Chapter Text

The world filtered through a veil of cotton soaked in turpentine. Li Pei En opened his eyes not with the usual clarity, but with a languid heaviness that anchored his eyelids to sleep. A cracked ceiling, furrowed by the capriciousness of water seepage, materialized above him. It was not the spotless white ceiling of his apartment suite. This one was low, gray, and emanated a sense of oppression that constricted his chest.

He sat up with a groan that was alien to him, a hoarse, faint sound that was drowned out in the sepulchral silence of the room. Every movement was an uncomfortable revelation. His bones creaked in a new way, his spine complained of the hardness of the pallet on which he lay. A subtle, chemical nausea coiled in his stomach. His raised a hand in front of his face, moved by an impulse of pure astonishment. The dim light coming through the dirty window fell on skin paler than she remembered, almost translucent, where blue veins were marked like rivers on a map of defeat. The fingers were longer, thinner, and trembled slightly with a shiver that was not from the cold, but from something internal, systemic. He turned his wrist. There, a thin, white scar, ancient, furrowed the inner skin. A mark he did not possess.

The silence was the most terrifying thing. 

Not the respectful silence of a set awaiting action, but an absolute emptiness, broken only by the distant honking of a car horn and the stubborn drip of a faucet in another room. There was no hum of spotlights, no whispers of assistants, no familiar laughter from Huang Xin on the other side of the wall. He stood up, and the wooden floor creaked under his bare feet with a protest that seemed directed at him personally. The room was small, miserably sparse. Piles of books with worn spines, humble clothes folded with a neatness that contrasted with the squalor of the surroundings, a single half-empty glass of water on the bedside table. His actor's eye, trained to catch details, absorbed every crack, every shadow, every particle of dust floating in the air. This scenario was too real, too coherent in its desolation to be a joke.

He approached the small rectangular mirror nailed to the closet door, its surface tarnished and scratched. The waiting reflection took his breath away. Large eyes, usually expressive, but now wild with silent terror, stared back at him from a face (a little) so much like his own. The high cheekbones, the fluffy lips, the straight, lifeless hair. It was Gao Tu's face. Li Pei En blinked, but the reflection lingered. A whisper escaped him, a brittle question directed at the image in the mirror, “What...?” The voice that came from his lips-from Gao Tu's lips-was a brittle echo of his own, lacking its confident timbre and usual calm. A shiver, this time incontestably cold, ran down her spine. It was not a dream. It was a prison of someone else's flesh and blood.

A new access of tremors shook him, followed by a throbbing headache that settled behind his eyes. His gaze strayed to the bedside table. A small plastic bottle, with an illegible handwritten label, lay on its side, empty. Another, half-full of white pills, lay beside it. Beta-blocker tablets. Inhibitors. His mind, clouded but still sharp, connected the dots with brutal clarity. Gao Tu's perpetual pallor on the set, the way he shrank when an Alpha got too close, the whispers from the team about his fragile health. It wasn't shyness. It was a sham maintained on drugs. A lie that was poisoning the body he now inhabited. A surge of genuine empathy, a feeling he often analyzed to interpret but rarely felt with this raw intensity, swept over him. Gao Tu was not hiding; he was slowly committing suicide in order to remain unnoticed.

That empathy evaporated instantly, replaced by the cold panic of reality. Not only was he in a body that didn't belong to him. He was in a sick, addicted, crumbling body. A sharp knock on the door, dry and authoritative, made him jump. 

“Gao Tu! Are you there, open this door!” The voice was low, of a Beta, charged with an impatience that brooked no reply.

Li Pei En held his breath. His instinct, that of a confident man, accustomed to handling situations, was to assert himself. He straightened his shoulders —narrower and more fragile shoulders than he remembered— and opened the door with the serenity he had learned to project before the cameras.

On the other side stood a burly man, his face congested, a large key in his hand. The landlord. His eyes swept over Li Pei En with instant, visceral contempt.

“You're all right with your illness now, aren't you? Rent. Now.” he spat out the words.

Li Pei En took a deep breath, reaching for the calm, reasonable tone him always used to defuse conflict. 

“We can talk about a deadline. No need to get upset.” 

But the voice that emerged was a trickle of sound, a hoarse whisper that completely lacked conviction or authority. It sounded like what it was to that man: the feeble plea of an Omega.

The landlord let out a harsh chuckle, a sound that held no mirth at all. 

“Bother me? Deadline?” His gaze went from Li Pei En's face to his trembling hands. “Tomorrow. Or tomorrow myself, I change the lock and your stuff ends up on the street. I don't need non-paying dead fish in my building.”

Before Li Pei En could articulate another word, a word that didn't exist in this new context of helplessness, the door slammed shut in front of his face, rattling the flimsy frame. The echo of the slam echoed in the small room and in the hollow interior of his chest. Li Pei En stood motionless, glued to the wood of the door, listening to the heavy footsteps moving away down the hallway.

The certainty hit him with the force of a tidal wave. It wasn't a matter of attitude. It wasn't that he didn't know how to act. It was that in this body, with this voice, with this social status of poor and visibly ill Omega , his tools were useless. His assurance carried no weight. His serenity was interpreted as weakness. His world had been reduced to four peeling walls and the stark reality that, for the first time in his life, he was completely invisible and, at the same time, a perfect target. A more violent shiver ran through him, followed by a twinge of pain in his lower abdomen. Abstinence and fear were allied against him. Where the hell was he? And most urgently, how was he going to survive another day in that place? 

In this universe, with a borrowed identity!

Chapter Text

The old wooden chair creaked under a weight he was not used to bearing. Li Pei En settled in front of the worn table, Gao Tu's phone-an outdated model with a slightly cracked screen-clenched in his hand. The breath him took was deep, a conscious attempt to oxygenate a body that felt alien and overwhelmed by a lingering chemical fog. He needed order. He required data. Before panic, there was logic. If he was going to navigate this distorted reality, his first step was to audit the omega's financial situation.

His fingers, thinner and paler than he remembered, slid across the screen. The password was a simple, almost naive pattern. A pang of sadness ran through his chest. Gao Tu had nothing to hide, or at least, nothing he thought worth protecting more securely.

To his genuine astonishment, the bank app revealed a savings account with modest but existing funds. It wasn't the wealth he was used to, but it was enough. Enough for the back rent that threatened to put him on the street, and to buy food that didn't come from instant packages. A sigh of relief, faint but real, escaped his lips.

That's when he found it. Hidden in a folder marked “Hospital,” a PDF file with Gao Tu's sister's bank statement. And there, in definitive capital letters, the word that changed everything: CANCELLED.

The air was cut off. Hua Yong. In this reality, the cold and calculating Hua Yong had already set his machinery in motion. He had paid the debt, had laid the first and most crucial thread to catch Sheng Shaoyou in his net. The plot of Desire ABO was moving forward, relentless, but he was trapped in the body of a secondary character, a pawn whose fate already seemed sealed.

