Chapter Twenty-Six
My ass is numb. That’s what I'm thinking as the highway mile markers blur past the passenger window. My ass is numb, my throat feels like I swallowed a handful of gravel, and I have a bite mark on my trap that is definitely going to bruise a spectacular shade of purple by tomorrow morning.
I’ve never felt better.
I shift in the leather seat, wincing as my lower back protests the movement.
Beside me, Donghwa drives with one hand draped lazily over the wheel, looking unfairly fresh.
He’s wearing sunglasses, his hair is pushed back, and he looks like he just came from a spa weekend, not a three-day marathon of knotting me into the mattress.
"Stop fidgeting," he says, not looking away from the road. "You're shaking the car."
"I'm trying to find a position that doesn't remind me that my insides have been rearranged," I snap back, though there's no heat in it. I grab the iced Americano from the cup holder and take a desperate sip.
"You didn't seem to mind the rearranging at the time," he smirks, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
I flip him off, sinking lower in the seat.
The silence that settles between us isn't the sharp, jagged thing it used to be. It’s heavy, warm.
Comfortable. It feels like the interior of this car is its own little world, sealed off from the campus politics and the hierarchy bullshit waiting for us back in Seoul.
We’re essentially fleeing the scene of the crime. Or rather, we were evicted.
My mind drifts back to four hours ago. I was dead to the world, face buried in a pillow that smelled like Donghwa and sandalwood, when the bedroom door sounded like it was being kicked in by a SWAT team.
"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"
"Get up, you hermits! The sun is up and you smell like a locker room!"
Dohwa and Dohwi. The terrifying twin tornadoes.
I had groaned, trying to pull the duvet over my head, only to have it ripped away by a gleeful Dohwi.
Donghwa, the traitor, didn't even try to defend us.
He just sat up, hair sticking up in every direction, blinking blearily at his sisters like a confused owl while I scrambled to cover my naked ass with a stray pillow.
"Breakfast," Dohwa had commanded, pointing a manicured finger at the door. "Now. Mrs. Park made galbijjim. If you aren't downstairs in ten minutes, we're coming back with a bucket of ice water."
They didn't give us a choice. Ten minutes later, we were sitting at the dining table, looking like victims of a natural disaster, while the Kang family looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
It was… weird. Good weird. But weird.
Usually, the morning after a rut—if I even stayed the morning after—is a walk of shame.
It’s awkward silences, hasty dressing, and getting the hell out before things get complicated.
But here? Donghwa’s dad passed me the rice like it was the most normal thing in the world for his son’s Alpha partner to be sitting there with hickeys climbing up his neck.
"Eat up, Sihwan," his mom had said, piling braised short ribs onto my spoon. "You look depleted. You need your strength."
"Mom," Donghwa groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
"What?" She blinked innocently. "Swimming takes a lot of energy. Isn't that what you were doing all weekend? Indoor cardio?"
Dohwi snorted into her orange juice. "Yeah, lots of laps. We heard the… splashing."
I had choked on my water. Actual water in my lungs.
"Ignore them," Donghwa muttered, patting my back roughly while his sisters cackled. "They're just jealous they don't have anyone to do cardio with."
"Gross," Dohwa said, wrinkling her nose. "Don't talk about your sex life at the table, you heathen."
"You brought it up!"
It descended into bickering, loud and chaotic, and for once, I didn't feel like I had to perform. I didn't have to be Sihwan the dominant alpha, or Sihwan the Heir. I was just the guy sitting next to Donghwa, getting fed by his mom and roasted by his sisters.
When we finally managed to escape to the car, Mrs. Park, the housekeeper who I’m pretty sure runs the entire estate with an iron fist, intercepted us.
She didn't say a word, just popped the trunk and started loading it with food containers.
Kimchi, soy-braised beef, marinated crab, endless side dishes stacked like Tetris blocks.
"Mrs. Park, that's too much," I’d tried to say.
She just patted my cheek—actually patted my cheek—and said, "You're too skinny. Eat."
Then Donghwa’s mom had grabbed my hand through the open car window. Her grip was firm, warm.
"You bring him back, okay?" she told me, her eyes serious but kind. "Don't let him hide away at school all semester. And you come back too. The house is too quiet without you boys."
I promised. I actually meant it.
"Earth to Sihwan."
Donghwa’s voice snaps me back to the highway. We’re taking the exit for the university district. The familiar skyline of the campus looms ahead, and I feel a weird pang of reluctance.
