Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2

Est

I stared at my blaring phone the next morning, waiting until the last possible second to swipe, regretfully putting my feet below me and trudging the small distance to the bathroom connected to my room as I answered.

“Hey,” I said, frowning at the roughness in my voice. After everything that happened at Auralux—after that disaster—I hadn’t really slept. Which sucked, considering it was my—

“Congrats! First day at LYKN, bitch!” Ciize sing-songed, way too loud and echoey. She was on speakerphone, probably already in a rideshare, Bluetooth hooked up like always.

“I didn’t forget,” I said, voice dry, lips twitching. “Just like I also didn't forget to set my alarm if that's why you're calling.”

Not that it would’ve helped. My ringer hadn’t been on in over a year.

“I’m calling,” Ciize said, chipper falling apart like tissue paper, “because this is a big day, Es. Like, major. And I wanted to hear your voice before you do something impulsive, spiral, and fake your own death.”

“That’s not even—”

“I know you’re not gonna, but I’m just saying!”

I sighed, leaning back against the sink in the bathroom. “I know you stuck your neck out for me.”

“Est—”

“I mean it,” I said, and she huffed. “I’m not gonna screw this up. I swear.”

“God. Look, did I name-drop you in their submissions group chat? Yeah. But that’s it.”

“You turned in my app.”

“Only because you were having a full-blown meltdown and the deadline was in minutes, Est.”

I raised a brow and smirked, even though she couldn’t see it. “Still. Thank you.”

I needed this job. I needed any job, really, now that I’d poured most of my savings into this new place. It stung that in trying to stop being a burden to Ciize, she ended up finding me not just a job, but my actual dream placement—Admin Support, Artist Services Division, under the senior manager at LYKN Entertainment.

“Ehn. No one gets anywhere in this industry on merit alone, okay? We all knew someone. You knew me. I'm your person. So I did what I had to.”

“I’m good with it,” I lied, faking brightness.

“There’s gonna be a car waiting for you downstairs, by the way.”

“Ciize.”

“I’m not doing this every day. Just be glad I didn’t send flowers to your new desk with a glitter bomb inside.”

I blinked, staring at the bathroom sink, waiting for the wave to pass before it dragged me under. “You just wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.”

Ciize snorted, but this time it was softer. “Dinner tomorrow.”

“Dinner tomorrow. No fucking flowers, Ciize.”

“No fucking flowers,” Ciize said, imitating me in a nasally, mocking deep tone. She let the silence stretch just long enough for my eye to twitch, and I was about to hang up when she added, “Your mom would be proud of you, you know.”

Low blow, Ciize, I thought. And probably not the target she was aiming for.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I muttered, then ended the call.

My mom would not be proud of me. Relieved, maybe—just to see I was employed again after nearly a year of hiding in Ciize’s guest bedroom. But lucky for my mother and luckier for me, she’d missed the last five years of my life.

Still, if there was one thing my mom would want to say to me, it wouldn’t have to do with pride.

Pretty much the opposite.

I told you so.

She’d warned me about alphas. About what they wanted, and what they took from omegas. And I’d tried, god I’d tried, to prove her wrong. But she’d been right—over and over again.

And then I’d gone to that stupid biker bar that night with my best friend, Daou. With one single decision, I had confirmed every warning my mother ever told me.

As if summoned by the thought of him, my phone lit up again—this time with Daou’s name blazing across the screen. I dropped it on the counter, flipped it to speaker, and tried to ignore the twinge in my chest that always hit when I dealt with him.

Daou. Who’d undergone that rare, magical, but very real transformation I’d once begged the universe for. One day he was a beta like me, just two boys in their 20s living the normality of being the designation that makes up 70% of the world. The next, after a dive bar night in Old Uptown, he was a newly perfuming omega with five marks and a goddamn glittery life, and I- I was perfuming too, but there was no glittery life to fall into for me.

“I'm fixing myself up, Daou. What’s up?”

