Page 1 of No Strings Attached (Omega’s Preference #4)

Elias

Stepping out of the shower, my gaze falls on the collage of family pictures supposed to energize me but today, it’s only depressing.

Everyone looks so happy and fulfilled in a way that I wish I was—even my twin brother, Leo, whose pictures have only just recently been added.

The newest set showed up a few days ago in the mail, my brother and his pack’s bright smiles and their two kids hitting me square in the chest.

I’m happy for him. Ecstatic , really. However, it just makes me feel more confused and set apart, like I’ll never find that happiness for myself.

As an Omega over six feet who doesn’t want to submit, my options are limited.

When Leo presented as a Zeta a few years ago, a biological mix of Alpha and Omega genetics, everything made sense.

That’s when I started hoping the same would happen for myself.

But no, numerous tests have determined what I already know: I’m an Omega.

Most likely a defective one since I haven’t even had a heat at 27.

I run a finger over Leo’s smiling face as if it’s possible to extract that happiness and deposit it in myself. He’s got all of this figured out. And me? I’m still trying to piece myself together, trying to figure out where I belong.

My whole life’s built on the lie that I’m an Alpha adventuring through hiking trails and deathly stunts no Omega should ever attempt.

If anyone knew the truth, my YouTube channel, my job, it’d all crumble.

Nobody wants an Omega who won’t submit. I glance at the mirror across the room, my reflection a stranger I’ve crafted.

It’s like I don’t even recognize myself most days, the heavy bags under my eyes, the weariness in my shoulders, the agitated sighs that constantly fall from my lips when I realize the day isn’t over. And yet, I push on because I don’t really have anything else left.

I reach over to the small jar on the counter and slab a healthy amount of scent-changing cream over my gland.

It stings a little, morphing my scent from a softened sweet rain to a bold, torrential storm.

From Omega to “Alpha”. The cream isn’t exactly legal, but I don’t ask questions.

Tristan’s got his claws in me deep enough as it is.

It helps with the business, but it also bars me from any chance of finding a pack.

Omegas sniff me out eventually, their noses wrinkling when they realize I’m a fraud.

Alphas, though? Once they know I’m an Omega, they get that glint in their eyes, all dominance and hunger. I’m not here for that. Never will be.

I quickly dry off and then pull on a pair of jeans, the fabric rough against my damp skin, my phone buzzing seconds later on the counter. Forty-five notifications. Fucking hell. It’s barely 7 am.

The screen lights up with my latest YouTube video, which means Tristan must have uploaded it this morning. It’s me, dangling off a cliff’s edge for two minutes straight, gripping the rock with the strength I’ve built over the years. It was a dare for my 27 th birthday a week ago, chosen by my fans.

In the thumbnail, my red hair’s a mess, my scruffy beard a little more chaotic than usual as a boyish grin splits my face.

I remember filming it, my body begging for rest after back-to-back filming and jobs Tristan threw at me.

All I had wanted was to crawl home and nap, but Tristan pushed for one more take. Always one more.

I scroll through the comments, not surprised in the slightest.

Holy shit, that strength!

Look at that hair, total Alpha vibes.

I’d kill for him as my Alpha.

He gives Beta vibes. Does anyone actually know what his designation is? Has he said?

I’ve never clarified. I’ve let people think what they want and guess until they run out of breath. It’s easier to stay quiet rather than lie. The farther I scroll, the sweeter comments I find. Some are a bit thirstier, and others downright nasty as people talk about what they want to do to me.

And then there are ones that don’t usually make it into the comment section.

Elias, you okay? You look tired, man.

Take a break, don’t push yourself.

We’ll still be here if you want to take a break. We love you!!

“Fuck,” I mutter. I thought I had been good at hiding the burnout, but it seems that even through a screen, they can catch my bullshit.

My phone vibrates again, and I move from YouTube to my messages, groaning at the several unread texts from concerned content creators I’d call acquaintances and then someone I’d call a best friend, even if we rarely meet.

Elias, take a fucking break, man. I know you won’t pick up the damn phone, but I’m really worried about you.

Have you watched the video you just posted?

Maybe no one else saw it, but I swear for a minute I thought you were going to let go.

No one is competing with you. You are the best, okay?

Just… fuck. Tell me to call Tristan and I will.

I hadn’t watched the entire video over again, but I know what Kaden is talking about. There have been fleeting moments when I wished that this wasn’t my life. I’ve dug myself into a little corner that pays well but offers no real option for a pack.

Scrolling through a few more messages, I realize that I really have failed at hiding my exhaustion.

If everyone sees through the smile, what's the point? My phone buzzes again, this time Tristan’s name flashing on the screen.

No way in hell am I answering this early.

I have to be at the studio by ten, and then he can lay down the completely obnoxious schedule I’ll have to follow.

Right now? A cup of coffee is in order, and then more sleep.

Maybe Snow will show up outside my window like she does most mornings, the little albino squirrel that always comes begging for an acorn. A quick glance out my bedroom window has me sighing, the acorn I put there last night still there.

Where are you, Snow?

The silence doesn’t last, though, a knock on my front door echoing through my little cabin.

Seconds later, the door swings open. I knew I’d regret giving Tristan a key to my place one day.

Originally, I had thought it would make things easier for shoots, for quick check-ins.

Instead, it hands Tristan unfettered access to my space, my life, my soul .

At least he rarely barges into the kitchen, but the sudden smell of fresh coffee beans and sugar tells me that he’s not just popping in for a friendly visit.

He’s here because he needs me. Well, fuck.

I sigh again and push off the bed before heading into the kitchen.

The damn Alpha is leaning against my counter, his arms folded across his chest as a grin spreads across his face.

Beside him sits a bag from the bakery up the street, one I’ve actually never entered. “Good morning, money maker," Tristan muses. "We've got work to do. Lots, actually. And I have you auditioning–well, doing a commercial this evening, just before a gala you'll need to attend."

I frown, my brows pulling together. "What?" I’m not usually invited to formal events, nor do I volunteer to go to them.

"You can eat on the way, but we've got a full schedule," he continues. "We've got to film the rock climbing stunt, and then there's a meeting for a collaboration with Nander."

"I told you I didn't want to do that," I push back. Nander is a fucking idiot, and he constantly throws jabs at me for my height, my scent, and anything else he can get away with before Tristan tells us to behave. He never gets in trouble, though, and I’m over it.

Tristan grins wider. "Well, it's a good thing you don't make the rules around here."

I glance down at myself, still in just pants after the shower. "I just need to go put on a shirt."

"You really don't," Tristan hums, his eyes heating up before he fixes his expression. "Shoes and let's go."

I open my mouth to push back, but then he steps closer, his face twisting into a snarl. "Remember your place, Omega. I made you. You will follow the rules like a good Omega, or I can ruin you just as fast as I built you. Now, let's go."

I clamp my mouth shut, the argument dying in my throat.

Arguing won't help. It never does. I turn, grab my shoes from the hall, and slip them on.

Four years ago, I signed on with him because the adventures were fun, and it was something I enjoyed doing.

Now, it's nonstop hell, schedules crammed so tight I can't breathe.

I already know that if I keep pushing myself at this pace, my body will give out.