PRESENT DAY #3
Martin catches my look and shoots me a glare, so I obnoxiously flash my screen at him: a top-view photo of the Ferro family fortress, ironically named ‘The Sun’.
I snort under my breath.
"My future home. Look, Anzo already named it after me."
Martin grabs my phone and slaps it face-down on the table.
"Can you stop staring at the display while we’re eating?" he growls.
I flip him off, not giving a single shit what the waitstaff thinks.
Then I grab the phone back and turn it on again.
"You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do," I snap.
"Geez, Sun, I’m getting real sick of your nonsense."
I almost feel relieved hearing that, because that’s exactly what I was planning to tell him today. Word for word. So I open my mouth to say it, but just then, a waiter shows up and drops an expensive bottle of wine onto our table.
He looks right at me and says, flat-out, "Compliments of the gentleman over there. Year 3000 vintage."
Then he makes a face like I’m the last person on Earth who deserves it.
Tactless, sure. But then he does something subtle. When he sets down the white napkin, I notice a tiny note tucked inside.
The look he gives me says it all—yeah, that note’s for me.
"What the fuck is this? I don’t want any goddamn wine," Martin hisses, grabbing the bottle and practically shoving it back at the waiter. "And bring the check."
Then he turns to me, spitting fire.
"Just because he’s a fucking mafioso doesn’t mean he can make moves on someone else’s boyfriend."
The waiter bows with this smug little smirk and walks off. But the napkin, and the note, stay on the table.
"Didn’t you just say you were sick of me?" I mutter. "So what do you care if he wants to send me wine? You’re being totally irrational." I shrug.
"What I want is to get the fuck out of here."
I pretend to grab the napkin to wipe my mouth but palm the note instead.
When Martin turns his head, shooting Anzo one of those death glares, I slip the paper into my phone case.
My heart’s pounding. I’m almost sure the note has Anzo’s number on it.
My gaze slides over his posture one more time.
Anzo’s a beta, and I don’t really know how they roll. Never been with one.
I’ve heard they swing three ways: some like omegas, some prefer alphas, some stick to other betas. I’ve never looked into it. Maybe I should?
What does he want, exactly?
Maybe he wants to fuck me.
Maybe he wants me to fuck him .
If so, he’s gonna be disappointed, because I’m a total bottom.
Still, wouldn’t hurt to have that conversation. Negotiate a little…
I mentally slap myself. Geez, I’m getting way ahead of myself.
It’s stupid. I force myself to chill, calm my breath, and slow my heart rate.
Relax, Sun.
The world of mafia dons and political players is still miles away from the world of second-rate musicians and fresh Instagram models like me.
I’d need a much bigger name to even sit at their table.
Martin pays the bill. We both get up and head out, but as I walk toward the exit, I sneak one last glance at Anzo. I catch his dark eyes, and there’s something in them I can’t quite read.
But really, who can read a guy like that?
***
We get into Martin’s car, and when he turns left, I already know where we’re going.
I've been living on campus for over a week now. I signed up for a few summer courses, not mandatory, just some optional stuff for students who want to get a head start and get used to the environment.
The dorms stay open for people like us. I convinced my parents to drop me off early. I just wanted to get away from home, to start my college days already. I don’t hate my parents, but sometimes it feels like there’s barely anything left connecting us. We drift farther apart every year.
They see the world one way. I see it completely differently.
And the worst part? They’re True Mates! That’s always pissed me off.
I already know I’ll never have that. Fated mates almost never happen in alpha pairs, and I’m only into alphas. Which means I’ll always be chasing something ordinary. No magic. No pull. No cosmic bond. No TM glow.
So yeah, I don’t need that rubbed in my face every time I look at them, while my own future feels so hopeless.
Maybe there’s a perfect omega out there for me, but that’s the problem. I’m just not into them. At all. Would TM magic override that? Force me to go for omegas? I doubt it. I’m just wired this way.
Martin stays silent the entire drive, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel.
I don’t say anything either, and I don’t even know what we’d talk about.
He’s painfully predictable. Since he’s graduating from law school soon, he’s already sinking neck-deep into his family’s world: nonstop work, business talk, stiff suits, and boring-ass dinners.
His only real perk is that he’s easy on the eyes. But he doesn’t have that spark. That thing that makes my heart race. That fills my void.
