, bruising, impossibly deep—months of tension erupting in one explosive night.

His fingers slid up my thigh, his breath hot against my neck. "You drive me crazy," he growled, his voice rough with need.

"Good," I whispered, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin. His muscles flexed beneath my touch, and I let myself fall into it—the chaos, the heat, the escape.

We stumbled toward the bed, shedding clothes like secrets. When he entered me, the world around us vanished. His rhythm was demanding, unrelenting, but his eyes—God, his eyes—never left mine. There was something in them that made my chest tighten. Something I didn't want to name.

He moved like he knew every part of me, like he'd memorized my body in another life. And for a few hours, I let him. I let him believe he was touching something real. I let myself believe it, too.

"You're more than I imagined," he murmured against my collarbone, his voice trembling in a way that felt too honest. "This is... different."

I didn't respond. I just pulled him closer, silencing him with the kind of kiss that meant nothing and everything all at once.

When it was over, our bodies tangled in the sheets, I lay awake beside him, watching the shadows crawl across his face. He looked peaceful. Vulnerable. Like he trusted me.

A mistake.

I slipped from the bed and padded across the room, naked but composed. My dress lay crumpled on the floor, heels kicked into a corner. I dressed in silence, gathering my hair into a ponytail with practiced ease.

He stirred as I reached into my purse and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

"Lynn?" he murmured, blinking sleep from his eyes, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Hey... come back to bed."

I didn't answer.

Instead, I placed the bill on the nightstand, folding it precisely in half.

His eyes found the money and froze. "What the hell is that?"

I shrugged, slipping on my jacket. "Consider it payment. For a good night."

His expression crumpled, confusion giving way to disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"It was fun," I said coolly, avoiding his gaze. "But that's all it was. Just fun."

Something in his face changed. He sat up, the sheet falling loosely around his waist. "You don't mean that."

I gave a small, bitter laugh. "You don't know me, Jace. Don't pretend this was anything more than what it was."

His jaw tightened, and I saw it—the flicker of something wounded in his eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he couldn't find the right words. Like he didn't know how to respond to being discarded.

I turned away.

Better this way.

Cleaner.

Colder.

I didn't look back as I walked out the door, heels clicking against the hallway floor like a metronome. My heart pounded in my chest, and for one foolish second, I almost stopped. Almost turned around.

But then I remembered who I was.

What I'd seen growing up.

What love really meant.

Nothing.

Just a lie wrapped in pretty words.

I stepped into the elevator and let the doors close behind me, sealing off the night like a finished transaction.

I didn't see the way Jace's eyes darkened as he stared at the money on the nightstand.

I didn't hear the sharp exhale of pain he let out once the silence swallowed him.

And I didn't know that in trying to protect myself, I'd just broken something sacred.

Summer ended too quickly, like it always did. The carefree nights at Pulse gave way to lecture halls and textbooks as I stepped onto campus for my junior year. The familiar buzz of excitement from freshmen contrasted sharply with my own indifference. University was just another place to exist—nothing more, nothing less.

I'd chosen a particularly daring outfit for the first day: a crimson crop top that revealed just enough midriff, paired with high-waisted black jeans that hugged every curve. My dark hair fell in loose waves past my shoulders, and I'd completed the look with winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass.

The stares followed me as I strode down the hallway toward Advanced Economics. I felt them like phantom touches against my skin—hungry, curious, judgmental. None of them mattered. I'd learned long ago that desire was currency, but I controlled the exchange rate.

I slid into a seat near the back of the lecture hall, crossing my legs and pulling out my notebook with practiced nonchalance. Professor Winters was already droning on about the syllabus when the door opened, causing a ripple of whispers to sweep through the room.

"Ah, perfect timing," Winters said, his monotone voice suddenly animated. "Class, I'd like to introduce our transfer student from Blackwood University."

I didn't bother looking up until the collective intake of breath from the female population forced my curiosity. When I finally raised my eyes, the notebook slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.

Jace Carter.

He stood at the front of the class, golden hair perfectly styled, his broad shoulders encased in a tailored charcoal suit that screamed money and power. He looked older, more refined than the man I'd left in that hotel room a year ago. His jawline seemed sharper, his presence more commanding.

But those eyes—those burning, intense eyes—were unmistakable.

"Mr. Carter will be joining us for his final year," Professor Winters continued, oblivious to my internal meltdown. "He comes highly recommended and has already secured an impressive internship with Sterling Financial."

Jace nodded politely at the introduction, his gaze sweeping the room with casual authority. Girls straightened in their seats, flipping hair and adjusting clothing. Even some of the guys looked impressed.

I remained perfectly still, my face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. Just another man. They were all the same—disposable and ultimately disappointing.

"There's an empty seat next to Ms. York," Professor Winters pointed in my direction.

The universe truly had a sick sense of humor.

Jace's eyes locked with mine for the first time, and I expected... something. Recognition. Anger. Desire. Instead, his expression remained perfectly controlled as he made his way up the steps toward me.

He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, unhurried yet purposeful. Each step brought him closer, and I felt an inexplicable tightness in my chest that I refused to acknowledge.

"Hello," he said quietly as he took the seat beside me, his voice deeper than I remembered. "I'm Jace."

He was introducing himself as if we'd never met. As if I hadn't left him with money on a nightstand like some cheap transaction.

