Losing

I wait in the living room for what feels like an eternity, though my phone tells me it's only been thirty minutes. I distract myself by scrolling through apps, answering emails, and fiddling with a bit of work, but my focus keeps slipping. Beneath the surface, anticipation hums through me, low and steady. Today could be the day I finally pull the face that's been haunting my dreams into my arms. But if it's not? That's fine. Patience is a virtue, one I've mastered over the years. Slowly, this little omega will be molded into my omega.

The sound of a door creaking open pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance up. My breath catches in my throat.

Ivan steps out of the bedroom, and for a moment, all coherent thought is wiped clean. The soft, cream-colored fabric of his top clings to his slender frame in all the right ways, flowing down his chest in loose, delicate folds. The robe-like design dips low enough to reveal just a hint of his collarbone, and the way it cinches at his waist highlights his narrow build. The silky sheen catches the light, making him look ethereal, like he's stepped out of a dream.My dream.

But it's the open back of the shirt that nearly brings me to my knees. His smooth, golden skin is exposed, the delicate curve of his spine drawing my eyes like a magnet. The draped fabric frames the bare expanse of his back so perfectly it has to be intentional—like it's begging for my touch. My gaze travels lower, landing on the black pants he's paired it with. They're tailored to perfection, hugging his hips and thighs before tapering neatly down. The material clings just enough to emphasize his perky, round ass, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from grabbing hold.

I'd seen this outfit in a magazine and thought it would suit him, but this… this is something else entirely. Ivan isn't just beautiful—he's breathtaking.

The bow is tied too quickly, my fingers betraying me in their efficiency. I let my hands linger just a fraction of a second longer than necessary before stepping back, my restraint hanging by a thread.

"There," I murmur, my voice lower than I intended, roughened by the tension thrumming in my chest.

Ivan turns to face me, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable. He adjusts the fabric at his waist with careful fingers, drawing my attention once more to the way the cream-colored top clings and drapes so effortlessly around his frame. My gaze trails over him again, savoring every detail—the elegant flow of the fabric, the way the black pants hug his hips and legs, and that devastatingly open back that teases me like a dare.

"Do I look okay?" he asks, his voice quieter now, softer, as though seeking reassurance. But as his eyes meet mine, I catch the glint of something else entirely—amusement.

Oh, he's got me.

All those grand plans I had about slowly molding this omega into mine? They're rubble now, crushed under his smile, his gaze, his presence. Ivan's not the one being claimed here—I am. I see it clearly, a bulldozer crashing through my carefully constructed walls. I'm his alpha, no question about it, and I already know I'll be eating out of the palm of his hand.

I may have shot myself in the foot, but honestly, I can't imagine leaving. I'm staying.

"You look…" I pause, searching for words that won't betray the chaos in my head. "Incredible. But I bet you already know that."

"Of course I do," he replies without missing a beat, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "It never hurts to hear it again, though."

He twirls, the fabric flaring out just enough to give me another glimpse of his back, and I'm gone, completely gone. I don't bother hiding how my eyes follow him. If he wants my attention, he'll have every bit of it.

"I don't have a collar that would go with this outfit, though," he says, lightly touching the bare curve of his neck.

The image of a collar circling that graceful throat sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through me. "Right," I manage to say, clearing my throat to mask my reaction.

I stride into the bedroom, scanning the shopping bags I'd brought in earlier. One of them holds exactly what I need. Reaching inside, I pull out a velvet red jewelry box. My fingers hesitate for just a moment before I open it, revealing the diamond choker inside.

The sound Ivan makes—a soft, breathless gasp—is worth every ounce of wealth I poured into it.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes wide as they take in the shimmering diamonds.

No, he's beautiful, but I don't say it out loud. Instead, I step closer, holding the choker up for him to see.

"May I?" I ask, my voice softer now, reverent.

His lips curve into a smile, and he tilts his head slightly, giving me permission. My hands tremble as I fasten the choker around his neck, the cool metal contrasting against the warmth of his skin. When it's secure, I step back, taking in the full picture—him in the cream and black outfit, the diamonds glittering at his throat like stars.

"Perfect," I whisper, and I mean it. For once, the word feels entirely inadequate.

Ivan's fingers brush against the choker as he turns to look at himself in the mirror, and the sight of him, so confident and radiant, steals whatever air is left in the room.

He glances over his shoulder at me, his smile playful. "You have good taste."

"You make it easy," I reply, unable to stop myself from smiling back.

And just like that, I know I've lost whatever game I thought I was playing. But as Ivan's laughter fills the room, light and genuine, I realize I don't mind losing at all.