An urgent need to contextualize himself invaded him. “What day is today?” The question echoed in his mind with newfound force. The recordings for the series had concluded months ago. His recent life—the life of his body— had been a cycle of training for new projects and carefully choreographed live broadcasts for social media. But here, in this old building that smelled of resignation, time seemed to have become distorted. He checked the date on the phone, but the figures told him nothing. There was no script to consult, no director shouting “action!” to mark the beginning of a scene. It was 8 a.m., and a deeply ingrained habit collided with his new reality: his studio check-in time was two hours early. A dry clicking of his tongue —a sound that sounded strange in this throat— broke the silence. There was no studio here. There was no manager waiting for him with coffee. There was only the dripping of the faucet and the weight of a life that didn't belong to him.

His gaze strayed, inevitably, to the pill bottles that rested on the bedside table like a silent accusation. Chemical compounds to suppress a scent, to hide an essence, to deny an Omega nature. Gao Tu poisoned himself daily to pretend to be something he was not, to glide through the world like a Beta shadow, invisible and therefore safe.

Li Pei En clenched his jaw. A cold determination, which he had not felt since the early days of his career, began to well up inside him. If he was to inhabit this body and this life for an indeterminate amount of time, there would be changes. He would not allow this fragile vehicle to crumble any further. The risk was too high. The thought of ending up pregnant; a real and frightening biological possibility in this omega body, by some “idiot Alpha” who wouldn't even know the truth, was both grotesque and deeply humiliating to him. No. He was not Gao Tu. He would not share his fate of submission and concealment.

He knew Gao Tu's story, of course. He had read it in the script and interpreted it from the safe distance of his own Alpha self. He knew the main dramatic points: the poverty, the sick sister, Hua Yong's obsession, the final tragic death of this whole imbroglio. But now, inside these worn-out shoes, breathing this stale air, he realized how much he was ignorant of. The script did not speak of the morning tremors, of the metallic taste of the pills in his mouth, of the constant fear of being discovered in the subway; of the exhausting weight of calculating every interaction so as not to give himself away. Misery was not a dramatic event; it was a constant background noise, a grayness that tinged everything.

Li Pei En closed the phone. The screen darkened, reflecting for an instant Gao Tu's pale, anxious face. But behind those frightened eyes, for the first time, shone the cool, determined spark of an Alpha who refused to play the role he had been assigned.

The vibration was an urgent buzz against his palm, an abrupt reminder that this life, distorted as it was, was still going on. Li Pei En looked down at the screen. The name that appeared made him arch his eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Shen Wenlang.

Gao Tu, where are you?

He read the message once, twice, three times. Each repetition gave him a different flavor. The first, disbelief. The second, cold evaluation. The third, the birth of a plan. Shen Wenlang. The idiot Alpha, Hua Yong's smug, predictable pawn. Why was he looking for Gao Tu? The reason, he sensed, was not benign.

An answer formed in his mind, not Gao Tu's —shy, evasive— but Li Pei En's: calculated, with a thin veneer of politeness that barely concealed a cold cunning. He needed to buy time. He needed information. But, above all, he needed to use whatever resources were at his disposal to begin healing the body he now inhabited. That mission was clear: eliminate the poison Gao Tu was forcing himself to swallow. A doctor. Rehabilitation. Nutrition. Each step was to be documented, meticulously, in a folder on the phone. A record for... for him. And, perhaps, just in case. Just in case this monstrous exchange was reversible and, upon his return, he could reach out to Gao Tu with more than actor's compassion. He could reach out to him with a plan.

“Shit.”

The thought hit him with the force of a fist in the stomach, severing his chain of planning. If he was here... Where was his body, did Gao Tu inhabit it, or was it empty, an inert shell lying in his apartment? The idea that his body, his life, was being sullied by Gao Tu's clumsy desperation-or worse, that he was in a coma-caused a visceral nausea that had nothing to do with abstinence.

The phone vibrated again, snapping him out of his spiral of horror.

Shen Wenlang.

Why aren't you answering?

The impatience in the message was so palpable, so typical of Shen Wenlang, that a cold, humorless smile tugged at his lips—Gao Tu's lips. That alpha idiot really was a textbook jerk. He thought he could whistle and everyone would come running, especially a poor and seemingly submissive omega like Gao Tu.

Li Pei En involuntarily pouted, a gesture of annoyance that this body seemed to express with ease. His mind, however, was light years away from submission. Him fiddled with the phone, imagining the possible moves. Ignore him? Respond evasively? Invent a disease? Each option had its risks and its rewards on this new chessboard, on which he was simultaneously pawn and player.

And then, like a ray of light filtering into a dark room, a thought flashed through him, taking with it some cold strategy and replacing it with a pang of bittersweet longing.

What would Jiang Heng be doing right now?

The image of his partner—his quiet smile, the way his eyes narrowed when he was thinking—appeared sharply in his mind. Would he be worried? Would he have noticed the disconnect in that other Li Pei En, the fake one, the one inhabiting his body? Would he have sensed, with that deep intuition that had always connected them, that something fundamental had snapped? The hope that Jiang Heng knew, felt, that he was not him, was a consolation as painful as it was necessary. It was the only grounding cable he had in this derailed universe.

Chapter Text

The grayish morning light filtered through the window, illuminating Gao Tu's austere closet. Li Pei En slid his gaze over the few garments hanging there, all in muted tones: grays, blues, washed-out, beige. A palette of defeat and invisibility. His own skin-Gao Tu's skin-shivered under the rough fabric of the T-shirt he had worn to sleep. The need for order, for control, to reassert some portion of his identity amidst the chaos, became compelling.

With precise movements, him chose the only formal white shirt he could find, somewhat wrinkled but impeccable, and a pair of black pants that had lost their original shine. It was the basic uniform of corporate survival, a minimal armor against the world that awaited him. As he dressed, his mind, sharp and accustomed to planning, began to draw mental lists. Clothes. Gao Tu required more options, colors that didn't scream resignation. Now, with the slab of his sister's hospital debt lifted—thanks to Hua Yong's scheming— there was financial breathing room, however small. He could budget. He could save. He could, even, plan how to keep Gao Tu's absent but ever-threatening father at bay. That man was a parasite; Li Pei En would not allow him to continue sucking the life out of this body that was now, strange as it was, temporarily his responsibility.

