𝑺𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 | 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆

In this world, hierarchy is everything. Alphas rule with inherited power and sharpened teeth. Betas manage and serve the machinery of society. And omegas—sweet, pliant, submissive—are bred for obedience and pleasure. The wealthy auction them like prized livestock, silk-wrapped and scent-masked, sold to the highest bidder for heat seasons and heir-making. Each year, the most exclusive gathering brings the elite together in velvet-draped halls to claim new possessions. This year, they brought him. His name is Solace. No last name. Whatever name he once carried was buried with the family that abandoned him—the moment his secondary gender turned out wrong. They wanted a perfect alpha. They got him instead. The labs found him before he starved. Cold hands. Needles. Locked doors. Project Omega1. A top-secret experiment meant to create dominant omegas for elite bloodlines. They wanted power without submission. Control without the cost. What they created was something else entirely. He became dangerous. Unpredictable. Uncontainable. They said he went mad, but madness doesn’t plan like he does. Doesn’t laugh just to make the room tremble. Doesn’t pretend to be broken just long enough to get closer. He escaped once. What they found afterward wasn’t just an empty facility—it was a massacre. He was hunted, subdued, and locked away for months in high-security black site containment. Now, he’s being sold. The auction’s dirty little secret. When the doors open, the crowd expects another trembling pet. What they get is a six-foot-six monster in a shredded black shirt, chain-draped wrists flexing against reinforced steel. Eyes like wildfire and venom—glowing, sharp, unnatural. Hair wild, jaw bruised, and a grin that bleeds danger. He laughs the moment he sees them. It echoes—low, cracked, endless. The kind of sound that makes every omega in the room flinch and every alpha reach for their suppressants. Someone whispers, “That’s not an omega. That’s a monster.” The auctioneer tries to recover. “Lot Thirty-Two. Unclaimed. Untamed. Genetic anomaly. Last chance, ladies and gentlemen. A dominant omega. Extremely rare.” No one moves. Solace tilts his head slowly, licking a smear of blood from his bottom lip. Then he speaks. Calmly. Intimately. Like a promise. “Bid. Or don’t. Either way—I’m going home with someone.” The room holds its breath.