So, really, the math is simple.
I take a breath, inhaling the scent of cheap beer and Sihwan’s terror, and I step forward.
I move casually, shrugging off Soyoung’s hand, and walk right up to the velvet rope. I don’t look at the crowd. I lock eyes with Heesung, who is preening, waiting for me to squirm.
"You're right," I say.
My voice isn't loud, but in the vacuum of sound Heesung created, it carries perfectly.
A gasp ripples through the crowd. It sounds like the air being sucked out of the room.
I see Sihwan flinch. His head snaps up, his eyes wide and wet, flashing with a look of such profound betrayal it feels like a physical kick to my ribs. He opens his mouth, maybe to deny it, maybe to plead, but no sound comes out. He thinks I just signed his death warrant.
I keep my eyes on Heesung. "You’re very observant. You guessed it correctly. We are bonded."
The uproar is instantaneous. It’s a chaotic mix of shrieks, shouts, and the frantic murmur of a hundred rumors being confirmed at once. Heesung’s smile widens into something predatory and triumphant. He opens his mouth to twist the knife, to make some comment about Sihwan being a fake, a submissive, a bottom.
I don't let him.
"But," I say, raising my voice just enough to cut through the noise. I step closer, invading Heesung’s personal space until his smile falters. "You’ve got the order backwards."
Heesung blinks. "Excuse me?"
I hook my thumbs in my pockets, rocking back on my heels, letting a lazy, arrogant smirk curl the corner of my mouth. I cast a glance back at Sihwan—who is staring at me in frozen horror—and then look back at the crowd.
"Look at him," I say, gesturing vaguely at Sihwan’s massive, heaving frame. "He’s six-foot-one of pure muscle. You really thinkIcould pin that down?"
I let out a short, scoffing laugh, shaking my head like the very idea is ridiculous.
The crowd goes dead silent again, but the flavor of the silence has changed. It’s no longer judgmental. It’s stunned.
I look back at Heesung, whose triumphant expression is curdling into confusion.
"Sihwan isn't the one being knotted, Heesung," I lie, smooth as silk, without a flicker of hesitation. I tap my own chest. "It's me."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sihwan
My brain flatlines.
I’m standing there, half-naked, water dripping down my chest and soaking into the waistband of my boxers, staring at Kang Donghwa like he just grew a second head.
Did he just...?
He did. He absolutely did.
The crowd erupts. It’s a chaotic mix of gasps, squeals, and the kind of frantic whispering that signals the scandal of the century.But I barely hear it. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears and the echo of Donghwa’s calm, bored voice claiminghe’sthe one who takes it.
He’s lying. He’s lying through his teeth, right in front of the entire student body, destroying his own untouchable "Ice Prince" reputation without even blinking.
I look at Heesung. The Omega looks like he swallowed a lemon whole. His face has gone from smug triumph to a blotchy, ugly shade of crimson. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, desperate to refute it.
But he can’t. Because Donghwa just stole the narrative. And looking at the two of us—me, the bulky, gym-obsessed upperclassman, and Donghwa, the lean, pretty-boy freshman—the crowd is eating it up. It fits their bias. It fits the hierarchy they understand. Big muscles top, pretty face bottoms.
They have no idea.
I look back at Donghwa. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he just outed himself as a submissive partner to a dominant Alpha—social suicide in this toxic ecosystem we live in. He catches my eye, and for a split second, the mask slips. He shoots me a look. Awhat can you do?look.
