Unmarked

Miranda sat stiffly at the table in the corner of the diningroom, a thick stack of official-looking documents spread out in front of her. The seal of the Omega Regulation Bureau was stamped at the top of each page, mocking her in its crisp, authoritative gold.

Andy stood across from her, arms folded, trying not to look as awkward as she felt. This wasn’t how she had pictured this—cold bureaucracy instead of soft intimacy. But it had to be done.

“Now that you’ve been marked,” Andy said gently, “we’re legally mandated to register our bond at Town Hall. The claim makes us… official in the eyes of the state.”

Miranda’s lips pursed into a fine, unimpressed line. “Like a business license.”

Andy winced. “Kind of, yeah. There’s a… contract component. The state wants to know if we’re following protocol—rules, boundaries, permissions.”

Miranda raised one perfectly arched brow. “How civilized. I imagine branding me wasn’t enough.”

Andy walked around the table and sat down beside her, reaching for one of the forms. “I didn’t brand you. I bonded with you. There’s a difference.”

Miranda made a soft, dismissive noise in the back of her throat. Andy ignored it.

“I already filled in most of it,” she said, sliding a page toward her. “You still retain control of your assets. The law might transfer ownership to me by default, but I signed the override clause.”

Miranda blinked, surprised, but didn’t comment.

Andy pressed on. “This part is about setting mutual rules. I included the basics: you’re allowed to continue working, obviously. That was never going to be a question.”

Miranda’s voice was sharp, defensive. “Was it even up for discussion?”

Andy shook her head. “Not for me. But the government likes to see it spelled out—your Alpha’s consent for an Omega to work outside the home. We just have to include it here.”

Miranda scoffed. “How utterly archaic.”

Andy offered a dry smile. “You’d be surprised how much power you can sneak past them when you fill in their forms with a straight face.”

Miranda’s lips thinned, her gaze sliding down the length of the document like it personally offended her. “So,” she said coolly, “what other delightful concessions have you made in my name?”

Andy reached for the next page, her fingers brushing the edge with deliberate calm. “These aren’t concessions. They’re rules. For both of us.”

That got Miranda’s attention. Her eyes flicked upward. “Rules.”

Andy nodded, steady. “Non-negotiable ones. I don’t expect you to like them, but I do expect you to follow them.”

Miranda leaned back slightly in the chair, arms folding. “I see. Now comes the part where I’m managed like a schedule.”

Andy gave her a look. “Miranda.”

“No, go on,” Miranda said airily. “Do tell me what my Alpha demands of me now that she’s bitten me like a territorial beast.”

Andy exhaled slowly through her nose. “You will sleep in my bed.” Miranda blinked.

Andy met her gaze, firm. “No separate rooms. No disappearing in the night. You sleep next to me. If you need space, we talk about it—but you don’t get to ghost me anymore.”

Miranda’s voice was quieter than usual, but still sharp around the edges. “I haven’t shared a bed in years.”

Andy softened. “Then it’ll take time. I’ll give you that. But I want you where I can see you. Where I can feel you breathing. I can’t explain it—it’s instinct. I need to know you're safe.”

Miranda looked away, fingers ghosting over the document. “Next?”

“You tell me when your heat is coming up. No exceptions.”

Her eyes snapped back to Andy’s. “I’ve managed my heat cycles alone since I was eighteen.”
“And from now on, you won’t,” Andy said evenly. “You don’t have to suffer in silence anymore. You don’t have to pretend you’re unaffected.”

“That’s not how I operate.”

“Well,” Andy replied, folding her arms, “it’s how we operate now.” Miranda didn’t respond.

Andy continued. “You don’t go into public during a heat. I don’t care how well-suppressed it seems. If it breaks through—if your scent starts leaking—there will be consequences. For both of us.”

Miranda’s tone went glacial. “You’re telling me I’m not allowed to work?”

