05

It happened at exactly 7:42 a.m.

River was halfway through his morning routine — brushing his teeth with slow, deliberate strokes, trying to steady the chaotic storm roiling beneath his skin — when his phone pinged sharply from the counter.

He froze, toothbrush halfway to his mouth, eyes locked on the screen.

“Bonding confirmed. Subject: River Hale.”

The message was curt, clinical, and chilling.

His heart hitched.

A cold sweat broke out along his spine. His hands trembled as he snatched up the phone, fingers fumbling over the screen to unlock it.

Attached to the text was a video file. No explanation. No warning.

With a deep breath that tasted of dread, River tapped it open.

The grainy footage showed the dim interior of Leon Vance’s office from a hidden vantage point — surveillance cam, maybe. The rain pattered against the window in soft rhythm as Leon paced, his expression a tight mask of control and impatience.

But then the camera focused on River — or rather, a ghostly shimmer surrounding his wrist, a faint, ethereal glow that pulsed with a rhythm like a heartbeat.

River’s breath caught.

The video zoomed in, capturing a brief, almost imperceptible pop — like a bubble bursting underwater — and then the glow settled into a faint brand, a living tattoo just beneath the skin.

His pulse thundered, each beat pounding in his ears.

The screen flickered, and then the message scrolled in cold, authoritative text:

“Bonding is not a choice. It is fate.”

River dropped the phone onto the counter, the device’s screen casting a pale light on his shaking hands.

He stumbled back to the bathroom mirror, eyes wide and unblinking as they fixed on the faint glow just beneath his wrist. It wasn’t there when he’d gone to bed. He had seen no ritual, no mark.

And yet, now it was real.

Something ancient and primal had claimed him — without permission, without consent.

His mind raced, reeling from the implications. The contract, the threats, the impossible ultimatum — they were no longer just words on paper. They were a living chain wrapped around him, tightening with every second.

River’s reflection stared back, pale and haunted.

His Omega instincts screamed — the scent glands on his neck flared, heat rising from deep within, radiating outward like wildfire. The bond wasn’t just legal. It was biological, spiritual, a tether that pulled him inexorably toward Leon.

His phone buzzed again, dragging him back from the edge.

Another message:

“You belong to me now, River. Resistance is… futile.”

A cold fury surged through him, burning hotter than his rising heat.

No. Not futile.

He wouldn’t give in without a fight.

He grabbed his jacket and stormed out into the rain, the city a blur of neon and wet streets. His breaths came out in ragged bursts as the storm crashed overhead — thunder shaking the sky like the echo of his own shattered control.

Every step was a battle — between fear and defiance, between the wild need clawing at his throat and the stubborn flame of independence blazing inside.

He reached the rooftop of his apartment building, rain soaking through his clothes, chilling him to the bone.

Leaning against the cold metal railing, River let the storm wash over him — a baptism, a cleansing, and a reminder that he was still alive. Still fighting.

But even as the wind tore at his hair and soaked his skin, a single truth settled deep in his gut:

Leon Vance didn’t just want him.

He already owned him.

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