Fragile porcelain doll.
"Right," I say, my voice sounding strangled. "Biology."
"It’s crazy, right?" Seungchan sighs, looking at his phone. "Everyone is losing their minds. The Omegas are crying in the bathroom. Seolah is trying to track down any hints on social media."
I excuse myself before I punch him or start laughing hysterically. I need to get to class, but the hallway is buzzing. It’s like a hive that’s been kicked. Everywhere I look, people are huddled in groups, phones out, whispering.
And there, in the center of the storm, is Park Seolah.
She’s holding court near the lecture hall doors, looking immaculate in a pink tweed set, her phone held up like a scepter. A gaggle of Omegas and Betas are hanging on her every word.
"My source saw them leaving on Friday," Seolah is saying, her voice carrying perfectly over the noise. "Donghwa opened the car door for them. Can you imagine? The Ice Prince, opening a door? He lookedobsessed."
"Was she pretty?" someone asks breathlessly.
"I heard she has long, silky hair," Seolah improvises, waving a hand. "And she was wearing, like, really expensive imported fashion. Very understated. Very 'old money'."
I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing black jeans and a slightly oversized sweater.
I grind my teeth. This is insulting. It’s insulting to my Alpha status that they think I’m some dainty Omega heiress, and it’s insulting to my ego that they can’t even conceive thatImight be the one who caught him.
Then, the noise stops. It cuts off like someone pulled the plug on a stereo.
I look toward the entrance. Donghwa is walking in.
He looks… bored. That’s the only word for it. He’s wearing all black, as usual, a long coat sweeping around his ankles, his expression utterly unbothered by the silence that has descended on the room. He walks with that lazy, predatory grace that makes people instinctively part out of his way.
He doesn't look at Seolah. He doesn't look at the gaping students.
He looks right at me.
For a second, just a fraction of a second, his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s barely a smirk, but I feel it like a physical touch. His gaze drops to my high collar, lingers there for a heartbeat—he knows exactly what’s under there—and then flicks back up to my eyes.
Elegant,his eyes seem to say.Porcelain doll.
I flip him off discreetly behind my thermos.
He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and breezes past me, the scent of winter air and ink washing over me, heavy and possessive. It hits me in the chest, making my breath hitch, and I have to physically lock my knees to keep from following him like a trained dog.
"God," Seungchan whispers beside me, reappearing like a bad penny. "Look at him. He looks so smug. That mystery Omega must have rocked his world."
I close my eyes and count to ten.
The rumors don’t die down. They mutate. Like a virus in a petri dish, they multiply and get weirder and more specific by the hour.
By lunchtime, the "mystery Omega" has gone from a generic heiress to a specific French-Korean model who supposedly flew in on a private jet just to spend the weekend with Donghwa. By the time my afternoon lecture rolls around, people are whispering that Donghwa is actually secretly engaged to a diplomat’s daughter and that’s why he’s so aloof with everyone else.
I’m sitting three rows back, sweating through my deodorant.
Every whisper feels like a sniper scope centering on my forehead. I can feel the phantom weight of the bite mark on my shoulder like a neon sign burning through my shirt.Social castration.That’s the phrase that keeps looping in my brain. If they find out—if anyone connects the dots between the "mystery partner" and the guy currently hyperventilating in the back row—it’s over.
Oh Sihwan, the Campus King? Dead.
Oh Sihwan, the Dominant Alpha? A joke.
I’d be the punchline of every joke in the department.Did you hear? Sihwan isn't a Top. He’s Donghwa’s bitch.The swim team would never let me live it down.
"So, Donghwa," Seolah chirps. She’s turned around in her seat, effectively holding the entire front row hostage before the professor arrives. "Are you ever going to tell us who she is? Or do we have to wait for the wedding invite?"
