"Don't play dumb." My voice comes out sharper than I mean, edged with the kind of raw scrape that betrays how deep this is cutting. "That little sweater-paw demon who's been glued to my ass all week. I saw him crawling all over you at the coffee shop.Leaning in, batting those fake lashes, and you justlethim. What, you collecting my sloppy seconds now?"
Donghwa's smirk fades into genuine confusion, his head tilting as he crosses his arms over that broad chest, towel riding dangerously low. "The hell are you talking about? I barely glanced at the guy. He sat down uninvited, yapped for two minutes, and I told him to fuck off."
"Liar." The word explodes out of me before I can reel it back, heat crawling up my neck. I swing my legs off the bed, ignoring the sticky pull between my thighs, standing on wobbly feet just to even the height difference. "You wereeating it up. Leaning in, giving him that look. You love it, don't you? Some needy omega fawning over the untouchable freshman prince. Makes you feel big, huh? Like you're finally the king of something."
His eyes narrow, but there's no heat in it yet—just that cool assessment, like I'm a mildly interesting bug under glass. He steps closer, close enough that his damp skin brushes mine, his scent curling thick around us, cutting through the post-sex haze. "You're unhinged right now. I don't have anything going on with him."
"Bullshit." My heart hammers, fists clenching at my sides as old shit bubbles up, hot and ugly—Dad's voice in my head,You tried too hard, son. No natural grace. Always forcing it.Mom's endless critiques, the swim team cut that proved I'm never enough without the flash. And now this prick, thisfreshman, swooping in to steal what's mine because he can afford to not give a shit. "You're doing it again. Posturing. Taking my spot. First Heesung, now my ex? You think you can just waltz in with your old money vibe and your 'I don't care' bullshit and collect all my leftovers like trophies? Prove you're better?"
Donghwa's jaw ticks, the first real crack in his ice-king facade, but he doesn't back down. He plants his hands on his hips, towel slipping another inch, voice dropping low and edged. "Yourleftovers? Jesus, Sihwan. Grow up. I'm not chasing your ex like some dick-measuring contest. He cornered me. I brushed him off. End of story."
"End of story my ass." I jab a finger into his chest, right over the tiger inked there, feeling the muscle jump under my touch. My voice rises, cracking on the edges, all the fear I won't name spilling out raw. "You love replacing me. Making me look small. Like I'm the try-hard who's always second place. Well, fuck you. You don't get to take him too. You don't get to make menothingagain!"
Donghwa's eyes narrow just a fraction, that cool mask cracking enough to show the irritation flickering underneath, but his voice stays even, like he's talking down a feral cat. "Delusional much, hyung? You're spinning this into some conspiracy because you're insecure as hell. This isn't a game. I'm not 'replacing' you or collecting trophies. You're making shit up to fit your victim complex."
Victim complex. The words land like a slap, hot and stinging right in the raw spot where all my daddy issues fester. My chest heaves, blood roaring in my ears, but I jam his phone under his nose before he can gaslight me further. The screen's still lit up with Sejun's thirsty-ass pic—shirt hiked, hand down his pants, that stupid kissy face emoji mocking me from the text bubble.
"Explainthisthen, you smug prick," I snarl, shoving it so close his nose nearly bumps the glass. "Your new boytoy sliding into your DMs with a dick pic preview. 'Missed you at coffee.' Sound familiar? You wereall overthat shit yesterday."
Donghwa's eyes flick to the screen, and for the first time since I met the icy bastard, he goes dead silent. No smirk. No quick comeback. His brows pinch, mouth parting like he's sucking on a lemon—genuine confusion twisting his face, dark eyes darting from the photo to me and back, like he's buffering.
Nothing. Zilch. He's speechless.
That's all I need. Victory surges through me, bitter and triumphant, even as my ass throbs from his earlier pounding, a sticky reminder of how deep he's already burrowed under my skin. "See? Cat got your tongue? Can't even deny it."
I toss his phone onto the bed like it's toxic waste and snatch up my discarded pants, yanking them on with jerky, furious tugs. The zipper sticks halfway—fuck it, it stays. "You're so goddamn overbearing. Always one-upping me, rubbing your 'better alpha' bullshit in my face. Now this? Trying to strip the last shreds of my pride? Eat shit, Donghwa."
He opens his mouth—too late. I bolt for the door, bare feet slapping cold hardwood, heart slamming like a war drum. His voice starts behind me—"Sihwan—" but I slam the penthouse door on it, the echo ringing in my ears all the way to the elevator.
Fuck him. Fuck this bond. I storm into the night air, chest tight, come still leaking down my thigh like a goddamn accusation. Let him chase his vanilla twink. I'm done playing second fiddle.
Chapter Twenty
Donghwa
The door slams hard enough to rattle the frame, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
I stand there in the middle of my bedroom, stark naked, holding a fluffy white towel like a peace offering that just got rejected. The air still smells like sex—likeus—heavy with the scent of spiced rum and the sharp, wintry bite of my own pheromones. But the warmth is gone, sucked out the momentSihwan decided to storm off in a cloud of misplaced, territorial rage.
"Dramatic," I mutter to the empty room, tossing the towel onto the messy bed.
I walk over to the bed and pick up my phone. The screen is still lit, displaying the notification that started World War III.
I unlock it and stare at the image. My lip curls instinctively.
It’s clearly that Sejun kid. He’s posing in a mirror, wearing a shirt that’s unbuttoned to his navel, biting his lip in a way that I assume is meant to be seductive but just looks like he’s having an allergic reaction. The caption is a string of emojis that makes my eyes roll so hard it hurts.
"Gross," I say, the word flat in the quiet room.
I don’t hesitate. I tap the screen, delete the photo, and hit block on the number. Then I go into my recent calls and block him there too, just to be thorough.
Sihwan thinks I’mcourtingthis? He thinks I’m trying to steal his "leftovers"? The guy is delusional. If he wasn't so busy feeling sorry for himself, he’d realize I’ve been trying to shake this pest for days.
Sejun has been relentless. And not in a charming way.
It started in the canteen on Monday. I was trying to eat my lunch in peace, scrolling through photography forums, when a shadow fell over my table. Before I could look up, Sejun "tripped" and spilled his water all over the empty seat next to me. He spent ten minutes apologizing, leaning over me to wipe it up, his ass practically in my face. I could pick up a faint whiff of something sweet, so I assume he was spreading his pheromones like a plague, little good it did him. Since the bond with Sihwan snapped into place, I don't pick up the pheromones of omegas at all anymore. It's like my nose tunes them out completely.
Then there was the music room. I’d gone there to escape the noise of the main campus, sitting at the grand piano to workthrough a piece I’d been neglecting. I was halfway through a measure when the door clicked shut. I didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. I could just sense it.
