Standing Tall, Falling Hard

Chapter 0

When I was a kid, I thought life was gonna be simple. You're born, you grow up, you do whatever your family expects—like getting married and having a family of your own—you retire, and that's that. But life isn't simple when you've got subgenders thrown into the mix—trust me.

See, the whole world is built around more than just being male or female. There's another layer underneath that: Alpha, Beta, Omega. Your subgender is basically the thing everyone cares about more than anything else, whether they say it out loud or not. If you're an alpha like me, it's supposed to mean you're at the top of the food chain. People expect big things from you—leadership, success, all that nonsense.

And yeah, alphas are usually elite. Government types, CEOs, athletes—alphas are the ones with the power, connections, and money. It's not just that they're physically stronger. It's that they expect the world to just... hand them whatever they want. But, of course, it's always way more complicated than that.

So, here's the rundown: Everyone gets two subgender genes—one from each parent, and each gene is either an A or an O gene that's either dominant or recessive. The way those genes pair up? That's what determines if you're alpha, beta, or omega. If the genes cancel each other out, both in nature and in dominance/recessiveness, like AO or ao, you end up a beta. Betas are the "normal" ones—they don't get heats or ruts, and no one's shoving expectations on them. Kinda jealous, honestly.

But if you get two of the same gene—like AA or OO—you're either an alpha or an omega. And depending on how expressive the genes are, you can either be double dominant or double recessive. Double dominant (like me) means everything's... more. More aggressive, more pheromones, more of a pain in the ass to deal with. Double recessive is the opposite—you're less expressive, like a diluted version.

If your genes are a mixed pair—like Ao or Oa—you end up recessive, expressive of the dominant gene, but still with a more diluted sense for pheromones and all that jazz. If you're a recessive alpha, you've got fewer instincts. If you're a recessive omega, you've got heats but not as bad as full omegas. Though, I guess when it comes to omegas, it's tough all over, no matter if you're dominant or recessive.

All alphas can father children, some female alphas can carry children, and all omegas, regardless of primary gender, can carry children. 

Omegas got the short end of the stick altogether, no doubt. Until 2008, they weren't even considered people. Yeah. Basically living property. If you were born an omega, your entire existence depended on whether you had alpha or beta relatives to take care of you. If you didn't? Your family could sell your deed or contract to the highest bidder. If no one wanted you, well—congrats. You got sent off to a government facility. All to "keep the peace," they said.

And even now, nearly ten years later? Omegas are still treated like crap. Some jobs won't hire them. Landlords can legally reject them if they try to rent alone. College applications? Way harder to get in. They've technically got rights now, but let's be real—it's all for show.

Then there's the Bureau of Omega Health and Welfare. Every omega has to show up for regular doctor's visits and family planning counseling. If they skip even one appointment, they get hit with a fine. It's messed up. But nobody cares enough to change things.

So where do I fit into all this? Let's just say my life isn't exactly a fairy tale. Yeah, I'm an alpha—double dominant, at that—but I'm not what people expect. I mean, I'm 5' 4", which isn't exactly alpha-material, right? Girls take one look at me and figure I'm not worth their time—unless they need someone to pay the tab.

Which brings me to my relationships. Let's just say I've got a track record. Twelve girlfriends. Twelve cheating exes. Every single one of them saw the fancy clothes, the family money, and figured they'd found their sugar daddy. The joke's on me, I guess. I wanted something real, but all I got was complaint after complaint followed up with, "You've got the bill, right?"—Always trying to prove my worth to make her stay only for her to tell her side piece all of my personal secrets for some laughs. In the end, it was just one heartbreak and frustration after another all for some shitty head with an overwhelming price tag.

I grew up around money, but it doesn't mean much when it's not your own. My parents run For Ever Young, this high-end clothing line. My parents expect me to take over someday, but... I don't know. I guess I just want to figure out what it's like to be wanted for something besides cash—and maybe it is my shitty taste, you know? Though, if it was, you'd think I'd've outgrown it by now, but it's always been like this; they've always looked down on me: everyone. Everyone except for him.