“HAPPY FIRST DAY OF WEEEERRRRKKK!”

Daou screamed through the speaker, his voice ricocheting off the drab green tile of my bathroom like a curse.

“Dear god,” I muttered, immediately reaching for the small buttons on the side of my phone, bringing the volume on it down a notch or two.

“Hi, sorry, I love you. What kind of look are we going for today?” Daou’s voice crackled through the speaker like he was already halfway into a triple espresso. “Bold and daring? Dewy and innocent? That haunted poet look you did on me last month?”

“Alive,” I said dryly, dabbing primer onto my cheeks. “Tell Off not to give you so much caffeine first thing in the morning. You’re supposed to ease into being unbearable.”

“Nah, I just tell each of the boys I haven’t had any yet, so they all bring me fresh mugs.”

I huffed a laugh. “The privilege of a spoiled omega with five overly-attentive alphas.”

“Damn right,” Daou said, unbothered. “Late night?”

I hummed, and he hummed back. We’d found our rhythm again lately, but it had taken time—after he presented as an omega, and then I did too shortly after. The difference was that when he presented, he fell in love with his pack, fell into warm arms. I… didn’t.

He’d thought he was a beta for twenty-five years. Then one night, in the middle of a bar and a full-body panic attack, he perfumed so hard the bartender passed out. The next day, he was being fed fruit out of someone’s hand and lounging in a silk robe like he'd been born to it.

I’d always wanted to be an omega. Not for the silk robes or the fruit or even the doting alphas. I just wanted to be chosen. To matter enough for someone to stay.

And then Daou got it.

And then I did too.

I got everything I thought I had always wanted.

Turns out, everyone is right, I should have been careful what I wished for as mine left a mark much different to Daou’s own.

It didn’t help that while he was going through the deliriously joyful process of learning to trust his new pack, I was burning every bridge I had been trying to outrun.

Daou didn’t like my weekend habits, and he definitely wouldn’t have approved if he knew I was doing it alone. Not with a group of friends like I’d told him. Just… me. Alone. Again.

“Yeah, It was a bust though,” I said. “How’s the crew?”

“Same, same,” Daou said. “Wanna get lunch soon? Maybe something nice Downtown? My treat!”

More like one of Offroad’s treats, but Daou and his pack were always careful to keep his alphas far, far out of my orbit. Sometimes Jom, the beta, would tag along when Daou and I got lunch, but mostly they let him hang out with me solo.

“It’s a date,” I said.

“Yay. Okay, I’ll let you focus on the face now,” Daou said. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you, Da.”

I sighed as he hung up and rolled my shoulders. Okay. So we were mostly back to normal. I still felt a little on edge, but I didn’t want Daou to carry that for me. My messes were my own.

I glanced at my reflection again. Straight black hair, tucked back. Hollow cheeks. Lips chapped from anxious biting. I couldn’t tell if I looked more like the “before” shot in some tragic self-help campaign… or the wreckage left behind in the “after.”

I used foundation, layered it on until I looked like someone who slept—smooth, even skin, something that could hide the dark circles under my eyes from another night of shit sleep. Covered the hormonal breakout forming across my jaw and forehead from all the stress.

Despite getting a job as an assistant under the Beauty and Artist Support branch, I planned to keep things quiet. I just wanted to show up, do the work, and stay out of the way at LYKN. Ciize had pulled strings to get me in, but I wanted to earn it.

I didn’t want to be noticed.

Not for how I looked.

Not by anyone who might care enough to look too closely.

Because there would be alphas at LYKN Entertainment.

The head of my department was an alpha, even though every one of my interviews had been conducted by a beta team. But LYKN wasn’t just some casual indie label—it was a rising entertainment powerhouse, and even the CEO of the company was an alpha. Not that I expected to run into him in the halls. I’d learned my lesson a long time ago when it came to alphas.

I was done being one of those desperate, naive omegas who clung to them in hopes of being protected from a pack that didn’t give a damn about me.

