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Summary
The crowd shifted, and Lando was moving again, leaving the omega lady with a playful wink. He cut through the throng with predatory grace, not towards Oscar, but towards the young group of young alpha lords, boisterous on beer and port, who cheered at his approach.
He was a creature of perfect adaptation. No one knew his secret. No one but Oscar.
(Oscar has been playing second-fiddle to Lando his whole life. Imagine his surprise, then, that the "perfect alpha heir" to House McLaren isn't an alpha at all.)