THE BAD BOY GOT ME PREGNANT

ARTHUR

The air inside the Alpha Sigma house was laced with cheap vodka,cologne and cigarette smell.Every sane Omega on campus knew to steer clear of this place on a Friday night. It was a predator tank. But I wasn't here to be sensible. I was here to finish a problem.

I adjusted my heavy prescription frames, shoving them up the bridge of my nose, and kept walking. My oversized beige knit sweater swallowed my hands and hid my trembling fingers.

I pushed through the double doors leading into the main lounge. The crowd here was thicker, orbiting around a long leather sectional like moths around a wildfire. Sitting right in the center, one booted foot resting carelessly on the glass coffee table, was Jaxon Hilton.

He was exactly as the campus rumors described him: a walking hazard. His leather jacket was thrown over the back of the couch, leaving him in a black tank top that showed off the dark, intricate ink winding up his muscular arms and climbing his throat. His dark hair was messy, falling into eyes that were sharp, arrogant, and entirely too used to getting whatever they looked at.

I walked straight past his circle, stepping over an empty beer can, and stopped directly in front of him.

The laughter at the table died down, replaced by a confused, irritated silence. Jaxon blinked, his dark eyes slowly tracking up from my sneakers, past my baggy denim, to my face. A slow, mocking smirk curled the corner of his lips.

"Well, look who it is," Jaxon drew, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. "The chemistry tutor. Did you lose your way to the library, nerd? Or did you finally come to ask for my autograph?"

His friends chuckled, leaning back to watch the show.

"You got me pregnant," I blurted.

The entire circle froze. The Beta girl’s drink stopped halfway to her mouth. Jaxon’s smirk stayed fixed on his face for a fraction of a second before it cracked, a sharp, booming laugh bursting from his chest.

"Man, you really had me for a second," Jaxon sneered, his laughter dying down into a cold, dismissive chuckle. His eyes turned sharp, scanning my plain, unappealing appearance with pure amusement. "As if I would ever find myself sleeping with a low-life Omega like you. Nice joke, Arthur. Now get the hell out of my face before I make you."

"It’s not a joke, Jaxon," I replied.

"Listen to me, you little freak," Jaxon growled, leaning forward."I know exactly who I slept with at the end-of-semester party two months ago. It was a girl. A gorgeous, wild Omega girl who didn’t say a word but sure as hell knew how to handle a heat. She didn’t wear grandma sweaters or thick-ass glasses. So take your little delusions somewhere else."

"You didn't sleep with a female Omega," I said, taking a deliberate step closer, right up to the edge of the coffee table. "You actually slept with me."

Jaxon’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with genuine irritation now. "Are you deaf? I remember that night perfectly. It was pitch black in that guest room. She was small, she smelled like vanilla, and—"

"And she lost her glasses under the bed the second you pinned her down," I interrupted, staring him down without an ounce of fear. "You were completely out of your mind on cheap liquor and the sudden scent match. My suppressants failed that night because my heat hit me out of nowhere. I couldn't speak because my throat was raw from the fever. You didn't check who was underneath you, Jaxon. You just assumed what you wanted to assume because it suited your taste."

The room was dead silent now. Even his varsity friends had stopped grinning, their eyes darting between the two of us as the details began to line up entirely too well.

Jaxon rose from the couch slowly, towering over me. The sheer physical mass of him was intimidating, but I didn't back up an inch. He glared down at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. "You're lying. You're trying to pull some pathetic scam for money or status. Anyone can make up a story about a dark room."

"I don't care about your money, and I certainly don't care about your status," I muttered. "But I don't intend to carry this burden alone while you sit here playing the campus king. You think I’m making this up? You actually knotted in me. And you bit me."

Jaxon scoffed, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "I didn't mark anyone. If I had marked her—"

"You didn't fully mark me because it wasn't a mating ceremony," I ridiculed, my hand reaching up to the high, thick collar of my sweater. "But you were feral enough to try. You left a semi-permanent mark. Right at the small of my neck."

With one swift, deliberate motion, I caught the fabric of my collar and yanked it down over my left shoulder, exposing the pale skin where my neck met my collarbone.

The harsh, flashing party lights caught the area instantly. Right there, carved deeply into my skin, was a jagged, unhealed blemish. It wasn't a clean scar; it was a rough, permanent imprint left by a frantic, heavy bite. And right in the centre of the bruised, pale flesh, the clear shape of a jagged letter 'J' sat half-faded but entirely unmistakable—a physical brand left by his dominant canine teeth. Along with the mark, the faint, residual scent of his own lemonmint pheromones radiated weakly from the broken skin, a biological lock and key that only his body could have produced.

Jaxon froze entirely. His breath hitched in his throat.

His eyes locked onto the jagged 'J' on my shoulder, his face draining of all colour as the smug, untouchable bad-boy persona shattered completely. He recognized his own mark.

I let go of the sweater, letting the fabric snap back into place, covering the proof. I adjusted my glasses one last time, looking him dead in the eye as his friends stared at him in absolute horror.

"I didn't get myself pregnant, Jaxon," I mumbled softly, turning my back to him. "It’s as simple as that. Figure out what you're going to do about it."