“I’m telling you I won’t risk anyone scenting you when you’re vulnerable.” Andy leaned in slightly. “You think I liked walking into the office that day and finding the air thick with your heat scent while everyone pretended not to notice?”

Miranda’s expression didn’t change, but her throat worked as she swallowed.

“I can protect you,” Andy said, voice softer now. “But not if you refuse to let me.”

Miranda reached for the pen on the table, twirling it slowly between her fingers. “Go on. What else must I surrender?”

“You don’t hide your needs from me.”

“I don’t have needs.”

Andy arched a brow. “Miranda.”

The older woman gave an elegant shrug. “Fine. I’ll try.”

Andy nodded once, accepting that as a win. “If you feel unsafe—even for a second—you come to me. Immediately.”

Miranda hesitated, then murmured, “I’m not used to asking for help.”

“I know,” Andy said quietly. “That’s why I’m saying it now. You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.” A beat passed.

“Present your neck when I come to you,” Andy added.

Miranda stiffened again. “Absolutely not.”

Andy didn’t move. “It’s not about submission. It’s so I can smell you. So I know how you are. That you’re stable. That you’re mine.”

Miranda’s eyes flashed. “You already know I’m yours.”

“Yes,” Andy agreed. “But scent tells me things words don’t.”

For a moment, Miranda looked almost betrayed by her own silence. Then she exhaled, low and quiet. “That one will take time.”

Andy reached out, just enough to let their fingers brush. “Time is fine.” Miranda’s fingers stayed where they were. Andy sat back again. “Last one—for now.”

Miranda looked like she was bracing herself.

“I’ll stay with you. All day, all night. I’m not leaving you alone. Ever.”

Miranda’s chin lifted slightly. “What makes you think I’d allow that?”

“Because as I said multiple times now, you don’t have to be strong through all this alone anymore,” Andy said gently. “Because if you collapse, if you need something—anything—I’ll be there before you even have to ask.”

A long pause. The only sound in the room was the soft rustle of paper and the steady tick of Miranda’s Cartier watch on her wrist.

“Those are the rules?” Miranda asked eventually, voice unreadable. “For now,” Andy said. “We can add more later. Together.” Miranda studied her carefully. “And you’ll follow them too?”

Andy tilted her head. “You want to set rules for me?”

“I want to know what happens when I stop being perfect. When I push too hard. When I tell you to go to hell because I’m terrified and trying not to fall apart.”

Andy leaned in, her voice low and warm. “Then I hold you. And when you’re done pushing, I’ll still be here. We’ll talk and move on from there”

Miranda stared at her.

“Or do you want me to do something different… Something more perhaps?” Andy said, tilting her head to de side curiously.

Miranda didn’t answer but, slowly—grudgingly—picked up the pen and signed.

Then Andy reached into her bag and pulled out a small black box. Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

Andy opened the lid slowly, revealing a slender chain of platinum with a delicate, teardrop-shaped pendant. Subtle, elegant—something distinctly Miranda.

“The law says you have to wear a collar,” Andy said softly. “Something visible. But I’m not putting you in some ridiculous leather band like you’re livestock. I designed this for you instead. It fulfills the requirement, but... it’s yours.”

Miranda stared at the necklace for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then her voice, when it came, was low and trembling. “You expect me to wear a symbol of submission around my neck?”

Andy met her gaze evenly. “No. I expect you to wear a symbol that you’re not alone anymore.”
Silence stretched between them like a wire. Then Miranda closed the file, her hand resting over the papers, and looked down at the necklace again. Her jaw clenched.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know,” Andy said, her voice softening. “But it did.”

Miranda reached for the necklace, her fingers brushing over the cool metal like she wasn’t sure it was real. She held it up, watching the way the light danced on the pendant, before whispering, “Put it on me.”

Andy rose from her chair and stepped behind her. With practiced fingers, she fastened the chain at the nape of Miranda’s neck, letting the pendant settle against her collarbone.

It was a small thing. But it was also everything.

Miranda didn't speak again. She didn’t need to. The tension in her shoulders eased ever so slightly, her body no longer braced for battle.

