Then Donghwa’s mom had grabbed my hand through the open car window. Her grip was firm, warm.
"You bring him back, okay?" she told me, her eyes serious but kind. "Don't let him hide away at school all semester. And you come back too. The house is too quiet without you boys."
I promised. I actually meant it.
"Earth to Sihwan."
Donghwa’s voice snaps me back to the highway. We’re taking the exit for the university district. The familiar skyline of the campus looms ahead, and I feel a weird pang of reluctance.
"You okay?" he asks. He’s not looking at me, but his hand drifts off the gear shift to squeeze my knee.
"Yeah," I say, covering his hand with mine. The bond hums under my skin, a low-grade vibration that settles my nerves. "Just thinking about your sisters. They’re terrifying."
"They liked you," Donghwa says, sounding smug. "Dohwi said you have a nice ass. I told her to get her own."
I laugh, a startled bark of sound. "Your family has no filter."
"Neither do you," he counters. "That's why you fit in."
He pulls the car up to the curb in front of my apartment building. The engine cuts, but neither of us moves to get out.
I’m sore, I’m tired, and I have a fridge full of someone else’s mom’s cooking. I’ve got the arrogant, lethally attractivefreshman following me home like a lost puppy who happens to be a dominant Alpha.
Yeah. I’ve definitely had worse weekends.
The high of the weekend lasts exactly until I step one foot onto the Visual Design floor on Monday morning.
I’m feeling good. Sore in places I can’t talk about, wearing a turtleneck that is definitelynotmy usual style to hide the bruising on my neck, and carrying a thermos of Mrs. Park’s citron tea. I feel smug. I feel like I’m walking around with a nuclear secret in my back pocket. I’m the guy who tamed the monster. I’m the one who spent the weekend getting hand-fed fruit by the Kang family matriarch while her son rubbed my feet under the table.
I stroll in, ready to act bored and superior, maybe ignore Donghwa in the hallway just to feel the thrill of knowing his hand will be down my pants later.
Then Seungchan grabs my arm and yanks me behind a vending machine like we’re in a spy movie.
"Dude," he hisses, his eyes wide and frantic. "Did you see the group chat?"
I frown, pulling my arm back. "No. I was busy having a life. What’s wrong with you?"
"It’s over," Seungchan says dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "The market has crashed. The stock is plummeting."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Donghwa," he whispers the name like it’s a curse. "Seolah posted an update ten minutes ago. He’s taken."
My stomach does a somersault, landing somewhere near my throat. I freeze, gripping the thermos so hard the metal bites into my palm. "Taken?" I manage, keeping my voice flat. "By who?"
"That’s the thing," Seungchan says, leaning in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. "Nobody knows. But Seolahhas sources. She says he took someone to hisparents’ estatefor the weekend. Like, the big family mansion in the mountains."
I fight the urge to adjust my collar. "So?"
"So?" Seungchan gapes at me. "Sihwan, you don’t take a flavor-of-the-week to the Kang estate. That’s marriage material stuff. That’s 'meet the parents' stuff." He shakes his head, looking mournful. "Rumor is, it’s some secret Omega from Ewha or Yonsei. Someone super high-class. Seolah says she heard the person was 'elegant and mysterious.'"
I choke. I actually choke on my own spit.
"Elegant?" I wheeze, pounding my chest. "Mysterious?"
"Yeah, probably some chaebol heiress who’s too good for our school," Seungchan speculates, completely missing my breakdown. "I bet she’s tiny. You know how those big dominant Alphas are. They always go for the fragile, porcelain-doll Omegas. It’s biology."
I stare at him. I am six-foot-one. I bench press more than Seungchan weighs. I have a bite mark on my shoulder that looks like I got mauled by a bear, and I spent the last forty-eight hours sweating through my sheets while getting railed into a mattress.
