chapter 1

Rhonin Winter woke up to the sharp, soul-crushing realization that he was still broke. 

The inside of his car smelled like stale air and desperation. His 1999 beat-up sedan—affectionately named 'Shitbox Supreme'—had been his home for the past three weeks. It wasn't the worst setup. He had a blanket, a gym membership for showers and a strict $1-a-day coffee budget. Survival was an art and he was the goddamn Picasso of barely making ends meet. 

He groaned, running a hand through his messy golden-brown hair, then checked his phone. 6:42 AM. His morning routine began with panicking about money, followed by ignoring his bank notifications out of self-preservation.

Balance: -$86.23 

"Fuck me," He muttered, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. 

College tuition? Overdue.

Car insurance? Probably canceled.

Three part-time jobs? Still not enough. 

He was in his last semester of engineering, which meant he was too far in to quit but too broke to finish comfortably. He had three jobs—mechanic, convenience store night shift and dog walker—but no matter how much he worked, the numbers never seemed to add up. And now? His landlord had kicked him out after one too many late payments. 

At least he still had his car. If he lost that too, he might as well start giving blowjobs for gas money.

His stomach growled. Breakfast was probably a gas station protein bar but first, he had to find a bathroom and pretend he didn't look homeless.

Sliding out of his car, he stretched, his muscles aching from another night of sleeping like a pretzel. The morning air was crisp and the parking lot of the 24-hour gym was already full of overenthusiastic morning people. He walked inside, grabbing his gym bag from the trunk, nodding at the receptionist like he totally belonged here. 

A quick shower, cold as hell because his luck was shit and fifteen minutes later, he was semi-presentable—jeans that had seen better days, a stretched-out hoodie, and sneakers that were one bad step away from complete collapse. His reflection in the mirror showed tired honey-gold eyes and stubble creeping in along his jawline. He looked like a guy who hadn't slept properly in weeks—which was accurate. 

His phone buzzed. A text from his best friend, Kane Anderson. 

Kane: dude. ur fucked. 

Kane: i got u a job. dont say no. 

Kane: meet me @ campus cafe in 30 min. dress decent. ur version of decent = not smelling like car seats

Rhonin sighed. Another 'too good to be true' job offer from Kane. Last time, it had been a pyramid scheme selling overpriced protein shakes to desperate betas. 

Still, he had negative dollars in his account and nothing to lose. 

"Fuck it," He muttered, grabbing his bag and heading out. 

Maybe this job wouldn't be the worst one yet. 

Maybe.

_

Rhonin shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket as he walked toward campus, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in his stomach. Nothing new. He'd been running on caffeine and sheer fucking willpower for years now. 

Being broke was one thing. Being broke and alone? That was something else entirely. 

He'd been an orphan since he was ten. No tragic, dramatic story—just a car accident, a couple of signatures and then he was a kid nobody wanted. He bounced between foster homes, some decent, some absolute hellholes until he was old enough to get out. 

He didn't get a family. He didn't get a safety net. He got a government-issued duffel bag, a part-time job and a "Good luck, kid." 

But he survived. 

He worked, saved, got into university on a scholarship and told himself he'd never be that helpless, abandoned kid again. 

Now? Joke's on him. He was twenty-four, homeless and one bad week away from selling a kidney on the black market. 

"Maybe I should've just gone into porn," He muttered. 

By the time he reached campus, the morning crowd was already flowing—students rushing to class, rich assholes pulling up in expensive cars while he was out here sleeping in his. He ignored them and made his way to the campus café, spotting Kane immediately. 

Kane looked like he had his life together. A tall, broad-shouldered alpha with slick black hair and the kind of smirk that got him into both fights and people's pants. His family wasn't rich but he wasn't drowning in debt either. Unlike Rhonin, Kane had options. 

Rhonin dropped into the chair across from him. "Alright, what's the job? If it's another pyramid scheme, I swear to god—" 

Kane slid a coffee toward him. A large. With cream and extra sugar. 

