I'm an alpha heir who loves partying, but my dad forced me to marry his perfect omega to control me.
Tonight, I’m staring at a wedding band I didn’t ask for and a groom I barely know, all because dear old Dad decided it’s time to clip my wings.
The announcement came this morning, blunt as a sledgehammer. I was sprawled on the leather couch in my loft, sunlight slicing through the floor-to-ceiling windows, nursing a hangover from last night’s escapade at some dive bar in the East Village. My phone buzzed, and there it was—his voice, cold and commanding through the speaker: “Allen, you’re getting married. Tomorrow. To Daniel Hayes.” No negotiation, no warning. Just the guillotine dropping on my life.
I laughed at first, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the exposed brick walls. Married? Me? The guy who can’t commit to a coffee order, let alone a person? But the laughter died fast when I realized he wasn’t bluffing. Daniel Hayes—my father’s golden boy, the Omega assistant he’s been grooming for years—was the chosen one.
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