I cringe internally, my stomach doing a backflip. In her world—inmyworld—Alphas don't date Alphas. Alphas date Omegas. Alphas dominate. They breed. They don't shack up with other Alphas in a pheromone-dense cloud that smells like a wrestling match gone wrong. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head, calculating the social fallout, the biological impossibility, the sheerwasteof my genetics.
And worse, she’s looking at the room. She sees the mess. She smells the aftermath. She knows, with absolute certainty, that her son—her trophy, her "Dominant" heir—was not the one calling the shots in this bed for the last three days.
I want to die. I genuinely want to cease existing.
But Choi Yerim didn't claw her way to the top of the hospitality industry by losing her cool in front of strangers.
She inhales deeply, smoothing the front of her cream blazer, and the mask slams back into place. A tight, polite smile stretches across her face. It doesn't reach her eyes.
"I see," she says, her voice light and airy, like we’re discussing the weather and not her son’s sexual deviancy. "And you are...?"
"Kang Donghwa," he supplies smoothly. "I'm a junior in the department. I study with Sihwan."
He lies about his year. Smart.Freshmanwould sound like cradle-robbing.Juniorsounds like an equal.
My mother’s eyebrows lift a fraction. "Kang? Related to the Minister of Justice?"
Donghwa offers a small, self-deprecating smile. "My uncle."
Jackpot.
I watch the tension in my mother’s shoulders drop by exactly one inch. Old Money. Elite. Politics. Suddenly, the fact that he’s an Alpha isn't a dealbreaker; it’s a complication, sure, but aprestigiousone. She looks at him with new eyes, reassessing his value.
"Well," she says, clasping her hands together, the picture of gracious hospitality. "It is lovely to meet you, Donghwa. Although I do wish the circumstances were a bit more... civilized."
She casts a pointed, withering look at a pair of my underwear draped over the lampshade.
"My apologies," Donghwa says again, lowering his head. "I'll ensure it's rectified immediately."
"See that you do." She turns her gaze to me, and the warmth evaporates instantly. Her eyes are cold, hard flint. "Sihwan. A word."
I swallow hard. "Mom, I—"
"Not now," she cuts me off, holding up a manicured hand. She looks back at Donghwa, her smile returning like a light switch flicking on. "Since you are...involvedwith my son, and you come from such a respectable family, we cannot have our first meeting be in a laundry pile."
She reaches into her purse, pulls out a sleek leather planner, and checks it, though I know for a fact she has her schedule memorized down to the minute.
"You will come for dinner," she announces. It’s not a question. "This Saturday. Seven o'clock. At the main house."
My blood runs cold. "Mom, I don't think—"
"I insist," she says, her eyes boring into mine, daring me to argue. "Your father will want to meet him. If this is serious enough for you to be... cohabitating in such a manner, then it is serious enough for a family introduction."
She snaps the planner shut and looks at Donghwa expectantly.
I choke. It isn't a polite cough or a startled gasp; it is a full-body malfunction that sounds like a dying engine.
"Dinner?" I wheeze, staring at my mother like she just suggested we sacrifice a goat in the living room. "This Saturday? Mom, that’s—we can’t. We’re... busy."
I grasp at straws, my brain spinning so fast I think I smell smoke. "Midterms are coming up. We have a group project. A massive one. For... branding. It takes all weekend. We literally cannot leave the apartment."
My mother’s smile doesn't waver, but her eyes sharpen into lasers. "Sihwan. You are a Junior. If you cannot manage a simple dinner engagement alongside your coursework, I worry about your ability to handle the workload when you take over the regional branch next year."
The threat hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.Come to dinner, or I tell your father you’re incompetent.
"It's not about competence," I argue, my voice pitching up an octave. "It's about... scheduling! Donghwa is very busy. He has... school things. Orientations. Hazing. Whatever they do."
I risk a glance at Donghwa, pleading with my eyes.Back me up,I scream telepathically.Tell her you have a contagious disease. Tell her you’re leaving the country. Tell her you’re allergic to rich people food.