Already dressed, he picked up the phone. He had written earlier to the doctor Gao Tu was secretly visiting, requesting a new appointment. Not to get more inhibitors, but for the opposite: to chart a way back. A return to a naturalness that Gao Tu had denied with drugs. As he sent the message, a surge of... Was it pity? No. It was something more visceral. Disgust. The body he inhabited was decayed, yes, but not by time or incurable disease. It was neglected, poisoned by despair and fear of being an Omega. Gao Tu had treated him as a disposable instrument, a tool to go unnoticed. But Li Pei En, inhabiting it, felt the tension in the muscles, the residual weakness in the joints, the phantom tremor in the hands. This body, with its slender frame and sleek lines, had potential. It deserved care. It deserved to be valued. And he, even if he was an interloper, would give it to it.

The prospect of having to embody Gao Tu so completely—not just acting out his pain, but living it— left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It wasn't contempt for the character; on the contrary, it was a brutal empathy that now became a burden of its own. It was the crushing reality of being the invisible Omega on the chessboard of powerful Alphas, combined with the sharp pain of disconnection. He remembered Jiang Heng. His love. The lack of his scent, his calm gaze, his serene presence, was a physical hole in him chest that nothing in this new world could fill. The discomfort was a prism with a thousand faces: physical, emotional, social.

And then there was the job. Not acting in a prop office, but actually working in Shen Wenlang's company. Facing not his friend/love—partner actor, but the real character: an arrogant, cutting—eyed, ruthlessly ambitious Alpha. And behind him, like a sleek, venomous shadow, would be Hua Yong. The real Hua Yong, an Enigma. The thought sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Yet, through the shadows, he glimpses of opportunity. This wasn't just a conviction; it was a unique access, a total immersion into the story he had only read about. Maybe, just maybe, he could twist the arm of fate. He could approach the eccentric, reclusive Enigma, Hua Yong, not as a threat, but as... An unlikely ally? He could try to tame Shen Wenlang's rabid dog behavior, not out of kindness, but out of pure survival strategy and to alter a script that ended in tragedy.

In the end, as he knotted Gao Tu's last tie with fumbling fingers in front of the mirror, the conclusion was clear, and he stared at his reflection with determination. Gao Tu, the real Gao Tu, deserved more. He deserved a man who would pamper him, who would see his value beyond his secondary dynamic as Omega. And until Li Pei En could find a way to return to his own life, he would lay the groundwork for that future. He would begin by healing the body he inhabited. Next, he would heal the debts. And finally, if fate permitted, he would rewrite history.

The briefcase, worn at the corners, but with impeccably shiny locks, seemed to be the only constant witness to Gao Tu's routine. Li Pei En took it with a sense of unreality, feeling the weight not of the documents inside, but of the role he was now forced to play on the biggest and most dangerous stage of all: real life. Outside, the world was a collage of overly intense sounds and smells. The air was unfiltered by the climate control of a set; it smelled of gasoline, damp concrete and street food from a nearby stall. He hailed a cab in a voice that still sounded strange to him—smoother, lacking the confident projection he was used to—and sank into the back seat of the vehicle, briefcase on his knees.

During the ride, he riveted his gaze on the phone screen, the light illuminating his features—Gao Tu's features—with a bluish glow. He investigated. Shen Wenlang's biochemical company wasn't just a name on a script; it was a real titan, with tentacles in the country's economy. Newspaper articles mentioned its meteoric rise, aggressive investments, the Shen surname alongside Sheng in transactions worth fortunes. And then, always in the margins, the shadow of “Company X,” a phantom entity that everyone suspected, but no one could directly link to the brilliant young Hua Yong. Li Pei En frowned-at exactly what point in the plot was he at? This was not a milestone he remembered. This wasn't a recorded scene; it was the living, breathing, unfolding script in front of his eyes, and he was writing his part in real time.

The cab pulled up in front of a tower of glass and steel that rose skyward like a knife. Li Pei En held his breath. He had memorized lines in front of a papier-mâché facade that mimicked this, but the reality was overwhelming. The scale, the power emanating from the building, was tangible.

Upon entering, the lobby enveloped him in an atmosphere of quiet richness. Polished marble reflected the dim light of designer chandeliers, and the abstract artwork on the walls was worth more than Gao Tu would likely earn in a lifetime. A giant digital screen detailed the company's history, showing the flawless photo of Shen Wenlang—younger, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes— and listing a series of shareholders and accomplishments that spoke of an empire built with ruthless precision. Li Pei En felt a shiver. This was not a decor. This was the heart of the beast.

He gave a slight nod to the Betas receptionists, whose politeness was perfect, but whose eyes assessed and filed over him in a split second. He headed for the elevators, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He pressed the button, the doors slid open with a soft whisper, and he stepped in, turning to face the emptiness of the lobby. Just as the doors began to close, a black leather gloved hand reached between them, forcing them back with a soft ding.

The silhouette that filled the door frame was slim, sleek and radiated a calmness that was, in itself, a form of power. He wore an impeccable black suit that clung to his figure without a single misplaced crease.

"Secretary Gao."

The voice was soft, almost a whisper, but charged with an intent that pierced the air conditioning. It was Hua Yong. The real Hua Yong.

Li Pei En didn't flinch. Years of training acting under pressure gave him a steely composure. His heart might have been galloping against his ribs, but his expression softened into a mask of neutral professionalism.

“Secretary Hua,” he replied, and his voice—Gao Tu's voice— sounded soft, cordial, but restrained. As if every syllable had been measured and filtered. He knew he had to dig deep furrows in this poisoned earth before he could hope to reap anything.

Hua Yong entered the elevator, filling the cramped space with his presence and an unobtrusive fragrance of Orchids and something metallic, like the air after a storm. His eyes, so dark they looked black, rested on Li Pei En with clinical curiosity.

"You look better. Did you sleep a little longer?" His asked, his tone suffused with a gentleness that Li Pei En knew—from the script, from instinct— was as false as him smile.

But Li Pei En's automatic response caught in his throat. Because, for the first time, his was really seeing Hua Yong. Not the actor friend who joked between takes, but the cold, perfect creature the author had conceived. Holy shit. He was handsome. Not with the approachable, solar beauty of Huang Xin. This was a cutting, dangerous beauty. Flawless facial symmetry that hid a twisted mind, thin lips that could articulate devastating commands as easily as they could whisper a lie. He was unnervingly similar to his friend, but the essence was diametrically opposed. Huang Xin had warmth in his eyes; Hua Yong had only the cold glow of a black diamond. And he was, Li Pei En admitted inwardly with a fresh shudder, terribly attractive.

"Yes," he replied, and his voice sounded even fainter, drowned out by the almost imperceptible hum of the elevator. He averted his gaze from Hua Yong's sculpted face to the thin mirror lining the back wall, avoiding direct contact with those eyes that seemed to see through Gao Tu's facade and intoxicate his own. Avoiding the Enigma that he knew, with a certainty that chilled his blood, was dissecting him.

But he remembered his objective. The strategy. He forced himself to turn again, facing the inquisitive gaze. His heart pounded hard against his rib cage, a frantic drumming that he hoped the other man couldn't hear.