Andy returned to her seat, brushing her fingers lightly over Miranda’s hand.

“I added one more rule,” she said.

Miranda looked at her warily. “And what might that be?”

“You have to let me take care of you,” Andy said. “Even if it’s just... reminding you that you don’t have to fight anymore.” Miranda didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull her hand away either.

The silence that followed was softer now, not heavy or strained—just quiet. The kind of stillness that settles when the storm begins to pass. Andy took a deep breath, carefully choosing her next words.

“We should talk about the girls.”

Miranda’s fingers tensed slightly under Andy’s, but she didn’t pull away. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “We should.”

Andy shifted to face her more fully, their hands still linked. “They’re going to notice something’s changed. They probably already have. And they deserve the truth.”

Miranda gave a slow, measured nod. “But how much truth? They’re children, Andrea.”

“They’re your children,” Andy said gently. “And they’re smart. You don’t have to tell them everything right away. But I think we should talk to them together. Let them see that… whatever this is—it’s not something to be scared of.”

Miranda was quiet for a long time. Her eyes dropped to their joined hands, the edges of her mouth turned slightly down, thoughtful. “They’ve never done well with change. And this… this is monumental.”

Andy let her thumb brush against Miranda’s knuckles. “I don’t want to just be a guest in their lives. I want them to feel safe with me. I want to be part of their world, Miranda. Not just because of you, but because I care about them too.”

Miranda’s brows lifted, just barely. That caught her off guard. “You… care about them?”

Andy smiled, a little sad, a little awed. “Of course I do. They’re part of you. I’ve seen the way you look at them when you think no one’s watching. I’ve seen how much you worry, how hard you try. And they deserve more than someone who just checks in on birthdays and parent-teacher meetings. They deserve someone who’s all in.”

Miranda stared at her, searching her face for something—doubt, maybe. Insincerity. But she found none.

“You really want that?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “To take care of them. Like they were… yours?”

Andy nodded, her eyes unwavering. “I want them to feel like we’re a family. Like they belong. Like they’re not alone in this either.”

Miranda blinked, the tiniest of inhales escaping her as the weight of those words settled. Her lips parted again, but no protest came. No warning. Just a stillness. And then a truth that slipped out before she could stop it.

“No Alpha ever said that before. Not once.” Andy’s heart squeezed.
“No other Alpha has ever said that to me,” she admitted, her voice tight, edged with something unreadable. “Not once. They tolerated the girls, or ignored them completely. They were always a burden.” Miranda's voice was tight, clipped. “So I stopped expecting more.”

Andy leaned in. “Well, I’m not them. I’m not here because I want control, or some image of a perfect life. I’m here because I love you. And because they’re yours. That makes them mine too, if you’ll let me.”

Miranda didn’t respond immediately. But her eyes shimmered—just a little—and her hand, still in Andy’s, finally turned palm-up, fingers threading deliberately through hers.

Miranda exhaled shakily, fingers curling slightly against the soft fabric of her skirt. “You don’t know what you’re offering, Andrea.”

“I think I do,” Andy said, her voice low. “And I want it. All of it. You. The girls. The mess. The fear. The future.”

“I think…” Miranda said, voice low and cautious, “I would like that.”
Andy smiled. “Yeah?”

Miranda gave her the smallest of nods. “Yes. A family.” She looked away for a beat, then back. “A real one. Something I’ve never had.”

“Family…” she whispered, like she didn’t quite believe she deserved the word.
Andy reached for her hand, their fingers brushing before Miranda finally let them entwine. “Yes. A real one. Not just a shared apartment or a legal bond. I want to build something with you. Something they’ll remember. Something they’ll never have to be ashamed of.”

Miranda blinked rapidly, the sharp inhale betraying the emotion tightening in her chest. Her eyes, always sharp and knowing, were glassy now, and she didn’t pull away.
Instead, she whispered, “You really mean that?”