Rhonin's first instinct? Suspicion. 

"What the hell did you do?" He asked, taking the cup anyway. 

Kane grinned. "Why do you always assume the worst?" 

"Because I know you," Rhonin muttered, taking a sip. It was fucking amazing. He tried not to let it show on his face but the warmth in his stomach almost made him emotional. 

Kane leaned in, voice low. "It's… unconventional. But it pays serious money. I'm talking enough to cover your student debt in one go." 

Rhonin raised a brow. "Go on." 

Kane glanced around like they were dealing drugs in broad daylight. "It's like a club. A facility. Private, high-end. They're looking for alphas." 

Rhonin stared at him. 

Kane held up a hand. "Wait. Let me explain before you punch me." 

Rhonin set his coffee down. This was going to be some real bullshit.

"Okay," He said. "Start talking." 

And Kane did. 

_

Rhonin stared at Kane, letting the words sink in. Then he took a slow, measured sip of his coffee, set it down carefully and said, "Go fuck yourself." 

Kane didn't even blink. "I mean, yeah, that's basically the job—" 

"Shut up." 

Kane grinned. "Come on, hear me out." 

"I did hear you out," Rhonin said, rubbing his temples. "You're telling me there's a club—an actual legal fucking club—where omegas just… pay alphas to knock them up?" 

"Pretty much." 

"And you think I should sign up for this?" 

"You need to sign up for this." Kane leaned forward, voice low. "Look, I get it. It's weird. But, dude, it pays one hundred grand per successful impregnation—one hundred fucking grand, Rhonin. You need cash, and you need it yesterday. This fixes everything." 

Rhonin scowled. "Fixes? Yeah, sure, let's totally fix my financial problems by selling my fucking dick to rich omegas." 

"Hey, it's a high-end service," Kane said, like that somehow made it better. "And you wouldn't be selling anything. Just… temporarily loaning it." 

"I hate you." 

"No, you don't." 

Rhonin groaned, shoving a hand through his hair. This was beyond insane. He wasn't a prude—he'd had flings, he enjoyed sex, whatever—but this? This was a whole different level of bullshit. 

"Three," Kane said. 

Rhonin narrowed his eyes. "What?" 

"You have to successfully breed three omegas to complete a part-time contract. Three. And if you fail to get an omega pregnant?" Kane whistled. "You owe the facility fifty grand per failed attempt." 

Rhonin almost choked on his coffee. "What the actual fuck? So, if I sign up and suck at it, I'll be even more in debt?" 

"Only if you suck at it," Kane said, shrugging. "Which, uh… I assume you don't?" 

Rhonin glared. "I hope you choke." 

Kane just grinned. "So? You in?" 

"No." 

"Rhonin." 

"Absolutely fucking not." 

Kane sighed, rubbing his face. "Look, man. I know it's weird. But I also know you. You're two steps away from losing your car. You can't even afford a place to sleep. You're running yourself into the ground working three jobs, and it's still not enough. You're barely surviving." 

Rhonin clenched his jaw. He hated how much Kane wasn't wrong. 

Kane softened. "I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't think it was legit. You think I'd send you somewhere shady?" 

"Yes." 

Kane ignored him. "It's professional. Exclusive. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. And once you finish three successful breedings? That's three hundred grand in your pocket. You can breathe again, Rhonin." 

Rhonin exhaled slowly. That much money would clear his student debt, get him a place to live, fix his car and actually give him a fucking chance. 

It was insane. But… was it more insane than his current life? 

Kane smirked, sensing the shift. "Just go to the interview. No commitment, no pressure. Worst case, you walk away. Best case? You leave with enough cash to never sleep in your car again." 

Rhonin closed his eyes. 

Fucking hell. 

"Fine," He muttered. "I'll go. That's it." 

Kane clapped him on the shoulder. "Atta boy." 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Kane just grinned. 

Rhonin took another sip of coffee, wondering if this was the biggest mistake of his life. 

Probably.