He takes a slow, deliberate breath in through his nose. His eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second, like a wine connoisseur tasting a particularly complex vintage.
Fuck.
He’s a Beta, but he can still smell it. The thick, cloying evidence hanging in the air. Not just sex. Not just Alpha. He can smellme—spiced rum and musk—tangled up withhim. It’sa pheromonal confession, a biological signature that screamsbonded pair, rutting. There is no lie that can cover that scent.
My last shred of composure disintegrates.
"Okay, look, Joohyuk-hyung," I plead, my voice cracking. I take a step forward and, in a move of pure, unadulterated desperation, I grab his hands. They’re cool and dry, a startling contrast to my own, which are slick with a cold, panicked sweat. "We know the same people, right? Minjun from accounting? Sora from the marketing department? We’re practically friends. You can’t—you can’t say anything. Please."
He just stares at my hands holding his, his expression unchanging. The silence is heavy, crushing me.
My brain scrambles for a new tactic. My dad’s voice echoes in my head:every problem has a price tag.
"I can get you anything," I blurt out, squeezing his hands tighter. "Anything you want. Seriously. The student council needs new laptops, right? Done. I’ll have them delivered tomorrow. You want a vacation? My dad owns a resort in Jeju. The presidential suite is yours for a month. Just name it. A car? What kind of car do you want? Just don’t… don’t file a report. Please."
I’m babbling, offering up my family’s fortune like a sacrifice to the god of Not Getting Expelled for Public Indecency. I’m the top of the class, reduced to a desperate, wheedling mess, begging a Beta not to ruin my life, all while my cock is still sticky in my pants from the guy watching us from the corner of the room.
This is, without a doubt, the lowest point of my entire fucking life.
I’m halfway through offering Joohyuk a lifetime membership to the country club—"Seriously, the sauna alone is worth the annual fee"—when I risk a glance over my shoulder.
I expect to see Donghwa looking at least alittleworried. Maybe a bead of sweat? A tense jaw? Anything to show heunderstands that our social lives are currently dangling over a precipice held by a single thread of Beta patience.
Nope.
The bastard is leaning against the file cabinet, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed. One eyebrow is arched perfectly, his mouth twitching with that infuriating, barely-there smirk. He looks like he’s watching a particularly mediocre street performance and debating whether or not to toss a coin. He is absolutely, one hundred percent useless.
I turn back to Joohyuk, desperation spiking. "Okay, forget the club. Cash? I can do a wire transfer right now. I just need my phone—"
"Sihwan."
Joohyuk yanks his hands out of my grip like I’m contagious. He takes a step back, holding his palms up in astopgesture, looking at me with the kind of exhaustion usually reserved for parents of toddlers on a sugar crash.
"Enough," he says, his voice flat. "I don't want your dad's money. I don't want a trip to Jeju. And I definitely don't want a yacht."
I freeze, mouth half-open. "You... don't?"
Joohyuk sighs, a long, suffering sound that seems to deflate his entire posture. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them to glare at the table behind me.
His gaze lands squarely on the drying, sticky evidence of our activities. His nose wrinkles. A look of pure, unadulterated revulsion washes over his face.
"Just..." He waves a hand vaguely at the mess, looking like he might gag. "Clean that up. Please."
I blink. "Wait. That's it?"
He looks at me, deadpan. "Do you think I want to fill out the paperwork for this? Do you have any idea how many formsI’d have to file for 'Public Indecency in a Student Organization Space'? I have finals next week, Sihwan. I don't have time for your..." He gestures vaguely between me and Donghwa. "...hormonal nonsense."
My knees nearly give out with relief. I sag against the nearest shelf. "Oh my god. Hyung. You are a saint. A literal saint."
"I'm not a saint," Joohyuk snaps, adjusting his cuffs and refusing to look at the table again. "I'm just tired. And this isn't my business. Whatever... weird rivalry-turned-kink thing you two have going on? Keep it out of the clubhouse."
He fixes me with a stern look, pointing a finger at my chest. "People eat lunch in here, Sihwan. We have board meetings at that table. Have some shame."
"Yes," I say immediately, nodding like a bobblehead. "Absolutely. So much shame. We’ll bleach it. I’ll buy a new table. Two tables."
"Just clean it," Joohyuk mutters, turning on his heel. He grabs the stapler from the desk near the door—the only reason he came into this hellhole in the first place—and heads for the exit.
As he pushes the door open, I hear him grumbling under his breath. "Unbelievable. Alphas. Brains entirely composed of testosterone and bad decisions. Why is it always the sticky ones..."
