Four years.

For four straight years, I, Zack Bruce, had ruled the swimming arena. No one had been born to defeat me.

No one… until him.

Ambrose Nostitz.

Even his name felt like a wound waiting to reopen—an omen to break my streak. And yet, no matter how hard I tried to ignore him, he always appeared in my lane, in my way, in my thoughts.

I tossed my towel aside and headed into the changing room. The scent of chlorine still clung to my skin as I pushed the door open—

A hand shot out and grabbed me.

The door slammed behind me. A lock clicked sharply.

My breath caught. I shut my eyes on instinct, startled, then opened them slowly.

Ambrose stood right in front of me.

Anger flared instantly. “What the hell is your—”

But he cut me off, stepping closer than anyone had a right to.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he said, voice low, trembling with something he was trying hard to hold in. “I don’t know how you’ll react, but every time I see you with someone else… I get jealous. I get furious.”

Something shifted in the air—heavy, warm, unmistakably alpha.

“I… like you, Zack,” he whispered. “I really do. Will you accept me? Will you be my boyfriend?”

My entire body went rigid.

Not because of his confession.

But because I was close to my heat cycle, and his alpha phenomenon was strong enough to trigger it right there.

“Ambrose—stop,” I warned, heart pounding.

He didn’t.

He moved half a step closer, eyes softening, breath brushing my cheek.

That was it.

Before my body could betray me, I shoved him away with a sharp kick. He hit the wall with a grunt, pain flicking across his face, but his eyes held something maddening:

Hope.

I stormed out, refusing to let that look haunt me any further.

But of course it did.

It followed me all the way to the competition arena. The cheers of the crowd barely registered.

“WHO will take the title this year?” the announcer boomed. “The four-year champion, Zack Bruce, or the academy’s heart-throb, Ambrose Nostitz?!”

I slapped my cheeks hard.

“Focus, Zack. You’re racing. Not thinking about… that.”

But the memory of him locking that door, his voice, his scent—

No. Stop.

The gunshot rang.

The race began.

I pushed forward, slicing through water, determined to outrun everything—Ambrose, his confession, my own fear. First lap I was ahead, second lap too.

Last lap.

My fingers reached forward—

But another hand touched the board before mine.

Ambrose.

The crowd erupted.

I surfaced slowly, disappointment crushing me. I sat on the bench, staring at the floor, trying to swallow the burn in my chest.

A hand suddenly appeared in front of me.

“Well played… Zack.”

I looked up.

Ambrose stood there—dripping wet, breathing hard, eyes unreadable.

I wanted to stay angry. I really did.

But I took his hand anyway. “Yeah… well played.”

He smirked as I walked away, like he knew exactly how unsteady he’d made me.

I hated that smirk.

After the championship, the waiting hall was full of both teams arguing loudly. The second I entered, the noise died.

Two seconds later, chaos exploded again.

Team A grabbed my left arm.

Team B grabbed my right.

“Zack needs to follow the bet!”

“No! The bet’s unfair! It shouldn’t count!”

Why… why did I ever agree to this stupid thing?

The whole mess had started weeks ago when Team A and Team B had a huge fight over who was the better swimmers. Words escalated. Trash talk turned personal. Old memories I tried to bury were pulled out and thrown in my face.

I nearly cried that day—but forced the tears back.

Ambrose had watched. Silent. Unmoving.

Then Alex, that loud, overconfident first-year from a rich family, suddenly shouted:

“Let’s bet! Whoever loses the next interschool match has to cross-dress and attend the party my dad was invited to!”

Everyone went silent.

Then screamed in excitement.

Ambrose heard it from the corner.

He smirked.

Of course he smirked.

And now here we were—standing in front of that very party.

A party filled not just with wealthy businessmen and elegant women…

But with some of the most powerful mafia families in the country.

Just my luck.

I stared at myself in the mirror for the tenth time.

This wasn’t me.

It couldn’t be me.

The dark, silky dress Alex had forced into my hands fit too perfectly, hugging my waist and falling to my knees in a soft shimmer. The wig—long, soft waves—kept slipping over one eye. Even the heels, which I swore I’d break my ankles in, somehow matched my skin tone too well.

It was humiliating.

It was uncomfortable.

And worst of all…

I didn’t look half bad.

Alex whistled behind me. “Damn, Zack. If you were born a girl, you would’ve ended the entire school.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, cheeks heating.

He was right, though, and I hated it.

But what bothered me more?

Ambrose.

Because he had won the match.

Which meant I was the one following this stupid bet.

And somewhere, in some corner of that fancy ballroom tonight…

He would see me.

My stomach twisted.

The car stopped.

Music, lights, and laughter spilled from the grand entrance as people in gowns and suits walked inside.

Alex linked his arm with mine dramatically. “Alright princess, let’s make your debut.”

“I swear I’ll drown you someday.”

“You look too cute to kill someone,” he said, unfazed.

We stepped through the golden doors.

The moment I entered, every sound in the ballroom seemed to pause for half a second.

Eyes turned.

Men. Women. Guards. Servers.

All staring at me.

God. Kill me now.

I looked down, cheeks burning red. “Alex… I’m going back.”

He blocked me. “Nope. You walk in, you breathe, you survive the night. And then the bet is done.”

Easy for him to say.

The hall was massive, decorated with velvet drapes and shimmering chandeliers. Business tycoons mingled with politicians, but the ones who caught my eye were the men dressed too sharply, standing too silently—guards with mafia tattoos barely hidden under their sleeves.

Why was Alex’s father invited to this kind of place?

Before I could ask, someone stepped into my path.