"Hua Yong," he said, pronouncing the full name with a deliberate clarity that cut through the artificially cordial atmosphere.

The effect was instantaneous. The mask of meek kindness Hua Yong wore cracked, exposing, for a split second, the icy seriousness and predatory curiosity beneath the surface. It was like seeing the flash of hidden steel.

"What is it, Gao Tu?" Hua Yong looked at him with renewed, intense attention. He even cocked his head slightly, like a hawk watching a prey that had just made an unexpected move.

Li Pei En held his breath. The next move was a leap into the void. "Can I trust you?"

The question impacted against Hua Yong with the force of a missile. Li Pei En saw the man's eyes barely open, a micro gesture of utter surprise, before absolute control took over again. The cold expression crumbled, not from warmth, but from bewilderment. He recovered with an innate elegance, but the wariness was now palpable in the air. He nodded with deliberate, calculating slowness.

"What's the matter, do you want to kill someone, or did you kill someone?" The question came out with a light, almost jovial tone, but Hua Yong's eyes remained cold and analytical. The joke was a trap, a probe to gauge his reaction. Li Pei En knew it. This man didn't joke about such things; he executed them.

"What, no!" Li Pei En's denial was instantaneous, holding his hand to his chest in a gesture of genuine horror that he didn't have to fake. He shook his head vehemently.

And then he saw it. A smile. Not the fake, polite smile from before, but a genuine curve, albeit small and laden with perverse amusement, that appeared on Hua Yong's lips. It was as if Li Pei En's visceral reaction had been the funniest joke he had heard in weeks. Hua Yong's peculiar orchid and metal scent, which filled the cramped space, seemed to settle, to become less aggressive.

Li Pei En took a deep breath, taking advantage of the opening. "I just wanted to tell you that, as co-workers, and well, as the only Omega in the company, I...I wanted to tell you that I'm one too. I just-"

"I already knew that."

Hua Yong cut off his awkward explanation with the smoothness of a scalpel. His voice was flat, with no trace of the earlier banter. The dark eyes, fixed on him, expressed no surprise, no empathy, not even disdain. Just knowledge. Pure, simple, overwhelming knowledge.

The floor of the elevator seemed to bow beneath Li Pei En's feet. The air escaped his lungs. His whole plan, his brave calculated confession, crashed against the imperturbable wall of that sentence. Hua Yong had always known (or suspected). He had been watching, waiting, perhaps even amused by Gao Tu's feeble attempt to hide. And now Li Pei En had given up his secret—Gao Tu's secret— voluntarily, to the only person in the world who could use it as a weapon. The elevator continued its ascent in dense silence, laden with now far more dangerous implications.

Chapter Text

Li Pei En have—opened his lips, searching for an answer that did not come. The words choked in his throat, dry and useless. Hua Yong only watched him, impassive, then closed his eyes for a moment, as if processing a dull piece of information, before once again pinning him with that all— consuming gaze.

"You need not fear. We're Omegas, aren't we?" continued Hua Yong, unfolding his charade with disturbing fluidity. For a split second, however, an almost imperceptible micro gesture —a slight hesitation at the corner of his lips, a shadow of irony in the depths of his gaze— gave away the lie. It was as if, for an instant, Hua Yong himself had doubted his own disguise, as if he saw himself in a mirror and struggled not to break it. But the illusion held. He only let out a faint, almost annoyed sigh. "I'm not going to tell anyone. But why are you telling me so suddenly?" He crossed his arms over his chest, a posture that should be defensive, but in him was one of pure dominance, waiting for the confession.

Li Pei En felt it was time to roll the dice. There was no turning back now. "Because I want to stop poisoning this body with suppressants." The words came out with restrained acidity, but filtered through Gao Tu's soft, tempered voice, they sounded more like a resigned statement than a cry of rebellion. "It's no fun to know that you can ruin yourself just by wanting to pretend to be someone you're not, just to be next to someone you like ."

He watched Hua Yong's expression harden. It wasn't anger, but an instant, cold reassessment. He nodded, once, slowly. An acknowledgment of an uncomfortable truth.

"Secretary Gao, I didn't know that you..." Hua Yong began, and his tone dripped an almost venomous condescension. He was going to say something like: 'that you had so much to lose' or 'that you were so pathetic as to ruin yourself for love' . Insinuating that Gao Tu's plan —pretending to be beta by Shen Wenlang—was a minor game compared to his own.

But he stopped himself. For the irony was too dense, too perfect. The man in front of him—the real Gao Tu, inhabited by Li Pei En's cunning—was doing exactly the same thing he was: living a lie crafted by an obsession. The only difference, an abysmal difference that Hua Yong could not ignore, was the scale of his misery. While Hua Yong, a billionaire Enigma pretending to be Omega, played victim in his ivory tower to manipulate Sheng Shaoyou's affections, Gao Tu was literally dying in obscurity, poisoning himself for crumbs of attention and the overwhelming burden of a poverty Hua Yong would never know.

The silence that filled the elevator was no longer uncomfortable. It was heavy, laden with a mutual understanding and deeply uncomfortable. Hua Yong had seen a distorted and much more desperate reflection of himself in Gao Tu's eyes. And Li Pei En, from within those eyes, had forced him to look at him.

The sudden change of subject was as abrupt as an unexpected script twist. "Have you had your health tested yet?" Hua Yong's question, loaded with a curiosity bordering on the clinical, took Li Pei En by surprise. It was not concerned that his detected in that look, but the interest of a scientist observing an interesting experiment.

"In a few days I'll go for some tests to see how I'm doing," he confessed, feeling the strangeness of every word. This was not Gao Tu's submissive, evasive voice; it was a declaration of intent, a first step toward reclaiming a bodily territory that did not belong to him, but was now in his custody. "I also have to weigh the pros and cons I will have once I begin to reveal my true essence. For, as you know, Chairman Shen hates Omegas."

Hua Yong sketched a minimal smile, almost a twitch at the corner of his lips. "I'm the first one here, and so far he hasn't disowned me that much." There was a deliberate pause before the last word. "I sure as hell wouldn't do it with you, Shen... Chairman Shen,” he corrected himself with a quickness that betrayed an almost-slip. Li Pei En could almost hear the unspoken phrase floating in the air: 'That idiot doesn't realize how he feels about you . ' But what came out was: “He seems to be learning to tolerate. Besides, you're like his second hand... I highly doubt he hates you.”

Li Pei En was about to respond, to probe that near—admission, when the soft ding of the elevator cut through the air. The doors slid open.

And then, the world narrowed to a single point.

There, standing with a straight back and an aura of authority that seemed to distort the surrounding space, was Shen Wenlang. The real Shen Wenlang.

Shit, did everyone here have to be so damn good-looking!