---

LYKN ENTERTAINMENT was located in the Phrom Phong district of Bangkok, in one of the tallest glass-and-steel towers near the Skytrain—gleaming and slick, tucked between old teak shopfronts and luxury condominiums. The building itself was famous: vintage Art Deco base, modernized to fit an industry that thrived on image. LYKN had occupied the top five floors for the past decade, and in that time, the brand had grown from niche to national.

It was all anyone in my field talked about. LYKN was the dream. And now… I worked there. Not as a performer, not even in production—just support staff. Still, I allowed myself a full twenty seconds after stepping through the doors to admire the curved gold accents in the marble, the chandelier like crystal rain, the tiled floor gleaming beneath my boots. For a second, I forgot my heartbeat.

I was here.

Not as a guest.

Not as a fan.

As someone who worked here.

Then someone brushed my shoulder and I tensed on instinct, then let the moment pass.

I was early, thanks to Ciize’s car service. I wore what we’d picked out together: a sleek button-up tucked into black slacks, my scent fully suppressed, my hair combed into submission away from my eyes. I looked like everyone else—just another assistant in a sea of black coats, work bags, and cold-brew to-go cups.

I didn’t know much about the rest of the floors beneath LYKN, only that they belonged to a prestigious legal firm staffed entirely by betas. It felt ironic, almost. Five stories of pure corporate logic… and the countless, numerous more stacked on top filled with idols, chaos, egos, and the sort of fame that made strangers believe they knew you.

But for now, I wasn’t a stranger here.

I was just… invisible.

And that was exactly how I liked it.

---

I wiggled my way through the crowd, breathing through parted lips to avoid the faintest whiffs of alpha pheromones.

They were everywhere—tucked behind necks, embedded in pressed collars and long coats, stirring the air in invisible warning.

I kept my eyes low and my pace brisk until I reached the security desk.

Behind the sleek, curved stone counter sat a bulky beta woman with a streak of grey in her tight ponytail and a sharpness to her expression that made it clear she did not suffer fools. She barely looked up from her newspaper when I cleared my throat.

“I’m a new hire for—”

“Name?” she asked, already typing.

“Est Chansiri,” I said.

Her fingers moved over the keyboard with mechanical speed. A screech from the old printer beside her filled the space, and a moment later she slid a flimsy cardboard badge across the desk toward me.

“That’ll get you to your floor. They’ll manage the rest. You check in at floor fifty. If you don’t get your official pass by tomorrow, come back here and I’ll print you another.”

I blinked at the temporary card. It was beige and cheap and barely laminated, but the barcode printed at the bottom felt like some kind of holy key.

“Thanks,” I muttered, tucking it into my pocket and moving toward the turnstile.

I could already feel the tension rising in my chest. People were flooding the lobby—stylists, managers, interns in heels, performers in everything from sweats to designer wear. No one looked lost. No one looked new.

Except me.

I slipped through the gate and beelined for the elevators, jaw tight as I read the display. Floor fifty. I winced. Fifty stories with nothing but walls and bodies between me and fresh air.

Just breathe.

The elevator was already packed when I reached it. I caught the door with the edge of my hand and squeezed inside at the last possible second. The crowd shifted—minimally, reluctantly—just enough for me to fit. A briefcase jammed into the back of my calf. Someone’s perfume clung to my sleeve.

I didn’t look at anyone. I didn’t sniff. I didn’t move except to reach up and press the button marked 50.

The door slid shut. My heart clenched.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Just breathe.

Tiny, shallow inhales. Sweet lemon sugar curled under my tongue—my own scent, dulled by suppressants but still there, still me. I pressed my back against the mirrored wall and focused on the numbers lighting up above the door.

2…

8…

13…

God, it was slow.

Someone cleared their throat behind me and I flinched—barely noticeable, but enough to hate myself for it. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t risk eye contact. Not when anyone in this box could be an alpha. Not when the skin on the back of my neck was already crawling from the pressure in the air.

