Chapter One
Fifteen minutes. That’s the golden ratio.
Late enough to make sure everyone is already seated and waiting, but not so late that they’ve started eating the good cuts of meat without me. It’s an art form, really. I check my reflection in the darkened glass of thePig & Whistle, running a hand through my hair to ensure the chestnut-brown waves are perfectly tousled. My varsity jacket is unzipped just enough to show off the definition of my pecs through the tight black tee underneath.
I look expensive. I look like a prize.
I push the door open and let the noise wash over me.
The restaurant is a chaotic haze of chatter, smoke rising from grills, and the deafening roar of drunk college students. The smell of searing pork belly and garlic hits me instantly, but I don’t let it drown out my own scent. I made sure to layer on the booster heavy tonight. I want them to smell me before they even see me.
It works.
Heads turn. Conversations stall in the booth nearest the door as the heavy, musk-drenched air announces my arrival. I catch the eye of a cute beta sophomore near the register, flashing a grin that I know makes my jawline look sharp. They blush and look away.
Too easy.
I stride toward the back where the Visual Design department has commandeered three long tables pushed together. I don’t rush. Kings don’t run to their thrones.
"Oh! My! God!" A voice booms over the din of the restaurant, shattering my composed entrance.
Before I can even strike a pose, a massive wall of meat comes barreling toward me. Choi Seungchan. My loyal lieutenant, and the only person big enough to make me look average height.
"Sihwan! Bro! You finally made it!"
Seungchan doesn't greet people; he assaults them with affection. He grabs me by the shoulders, his grip like a vice, and practically lifts me off the floor.
"Watch the jacket, Chan," I grunt, slapping at his bicep, though I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. "This is custom."
"Man, screw the jacket! We saved you a spot right in the middle!" Seungchan bellows, ignoring my protest entirely. He’s vibrating with energy, his own pheromones a chaotic, happy mess that clashes with mine.
He drags me toward the center table, acting like a tugboat. The department cheers as I get close. This is what I live for. The noise. The eyes. The validation that the party didn't actually start until Oh Sihwan walked through the door.
"Fashionably late as always, huh, Sihwan?" someone shouts from the far end.
"Traffic was a nightmare," I lie smoothly, letting Seungchan shove me down into the empty seat at the head of the grill. None of them will know I sat in my car for ten minutes waiting for the clock to tick over.
"Get this man a drink!" Seungchan roars, slamming a shot glass down in front of me with enough force to rattle the silverware. "Soju! Beer! Mix it! Let’s go!"
I lean back, spreading my arms along the back of the booth to maximize my silhouette, taking up as much space as physically possible. I survey my kingdom—the heaps of raw meat waiting for the grill, the bottles of Cass beer sweating on the table, and the faces of my classmates all turned toward me.
"Alright, alright, calm down," I say, picking up the tongs and clicking them twice—the universal signal that the alpha is here to feed the pack. "Let’s get some actual food on this grill before Seungchan tries to eat the charcoal."
Seungchan laughs, a booming sound that shakes his massive chest, and slaps my back hard enough to dislodge a lung. "That’s why you’re the King, Sihwan! Brainsandgrill skills!"
I grin, soaking it in. Yeah. This is going to be a good semester.
"Here,Oppa. Let me get you a drink."
A shot glass slides into my field of vision, pushed by long fingers with glittery painted pink nails. I trace the hand up to a soft, heart-shaped face framed by a bob cut. Omega. Definitely. She’s blinking up at me with that wide-eyed, expectant look that usually precedes a request for my number or a ride in my car.
I don't hate it.
"Trying to get me drunk already?" I tease, my voice dropping an octave. I take the glass, making sure my fingers brush against hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She flushes a violent shade of pink. "Careful. I’m a lightweight."
A lie, obviously. I have the liver of a god and the tolerance of a seasoned alcoholic, but they like thinking they have the upper hand.
"Oh, please," Sangho snorts from across the table, tossing a piece of lettuce at me. "Sihwan’s been here five minutes and he’s already running game. Leave some for the rest of us, you greedy bastard."