The thought was a visceral shock. Familiarity was the first thing that hit him: that face, so similar to Jiang Heng's, his love, his anchor in another universe. But the similarity was a cruel illusion. Where Jiang Heng radiated a solar, extroverted warmth, this man exuded an icy coldness. Arrogance was not an attitude about him; it was his very essence, imbued in every pore, in the perfect line of his clenched jaw, in the piercing gaze that now bore into him. He was superb, dangerously attractive, and as familiar as he was terrifyingly alien.

Li Pei En felt he breath catch in his throat. He could see Shen Wenlang furrowing his perfectly shaped eyebrows when he saw his, a flash of instant irritation in his eyes. But then, that look shifted. For a brief moment, it rested on Hua Yong, who was still standing beside him in the elevator. And it wasn't just a look of annoyance. It was a look filled with deep, almost instinctive anger, tinged with absolute distrust.

Hua Yong, for his part, was unfazed. He returned his gaze with icy irony, the corner of his mouth tilted in a mocking smile that did not reach his eyes. It was a silent, electric exchange, a demonstration of pure negative complicity and mutual contempt that Gao Tu, in his naivete, would probably never have picked up on.

Li Pei En saw it all with the clarity of a director watching two masterful actors. And he wanted to roll his eyes at the unspoken drama. But it wasn't the time. He had to get out of there.

"Good morning," he stammered, hurrying past Shen Wenlang before the Alpha could open his mouth and blurt out the reprimand already visible in his expression.

He seized the moment, slipping through the stream of Betas employees who were beginning to arrive. He felt Shen Wenlang's gaze burning into the back of his neck, a physical sensation of discomfort and alertness. He hurried, almost trotting, toward the relative safety of his office, where the murmur of the other secretaries and the clatter of keyboards offered a momentary refuge from the overwhelming reality of having to deal with an S-class Alpha and Enigma, and their entangled dramas.

The swivel chair gave way under his weight with a soft creak. Li Pei En turned on the desktop computer, the screen flickered before lighting up with Gao Tu's minimalist desktop. With the mouse, him navigated through the meticulously organized folders—a rarity amid the chaos of his life—opening Excel files crammed with figures, bank statements, and project plans. Some of them, marked with upcoming dates, would have to be presented at a meeting soon. His wrinkled her nose. This was not memorizing a script; there were no emotions to interpret, no subtext to explore. It was raw data, and his survival in this body depended on absorbing it as quickly as possible. It was Gao Tu's real life, and now it was his.

"Secretary Gao, it's good to have you back."

The voice, kind and somewhat paternal, made him look up from the screen. The Secretary General was standing in front of his cubicle, and for a disconcerting instant, Li Pei En saw the actor playing him. But the illusion was instantly shattered. This man had a more worn face, with more pronounced crow's feet around eyes, that smiled with genuine cordiality. He was not a character; he was a real person.

"Secretary General, good morning," Li Pei En replied, forcing a strained smile as his gaze swept sideways at his other companions. They were all engrossed in their screens, typing with a frenzy that spoke of tight deadlines and demanding bosses.

"Good morning, can you take Mr. Shen's tea to his office? You know how to prepare it best, and I'm going into an urgent meeting right now."

Sure. The perfect trap. Of course only Gao Tu, in his quiet, meticulous devotion, knew the exact blend of tea that appeased the lion in his den. Li Pei En felt a visceral urge to refuse, to make an excuse. The thought of facing Shen Wenlang again, of submitting to his icy scrutiny, turned his stomach. But he nodded. It was an order, not a request. 

"Of course, Secretary General."

The older man smiled, relieved, and walked briskly away. Li Pei En let his gaze slide one last time to the screen, to the folders labeled 'X Holdings. Hua Yong's company. His eyes, almost of their own volition, drifted to the glass office of the other fake Omega. There he was, seated, with impeccable posture, typing on his tablet with absolute concentration. A crucial piece of information he had discovered while going through the files: Gao Tu used to lighten his workload, taking pity on the “weak omega”. But in his absences, Hua Yong took care of everything. And he did it flawlessly, brilliantly even. Gao Tu's pity was not only unnecessary, it was based on a monumental lie. Why did he pity him? Li Pei En wondered, with a twinge of irritation. Oh, right. Because he thought this lunatic was actually an Omega. He shook his head, exasperated with himself and the situation.

With a sharp movement, he closed all the tabs and locked the computer. He stood up, feeling the discomfort of clothes that were not his own. There was no escape. With a resigned sigh, he retraced his steps to the small kitchen annex. No one, not even an actor from another universe stuffed into the body of a secretary in love, was spared from having to see that Alpha's face.

Chapter Text

The scent of jasmine tea, precise and familiar, rose from the fine porcelain cup Li Pei En, carried with almost ceremonial concentration. Three days. His had been inhabiting this alien skin for three days, three days of calculated decisions. The landlord was lulled with a month's rent in advance. The suppressants, those poisons, were discarded, replaced by discreet patches on the back of the neck that mitigated just enough. Nights had been spent researching, reading until his eyes burned, about Omega biology, about reactions, about himself. He had even stood naked in front of the mirror, overcoming embarrassment with pragmatism. Gao Tu's privacy was the least of it; survival was everything. The conclusion had been a surprise: they weren't that different. Less muscle mass, yes, but the complexion was good, sleek, even beneath the pallor and thinness.

He set the spoon down in a glass of water and picked up the bamboo tray. Every step toward Shen Wenlang's office was a battle against the instinct to flee. He took a deep breath, maneuvered open the heavy wooden door after a harsh voice —“Come in”— cracked through the wood, and stepped inside.

The air in the office was cold, charged with the heavy, sweetish scent of lilies, the essence of Shen Wenlang. It was oppressive, a tidal wave of S-class Alpha pheromones that stabbed into her throat. Li Pei En struggled not to show disgust, instinctively bringing the back of his hand to his nose. 'This is what it feels like,' he thought, a bitter revelation. 'This is how Gao Tu felt all the time.'

He placed the tray gently on the polished desk, stepping back a step with his hands clasped over his belly in a posture he hoped was neutral. Shen Wenlang raised his chiseled face, but instead of the usual indifference, his brows were furrowed in a gesture of pure irritation.

"Where were you, why weren't you answering my messages?" he roared, and the scent of lilies intensified, becoming almost tangible, heavy as a wet blanket. Li Pei En watched his lips continue to move, but the words became a distant hum under the sensory pressure. Until, suddenly, Shen Wenlang stopped dead in his tracks. His expression transformed from angry to something darker, more confused and furious at the same time.

"Gao Tu!"

The shout, laden with overbearing pheromones, made Li Pei En visibly startle, shattering his calm facade. Now, indeed, all his attention was riveted on the Alpha, who had leapt up, resting his palms on the desk so hard that the wood creaked.

"Why do you smell like an omega?" Him spat the words between his teeth, each one laden with rabid perplexity.