Andy squeezed her hand gently. “I do.”

For a long moment, Miranda said nothing. Then, almost inaudibly, she whispered, “Then I think I might want that too.”

**-
The sharp scent of disinfectant and old paper clung to the walls of the Omega Regulation Office like a second skin. The waiting area was small and stark, fluorescent lights flickering overhead, the buzz of quiet murmurs and clicking keyboards filling the stale air. A poster about “Healthy Bond Management” hung crookedly on one wall, beside another detailing the punishments for illegal Omega employment.

Miranda didn’t sit.

She stood rigidly in front of the front desk, hands gloved and tucked into the sleeves of her coat like armor. Andy was beside her, one hand gently resting on the small of her back. Not possessive—reassuring.

“Name?” the clerk droned without looking up.

“Miranda Priestly,” she answered, her voice smooth and practiced, as if announcing herself on a runway guest list.

The clerk finally glanced up. And froze.

“…The Miranda Priestly?”

Miranda gave him a flat look. “Unless someone’s impersonating me very convincingly, yes.”
The clerk flushed and quickly looked down at the screen again, his fingers suddenly clumsy over the keyboard. “Right. Sorry. Uh—bonding registration?”

Andy stepped in. “Yes. Claiming has been completed. We’re here to file the contract.”
He nodded, pulling up the appropriate form and printing a physical copy, which spat from the terminal with a whine. He slid it toward them with a practiced gesture. “Please confirm details and initial on each page. Final signature on the last one. Once this is submitted, it’ll be recorded in the national registry.”

Miranda barely blinked. But Andy saw the hesitation in her hands as she removed her gloves.
They sat at the long wooden table nearby. Andy signed first—her strokes neat and sure. Then she passed the pen to Miranda.

Silence stretched.

Miranda’s fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the pen. Her eyes scanned the document again, and Andy could practically feel her Omega instincts warring with her pride. Her sense of control, of independence, had been carved like marble over years of fighting this very system. And now, she was signing herself into it.

Miranda’s voice was tight. “This makes it real.”

Andy nodded. “It was already real. This just makes it legal.” Miranda let out a slow breath and signed. Page after page.

She paused when she reached the section titled “Designated Rights & Exceptions.”
Her eyes flicked to the line reading: “Omega will retain full employment rights with Alpha’s permission.”

Miranda turned her head slowly. “You actually put it in writing.”

Andy gave a soft smile. “Of course I did. Your job is part of who you are. I’m not interested in taking anything from you. Least of all that.”

Miranda stared at her a moment longer before signing again.

When the final page was signed, Andy gathered the forms and walked them to the front desk.
The clerk took them with a nod. “It’ll be processed by end of day. Your bond certificate and new ID chips will be issued tomorrow.”

Andy nodded. “Thank you.”

As they turned to leave, Miranda’s heels echoed sharply in the tiled hall, each step deliberate. But just before they reached the door, she stopped.

Andy turned to face her. “Miranda?”

Miranda’s gaze didn’t meet hers. She reached up slowly, fingers brushing the platinum chain at her neck. Her voice was quiet. “Everyone will know now.”

Andy’s chest ached. “I know.”

“It’ll change everything.”

Andy stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly over Miranda’s gloved hand. “Then we face it together.”

Miranda met her eyes finally. The mask slipped—just for a moment. Beneath the legendary control, there was fear. But also, finally… trust.

She gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod. “Together,” she whispered.

And then they walked out into the cold, grey morning as Alpha and Omega—not just in biology, not just in instinct, but now, in the eyes of the law.

**-
The moment the grand double doors of Town Hall opened, a wall of flashing cameras and shouting voices hit them like a wave.

Miranda blinked beneath the sudden onslaught of lights, the weak winter sun instantly eclipsed by the paparazzi that had swarmed the steps. Journalists crowded the walkway, microphones thrust forward, every voice overlapping into chaos.

“Miranda! Is it true you’ve been hiding your status for decades?”