This was fine.

This was what I wanted.

A job. Stability. A future that didn’t hinge on being anyone’s anything.

I was here to work, not to fall apart.

Not again.

The elevator climbed.

And I breathed. Quiet. Measured.

Like I wasn’t already falling into old patterns, like my bones didn’t remember things I’d spent years trying to forget.

Until I realized it- I was in an elevator with no one but betas. I didn’t like being crowded, but the elevator had slowly emptied as we climbed, and eventually I was able to lean back against the mirrored wall—well out of reach of the last four passengers when we reached the fiftieth floor.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped out, inhaling deeply for the first time in what felt like ages. The floor was nearly silent, my footsteps clicking across polished marble. For a moment, I stood still, letting the cool air settle on my skin, and turned back just in time to watch the elevator doors glide shut behind me. 

I was here. I was at LYKN Entertainment.

The hallway stretched in both directions, a soft slate-blue with ivory crown molding and frosted-glass light sconces spaced like constellations.

Every inch—down to the inlaid gold detailing on the tile grout—was intentional. Clean. Professional. Intimidatingly perfect. Ahead of me, rich mahogany doors framed in brass waited silently. One of the elevators ahead chimed softly, and I unconsciously turned towards it.

And then—my body stalled.

Heavy whorls of scent pushed into the hallway—sharp, glacial cedar and something darker. Masculine. Clean. Alpha.

Two of them stepped out of the elevator at once, and the shock rooted me in place.

It had been months—longer, maybe—since I’d been this close to an alpha, let alone two. And still… that wasn’t the only reason I froze.

The first of the pair, tall and severe, had glossy black hair swept perfectly away from his face and down along his temples, sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could slice glass. Thin glasses caught the light as he scanned the hallway without pause.

Tui Thanapipat.

The Tui Thanapipat. Alpha. Unbonded. And terrifying.

CEO of LYKN Entertainment. He oversaw the label, the studio, the partnerships, and everything in between. Tui Thanapipat, the alpha in charge of all of it. Standing next to him, dressed in a soft brown leather jacket and sleek black trousers that gleamed faintly under the lights, was someone far easier to look at—but somehow just as overwhelming.

Nut Chanin, Senior Manager of Artist Support. Also known, apparently, as my direct boss if Ciize was to be believed.

His eyes flicked toward me, warm brown catching light with a kind of sun-glow calm that didn’t match the sudden pressure blooming in my chest. There was something inherently steady about him, like a tide that never rushed. I wanted to flinch away and hide behind the polished concrete wall. Instead, I just… froze.

Nut’s head tilted slightly, as if he'd felt my presence rather than seen me. Then he turned, fully facing me now, just as Tui did beside him.

And I knew I was already too late.

Tui’s gaze cut sharp like frost, eyes narrowing slightly as he took me in over the rim of his glasses. Beside him, Nut was silent, watching—but not unkind. Just observant. Intense in a different way.

My heart thudded once. Loud. Then again, harder.

Look at him like this, it’s pathetic, really.

The echo struck hard and fast. My stomach clenched. I tried to breathe through it.

Don’t run.

Every part of me itched to bolt. My muscles locked so tight it felt like I might shatter in place. I dropped my eyes to the floor and tried to take a step forward. Just one.

Nut moved first. A single step back, clearing space for me to approach.

That small gesture kept me grounded.

“New hire?” Nut asked, voice like warm balm, low and steady, but the words seemed more for the man beside him than for me. His tone lit with curiosity rather than challenge. When Tui didn’t answer, Nut looked at me directly and smiled. “You’re early.”

His gaze was sincere. Kind.

I forced the tangled knot in my throat down far enough to whisper, “Sawasdee krub, Khun Nut, Khun Tui. I'm Est," while performing a wai.

“Est,” Nut repeated. “I’m Nut—but seems you know that already, you’re under me. Department-wise.”

