"You mean Donghwa is theonlyAlpha?" I ask, staring at her. "In the whole immediate family?"
She nods, a mischievous grin spreading across her face that makes her look decades younger.
"The only one," she confirms, leaning against the table. "He really pulled quite the surprise on us. You can imagine the chaos. We were a quiet, scholarly household of Betas, and suddenly we had this...force of naturestomping around, growing three inches a month and smelling like a winter storm."
She laughs, shaking her head at the memory. "Honestly, none of us knew what to do with him. We didn't have any firsthand knowledge about Alpha cycles or ruts. We had to buy books! Can you believe that? We were reading manuals on how to handle a teenage Dominant Alpha like we were trying to assemble furniture."
I snort, trying to picture this elegant woman reading a pamphlet titledSo Your Son Is Growling at the Mailman.
"It was an enlightening few years," she sighs, though her eyes are dancing. "But I’m afraid we created a monster. We were all just so... excited. To have a Dominant Alpha emerge in our line? It was like winning the genetic lottery. My husband was over the moon. The girls treated him like a little prince."
She glances over at Donghwa, who is currently ignoring his sisters while they try to braid his hair.
"He could have gotten away with murder," she admits in a conspiratorial whisper. "We doted on him terribly. We were just so proud of him, you see? But because of that, he’s never really had anyone tell him 'no.' He’s used to being the biggest, strongest thing in the room, and he’s used to everyone clearing a path for him."
She turns back to me, her expression sharpening playfully.
"That’s why I’m so glad you’re here, Sihwan. Finally, someone on his level." She reaches out and pats my arm, her grip surprisingly firm. "He needs someone who won't just roll over for him. He needs to be kept in check. So, do me a favor?"
She winks. "Give him hell for us, will you?"
I grin back, feeling a spark of genuine amusement. "Don't worry, ma'am. Giving him hell is basically my major."
She laughs, delighted, and moves off to check on the tea, but I stay by the table, my mind reeling.
It makes sense. It makes so much sense it’s actually annoying.
Dominant Alphas are rare enough as it is. Usually, you need two strong Alpha parents to produce one, like my family. My house is a constant pheromone war zone, everyone posturing and competing for air. But for a Dominant to pop up randomly in a line of Betas? That’s statistically almost impossible.
It explains the atmosphere in here. I realized, with a jolt, that I haven't smelled a single pheromone since I walked in the door—except for Donghwa’s and my own. The house is neutral. Silent.
No wonder he turned out the way he did. He’s a genetic anomaly. He’s a concentration of power in a vacuum. He didn't have to fight for dominance growing up because he was born holding all the cards. He’s not just an Alpha; he’s a freak of nature.
I look over at him across the room. He’s batting his sister’s hands away, looking bored and lethal and unfairly attractive.
A genetic anomaly,I think, feeling a heavy, possessive curl of heat in my gut. And somehow, I’m the one who gets to handle him.
The dining room table is groaning.
I mean that literally. There is so much food piled onto the dark, polished wood that I’m genuinely concerned for the structural integrity of the furniture. Mrs. Park wasn't kidding about the short ribs. There’s a mountain ofgalbi-jjim, steaming and glistening in a dark soy glaze, flanked by an army of banchan dishes that stretch from one end of the table to the other.
It’s a feast. In my house, a spread like this would be for a business merger or a holiday photo op. Here, it’s just Friday.
"Eat, eat!" Donghwa’s mother commands, waving her chopsticks like a conductor’s baton. "Sihwan, you’re too polite. You have to fight for the good pieces in this house or the girls will inhale them."
"We do not inhale," Dohwa protests around a mouthful of spinach. "We graze. Elegantly."
"You graze like locusts," Donghwa mutters, reaching for the water pitcher.
He doesn't get to it. Before his hand can even close around the handle, Dohwi has snatched the pitcher up. She doesn't pour herself a glass; she pourshis, filling it to the brim with an exaggerated, fluttering care, then sets it down in front of him with a saccharine smile.
"Here you go, our precious baby brother," she coos, batting her eyelashes so hard I’m surprised she doesn't take flight. "Is the water temperature okay? Do you need a straw? Do you need us to chew the ice for you?"
Donghwa freezes, his hand hovering over the glass. He closes his eyes, taking a deep, suffering breath through his nose.
"I hate you," he says flatly. "I hate you both so much."
"Aww, he hates us," Dohwa says to me, leaning over the table with a conspiratorial grin. "That’s Donghwa-speak for 'I love you and I’d be lost without your guidance.'"
