Bred by My Ex's Boss

The sky above Manhattan broke open.

Freezing rain lashed against the revolving glass doors of the Marks Tech headquarters. The wind howled through the concrete canyons of the city, driving the water sideways.

Alston Lindsey stood outside on the marble steps.

He was shivering so violently his teeth clicked together. He held a cheap black umbrella over his head, but the wind kept catching the edges, threatening to rip it out of his hands. His thin beige sweater offered zero protection against the biting cold.

He hugged his arms around his chest, trying to preserve whatever body heat he had left.

Ten minutes ago, he had tried to walk into the warm, dry lobby. He needed to drop off a crucial trust fund signature document that Braydon had left on the kitchen counter that morning.

The security guard, a massive Alpha named Mitch, had blocked his path.

"No unauthorized personnel past the security gates without an appointment," Mitch had said, his voice flat and uncaring.

Alston had tried to explain. He had shown the folder with Braydon's name on it. But Mitch just pointed to the heavy glass doors leading back out into the storm.

Alston bit down hard on his pale lower lip. The metallic taste of blood grounded him.

He could not cause a scene. If he embarrassed Braydon at his workplace, the consequences at home would be unbearable. So, Alston had backed away. He retreated to the only spot outside that offered a fraction of an overhang, right near the edge of the driveway.

A sleek black town car pulled up to the curb. The tires hit a deep puddle, sending a wave of dirty, freezing water splashing onto the sidewalk.

The muddy water soaked the bottom half of Alston's faded slacks.

He gasped at the sudden, icy shock. He looked down at his ruined pants, a heavy knot of humiliation forming in his throat. He dug his thumbnails deep into the sides of his index fingers, using the sharp pinch of pain to stop the tears from forming.

Inside the warm, brightly lit lobby, a group of employees stood near the coffee bar.

They were holding steaming cups, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the storm.

Sandra Fletcher, a senior analyst known for knowing everyone's business, narrowed her eyes at the pathetic figure shivering outside.

She noticed the watch on Alston's left wrist as he struggled to hold the umbrella. It was a custom, vintage Patek Philippe. A Hayden family heirloom.

Sandra gasped softly. She leaned in toward her coworkers.

"Do you see that guy out there?" Sandra whispered, pointing a manicured finger at the glass. "I saw that name on the Hayden charity gala guest list once... and look at his wrist. That's a custom Hayden family heirloom watch. Oh my god, is that the reclusive husband?"

The three employees next to her turned to stare.

"You're joking," one of them said, laughing in disbelief. "Braydon is an S-class Alpha. That guy looks like he buys his clothes at a thrift store. Why is he standing in the rain like a stray dog?"

"Because Braydon doesn't care about him," Sandra said, her tone dripping with pity and disgust. "I heard it was an arranged marriage. A financial merger. Everyone knows Braydon is still sleeping with his ex, so he keeps this one completely hidden."

The group continued to stare, their eyes dissecting Alston through the glass.

Alston felt the weight of their stares. He did not need to hear their words to know what they were saying. The pitying looks were always the same.

He lowered his head, burying his chin deep into his damp scarf to hide his face.

A sudden, violent gust of wind swept across the plaza. It caught the underside of Alston's umbrella. The metal spokes groaned, and Alston stumbled forward, his worn sneakers slipping on the wet marble.

He crashed shoulder-first into the stone pillar near the door, barely keeping his balance.

High above the street, on the top floor of the building, Easton Marks stood at his window.

He was looking down at the city, his jaw clenched tight. The whiskey had worn off, and the phantom smell of chamomile was driving him insane. He needed to find the Omega. He needed to find Braydon's mate.

Easton's eyes tracked the movement of the storm. His gaze drifted down to the plaza directly in front of his building.

He saw the black umbrella. He saw the thin figure get slammed into the stone pillar by the wind.

Even from this height, Easton's Enigma eyesight was flawless. He could see the way the person's shoulders shook. He could see the vulnerability in the posture.

Easton frowned. A wave of disgust rolled through his stomach.

He hated Omegas who played the victim. He assumed it was some desperate spouse trying to guilt-trip an executive into coming downstairs.

He turned away from the window, walking toward his desk to hit the intercom. He was going to tell security to remove the loiterer.

Before his finger could press the button, his office door opened.

His assistant walked in, holding a thick, sealed tablet.

"Mr. Marks," she said, setting the tablet on his desk. "The unredacted background file on Braydon Hayden. The security team bypassed the family privacy locks."

Easton ignored the intercom. He picked up the tablet and swiped the screen.

The file opened directly to the marital records.

There was a high-resolution photograph attached to the marriage certificate.

Easton stared at the screen. His breathing stopped.

The person in the photo had soft, tired eyes and a jawline that looked too fragile for this world. He looked gentle, but there was a stubborn set to his mouth.

The name printed below the photo was Alston Lindsey.

Easton's eyes darted from the tablet to the floor-to-ceiling window.

He looked back down at the plaza. The person shivering in the rain, the one he was just about to have thrown off the property, was wearing the exact same beige sweater as the person in the photo.

The medical data on the screen caught Easton's eye.

Alston Lindsey. Omega. Pheromone match with Braydon Hayden: 96%.

A deafening roar rushed into Easton's ears. The blood pounded in his veins, hot and fast.

He had been so stupid.

The chamomile scent did not belong to Braydon. It was never Braydon's. Braydon was just the carrier. The scent belonged to the Omega standing in the freezing rain right outside his front door.

The perfect, pure soul that his biology was screaming for was literally freezing on his doorstep.

Easton dropped the tablet onto the desk. It hit the wood with a loud clatter.

He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and sprinted for the door.

His assistant jumped back in shock as Easton tore past her. He didn't say a word. He looked like a predator that had just caught the scent of blood.

Easton hit the button for his private elevator. The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, his heart hammering against his ribs. The descent felt agonizingly slow. He twisted his platinum watch band, the metal digging into his skin, trying to keep the violent Enigma instincts from taking over his brain.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the ground floor lobby.

Easton stepped out. He ignored the gasps and the sudden silence that fell over the employees. He walked straight toward the revolving doors, his eyes fixed on the black umbrella outside.

Just as Easton reached the glass, a silver Aston Martin roared out of the building's underground VIP garage and pulled aggressively to the curb.

The driver's side door opened. Braydon stepped out into the rain. He didn't bother with an umbrella. He looked furious.

Easton stopped right inside the glass doors. His muscles locked tight.

He watched as Braydon marched up to Alston. Alston held out the manila folder with shaking hands.

Braydon snatched the folder out of Alston's grip. As he pulled the file away, Braydon's elbow shoved hard against Alston's chest.

It wasn't an accident. It was a deliberate, impatient push.

Alston stumbled backward. His heel caught the edge of the marble step, and he swayed dangerously, fighting to stay upright in the wind.

Easton's hands curled into fists at his sides. The glass of the door felt cold against his knuckles.

He watched the Omega struggle to keep his balance. He watched the Alpha turn his back without a second glance.

A dark, lethal calm settled over Easton's mind.