"You okay?" he asks. He’s not looking at me, but his hand drifts off the gear shift to squeeze my knee.
"Yeah," I say, covering his hand with mine. The bond hums under my skin, a low-grade vibration that settles my nerves. "Just thinking about your sisters. They’re terrifying."
"They liked you," Donghwa says, sounding smug. "Dohwi said you have a nice ass. I told her to get her own."
I laugh, a startled bark of sound. "Your family has no filter."
"Neither do you," he counters. "That's why you fit in."
He pulls the car up to the curb in front of my apartment building. The engine cuts, but neither of us moves to get out.
I’m sore, I’m tired, and I have a fridge full of someone else’s mom’s cooking. I’ve got the arrogant, lethally attractive freshman following me home like a lost puppy who happens to be a dominant Alpha.
Yeah. I’ve definitely had worse weekends.
The high of the weekend lasts exactly until I step one foot onto the Visual Design floor on Monday morning.
I’m feeling good. Sore in places I can’t talk about, wearing a turtleneck that is definitely not my usual style to hide the bruising on my neck, and carrying a thermos of Mrs. Park’s citron tea.
I feel smug. I feel like I’m walking around with a nuclear secret in my back pocket.
I’m the guy who tamed the monster. I’m the one who spent the weekend getting hand-fed fruit by the Kang family matriarch while her son rubbed my feet under the table.
I stroll in, ready to act bored and superior, maybe ignore Donghwa in the hallway just to feel the thrill of knowing his hand will be down my pants later.
Then Seungchan grabs my arm and yanks me behind a vending machine like we’re in a spy movie.
"Dude," he hisses, his eyes wide and frantic. "Did you see the group chat?"
I frown, pulling my arm back. "No. I was busy having a life. What’s wrong with you?"
"It’s over," Seungchan says dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "The market has crashed. The stock is plummeting."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Donghwa," he whispers the name like it’s a curse. "Seolah posted an update ten minutes ago. He’s taken."
My stomach does a somersault, landing somewhere near my throat. I freeze, gripping the thermos so hard the metal bites into my palm. "Taken?" I manage, keeping my voice flat. "By who?"
"That’s the thing," Seungchan says, leaning in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. "Nobody knows. But Seolah has sources. She says he took someone to his parents’ estate for the weekend. Like, the big family mansion in the mountains."
I fight the urge to adjust my collar. "So?"
"So?" Seungchan gapes at me. "Sihwan, you don’t take a flavor-of-the-week to the Kang estate. That’s marriage material stuff. That’s 'meet the parents' stuff.
" He shakes his head, looking mournful. "Rumor is, it’s some secret Omega from Ewha or Yonsei.
Someone super high-class. Seolah says she heard the person was 'elegant and mysterious. '"
I choke. I actually choke on my own spit.
"Elegant?" I wheeze, pounding my chest. "Mysterious?"
"Yeah, probably some chaebol heiress who’s too good for our school," Seungchan speculates, completely missing my breakdown. "I bet she’s tiny. You know how those big dominant Alphas are. They always go for the fragile, porcelain-doll Omegas. It’s biology."
I stare at him. I am six-foot-one. I bench press more than Seungchan weighs. I have a bite mark on my shoulder that looks like I got mauled by a bear, and I spent the last forty-eight hours sweating through my sheets while getting railed into a mattress.
Fragile porcelain doll.
"Right," I say, my voice sounding strangled. "Biology."
"It’s crazy, right?" Seungchan sighs, looking at his phone. "Everyone is losing their minds. The Omegas are crying in the bathroom. Seolah is trying to track down any hints on social media."
I excuse myself before I punch him or start laughing hysterically. I need to get to class, but the hallway is buzzing. It’s like a hive that’s been kicked. Everywhere I look, people are huddled in groups, phones out, whispering.
And there, in the center of the storm, is Park Seolah.
She’s holding court near the lecture hall doors, looking immaculate in a pink tweed set, her phone held up like a scepter. A gaggle of Omegas and Betas are hanging on her every word.
"My source saw them leaving on Friday," Seolah is saying, her voice carrying perfectly over the noise. "Donghwa opened the car door for them. Can you imagine? The Ice Prince, opening a door? He looked obsessed."
"Was she pretty?" someone asks breathlessly.
"I heard she has long, silky hair," Seolah improvises, waving a hand. "And she was wearing, like, really expensive imported fashion. Very understated. Very 'old money'."
I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing black jeans and a slightly oversized sweater.