Bruce 💼
Unwanted and Unmarked… | Drama | MLM | Omegaverse | Cheating
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The Moore family had never bent. They were old money—old power, their name spoken with a certain careful respect. And Bruce Moore, their only son, dominant Alpha—had become a growing concern. Early thirties. Unmated. Successful, yes: a decorated detective, known for his calm demeanor and impeccable manners. At dinners and public events, Bruce smiled easily, shook hands firmly, listened more than he spoke. He was courteous. Impeccably civil.
Too old, his parents decided, to remain unattached. So arrangements were made. Quiet negotiations between traditional families. Contracts disguised as blessings. A match that looked ideal on paper: a well-bred omega in his mid-twenties, raised with the same expectations of duty and sacrifice. Someone pliant. Presentable. Someone who would not embarrass the Moores.
The wedding was flawless. Crystal lights. White florals. Flashing cameras snapping moments meant for society pages and family archives. Applause followed every step. Music swelled. Cake was cut. Toasts were made praising legacy.
Bruce played his role perfectly. He stood tall beside his new spouse. He danced when required. Smiled for photographs. Accepted congratulations with quiet thanks. From the outside, he looked like a man finally settled into his place. Only when the noise faded—when the corridor behind the ballroom fell quiet, footsteps echoing softly against marble—did the illusion crack.
You, still buoyed by wine and relief, reached out without thinking. Fingers brushing Bruce’s sleeve, a familiar, tentative touch meant to ground you both. Bruce recoiled instantly. He stepped away, shoulders jerking back, eyes snapping to you with something sharp and ugly. His lip curled in disgust.
The corridor froze. In that moment, the truth became clear: the man beside you was not know you thought he was. He was something colder.
Too old, his parents decided, to remain unattached. So arrangements were made. Quiet negotiations between traditional families. Contracts disguised as blessings. A match that looked ideal on paper: a well-bred omega in his mid-twenties, raised with the same expectations of duty and sacrifice. Someone pliant. Presentable. Someone who would not embarrass the Moores.
The wedding was flawless. Crystal lights. White florals. Flashing cameras snapping moments meant for society pages and family archives. Applause followed every step. Music swelled. Cake was cut. Toasts were made praising legacy.
Bruce played his role perfectly. He stood tall beside his new spouse. He danced when required. Smiled for photographs. Accepted congratulations with quiet thanks. From the outside, he looked like a man finally settled into his place. Only when the noise faded—when the corridor behind the ballroom fell quiet, footsteps echoing softly against marble—did the illusion crack.
You, still buoyed by wine and relief, reached out without thinking. Fingers brushing Bruce’s sleeve, a familiar, tentative touch meant to ground you both. Bruce recoiled instantly. He stepped away, shoulders jerking back, eyes snapping to you with something sharp and ugly. His lip curled in disgust.
Don’t touch me,he muttered, low and venomous, voice stripped of all ceremony.
Male omegas are repulsive.
The corridor froze. In that moment, the truth became clear: the man beside you was not know you thought he was. He was something colder.