“Isn’t your Alpha just your assistant? Why haven’t we seen her with you before?”

“Was this claim consensual? Were you forced?”

“Why now, Miranda? Why did you finally break?”

Andy’s hand found Miranda’s back instinctively, firm and grounding. Miranda straightened beside her, posture perfect, expression unreadable—but Andy could feel the slight tremble in her shoulder. Not fear. Rage. Another shout broke through the masses.

“Is the necklace your collar, Miranda? After all these years, you’re letting yourself be owned?”
That was it. Andy’s voice cracked across the crowd like a thunderclap.

“Enough!”

The reporters closest to them stilled immediately. Andy stepped forward, shielding Miranda slightly as her presence swelled—not just with authority, but with something more ancient, more Alpha. Her voice was low, but carried with a quiet force that dared anyone to interrupt her.

“You will show Miranda Priestly the respect she deserves,” Andy said coolly. “You’re not speaking to some scandalized debutante caught in a bond. You’re speaking to a woman who ruled an empire while your world pretended she didn’t exist.”

She let her gaze sweep over them, dark and steady. “And you’re speaking to my Omega. Which means if any of you try to reduce her to nothing more than a headline, you’ll answer to me.”
A few cameras dropped.

Andy took another step down the stone stairs, her voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up Miranda’s spine.

“I’m not just some Alpha,” she continued, calm and deadly. “So if any of you think about twisting this bond into a weapon to hurt her—think again. I will protect what’s mine.”

The silence that followed was thick and breathless. Even the wind seemed to still around them. Andy hadn’t raised her voice. She didn’t have to.

And behind her, Miranda stood motionless, lips slightly parted. Her heart thundered in her chest, not from fear—but from something far more dangerous. Recognition. It wasn’t just what Andy had said.

It was the way she said it. The power behind it. The ancient, commanding certainty of a born Alpha finally stepping into her full weight.

She’s not just some Alpha.

That sentence echoed in Miranda’s mind long after they pushed through the crowd and into the waiting car. She sat in silence as the door shut behind them, as the driver pulled away from the curb. Andy’s hand was still resting lightly against her thigh.

“Are you alright?” Andy asked, her tone softer now, concern flickering through her scent.
Miranda didn’t answer right away. She turned her head slowly, studying the woman beside her.

Her Alpha.

Her Alpha.

Andy was watching her, trying to read her expression. But Miranda didn’t look away.
Finally, she spoke.

“What did you mean?” she asked quietly. “When you said… you’re not just some Alpha.”
Andy blinked. “I meant…” She hesitated. “That I’m not going to let anyone treat you like less than who you are. I’ll tear the world down before I let them hurt you.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No,” she said. “You said it like it was a fact. Not just protective bravado.”

Andy held her gaze. For a moment, something flickered—hesitation, restraint.
Then she gave a small, knowing smile.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Miranda,” Andy said, voice low, deliberate. “But we have time.” Miranda leaned back in her seat, a thousand thoughts spiraling behind her eyes.
**-
The car ride to James his townhouse was quieter than usual.

Miranda sat with her arms folded, one hand absentmindedly brushing the edge of her necklace—no, her collar. The official paperwork had barely cooled, and already the weight of it settled around her like a second skin. The press had gotten their teeth into the story. Soon, there would be headlines. Speculation. Outrage.

But right now, none of that mattered.

What mattered was Caroline and Cassidy.

Andy sat beside her, still—present, grounded. She hadn’t spoken since the car pulled away from Town Hall, but her hand had remained on Miranda’s thigh the entire ride.

“I don’t know how I’m going to tell them,” Miranda said at last, voice tight.

Andy turned her head, her expression soft. “Then don’t. Just show them.”

Miranda let out a shaky breath. “I’ve spent years keeping them out of this world. Away from the rules. Away from the scrutiny. And now…”

Andy gently squeezed her leg. “They’re your daughters. They love you. This won’t change that.”
Miranda didn’t reply.