A man—roughly my age, tall, dressed in a black suit that fit like it was stitched onto him.

Sharp jawline.

Grey eyes.

A dangerous aura.

He looked at me like he'd discovered something rare.

“Who…” he murmured, “are you?”

My throat dried. “I—I’m nobody—”

“You don’t look like nobody.”

Alex stepped in immediately. “Easy, prince charming. She’s taken.”

WHAT?!

I elbowed him so hard he choked.

But the stranger’s attention stayed on me—eyes darkening, analyzing.

“Interesting.”

He bowed, just slightly.

“My name is James"

Ambrose’s eyes never left James.

The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken dominance and barely restrained hostility. I stood frozen between them, suddenly far too aware of my own heartbeat. My suppressants felt weak—like paper against fire.

James’s lips curved slightly, not in mockery, but calm confidence.

“I was merely admiring,” he replied evenly. “You seem… intense. Is your concern professional, or personal?”

Ambrose’s jaw tightened. His alpha aura flared just enough to make my knees tremble.

“Very personal.”

Alex, completely unfazed, leaned closer to my ear and whispered, “Wow. I leave you alone for five seconds and you collect powerful men like collectibles.”

“Not helping,” I muttered back.

James turned his attention to Ambrose, unbothered by the tension. “You know,” he said calmly, “crowds like this tend to misunderstand displays of aggression. I’d hate for unnecessary attention to fall on… her.”

Her.

The word sent a strange shiver through me—not discomfort, but shock at how naturally it slipped from his tongue.

Ambrose caught it too.

Something dark flashed in his eyes, but he stepped back half a pace, forcing his aura down. He looked at me then—not angry. Not jealous.

Worried.

“Be careful,” he said quietly, the words meant only for me. “This place isn’t safe.”

Before I could respond, a man in a tailored suit approached James and murmured something into his ear. James listened, nodding once, then turned back to me.

“I hope we’ll speak again tonight,” he said, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. “I’d like to know your name.”

My throat tightened.

“Z–” I stopped myself, forcing a smile. “You’ll have to earn it.”

For the first time, James genuinely smiled.

As he walked away, I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Ambrose watched him go, expression unreadable, while Alex all but vibrated with excitement.

“Oh, this night,” Alex said dramatically, “is going to be fun.”

I had a sinking feeling he was right.

Because somewhere between flashing chandeliers, dangerous alphas, and secrets slipping through my fingers, I knew one thing for certain—

This party had only just begun.

The night air was cool against my heated skin.

I hadn’t even realized when I slipped out of the ballroom—just that at some point the chandeliers, the eyes, the music had become too much. My breathing was uneven, my suppressants failing one by one as if my body had decided tonight was the perfect time to betray me.

I leaned against the stone railing outside, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.

Get it together, Zack.

“Running away already?”

I stiffened.

James.

He stepped out from the shadows like he belonged there, coat draped lazily over one shoulder, eyes sharp and immediately attentive. The moment he was close enough, his gaze darkened.

“…You’re burning.”

My breath hitched. “I’m fine.”

A lie.

He didn’t touch me—not yet—but his presence alone was overwhelming. Dominant alpha pheromones wrapped around me, slow and controlled, like he was testing how close he could get without crossing a line.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said quietly. “Especially not like this.”

“Then why did you follow me?” I challenged, desperate to cling to something other than the way my knees felt weak.

James’s lips curved slightly. “Because you didn’t look like someone who wanted to be alone.”

The words sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I turned my face away, ashamed of how fast my body reacted. “This is a mistake.”

“Then tell me to leave,” he replied calmly.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

That was all the permission he needed.

James moved closer—slow, deliberate—until I could feel the warmth of him, smell him, sense him everywhere. He reached out, fingers brushing my wrist, giving me just enough time to pull away.

I didn’t.

His touch was gentle. Grounding. Dangerous.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“My heat—” I swallowed. “It’s early. It shouldn’t be this strong.”

James’s jaw tightened, restraint slicing across his expression. “If I lose control, I won’t forgive myself.”

“Then don’t,” I whispered, hating how badly I wanted him to.

His hand slid up my arm, stopping just short of my shoulder. He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Zack… if I kiss you, I won’t stop easily.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Then—” my voice cracked, “—don’t kiss me.”

He hesitated.

That should have been the end of it.

Instead, my hands betrayed me, gripping the front of his shirt, anchoring myself to him like he was the only thing keeping me upright.

James froze.

Then everything snapped into sharp clarity.

His mouth hovered inches from mine—so close I could feel the promise of it. His scent flooded me, rich and overwhelming, my omega instincts screaming in response.

This was crossing the line.

This was about to shatter it.

Somewhere behind us, unnoticed by either of us—

Ambrose stood frozen in the corridor.

He saw the way I leaned into James.

The way James bent toward me, eyes dark with need and restraint.

The way my fingers clutched fabric that wasn’t his.

His chest tightened painfully.

He said nothing.

Did nothing.

Just watched as the person he loved slipped, inch by inch, into someone else’s orbit.

James pulled back first.

A sharp breath. A clenched jaw.

“No,” he said firmly, stepping away. “Not like this. Not when you’re vulnerable.”

I swayed, suddenly cold without his warmth.

James shrugged off his coat and draped it over my shoulders, careful, possessive without claiming. “Go back inside. Find your friend. I’ll make sure no one follows you.”

I nodded, stunned, humiliated… and aching.

As I walked away, I didn’t see Ambrose turn his face aside.

I didn’t see the way his hands curled into fists.

But the distance between us had never felt so wide.