He stepped forward. I flinched—just barely—but still enough to draw attention. Before anything else could happen, Tui’s hand landed on Nut’s shoulder like a silent tether. The motion held no force. Just restraint. Like a warning.

Nut didn’t take offense. He stayed still.

“You’re the new admin assistant?” Tui said, voice quiet and steely, but no longer assessing.

I nodded once. “Yes, Khun.”

“You’re Ciize’s cousin,” Nut said, smile returning, bright and open. He said it like a fact, not a question. “I knew you looked familiar. She told me you were coming in soon. Didn’t say it’d be today.”

His tone was so warm it almost contracted the slightly naturally harsher tone of Tui's voice as he spoke, “Welcome to LYKN.”

“Let me show you around,” Nut said, taking the cue from Tui’s restraining hand and stepping back to offer me space to walk past them both to the office doors.

I took one steadying breath and forced my feet to move, nearing them both as Tui backed up and made more room for me.

“Enjoy your day,” he said, dark brown- almost black- eyes watching me briefly before turning and jerking his head to Nut, encouraging him to walk ahead of me.

What had Ciize told them? She couldn’t have said more than she knew—that I’d gotten myself mixed up with cruel alphas, and afterward had barely been able to bring myself to leave her apartment for months. But she’d promised not to say anything on the topic at all, so maybe Tui was just that good at reading body language, or maybe I was projecting terror more obviously than I realized.

“You’re coming in while we’re in the middle of a few projects, which might feel chaotic at first,” Nut said, “but I think it’ll give you a good picture of how we work. I saw your video series and I’m excited to have you here. We’re looking forward to bringing you into our planning sessions.”

Nut’s excitement was palpable, matching the bright tilt of his scent—lemongrass and leather and something dizzyingly warm. It clashed in a strange, striking way with the colder scent hovering around Tui: cedar and black pepper, winter rain.

“I’ve been following your artists for as long as I can remember,” I said, pushing the muscles of my face into something resembling a smile. “It’s… surreal to be here.”

Both alpha's pushed the double doors open and I focused on the receptionist at her clean cream desk, with the lush bouquets on either corner, rather than the imposing and potent energies flanking me. “I’m looking forward to being a part of the process.”

“Khun Tui, P'Ben is upstairs and ready for you. Good morning, Khun Nut,” the receptionist greeted, a beautiful young beta with a sleek black bob and electric pink lipstick that popped against her pale skin.

“Morning, Daze. This is Est, my new assistant for admin artist division. Will you get him set up and then bring him over to my wing?” Nut asked.

I stiffened as my shirt shifted—Nut’s hand landing briefly at the base of my back in a touch too familiar to be comforting.

“I’ll see you in a bit, Est.”

Daze—probably a nickname, but it fit her polished, preternaturally pristine vibe—rounded the desk with a beaming smile.

“Follow me, I’ll give you the tour,” she said.

---

Nut was just as exuberant as he had been in the elevator, but this time his energy was absorbed by the three other team members already stationed in the wide, glass-walled bullpen I was being led into.

This was the Artist Services Division, tucked behind the more public-facing departments like PR and Talent Scheduling. But it still buzzed with the kind of quiet intensity that made it feel like something important was always about to happen.

The room—casually dubbed the hive according to the label stuck to the coffee machine—was the kind of dream space you didn’t know existed outside of K-dramas and Pinterest boards. Polished black counters were lined with artist kits organized by name and tier: brushes sterilized and sorted by type, skincare stocked and labeled by pH and scent profile, stylist kits color-coded down to their thread rolls. There were mini-fridges for on-set essentials—eye gels, face mists, blood sugar gummies—and digital wall boards looping upcoming appearance schedules in softly glowing white.

I was still absorbing it all when someone spoke beside me. “It’s like walking into a live version of a fan edit, right?”

I turned toward the speaker—a soft-spoken brunette with curtain bangs and lashes so perfectly curled it made my own feel like wire. “I’m Fon,” she said, sliding a lipstick drawer shut. “Khun Nut said you’re new. I’m the one they send when artists cry in makeup chairs.”