The moment of decision had arrived. Hua Yong's lie echoed in his mind: 'I doubt very much that I hate you.' He looked at Shen Wenlang, really looked at him. Beyond anger, he detected something else: a sharp, almost desperate anxiety in the tension of his shoulders, in the too intense glint in his eyes. It was the scent of an Alpha whose emotional territory had been violated. Gao Tu, in his self-imposed blindness, had never smelled it. But Li Pei En had.

"Is it that omega in heat again? Is that why you couldn't respond to my messages, because you were too busy to give attention to that dirty Omega that-!"

"That's ridiculous!"

Li Pei En's voice cut through the tirade like a knife. He didn't use Gao Tu's weak voice. He used his voice, the voice of a confident man who was up to his ears in other people's drama. The surprise was so absolute that Shen Wenlang literally bit his tongue, swallowing the next word with an expression of pure disbelief.

"What did you say?" The question was a whisper laden with icy menace.

"That it's ridiculous!" Li Pei En repeated, and this time Gao Tu's voice sounded different. It was not loud, but it had a new stability, a clarity that had been absent. It was the tone of someone who no longer had anything to lose. "I was sick...! And... this is my scent!"

The silence that fell over the office was instantaneous and absolute. The heavy lily scent seemed to contract, then stagnate. Shen Wenlang did not move. Only his eyes, wide open and fixed on Li Pei En, processed the bomb that had just exploded in the center of his perfectly ordered world. The anger had frozen, replaced by a shock so profound it was almost physical. Gao Tu's secret was no longer a secret. And it was hovering in the air between them, as tangible and disruptive as the scent of Omega that now, at last, Shen Wenlang was forced to acknowledge.

The door opened with an eerie softness, interrupting the charged silence of the office. Hua Yong appeared in the frame, impeccable in his black suit, a folder of the same color in his hand. His eyebrows raised slightly, a grimace of false innocence and curiosity perfectly executed. The mask of the Weak Omega was on, but Li Pei En could see the spark of wicked amusement in his eyes.

"Did I interrupt something?" He asked in that soft voice dripping with elegant tares.

Li Pei En-holding on to Gao Tu's identity tooth and nail-turned to him. A strained, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. "Not at all," he replied, trying to mimic Omega placidity, but achieving only a flat, artificial tone. His gaze returned to Shen Wenlang, who was still petrified behind the desk, still processing the emotional earthquake. "With your permission, I have papers to review."

The words came out too mechanically, lacking the warmth or awe Shen Wenlang would expect. Without waiting for a response, Li Pei En moved, walking past Hua Yong, who couldn't help but sketch a mocking, triumphant smile directed at the paralyzed Alpha. The door closed behind him, isolating the drama that had just detonated.

But the facade cracked the instant he was left alone in the hallway. The adrenaline that had sustained him dissipated, giving way to a violent nausea that surged up his throat like an acid tide. He did not head for his office. His increasingly rapid and uncoordinated footsteps led him straight to the bathroom.

He pushed open the door and launched himself into the first cubicle, falling to his knees in front of the white, unforgiving toilet. The body he inhabited convulsed, and what little he had managed to eat that morning-a few cookies, a sip of milk-returned with searing acidity, splashing the water in the bowl.

Him gasped, eyes filled with involuntary tears, trembling hands resting on the cold porcelain. The world was spinning around his. The weight of the lie, the pressure of Shen Wenlang's aggressive pheromones, Hua Yong's calculating gaze, the enormity of living a life that was not his own... It all built up in his stomach and he burst into a spasm of pure physical anguish.

He stood there, half-kneeling, his forehead pressed against the cold edge of the toilet, breathing raggedly. The bitter taste in his mouth. This was no longer a game, no longer a performance. The stress, the fear, and the overwhelming reality of being Gao Tu were taking their toll on him, and his body—Gao Tu's body— was the one paying the price.

Chapter Text

The memory of him own sick leave, which was rare and always for serious reasons, came to Li Pei En's mind with a bitter taste. Everything had been so different before Desire, before he immersed himself in a script that spoke of a brutal reality that he now breathed and suffered. He even doubted his own friend, Huang Xin; that brilliant boy who could be, deep down, an Enigma like Hua Yong in this twisted world. But it was one thing to speculate as an actor, and quite another to live the harsh reality firsthand. Now he understood, with acute and grateful empathy, the complaints on the internet from Omegas about uncomfortable secretions, the heaviness of lubricant between their thighs, the exhaustion that preceded heat. Gao Tu did not suffer from complete heat, but rather intermittent and debilitating outbreaks, which is why he collapsed and needed to sleep for days. He had to move up that doctor's appointment. And he had to figure out Hua Yong's sudden clinical interest.

"Here you go, you can retire and rest at home." The Secretary-General's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Li Pei En nodded, taking the paper certifying his leave.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," the man denied politely. But then he paused, bringing his fist to his mouth to throat clears softly. “But, if I may... I didn't know you were an Omega, Gao Tu. You should be more careful. If you decided to quit suppressants now, you'd better take better care of yourself. The health of the body is important. And also...” he hesitated, searching for the words, “if you have problems with some classmates later on, please feel free to talk to me.”

Li Pei En felt an unexpected pang in his chest, a surge of emotion that blurred his vision for a second. Him didn't cry, but the tears were there, lurking. Yes, in the midst of it all, there were people who genuinely cared about Gao Tu.

"Thank you again. I'll take that into consideration, Secretary General."

The beta nodded with a fatherly smile and walked away, leaving him alone at the imposing HS entrance. Li Pei En pulled out his phone, fingers trembling, searching for the cab app. But then, out of the corner of the eye, a presence purposefully approaching. When him looked up, him eyes widened slightly.

"Gao Tu."

It was Shen Wenlang. But his voice was not the usual roar. It had a softer, almost strangely tender tone that sounded discordant, coming out of that usually sullen and arrogant face.

"Wenlang," Li Pei En replied, deliberately omitting 'Chairman Shen'. It was a risk, drawing a line of informality on the sidewalk outside the company walls. He saw the alpha's eyelids tighten slightly, but not angrily. He looked... intrigued. Pleased, even.

"We need to talk."

Li Pei En held back a sigh. Really, now? 

"Should we, wouldn't it be better to just quit?”

The word “quit” acted like a spell. Shen Wenlang's expression instantly darkened, his features hardened as if he had been beaten. Li Pei En noticed it clearly: the idea disgusted him deeply.

"Can we talk somewhere else?" Shen Wenlang insisted, and there was an unusual urgency in his voice, a vulnerability that completely disarmed the facade of the Alpha hating Omega.

It was rare. Unexpected. But Li Pei En, clinging to the determination to change Gao Tu's fate, nodded. Running away was not an option. Dealing with the monster Shen was part of the plan.

"All right," he agreed, his voice steadier than he felt inside.

