Laughter erupts. Not just a giggle, but a full-blown roar from the tables nearby.
I spin around, fury spiking my scent into a cloud of burnt sugar and rage. "Who the hell threw that?"
Donghwa is looking at his phone again. He’s popped a single grape into his mouth—one he must have saved from the massacre—and is chewing slowly. He doesn't even look up.
"Unbelievable," I hiss. My face feels hot. I look like a lunatic screaming about fruit. I stomp off to my table, fuming, while the sound of Donghwa’s low, dark chuckle follows me like a ghost.
If the grape incident was annoying, the next few days are a living nightmare.
Donghwa has changed his strategy. Before, he was the ice prince, ignoring every Omega who batted an eyelash at him. It was annoying because it made him look cool.
Now? Now he’s doing something infinitely worse.
In our Friday seminar, a cute Omega named Eunji—who I’ve definitely flirted with before—slides into the seat next to him. Usually, Donghwa would shift away or give a one-word answer.
"Is this seat taken, Donghwa?" she asks, twirling a lock of hair.
I watch from two rows back, waiting for the rejection.
Instead, Donghwa turns to her. He smiles. It’s not a big smile, just a slight quirk of his lips, but it transforms his face from 'scary gangster' to 'romance novel cover model.'
"For you? Never," he says, his voice dropping an octave.
Eunji practically melts into a puddle right there on the desk.
My pen snaps in my hand. Ink bleeds onto my fingers, but I don't even feel it.
Donghwa leans back, draping an arm over the back of his chair, looking relaxed and open. He chats with her, nodding at whatever inane thing she’s saying. And then, he does it.
He looks up, straight over Eunji’s head, and locks eyes with me.
His expression is pure smugness. He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from the fawning Omega to me, and back again. The message is loud and clear:I can take this too. I can take all of it.
It happens again in the hallway. A group of Omegas surrounds him, asking about his notes.
I’m standing by the classroom door, grinding my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
Donghwa catches my eye through the crowd. He winks.He actually winks at me.
My scent is souring, turning acrid with jealousy and irritation. It’s not that I wanthim—gods no—but he’s encroaching on myterritory. I’m the Campus King. I’m the one they’re supposed to be squealing over.
"You okay, Sihwan?" Seungchan asks, backing away slightly. "You smell like you're about to murder someone."
"I'm fine," I snap. "I'm just great."
I look down the hall. Heesung is there, leaning against the wall, watching Donghwa hold court with a thoughtful expression. Heesung isn't looking at me. No one is looking at me.
I’m going to kill him. I’m going to strangle that smug, winter-scented, grape-throwing bastard with his own turtleneck.
"Bro, you’re going to pop a vein."
I rack the barbell with a clang that echoes through the university gym. It’s Friday night, the place is empty, and I’m benching my body weight plus twenty kilos just to burn off the residual irritation of seeing Kang Donghwa wink at me.
I sit up, wiping sweat from my forehead with the hem of my shirt. "I’m fine."
"You smell like burnt toast and murder," Seungchan points out helpfully, handing me a water bottle. He’s looming over the bench, looking like a confused grizzly bear in a stringer tank top. "Seriously, Sihwan. You need to chill. You’re letting the freshman live rent-free in your head."
I chug the water, crushing the plastic bottle in my grip. "He threw a grape at me, Seungchan. A grape. In public."
