Donghwa tilts his head. "If he’s yours,Hyung," he says, the honorific dripping with sarcasm, "why is he drinking my soda?"
I recoil like I’ve been slapped. I look down at Heesung, who is happily sipping the peach drink, completely oblivious to the testosterone-fueled standoff happening above his head.
I glare at Donghwa one last time. "Watch your back, freshman."
I spin on my heel and storm off. I can feel Donghwa’s gaze on my back as I retreat. I don't need to turn around to know he’s smiling.
Game on, asshole.
Chapter Nine
If there’s one thing I hate more than skipping leg day, it’s being dragged out of my apartment when I’m busy wallowing in a pit of righteous indignation.
"Come on, man. You look like someone kicked your puppy," Seungchan says, practically shoving me toward the elevator. "It’s Joonhyung’s place. You know his dad just bought that penthouse in Gangnam. Open bar. Top shelf."
"I don't care about Joonhyung's dad's money," I grumble, adjusting the collar of my shirt. I do, actually. I care a lot about money. But right now, my ego is bruised, and I’m pretty sure my pheromones smell like burnt rubber and irritation.
"You need to get out of your head. Forget about the freshman," Seungchan says, hitting the button for the top floor.
"I’m not thinking about him," I lie. I’m absolutely thinking about him. I’m thinking about Kang Donghwa’s stupid dead-eyed stare, his stupid expensive clothes, and the way he walked out of class with Yoon Heesung tucked against his side like a designer clutch. It’s infuriating. I’m the catch here. Me. I have the muscles, the smile, the hair that costs more to maintain than most people’s tuition. Donghwa just looks like he rolled out of bed, put on the first black garment he found, and decided to make everyone else’s life miserable by existing.
The elevator doors slide open, and the bass hits me first. It’s a deep, thumping house track that vibrates right through the soles of my limited-edition sneakers.
"Showtime," Seungchan grins, clapping me on the shoulder.
I take a breath.Right. Showtime.
I shake off the gloom. I’m Oh Sihwan. I’m a junior. I’m a dominant Alpha. I don’t sulk. I conquer. I plaster on my signature grin—the one that usually gets me free drinks—and strut into the apartment.
It’s packed. The air is thick with the underlying sweetness of omegas looking for a good time. It’s a heady mix, and instantly, my spine straightens. This is my natural habitat.
"Sihwan-oppa!"
The call comes from a cluster of sofas near the balcony. I turn, spotting a group of omegas from the dance department. They’re all legs and glitter, waving me over like I’m the guest of honor.
"Go get 'em, tiger," Seungchan laughs, disappearing toward the kitchen.
I saunter over, letting my pheromones bleed out a little. Just a taste. Heavy enough to make heads turn, controlled enough to be inviting. I slide onto the leather sofa, right in the middleof three girls who immediately shift to make room for my shoulders.
"We didn't think you were coming," one of them says, a petite girl with doe eyes and a scent like lilacs. She rests a hand on my forearm, squeezing. "You’ve been so busy lately."
"Just handling business," I say smoothly, leaning back and spreading my arms along the back of the couch. I flex, just a little. The fabric of my shirt tightens. Her eyes drop to my chest.Good."But I couldn't leave you ladies lonely all night, could I?"
They giggle. It’s a chorus of validation, and god, I needed this.
"Here," another girl says, handing me a red solo cup. "Drink."
I take a sip. It’s terrible—way too sweet—but I wink at her anyway. "Thanks, sweetheart."
For the next twenty minutes, I’m the king again. I tell stories about the swim team, exaggerating my times just enough to be impressive but not enough to be fact-checked. I complain about the professors. I let them touch my arms "by accident." The knot of insecurity in my gut starts to loosen. This is how it’s supposed to be. I’m the center of gravity. When I talk, people listen. When I smile, they blush.
I’m actually starting to enjoy myself. The lilac-scented girl is leaning into my side, her heat radiating through my jeans, and I’m thinking that maybe tonight won’t be a total wash. Maybe I’ll take her home. Maybe I’ll forget all about the hierarchy war and just enjoy being worshipped.
Then, the music dips for a transition, and the front door slams open.
It shouldn't matter. People have been coming and going all night. But the air in the room shifts. It’s subtle at first, a drop in temperature, a sudden stillness that ripples from the entryway inward.
And then the smell reaches me.