Sometimes I think that even if Dogger and I weren’t True Mates, maybe we could’ve been hidden High Mates? Sadly, I’ll never know. My sense of smell wasn’t mature when we split, so I never got to learn his Allure and our pheromonal compatibility.
Fuck. Why am I even thinking about this again? Whatever. It is what it is. This is my life. I’ve learned to live with the ashes of Dogger and me . No rising from that.
Now, I take what I can: comfort, hot guys, and once in a while, something a little exciting, even if most of them are boring as hell.
We pull up to my dorm. I figure he’s just dropping me off and driving off without a word, but then I see him get out of the car.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I think we need to talk," he says, words half-spat through clenched teeth. "If you’d be so kind, maybe we could have this conversation in your room."
I shrug. We head up the steps to the main entrance. I punch in the code and open the door. The beta guy at the front desk calls out,
"Hey! No guests allowed. Only family can come in."
Martin turns toward him, pulls out his wallet, and peels off a thick stack of cash. He tosses it on the desk.
The beta makes a weird face but grabs the money and doesn’t say another word.
I’ve been living here for eight days, so I don’t know the guy well. So far, he’s only seen me with my parents. But dorm rules are clear: no outside guests allowed. Apparently, though, money opens any door. Cliché.
We keep walking. Still dead silence between us.
I unlock the door and we step inside, but the moment I close it behind us, Martin's hands are already grabbing my waist.
"Geez! Fuck, weren’t you just saying you wanted to break up with me?"
But he doesn’t say a word. I feel his mouth on my neck, his body pressing against my back. All the shit boiling inside me… yeah, well, this has always been the easiest way to let off steam. So fine. I don’t stop him.
I feel his hips grinding into me. We're about the same height, which makes this whole thing easier. His hardness presses against my ass as his hands slide up my chest, brushing over my stiff nipples. His hot breath on my neck lights a fuse in me. Sex is just a release. Always has been. When I’m stressed or pissed, it helps dull the edge.
So I let him shove me over the desk. A second later, I hear the rustle of a condom box opening.
I stay silent. I just stare at the sticker on the laptop in front of me, my hands gripping the edge of the desk.
Fucking emptiness expands in me a bit wider. It’s always that way with sex. The shallow pleasure, numbing, fleeting. Parts of me hate it because it feels so wrong. It should never be them. It should be him . Still, I keep doing it.
Martin pulls my pants down. He doesn’t need to prep me. I’m an anomaly among alphas, I produce my own slick.
And that’s not the only unusual thing about me. I let his fingers find my entrance. Yeah, it’s different too. Looks like what rose omegas have.
Every guy I’ve ever been with has gasped when he discovered that.
Not in a bad way, more like a quick obsession taking hold.
Martin’s no different. He’s fascinated by my body.
His fingers brush the soft, petal-like edges of my entrance and…
okay, it feels good. I let myself stop thinking for a minute. Let the pink void swallow me up.
But it doesn’t last.
A moment later, I feel the hard head of his cock pushing against my slick, tight entrance.
One thrust, and he’s inside. I grunt. There’s some discomfort, sure, but I push through it.
Once he starts fucking me, it fades. And soon enough, it actually feels good.
My mind drifts away; my typical routine.
I think about Dogger.
Every time, I think of him. He was my first, I always dreamed he’d be my last. But that’s not how life works out.
I never talk about our relationship anymore. The few times I did, people laughed and said it was some dumb puppy-love thing. "Just your first fuck," they said. "Not important."
I don’t give a shit what they think. I’ll remember Dogger forever. Even if he’s out there screwing other guys now.
Well, I do the same.
Thrust. Thrust. Another. And another. The pace quickens. My hips bang against the edge of the desk. My cock hangs between my legs, half-hard.
I’ve never liked coming too fast. I don’t chase it. Orgasm always brings up something weird that ends in tears. It’s embarrassing. I hate having to explain it.
So I try to slow things down, give myself space to keep that flood of emotion in check. Yet, I can’t escape the fact that it’s not supposed to be Martin. It should be someone else, someone I actually care about.
But it’s not.
So the sob starts to grow in my chest as I try to ride it out. Push through the wave of all those wrong, hollow feelings, and try to hold myself together, always failing.
Martin’s good enough to aim for my prostate. I clench my eyes shut, desperately focusing on the sensation. No thoughts. Just the physical.
Thrust. Thrust. Another. My fingers grip the edge of the desk, which is rattling in rhythm with his thrusts. Yeah, there, ram it there…