The Alpha heir becomes an Omega

The leather headboard slammed against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse suite with a steady, punishing rhythm. Sixty-eight stories below, the city was a grid of glittering neon lights, but inside, the only sound that could be heard were, heavy friction and the raspy, unfiltered gasps tearing out of Vanessa’s throat.

Christopher Ashford gripped her hips, his fingers digging deep enough into the soft flesh of her thighs to leave dark, lingering bruises that will last until tomorrow and he drove into her with hard, brutal thrusts. Raw and Unforgiving.

He didn’t care about her day, her feelings, or the fact that she was currently clawing at his bare back with manicured acrylics. He was with her for two very simple reasons: she was drop-dead gorgeous, and she took his dick like a champion.

“God, Chris—” Vanessa arched her back, her posture a desperate, perfect curve as she tried to take every inch of him. “Fuck… harder. Please.”

Christopher let out a low, guttural growl, his jaw locked tight as he adjusted his angle, pinning her leg over his shoulder and plowing deeper. He wasn't thinking about romance. He was using her to bleed off forty-eight hours of adrenaline, boardroom politics, and pure, unfiltered Alpha aggression.

Vanessa groaned, her hands sliding over his slick, sweat-sheened abs, pulling him down into a filthy, bruising kiss. She loved the power. She loved telling her socialite friends that she was sleeping with the acting CEO of Ashford International and Christopher knew it. She was playing the long game, eyeing his corporate title and his money, using her body as leverage.

Too bad for her, Christopher Ashford was nobody’s fool. He used people back.

He flipped her over onto her stomach without a shred of gentleness, lifting her rear, and shoved back inside her in one slick, heavy slide. Vanessa squealed, her face buried into the silk sheets, her hips shuddering violently as he set a punishing, filthy pace that had her crying out his name like a prayer.

“You like playing the CEO’s girl, don’t you?” he rasped against her ear, his breath hot, voice dripping with arrogant filth as his hips slammed into hers. “Taking this dick like a good little slut?”

“Yes—fuck, yes!” she whimpered, her inner walls clamping down hard around him. “I’m your bitch, Chris… do whatever you want!”

“That’s right,” he growled, driving deep into her tight heat. “You’re my fucking bitch.”

Five seconds later, Christopher hit his limit. He growled, buried himself as deep as he could go, and filled her, his muscles locking as a fierce, blinding white-hot release tore through his lower belly. Vanessa came right along with him, her body convulsing in hard, violent ripples.

He stayed inside her for a few heavy beats, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin onto her spine. Then he pulled out with a wet slide, tossed the spent latex into the trash, and walked over to his side table. He unzipped a discreet leather pouch, pulling out a pre-filled medical syringe.

Before Vanessa could fully catch her breath, Christopher knelt beside her, pinched the flesh of her shoulder, and slid the needle in with practiced, mechanical precision. Vanessa winced, letting out a sharp gasp as the cold fluid hit her bloodstream.

It was a custom synthetic suppressant, a high-potency hormone blocker that rendered her completely incapable of conceiving, guaranteeing no corporate gold-digging or surprise pregnancies could ever tie her to the Ashford name.

“You know the rules,” Christopher said coldly, discarding the barrel into a biohazard vial and walking straight to the bathroom without another word.

No cuddling or pillow talk. Pure business.

Fifteen minutes later, Christopher stepped out of the steam, a towel slung over his broad shoulders, fully refreshed. Vanessa was still lying in bed, tangled in the sheets, looking at him with heavy, satisfied eyes, her hand stroking the sore spot on her shoulder.

“You’re leaving already?” she asked, her voice pouting, a hand sliding over her exposed breast. “The board meeting isn't until nine.”

“Which means I have three hours to run a multi-billion dollar empire while you sleep in,” Christopher said dryly, putting on a crisp white shirt and buttoning it up with fast, practiced efficiency. He reached into his wallet, slapped a platinum black card onto the nightstand, and shot her a lazy, crooked smirk. “Buy yourself something shiny, babe. Lock the door when you leave.”

By 8:55 AM, the atmosphere in the executive boardroom of Ashford International was sharp enough to cut glass. Twenty-three shareholders sat around the massive ebony table, their suits immaculate, their expressions tense. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, expensive cologne, and the quiet, suffocating pressure of corporate warfare.

At the far end of the table sat Damian Ashford. Christopher’s uncle held a porcelain teacup in his hand, his expression polite, relaxed, and utterly fake. Beside him sat Fabien Collins, a veteran board member with a quiet, calculating gaze that never missed a single detail and sitting beside Fabien, taking up space with an infuriatingly relaxed posture, was Cassian Collins.

Fabien’s son had officially joined Ashford International as a newly appointed senior executive and board member. He was built like a heavyweight fighter trapped in a high-fashion suit, 

Cassian sat back in his leather chair with his legs crossed, sharp dark eyes tracking every movement in the room with a slow, mocking arrogance. His presence was a permanent fixture now, a daily thorn in Christopher’s side. 

Precisely at 9:00 AM, the heavy double doors slid open.Christopher walked in. At six-foot-two, with broad shoulders, a tailored charcoal suit that fit like armor, and sharp silver-grey eyes, he commanded the room without dropping a single word. His thick Alpha pheromones spilled into the room, very heavy, dominant, and absolute, forcing a couple of the weaker Betas to instinctively lower their eyes.