I nodded, a bit overwhelmed. P'Fon, I noted. She was the one Nut had mentioned who used to work in wellness coordination. Now she looked like a Vogue spread come to life.

Realized I was staring and looked away, pretending to examine the wall of foundation samples. The shades were labeled not just by tone but by finish and lighting condition. This place wasn’t just organized—it was surgical.

“I want to be everywhere at once,” I murmured, mostly to myself. “Some of these products I’ve only ever seen on livestreams.”

Fon chuckled, leaning against the console. “Welcome to LYKN. We’re the lucky ones who get to test this stuff before the press does.”

Nut, overhearing from across the room, raised an eyebrow. “And we’re also the ones who have to explain why we’re recommending a serum that costs more than a VIP concert ticket.”

I glanced up. “Isn’t LYKN’s current branding supposed to be moving younger?”

“Exactly,” I added before I could stop myself. “I mean, can our general audience even afford Arva Luxe?”

Fon paused, her smile faltering slightly. Nut answered before she could. “Probably not. It’s a conflict we’ve been bumping into a lot lately. Since the company made the switch to only support cruelty-free partnerships, our options narrowed fast. Arva Luxe doesn’t advertise with us anymore unless we feature them… but we risk losing credibility by pushing something most fans can’t buy.”

“That’s a branding nightmare,” I said, then flushed when Fon raised her eyebrows. “I mean, from a consumer standpoint.”

“You’re not wrong,” said the guy seated across the room—tall, pale, white-blond under a beanie, nose ring glinting under the overheads. “Name’s Peach. I handle packaging comparisons. High-end is high prices. But if our audience can’t follow us there, what’s the point?”

Nut’s lips twitched slightly, the way I imagine they did when he was amused but trying not to show it. He leaned forward, elbow on the back of a chair. “It’s a balance. We’re trying to figure it out.”

Our eyes met briefly. His were warm—soft brown and steady. Not intense. Not demanding. Just… aware. I startled when I realized we’d held the look too long.

Get it together, I told myself, dropping my gaze to the table where a printed mock-up was waiting. “Looks to Light Up Your Life” was the title. A layout of creams, sticks, and shimmers labeled with lemon, peach, mango.

I tapped the sheet. “Do you always photograph these flat like this? On white?”

Fon looked up. “Helps the colors pop. It’s industry standard.”

“But it also strips context,” I said before I could overthink. “A lot of these are sheer, right? They’ll read differently depending on skin tone. Seeing them on white isn’t going to help an artist know how it blends.”

Nut tilted his head, curious now. “You suggesting we shoot it on actual skin tones?”

“I mean, yeah,” I said, shrugging. “Or if not models, maybe panels—sections divided by base tone. You could split the spread into six or so color ranges and show each on its appropriate match", I stood without thinking and crossed to the shade drawers. "If you match the sections to Lissie’s magic bases that claim to blend so well, then you can add even more product to the feature.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Peach said, “Honestly, that might piss off Arva Luxe less, too. We can spin it as ‘how to make your luxury products more versatile.’”

I glanced back at the team. No one looked annoyed. If anything, Fon looked… impressed.

This—this was why I’d wanted this job. I’d followed LYKN’s backstage footage for years. Subscribed to the web magazine. Dreamed of being useful.

Nut stood, nodding once. “Alright. Let’s pitch this to Marketing on Thursday. Fon, Peach, Est—get the swatches built. Try to keep it simple. Duplicate across ranges. Keep it clean.”

He turned toward the door, already half-briefing over his shoulder. “Mena, Noel, start building out the social blurbs. Tie in the ‘light up’ theme. Oh—and tag Est on the sheer factor. Let’s see if we can use that angle moving forward.”

Fon smiled at me from across the table. It was small, genuine, and just a little teasing.

“Not bad, newbie.”