I slipped into Advanced Literature five minutes early, hoping to secure a seat near the back. The classroom was already half-full with students chatting in small clusters, their voices dropping to whispers as I entered. The morning's incident in the parking lot had left me rattled. My hand trembled slightly as I reached into my bag for another suppressant pill—an emergency dose. I'd never had to take them this close together before, but I couldn't risk another slip.

I chose a desk in the corner, far from the door, and arranged my notebook and pens with methodical precision. The familiar routine helped calm my nerves. I had a job to do here. I couldn't let one entitled Alpha derail five years of planning.

The classroom door swung open, and conversation instantly died. Adrian Blackwood strode in, his presence commanding attention without effort. My body tensed involuntarily as his gaze swept the room, then locked onto mine with laser precision. A small, satisfied smile curved his lips.

He approached the professor's desk, leaning in to speak quietly. The older man nodded several times, then consulted his seating chart. My stomach dropped.

"Miss Reyes," the professor called out, "there's been a slight change to the seating arrangement. You'll be moving to this desk here." He pointed to a seat in the middle of the room.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat as Adrian slid into the seat directly behind my new assigned desk. The bastard was actually smirking.

"Is there a problem?" the professor asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No," I managed, gathering my things. "No problem."

I could feel the curious stares of my classmates as I relocated. This wasn't part of the plan. I needed to be invisible, forgettable—not the subject of attention on my first day.

As the professor began his lecture on Shakespearean tragedy, I tried to focus on taking notes about the families I was investigating. The Blackwoods owned the largest pharmaceutical company in the country, with suspicious ties to experimental drug trials. The Montgomerys controlled media outlets that had helped bury the story of my mother's death. The Chens...

A warm breath tickled the back of my neck. "You smell different now," Adrian whispered, his voice so low only I could hear it. "But I know what you are."

My pen froze mid-sentence. I forced myself to keep writing, to show no reaction, even as my heart hammered against my ribs.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered back, not turning around.

"Liar," he murmured, the word caressing my skin like a physical touch. "What's your game, Luna Reyes? If that's even your real name."

I gripped my pen tighter. How could he possibly suspect? I'd been so careful.

"My game is trying to pass this class," I hissed. "So shut up."

Instead of being offended, he chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. "Feisty for an Omega."

For the next forty-five minutes, I felt his presence like a physical weight against my back. He didn't speak again, but he didn't need to. I could feel him leaning forward occasionally, breathing deeply, cataloging my scent. By the time the bell rang, my shoulders ached from tension, and my notes were a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts.

I bolted from my seat the moment we were dismissed, but Adrian's voice followed me to the door.

"See you at lunch, Luna."

It wasn't a question. It was a claim.

* * *

The cafeteria buzzed with activity as I entered, tray in hand. I spotted Elena, my assigned roommate, sitting with a group of girls at a table near the windows. She caught my eye and gave a small wave, but I pretended not to see. The fewer connections I made here, the better.

I chose an empty table in the corner, spreading my notes across the surface to discourage company. I needed to regroup, to figure out how Adrian had seen through me so quickly. The suppressants should have masked my Omega scent completely. Unless...unless the formula was losing effectiveness. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

I was so lost in my worries that I didn't notice Adrian's approach until his tray clattered onto the table across from mine. The sound made me jump.

"This seat taken?" he asked, already sliding into the chair.

The air around us seemed to thicken as he deliberately leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. I watched, horrified and fascinated, as he dragged his wrist across the surface, marking the territory with his scent. It was such a primal, possessive gesture that several nearby students turned to stare.

"What do you want?" I demanded, keeping my voice low.

"Just getting to know our new scholarship student," he replied, his tone deceptively casual. "Where did you transfer from again?"

I stared at the message on my phone in disbelief. Physical Education was now mandatory for all students—effective immediately. A new "self-defense initiative" straight from the board of trustees. I scrolled through the academy's updated curriculum, my stomach knotting with each word.

Combat training. Paired exercises. Physical contact.

This couldn't be a coincidence. Not after yesterday's cafeteria incident where Adrian had practically marked our table as his territory, causing whispers to follow me through the hallways for the rest of the day.

I changed into the required gym clothes in a bathroom stall rather than the locker room, double-checking that my suppressant patch was securely in place beneath my shirt. The standard pills weren't enough anymore—not with Adrian constantly triggering my body's responses. I needed the stronger, direct-absorption patches to keep my Omega nature hidden.

When I entered the gym, the space was already divided into sparring circles with mats placed strategically across the floor. Students clustered in groups, chatting excitedly about the new program. I scanned the room for familiar faces from my research—Montgomery's daughter by the bleachers, Chen's son near the water fountain—mentally cataloging their positions while trying to blend into the background.

"Alright, everyone pair up!" Coach Bennett's voice boomed across the gym. "Today we're learning basic defensive holds and escapes. Find someone approximately your size."

Students scrambled to claim partners, leaving me momentarily relieved. If I was left without a partner, maybe I could—

"Coach," a familiar voice called out. "The new student doesn't have a partner. I can work with her."

My blood ran cold as Adrian approached, already dressed in athletic wear that did nothing to hide his Alpha physique. The coach nodded approvingly.

"Good initiative, Blackwood. Show her the ropes."

Adrian's smile was predatory as he gestured toward an empty mat in the corner. "Shall we?"

I had no choice but to follow, acutely aware of the eyes tracking our movement across the gym. Vivian Montgomery's gaze burned into my back with particular intensity.

"I know what you're doing," I whispered as we took positions on the mat.

"Do you?" Adrian's voice was light, casual. "I'm just helping the new scholarship student adjust to our academy's standards."

Coach Bennett demonstrated the first move—a simple wrist grab and escape technique. As we practiced, Adrian's fingers wrapped around my wrist with deliberate slowness, his thumb pressing against my pulse point.

"Your heart is racing," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. "Nervous?"

I jerked my arm away, performing the escape move with more force than necessary. "Just focused on the lesson."

With each new technique, the contact between us intensified. A hand on my shoulder. An arm around my waist. His chest pressed against my back as he demonstrated a chokehold escape. Each touch sent unwanted heat coursing through my body, my suppressants fighting a losing battle against biology.

When we switched to ground techniques, the situation became unbearable. Adrian pinned me to the mat, his body hovering inches above mine, his scent enveloping me completely.

"You're supposed to try escaping," he said, his voice husky. "Unless you like being underneath me."

Something snapped inside me. I executed the escape move perfectly, flipping our positions with a strength that surprised even me. Now I was on top, my forearm pressed against his throat—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make a point.

"Don't mistake me for some simpering Omega who'll roll over for any Alpha that shows interest," I hissed, low enough that only he could hear.

Instead of anger, his eyes darkened with something far more dangerous—desire, challenge, approval.

"There she is," he whispered. "The real Luna, hiding behind all those chemicals."

I pushed away from him abruptly, aware that several students had stopped their own practice to watch us. The air felt thick with tension and unspoken questions. Worst of all, I could smell myself now—my natural scent breaking through the synthetic barrier of suppressants, mingling with Adrian's Alpha pheromones in a combination that screamed "compatibility" to anyone with heightened senses.

Coach Bennett blew the whistle, signaling the end of class. "Good work today! Hit the showers!"

I practically ran for the exit, not bothering to change. I needed air, distance, another dose of suppressants—anything to regain control.

Behind me, I heard Vivian's voice, sharp with accusation: "What exactly was that, Adrian?"

I didn't stay to hear his answer. But as I pushed through the gym doors, one certainty settled in my mind: this game of cat and mouse had just become infinitely more complicated.

And I wasn't sure which one of us was the cat anymore.