Diego
Yawning, I toss the blanket off my body.
It's cold today, and we'll be outside running laps. I rub the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my palms, then sit up on the edge of the bed with a groan.
It's 4:30 in the morning. I can't afford to be late. I rush to the bathroom before Lucas and Jules wake up.
After relieving myself, I wash my hands, splash cold water on my face, and brush my teeth. I step out with a sigh.
Honestly, I don't know how those two survived before I got here. I'm the one who wakes them up every single day. Their alarms go off three times, and they still don't budge.
We only get weekends off. No lessons, no practice. But if there's a competition coming up, even Saturdays are stolen from us. We're supposed to stay ready.
I'm not the best yet. My coach suggested I watch archery videos online, so I do—every night before bed. They make me feel like I've got it. Like I'm improving. But the second I hold that bow and arrow… it's like my hands forget everything. I just become mechanical.
Then there's Bruce. Always in my space. And he's gotten worse.
He makes sure to sit near us in the library. If I get up to find a book, he appears—overwhelming me with his masculine cologne and heavy breathing, face twisted like he's about to devour me… but he never does.
He doesn't explain himself. Just drops weird names like "kitty" and "princess." I never thought I looked like either—until him.
In L.O. (Life Orientation), he won't sit near me. But during breakfast, he and his friend still sit at our table without saying a word.
One thing I've noticed: Bruce loves boiled eggs. One day, I put three on my tray just to test him. He took them. Right in front of me. Said nothing.
At lunch, they sit with us. At dinner, same thing.
One day I overheard a few Omegas muttering about us, but the moment Bruce showed up, they went quiet like someone had hit mute.
Three minutes of calling their names finally gets Jules and Lucas to stir. They groan and stretch, rubbing their eyes. Still don't hear their alarms, but my voice seems to work.
"Wake up if you don't want to be on Mr. Sawyer's bad side," I tell them.
We met Mr. Sawyer last Friday during L.O. He warned us about the morning run. No nonsense kind of man. Agile. Built like a soldier. Looks like an older version of Bruce—same stone-carved body, same intimidating stare.
Lucas and Jules finally snap into motion, throwing off their blankets and stumbling to their feet. Sleepy, but moving.
I'm already dressed in running clothes—joggers, sneakers, and a short-sleeved tee.
At exactly 5 a.m., we reach the training grounds, sprinting down the corridors. A few students are already here.
I glance around. No sign of Mr. Sawyer.
Or Bruce.
Not sure why I'm looking for him.
When I turn back, I catch Lucas also scanning the crowd—definitely looking for Lian.
Then I feel it.
A shiver runs up my spine, arching my back slightly. That presence. Heavy, magnetic.
Bruce.
He's walking toward us… or toward me, with Lian beside him.
He's wearing black joggers and a black tank top that shows off everything—broad biceps, sculpted shoulders, and a torso that looks like it was sketched by a god with a grudge.
I try to clear my throat quietly and rub the bridge of my nose. It's awkward. I drop my eyes to the ground and fight the urge to look at his—
That area.
It's cold, but Alphas are warm-blooded. Their builds can handle the chill like it's nothing. Lian is dressed similarly—dark grey joggers and a white tank top that blends into his skin tone.
Then, like a curse, Bruce is behind me.
His masculine scent slams into my nose, thick and aggressive. But he says nothing. Not even a "Good morning, kitten."
His right cheek has a vitiligo patch shaped like a map. His hands, too. No tattoos—none of the learners have them. It's against the rules. Piercings are fine, just not on the face. Hairstyles are allowed, as long as they're neat.
Bruce wears his hair in cornrows, wrapped today in a black bandana. His braids fall to his cheeks—just enough to peek out. He still looks unfairly good.
He's the most handsome person I've ever seen.
That's a truth I can't run from.
Plump, honey-colored lips. Golden hazel eyes. A well-trimmed goatee. Sharp brows. Long lashes. A masterpiece walking around like a menace.
But he hates me. For reasons I don't understand.
He calls me names. I call him "brute" in return. It helps.
I haven't seen him smile. Not once.
Does he even have one?
I fight the urge to turn and look up at him. He's that tall.
Just a glance wouldn't hurt, right?
Control yourself, kitty.
Wait… did I just call myself kitty?
Ugh.
I'm turning.
"Good morning," Mr. Sawyer's voice cuts through the air.
I freeze. Maybe it's good I didn't turn after all.
"I'm sorry I'm a bit late," Mr. Sawyer continues. "I see everyone's here. Listen up—pair yourselves up. Ten pairs. Now."
Instantly, two arms loop through mine. Lucas and Jules. We glance around, looking to see who else is pairing.
More students approach, but we all know why.
Bruce.
The school president still stands behind me like moving an inch would anger the gods of the track.
A few students back off after realizing there are too many of us. They form their own group.
It's our turn next.
I'm in the middle of Lucas and Jules on the front line. I can hear Bruce breathing behind me.
Mr. Sawyer signals.
Jules and Lucas launch like rockets.
I run at a steady pace. No need to burn out too soon.
Then Bruce, in true brute fashion, ruins my morning.
"Kitties will always be kitties," he mutters, smirking. "Acting like they're special little princesses."
I furrow my brows. "What's your deal?"
Lian passes us easily, along with a few others.
"Deal?" Bruce raises an eyebrow.
"What do you want from me?" I pant, trying to keep my pace.
"From you? Nothing, weakling," he says, winking.
Gosh, he's so tall.
I scoff. "Then I guess you've got some serious issues. Maybe daddy problems. Or mommy problems." I wink back with a smug grin.
His face darkens instantly. His skin flushes red.
And then he sprints.
Past me. Past Lian.
Show-off.
He runs like the track was made for his feet. Even out of uniform, he looks just as good. Unfairly so.
I glance back. A few Omegas are behind me, jogging at my pace.
This isn't a competition, so I don't rush. But soon I hear a wave of cheering.
Students are celebrating Bruce for finishing first.
Of course.
I roll my eyes and jog to the end.
After one hour and thirty-nine minutes, we're showered, dressed in our uniforms, and heading to class.
We talk about the new "mute twins"—Bruce and Lian—who somehow took an interest in us without saying a word.
Lucas still has his usual hairstyle. Jules has his tied into a neat ponytail that swings with every step.
Then it happens again.
That scent. Bruce's scent. Closes in behind me like smoke.
I freeze—and then walk straight into him.
My head hits his hard chest. He stumbles slightly but catches himself.
If he'd fallen, he would've crushed me against the floor tiles.
He hisses.
I snarl without turning. Then I whirl around.
He's frowning. Brows knitted together like I'm the problem.
"What the heck is wrong with you?" he demands.
"You're the one following me like I owe you something," I growl. "Go get a life, brute. I don't think your mate would appreciate this."
I don't know why I said that. I regret it instantly.
Imagine being someone's mate and finding out they're following other Omegas around. Gross.
Before I reach the classroom door, a hand grabs mine.
A strong, burning grasp.
"Don't you dare say that word—'mate'—to me," Bruce growls.
"Are you okay in the head?" I ask, genuinely worried.
His expression shifts.
He drops his gaze like a sulking child. His jaw clenches. His lips rub together like he's holding back something dangerous.
Our eyes lock.
And for the first time, I notice… his eyes are golden hazel.
Have they always been?
There's something in the air between us—some energy that coils around us like a cord pulled tight. It's intense. Overwhelming. Magnetic.
His hand never leaves mine.
It's heating up.
Like lava.