The cab glided down streets farther and farther away from the bustle of the financial district, heading into an area of residential calm that Li Pei En didn't recognize. The silence inside the vehicle was as thick as the fog that was beginning to fall over the city. He could feel the weight of Shen Wenlang's gaze on his profile, a slow, meticulous scrutiny that seemed to be rewriting every memory, every interaction of the past ten years. The Alpha was reconstructing reality, realizing that the person he had trusted the most, the one he even allowed into the sanctity of his private space, had, all this time, been the embodiment of what he despised the most.

"You tricked me."

The words were not a shout, but a harsh whisper, laden with a hurt so deep that it surprised even Li Pei En. It wasn't just will go; it was betrayal, pain. Shen Wenlang seemed genuinely affected, as if a fundamental pillar of his world had been broken.

Li Pei En, inhabiting Gao Tu's skin, let the answer flow with a bitterness that was not his alone, but a mixture of a decade's accumulated resignation and his own frustration as an actor trapped in an all-too-real drama.

"Nothing would have changed either if you knew all along that I was an Omega." Gao Tu's voice sounded clear, with no trace of the usual tremor. It was an incontrovertible truth, and Li Pei En enunciated it with a coldness that chilled the air inside the cab. "You abhor the Omegas like the world's worst plague."

With a deliberate motion, he turned the window crank beside him. The cool evening air burst into the passenger compartment, carrying with it the fresh, herbal sage scent that now emanated from him—the true scent of Gao Tu, uninhibited—dissipating it before it could saturate the space and provoke an even worse reaction in the Alpha.

The tension in the cab was so thick that it seemed to materialize in the confined space, oppressive and icy. Shen Wenlang was still looking out the window, but his reflection in the glass showed lost, absent eyes, as if he was watching each interaction; each moment shared with Gao Tu parade one by one in an entirely new and devastating light.

Finally, he broke the silence. His voice, rough and charged with a raw emotion he didn't know how to tame, came out as a hoarse whisper, almost dragged down by the weight of disbelief. 

"Why?" the question was a scarecrow of itself. "Why lie, why pretend to be... that?" The word 'beta' stuck in his throat, as if uttering it would intoxicate him.

From Gao Tu's body, Li Pei En felt a surge of frustration so intense that for a moment he feared the sick and exhausted body could not contain it. Was it possible to be so blind? So absolutely trapped in his own dogma?

"Because I had no choice," he replied, and his voice sounded firmer and clearer than Gao Tu's had ever sounded. It was the voice of truth, hard and unadorned. "Do you think anyone would have given me a chance if they knew what I was? Do you think you would have even allowed me near your office?" It wasn't a rhetorical question; it was an indisputable fact. A reality they both knew all too well.

Shen Wenlang turned sharply, as if the words had physically struck him. His dark eyes flashed with a feverish intensity, a mixture of anger and something that resembled panic. 

"I am not like the others!" he roared, but the cry sounded hollow, weak, even to his own ears. The truth of Gao Tu's words echoed with crushing force in the cramped space.

"No?" Li Pei En's voice was soft, but each syllable was a sharp stiletto wrapped in Gao Tu's softness. "Then why was your revulsion the first thing I felt when I stopped hiding, why do you look at Hua Yong as if him were garbage stuck to your shoe?" He paused deliberately, letting each accusation, each truth, sink in deeply. "You abhor the omegas, Shen Wenlang. It is the simplest, most insensitive truth of your existence. And I lied because I wanted to survive in a world that you, with your power and your contempt, have helped to build. A world where people like me have to poison ourselves every day just to be considered competent ."

Each word was another nail in the coffin of Shen Wenlang's illusions. The Alpha looked at him, and for the first time, Li Pei En did not see pure will in his eyes. He saw confusion, a whirlwind of clashing thoughts. The inchoate pain of a crumbling creed. Him saw, at last, the uncomfortable outline of a truth that had always been there, but that he never wanted to give a face to.

"You...," Shen Wenlang swallowed hard, his voice cracking, struggling to form a coherent sentence against the tide of his own world, crumbling. "You were different. You were always... different."

It was the closest admission to a compliment he had probably ever made in his entire life. And also the most tragic.

Li Pei En held his gaze, not giving an inch. "I was only different because I lied better than the others."

The cab came to a soft braking halt in front of a cozy-looking coffee shop, its lighted display window promising a refuge from the cold and tension. Before Shen Wenlang could articulate a word or move a muscle, Li Pei En opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle with an agility that Gao Tu's body should not possess. He needed to put distance. He needed air that was not saturated with the scent of lilies and the dense confusion of the alpha.

The door chime rang as he entered, and a wave of warmth and aromas enveloped him: freshly ground coffee, vanilla, cinnamon, and the sweet scent of pastries. He took a deep breath, wishing those benign smells would clear his lungs of the oppressive memory of the cab. For a moment, him closed him eyes. I will write all this down for you, Gao Tu, he thought, with an almost desperate fervor. Every detail, every word, so you'll know what it cost. But then, the shadow of doubt hit him: what if he never came back? What if this life, this struggle, this borrowed identity, became his only and permanent reality?

He went to the back table, away from the windows, seeking the gloom and a bit of anonymity. He didn't have to wait long. The doorbell rang again, and there stood Shen Wenlang, crossing the room with a determination that made some diners look away. His presence filled the space, sullen and impeccable, and his eyes did not stray for a second from Gao Tu.

A waiter approached, his gaze inevitably drawn to the chiseled face and powerful aura of Shen Wenlang, who ignored him completely, his attention fixed like a laser on the person seated across from him. The disconnect was so absurd that a faint, wry smile escaped Li Pei En.

"Thank you. I'll order something, and we'll get back to you," he said softly, taking the letter that the somewhat embarrassed waiter finally handed him.

As he opened it, his eyes—Gao Tu's eyes— opened almost imperceptibly. What kind of cafeteria was this ? The prices were exorbitant. One dessert cost what Gao Tu spent on food for three days. Li Pei En, from inside, cursed silently. The expression on Gao Tu's face turned into a mixture of disbelief and dismay.

Shen Wenlang, who had not missed a detail, snorted, a sound of impatience and almost offense. "Ask for whatever you want. I'll pay."

The offer was made with the usual arrogance, but Li Pei En detected an underlying note of urgency, a desire to compensate, to hold him there, to control something—he only thing—he could still control in that situation.

And Li Pei En, after days of tragedy, existential drama, and the certainty that Hua Yong's movements were a storm brewing, decided to grant himself a small, expensive consolation. He nodded his head, a serene acceptance.

"Okay," he said, and then, with a calmness that contrasted grotesquely with the prices on the menu, he ordered, "Three desserts, please. The intense chocolate, the red fruit and the cheesecake. And two American coffees. He paused and then, looking directly at Shen Wenlang, added with deliberate sweetness, "And for him, a chamomile tea. I think it will do him good for his nerves."

