The CEO's Hidden Omega

The morning air felt different at Crescent Academy—cleaner, crisper, more expensive somehow. I adjusted the rearview mirror of my beat-up Honda Civic, catching a glimpse of my carefully neutral expression. No one here could know who I really was. Luna Reyes, transfer student with a modest scholarship—that's who I needed to be today. Not the missing heiress to the Silva Global empire. Not the daughter of Maria Silva, whose "accidental" death five years ago had been anything but.

"Remember the plan," I whispered to myself, checking my watch. Four hours until my next suppressant dose. The small blue pills had become my lifeline, keeping my Omega biology hidden beneath layers of artificial Beta pheromones. In a world where Alphas ruled and Omegas were seen as valuable commodities rather than people, I couldn't afford to be discovered.

I tucked the tiny recording device—disguised as a simple pendant—beneath my sweater. Today was just reconnaissance: map the terrain, identify key players, blend in. The children of my mother's killers walked these hallowed halls, oblivious that justice was coming for their families.

The student parking lot was a showcase of wealth—Range Rovers, Mercedes, and even a few Porsches gleamed under the morning sun. I guided my Honda into an empty spot between a Tesla and a BMW, feeling like a crow among peacocks. The contrast suited my purpose; nobody notices the ordinary.

I grabbed my backpack and checked my reflection one last time. The face that looked back at me was carefully constructed—hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, minimal makeup, forgettable clothes. I'd learned years ago that invisibility was a superpower in its own right.

"First day, don't screw it up," I muttered, stepping out of the car.

The campus sprawled before me, all Gothic architecture and manicured lawns. Students moved in tight-knit groups, their designer clothes and confident postures screaming old money and established hierarchies. I took a deep breath and started walking, mentally reviewing the dossiers I'd memorized. The Blackwoods, the Montgomerys, the Chens—all families connected to my mother's death, all with children attending this academy.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost missed the roar of an engine—too close, too fast. The screech of tires jerked me back to reality as a black Lamborghini swerved around the corner, barreling directly toward me.

Time slowed. I froze between two parked cars as the sports car bore down on me. At the last possible second, the driver slammed on the brakes, the vehicle skidding to a halt mere inches from where I stood.

Fear transformed instantly to rage. Without thinking, I slammed my palm down on the gleaming hood.

"Are you trying to kill someone?" I shouted, heart hammering against my ribs.

Through the tinted windshield, I could make out a figure on a phone, seemingly unbothered by the near-miss. The casual disregard ignited something primal inside me. I smacked the hood again, harder.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

The driver's door swung open, and a tall figure unfolded