Cassian merely leaned his chin on his hand, a lazy, amused smirk tugging at his lips as his dark eyes locked onto Christopher. Christopher's gaze landed on him. His mind wandered what the Alpha could be doing here. Had HR employed him it had to be through his Father. He ignored the itch to wipe the smirk of the Alpha's face and chose to focus.

“Let’s begin,” Christopher said, his voice deep, smooth, and laced with undisputed authority as he took his seat at the head of the table.

He didn't waste time. For the next twenty minutes, Christopher dismantled three months of market research, presenting the Sterling BioTech acquisition with surgical precision. Graphs climbed, projections skyrocketed, and even the most cynical shareholders were forced to nod in quiet approval.

“As expected of Mr. Ashford,” one executive murmured with a grin. “The kid’s a genius.”

Damian set his teacup down, The sound cut right through the low hum of approval. “A remarkable presentation, nephew,” Damian said, his tone dripping with patronizing warmth. “Numbers are impressive, as always but running a global biotech empire requires more than just aggressive numbers. It requires long-term biological stability and leadership.”

The room went dead silent. The subtle jab was obvious: You’re twenty-six, kid. You’re just started this job as an acting CEO. You haven't proven anything.

Christopher didn't even blink. He leaned back in his leather chair, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, a faint, razor-sharp smirk touching his lips.

“If my 'long-term stability' were in question, Uncle Damian,” Christopher replied, his voice smooth and lazy, “Ashford International’s stock wouldn’t have jumped twelve percent the second I took the lead on European negotiations but if you feel my leadership is lacking, you’re more than welcome to present your own strategy to the board. Assuming, of course, your department has managed to draft one this quarter.”

A collective, muffled cough echoed around the table as two shareholders tried and failed to hide their chuckles. Damian’s smile stiffened, his jaw twitching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed his expression back over. Across the table, Cassian let out a quiet, barely audible snort of amusement, his dark eyes sparkling with irritation and interest.

“Of course,” Damian murmured quietly. “Just looking out for the family legacy.”

“The legacy is fine,” Christopher said, opening the next slide. “Focus on your spreadsheets.”

An hour after the meeting wrapped up, Christopher was walking through the main lobby toward his private elevator, his assistant rushing behind him with a stack of tablet reports.

“Mr. Ashford, the quarterly audit needs your signature, and—”

“Leave it on my desk, Bill,” Christopher cut him off, stretching his neck until it popped. “I need five minutes to breathe before the afternoon calls.”

He stepped toward the elevator, but a voice from the side corridor stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Still tearing up boardrooms and making old men cry, Ashford?”

Christopher paused, turning slowly.

Leaning against the marble pillar with his hands tucked casually into his suit pockets was Cassian Collins.

Christopher narrowed his eyes at the man he had hated since their days at the Alpha Academy in college. They had spent four years beating the hell out of each other in rugby, competing for top class ranks, and throwing absolute filth back and forth and now Bill had informed him that Cassian was officially working at Ashford International, Christopher was going to have to see his smug face every single day.

“Collins,” Christopher grunted. “What the fuck are you doing lurking around my elevator? Don't you have an actual office in this building to pretend you're working in?”

Cassian let out a low, amused huff, stepping forward with that lazy, predatory gait. “Just making sure my favorite 'Acting CEO' isn't cracking under the pressure. Get used to seeing me around, Chris. I'm not going anywhere but you look tense. What’s the matter? Is being a big, powerful Alpha getting too heavy for your delicate shoulders?”

Christopher scoffed, taking a step toward him until they were barely two feet apart. “I could handle this company with one hand tied behind my back while fucking your favorite model with the other. Don’t worry about my shoulders, sweetheart. Worry about your dad’s blood pressure after I shut him down in the next meeting.”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed with dark humor. He leaned in, his voice dropping into a low, mocking murmur that only Christopher could hear.

“Careful, Captain,” Cassian purred, using the old academy title to mock Christopher’s temporary, fragile hold on the CEO chair. “With all that hostility, someone might think you’re going through a secondary change. You sure you’re not secretly an Omega throwing a little bitch-fit?”

Christopher’s jaw clamped shut, a spike of genuine, violent irritation flaring in his chest. 

Did this idiot think they were still in the Alpha academy. He couldn't punch him. He had grown above such pettiness. He was going to be CEO. He couldn't let this man child get under his skin. He traded the punch for a shove. He placed his palm against Cassian’s chest, pushing him back half an inch.

“Listen to me very carefully, Collins,” Christopher snarled, his silver-grey eyes flashing with heat. “I am not an Omega bitch and even if I was which is fucking impossible I would still be bending an Alpha girl over my desk and fucking her brutal before I ever let a goddamn man lay a hand on me. Got it?”

Cassian didn't look offended in the slightest. In fact, his smirk widened, his eyes dropping briefly down to Christopher’s lips before snapping back up. “Whatever you say, CEO,” Cassian whispered softly, his tone laced with razor-sharp amusement. “Keep yelling. It’s really convincing.”

“Fuck off,” Christopher muttered, spinning on his heel and stepping into his private elevator.

The brass doors slid shut with a smooth, heavy click, cutting off the sight of Cassian’s smug face and locking Christopher into the quiet solitude of the rising lift.