The marble floors of the Congressional hearing room gleamed under the harsh, unforgiving lights, but I didn’t notice them. My eyes were fixed on the screens, where my own face flickered through the live feed. Video connection. I couldn’t be in the room—not with the government deeming me a potential “bioweapon.” But watching me projected on those walls didn’t make it any easier.
Alexander wheeled himself into the chamber, his posture rigid, eyes scanning the committee members like a predator sizing up prey. Even in a wheelchair, his presence dominated the room. His lips pressed into a hard line, and I could almost feel the tension radiating off him.
“Members of Congress,” he began, voice steady but heavy with emotion. “Victoria Sterling is not a weapon. She is a person. And if you doubt that…” His gloved hands lifted, and on the screen flashed the infamous photograph: me handcuffed to him, both of us bound together in a display of absurd restraint. “I ensured compliance the most traditional way possible—without harm, without manipulation. She is human. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Murmurs rose from the panel, the cameras clicking furiously. My stomach churned. Even with him defending me, the weight of judgment pressed down like a steel vice.
Marcus, pale and frail, stepped forward to testify. His hands shook as he clutched the microphone. “Victoria… is part of something far larger than anyone understands. The Prometheus Project—she is not unique. She has a twin—”
The words barely left his mouth when chaos erupted. Gunfire? Sparks? I didn’t even have time to think before his figure collapsed, the microphone sliding across the floor, blood blossoming like ink on white marble. The cameras captured every second. My heart clenched.
And then—the screens flickered, hacked, hijacked. A video appeared. A boy. My brother. My twin. His face gaunt, eyes hollow but burning with recognition.
“Victoria,” he said, voice breaking through the static. “I’m waiting for you. They made us into a key and a lock… only you can open my cage.”
I froze. My hands trembled. Alexander’s eyes went wide, a mixture of fury and disbelief. He hissed under his breath, gripping the arms of his wheelchair so tight that knuckles whitened. “They did what?!”
The room descended into panic. Committee members shouted, cameras swung wildly. Security struggled to maintain order. But I didn’t hear any of it. My mind was only on him. My brother. My twin.
I could feel it in my bones—he was powerful. Too powerful. Marcus’s dying whisper made sense now: if I was absolute Omega, he was absolute Alpha. The kind of Alpha whose pheromones could obliterate any Omega attempting to mark him. The thought made my chest constrict. This wasn’t just about me anymore. This was about him, and the responsibility that had been thrust onto me without warning.
The vote came next. The committee, trembling under pressure from the media and global surveillance, ruled: I would remain under government monitoring until my brother was found. Failure to comply would result in permanent containment. My stomach dropped. Permanent containment? For him? For me?
Alexander slammed his palm onto the armrest. “This is political theater! And you’re using me as a prop!” His voice was a low growl, each word soaked in frustration and fear. I wanted to reassure him, to reach out across the miles and tell him I understood—but the video of my brother haunted me.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll find him,” I said, voice trembling but resolute. “I have to.”
The world was watching. The media feeds, the congressional cameras, the underground Omega networks—everyone would see me move forward, whether I was ready or not.
And yet, beneath the political performance, a private truth burned: my brother was out there, hidden, untouchable. Absolute Alpha, impossible to mark, just as I was impossible to dominate. And only I could save him.
I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar tingle in my chest—not fear, but the spark of purpose. The Prometheus legacy was mine alone to bear.
Alexander’s eyes met mine on the screen. His jaw set, the old tension between us mingled with something new: determination, protectiveness, and an unspoken promise. Whatever this meant for us, for him, for my brother, I would walk this path. Alone if I had to—but I would not fail.
Outside, the world waited. And inside, the most personal war of my life had just begun.
The stakes had never been higher, and the truth—the real truth—was only beginning to unfold.