**-

The door to James his townhouse opened before Miranda even knocked. Caroline stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Finally,” she huffed. “Cassidy’s been ready for an hour.”

Miranda offered a small smile. “Traffic.” Caroline opened her mouth to respond—then froze.
Her gaze dropped to the necklace around Miranda’s neck. Cassidy appeared behind her, and her eyes widened immediately. “Mom?”

Miranda stiffened. The air between them changed in an instant. She felt suddenly transparent, stripped bare in a way she hadn’t since she was a child. She had prepared for this. Rehearsed it in her mind. But none of that mattered now.

“Yes,” Miranda said softly. “It’s true.”

Cassidy’s eyes snapped to Andy, who was standing quietly beside her mother. “You…?”

“I’m her Alpha now” Andy confirmed gently. Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “You marked her.”
Miranda opened her mouth—then closed it again.

Cassidy stepped forward, expression unreadable. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Miranda inhaled slowly. “Because I was afraid. Not of you—never of you. But of what this would mean. What it would take from me. From us.”

Caroline frowned. “You always told us to be proud of who we are. You said never to let anyone define us.”

“I know,” Miranda said, her voice barely a whisper. “And I believed it. I still do. But I was wrong to think I could ignore the rules forever.”

Cassidy tilted her head. “Is she nice to you?” Miranda blinked. “What?” Andy cleared her throat. “I—uh—”

Caroline crossed her arms. “Well, if she’s going to be your Alpha, she’d better be nice to you.”
Andy looked like someone had just handed her a live grenade. “I… I don’t—um—”

“She is,” Miranda said finally. Quiet. Honest. “She takes care of me. And she doesn’t treat me like I’m weaker. Not once.” Caroline and Cassidy exchanged a long look. Then, without a word, Cassidy walked forward and threw her arms around Miranda’s waist.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. Miranda exhaled, her eyes stinging.

Caroline followed a beat later, flinging her arms around both of them. “Does this mean we’re going to have to be nice to her now?” she muttered against Miranda’s shoulder.

Andy laughed under her breath. “Definitely not mandatory.”

Cassidy peeked over her mom’s shoulder at Andy. “Do you like us?”

Andy blinked. “I—I think you’re both terrifying.”

Caroline smirked. “Good answer.”

Miranda let out the smallest laugh—more exhale than sound—but it was real. The girls stepped back, satisfied. Caroline grabbed her duffel bag and walked ahead toward the car. Cassidy lingered.

She looked up at her mother, her voice lower now. “Are you happy?” Miranda stilled.
The question hung in the air, heavy. Then—softly, slowly—she nodded. “I think I might be.”

Cassidy smiled, just a little. “Good.”

**-

Back in the car, the twins bickered softly in the backseat about music, makeup, and who was taking the bigger half of the back row. It was all so normal, so mundane, that Miranda felt her heart ache with relief.

She felt Andy’s gaze on her. “You okay?”

Miranda didn’t answer right away. She looked down at the collar—her necklace—and then at her girls in the rearview mirror. Then she looked back at Andy.

“They didn’t blink,” she said, almost in disbelief. “They didn’t flinch. They just… accepted it.”

Andy smiled softly. “That’s because they know who you are.”

Miranda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “And you.” Andy tilted her head. “Me?”

“You terrified them,” Miranda said, her tone almost fond. “In the best way.”

Andy’s smile deepened. “Guess I’m not just some Alpha, huh?” Miranda rolled her eyes, but her lips curled into something undeniably soft. “No,” she murmured. “You’re not.”

A brief silence fell between them, Miranda staring at the twins still bickering away “They’re Beta’s.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The girls, there beta’s…” Miranda repeats. “oh I see… do you think that is a good thing than, that they are not like you?” For a second Miranda didn’t say anything, her hand goes to the necklace softly playing with it, before looking out the window. “I’m just glad they will have it easier in life.”

Andy did not response but instead took Miranda’s hand in hers, enjoying the rest of the car ride in silence.