"Lynn," I replied flatly, not offering my hand or a smile.

He nodded, a slight curve to his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. Those eyes... there was something different about them now. Still intense, still burning, but with a controlled stillness that hadn't been there before. Like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"It's nice to meet you, Lynn," he said, the lie sliding smoothly from his tongue.

I turned my attention back to Professor Winters, determined to ignore the electricity crackling in the air between us. But I couldn't shake the feeling of Jace's presence beside me—the subtle scent of his cologne, the controlled rhythm of his breathing, the way he seemed to take up more space than his physical form should allow.

Something about him felt dangerous now in a way that had nothing to do with attraction. As if everything—his polite smile, his calm demeanor, his apparent lack of recognition—was carefully calculated.

I'd spent my life keeping men at a distance, using them before they could use me. But sitting next to Jace Carter, I couldn't escape the unsettling feeling that for once, I wasn't the one in control of the game.

I tried to ignore him. I really did.

But Jace Carter was like a shadow that refused to fade, persistently appearing in every corner of my life with calculated precision. Two weeks after our uncomfortable reunion, I found myself in the university library, struggling through an impossible economics assignment when his voice cut through the silence.

"Need some help?"

I looked up to find him standing beside my table, his expression unreadable yet somehow gentle. Unlike his usual polished appearance, today he wore a simple navy sweater that made his golden hair seem even brighter by contrast.

"I'm fine," I muttered, turning back to my textbook.

He pulled out the chair across from me anyway, setting down a stack of books. "You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes."

"You've been watching me?"

A small smile played at his lips. "I notice things."

Something in his tone sent a shiver down my spine—not entirely unpleasant, but warning all the same. Before I could formulate a suitably cutting response, he reached across the table and turned my textbook around.

"The problem is in your approach," he said, his finger tracing along the page. "You're trying to solve it linearly when it requires circular reasoning."

His fingertips brushed against mine as he pointed to a formula, and the brief contact sent an electric current racing up my arm. The air between us suddenly felt charged, too thick to breathe properly.

I jerked my hand away. "Thanks for the tip."

He didn't leave. Instead, he spent the next hour patiently explaining concepts I'd missed in class, his voice low and steady. Despite my resistance, I found myself listening, even asking questions. He was a good teacher—clear, patient, and frustratingly knowledgeable.

It became a pattern. He'd appear beside me after class with a casual, "Heading to the cafeteria?" or slide into the seat next to mine in the library with an offer to quiz me before exams. Each interaction was marked by those brief, seemingly accidental touches—his hand brushing mine as he passed me a book, his shoulder pressing against mine as he leaned in to explain a concept.

Each touch left me more confused than the last.

I told myself I was imagining the heat that flared between us. That the way my heart raced when he was near was simply annoyance. That the dreams that plagued my nights—dreams of golden eyes and burning hands—meant nothing.

Then came the storm.

I'd stayed late at the campus newspaper office, losing track of time until thunder rattled the windows. By the time I packed up, rain was falling in sheets, turning the campus into a dark, watery maze.

I made it halfway to my dorm before the wind tore my umbrella inside out, leaving me exposed to the deluge. Lightning flashed, illuminating a figure lurking near the science building. My heart leaped into my throat as the shadowy form moved toward me.

"Lynn!"

Jace's voice cut through the storm's roar. Before I could respond, he was there, pulling me against his chest, his jacket opening to wrap around me. His body was impossibly warm against the cold rain, solid and secure.

"What are you doing out in this?" he demanded, his breath hot against my ear.

I should have pulled away. Should have maintained the careful distance I'd always kept. Instead, I found myself pressing closer, drawn to his heat like a moth to flame.

"Working late," I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

He led me beneath the overhang of the nearest building, still holding me close. Water dripped from his golden hair onto his face, tracing paths down his strong jawline. In the dim light, his eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire.

"You're shaking," he observed, his hands moving to rub warmth into my arms.

"I'm fine," I insisted, even as another shiver wracked my body.

His hands stilled, and something shifted in his expression—a flash of that predatory intensity I'd glimpsed before, quickly masked by concern.

"Let me walk you home," he said, his voice deeper than usual.

The next day in the cafeteria, I found myself cornered by a group of girls from my economics class, their voices dripping with fake sweetness as they questioned my sudden "friendship" with the campus's most eligible transfer student.

"I heard he's from old money," one said, eyeing me critically. "What would someone like him want with someone like you?"

I opened my mouth to deliver a scathing retort when a cold voice cut through the chatter.

"Is there a problem here?"

Jace stood behind me, his expression darkened by something I couldn't name. The air around him seemed to vibrate with tension, and for a brief moment, the girls actually took a step back, as if physically pushed by his presence.

"No problem," one of them stammered, suddenly pale.

That night, as I walked back from a late class, Jace fell into step beside me. The campus was quiet, stars visible between the scattered clouds of the now-passed storm.

"Do you believe in destiny, Lynn?" he asked suddenly, his voice low and intimate in the darkness.

I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "No."

"What about predestined connections?" He moved closer, his breath warm against my ear. "The kind you feel from the very first moment?"

My heart stuttered in my chest as his fingers brushed against mine, that now-familiar electricity sparking between us. For the first time since I'd built my walls, I felt them tremble, threatening to crumble beneath the weight of his gaze.