Bond rejection symptoms.
Can two Alphas accidentally bond?
Is there a morning-after pill for spiritual tethering?
The internet, usually my best friend for buying sneakers and stalking exes, is useless. Actually, it’s worse than useless. It’s actively mocking me. Every medical journal, every sketchy forum, every "Ask a Doctor" thread says the exact same thing.
Permanent.
The word glares at me.Permanent biological phenomenon.Irreversible neurological restructuring.Life-long attachment.
"Bullshit," I mutter, scrolling aggressively. "There has to be a loophole. Everything has a loophole if you have enough money."
I click on a link for a private clinic in Switzerland.Bond severance is only possible through the cessation of vital functions in one or both partners.
"Death," I say to the empty room. "My option is death. Fantastic."
I slam the laptop shut, resisting the urge to hurl it off the balcony. This can’t be real. I am the heir to the Paradise Hotel chain. I was supposed to be the Campus King, the guy who has Omegas lining up to buy me coffee. I am not supposed to be biologically tethered to Kang Donghwa, the guy who dresses like he's in a permanent emo phase and looks at me like I’m a stain on his shoe.
I pace the room. The silence is loud. Usually, I hate silence—I need music, people, noise to remind me I exist—but right now, my head is too full of static. Andhim. That’s the worst part. It’slike there’s a low-frequency hum in the back of my brain that just screamsDonghwa. It’s annoying. It’s intrusive.
I stop in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway. I look like hell. My hair is flat, my eyes have dark circles, and I haven't shaved. I look like a Beta who just got fired.
I pull the collar of my t-shirt down, craning my neck to look at the damage.
The bite is there. It’s ugly. A jagged, raised mark right where my neck meets my shoulder. It’s a brand. A "Property of Kang Donghwa" sticker that I can’t peel off. It throbs a little, a dull ache that seems to pulse whenever I get particularly angry about it.
"Okay," I tell my reflection. "Plan B. If I can't break the magic voodoo bond, I can at least get rid of the evidence."
I go back to the laptop. New search.
Cosmetic surgery bite mark removal.
Laser scar revision for mating marks.
This looks more promising. There are clinics in Gangnam that specialize in this. I scroll through before-and-after photos. It’s expensive, painful, and takes multiple sessions, but I don’t care. I’ll pay whatever. I’ll let them sandblast my skin if it means getting this thing off me.
I click on a consultation FAQ.
Q: Is removal permanent?
A: While laser revision can reduce the appearance of the scar tissue by 90%, patients must be advised that the bonded area remains sensitive. If the bonded partner reapplies the bite—
I stop reading.Reapplies the bite.
I force myself to read the next line.
—the scar tissue will reform aggressively, often resulting in keloid scarring that is impossible to remove a second time. The biological drive to re-mark a bonded mate is high, and the skin retains a 'memory' of the claim.
I stare at the screen. So, basically, I can scrub it off, but if Donghwa ever gets his teeth near me again—which, considering we are apparentlysoulmatesor whatever, is a biological probability—it’ll come back uglier and harder.
I groan, loud and long, throwing my head back.
"I hate him," I say to the ceiling. "I hate him so much."
Usually, Saturday nights are my religion. I’m supposed to be in a VIP booth, surrounded by people who want to sleep with me or be me, holding a bottle of something that costs more than a semester’s tuition.
Instead, I’m sitting on my living room floor in the dark, nursing a bottle of Glenfiddich like a divorced dad in a K-drama.