The choice of tea, mild and soothing, for the storm-smelling Alpha, was the finishing touch. A little payback, a silent reminder of whom, at that moment, was really in control of the situation. Shen Wenlang stared at it, unsure whether to be insulted, intrigued, or both at the same time.

Chapter Text

The afternoon breeze toyed with Li Pei En's hair, easing the tension that still lingered in his shoulders. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling the weight of the phone like a lifeline. His briefcase was safe at the company, in the bottom drawer of his locked desk, but at that moment, freedom of movement was his only safety.

"I have to get back to the company."

Shen Wenlang's voice made him turn. The alpha was there, his gaze fixed on him with an intensity that went beyond curiosity. He seemed fascinated—and perhaps disturbed—by this transformed Gao Tu that Li Pei En was molding. Good, Li Pei En thought. I'll make the instructions clear. Let him know who he's dealing with.

"All right. I'll go home, I was given three days leave," he replied, wielding the excuse as a shield. Then, with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, he added the coup of grace: "I'll bring you my resignation in detail the day I return."

"Gao Tu." The name came out as a low warning, charged with a frustration that Shen Wenlang could barely contain. His face immediately darkened. "I already told you I have no problem with you..."

"You really don't?" Li Pei En gave him no respite. He advanced a step, his voice soft but incisive as a needle. He was hesitant. He needed veracity. "Your comments about the Omegas could even land you in jail, did you know that? How many times did I hear you disparage them, and now that you know I'm one, are you really going to tolerate it? Or is it just for convenience? Why am I your 'right-hand man'?"

Shen Wenlang seemed to run out of air. There, on the sidewalk, with people rushing by like an indifferent river, the S-class Alpha was facing a trial more intimidating than any board of directors. He took a breath of air, his chest heaving with effort.

"If you are that Omega," he said, each measured word coming out as if it cost him physical effort, "even if you were a Beta, I don't want you to quit or walk away from me."

Li Pei En felt Gao Tu's eyes—his eyes at that moment—open slightly. If only the real Gao Tu were listening to this, he thought, with a pang of bitter tenderness.

"If that's true," he replied, keeping his voice steady, though inside he was trembling, "I want you to repeat these same words again every five days. I need to hear them until I believe in them." He paused, gazing into Shen Wenlang's dark eyes. "And if you want me to trust you, I want you to tell me the truth now, here. Do you like Hua Yong?"

Shen Wenlang's reaction was instantaneous and scathing. A grimace of deep displeasure, almost offense, twisted his lips. 

"Of course not!" he replied, quick and blunt, as if the very idea was an insult. Him lily scent, for a moment, soured with a note of genuine indignation.

The response was so immediate and laden with disdain that, for the first time, Li Pei En felt that maybe, just maybe, there was a spark of truth in the chaos he had unleashed.

"So what's this game you have with him and Mr. Sheng? You hurt both of them, especially Mr. Sheng, by playing along with..." Li Pei En was likewise interrupted, he was about to almost tell Shen Wenlang what he knew of Hua Yong's true face and even of his plan. So he half stopped, and noticed how the Alpha in front of him stared at him. 

"What do you know?" Shen Wenlang's question was not a casual curiosity; it was a demand. It had the tone of one who has picked up a loose thread and is unwilling to let go.

The question hung in the air, incomplete and dangerous. Li Pei En felt the weight of Shen Wenlang's gaze like a magnifying glass on him skin. He had been about to give away knowledge that Gao Tu should not have, to reveal Hua Yong's machination and his own role as a pawn in that perverse game.

"Nothing," he corrected himself sharply, turning his face toward the street. The traffic and people passing by were a distant spectacle, a world he felt brutally disconnected from. But it was no use. He felt the Alpha's gaze piercing the back of his neck, charged with a new and sharp suspicion.

Li Pei En held his breath. He could not retreat, but advancing was just as dangerous. In the tense silence, his nose—Gao Tu's nose-twitched slightly. A new scent mingled with that of the city: lilies, yes, but not the heavy, overpowering scent of before. This one was softer, sedative, like an enveloping blanket. It was a scent of solace, of deliberate calm.

He turned again, puzzled, and found Shen Wenlang watching him with a renewed, but different, intensity. It was no longer the cold fury or confusion of before. There was something... calculating in his gentleness.

"What are you doing?" asked Li Pei En, Gao Tu's voice laden with instinctive distrust.

Shen Wenlang did not look away. "Your scent," he said, as if expressing a scientific fact. "Now that you let it come out freely, I am more aware of your emotions." He paused, his eyes scanning every micro expression on Gao Tu's face. "Before, I was always... off. Suppressed . Now it's like reading an open book. And right now... you smell of fear. And secrets."

The revelation knocked the wind out of Li Pei En. It wasn't just an observation; it was a demonstration of power. Shen Wenlang was using his own scent, his own pheromones, as a tool to calm him and, at the same time, to coax the truth out of him. It was a manipulation as subtle as it was brutal. The Alpha was adapting, changing the rules of the game now that the board had become unrecognizable. And Li Pei En, trapped in a body whose reactions he was just beginning to understand, was at a disadvantage.

"Afraid?" Li Pei En snorted. And folded his arms in passing, fixing the droopy glasses Gao Tu wore. "I don't think so, maybe just that now, I might have a lot of suitors I'll have to turn down. And if I take better care of myself, or dress in colors like my sister told me... I"

Shen Wenlang's growl was not loud, but it vibrated in the air with a primal frequency that made every hair on Li Pei En's arms stand on end. It was a visceral, territorial sound that belonged not to the neat, controlled executive, but to the Alpha beneath the suit. Gao Tu's eyes widened, and Li Pei En felt him heart racing until it almost leapt out of him chest. So it was true. They could growl.

"No one will come to flirt with you," Shen Wenlang declared, his voice now coated with a metallic layer of absolute authority. "That is forbidden in the company."

The statement was so ridiculous, so hypocritical, that Li Pei En's initial surprise turned to indignation so sharp that it clouded his caution. Gao Tu's memory, fresh and full of bitterness, provided him with the perfect weapon.

"Is he?" inquired Gao Tu, and this time his voice did not tremble. It sounded clear, laden with cutting irony. "Because I remember you flirting with Hua Yong when Sheng Shaoyou came to the company."

The impact of his words was instantaneous and devastating. Shen Wenlang's mask of control cracked completely. His face paled, then flushed with a tide of fury and something that closely resembled shame. Him lily scent, which a moment before was soothing, turned sour, pungent, like the fragrance of flowers crushed in anger.

"That was... that was different," he stammered, a weak, evasive response that sounded pathetic even to his own ears. He was completely exposed. His double standard, his foul play using Hua Yong to provoke Sheng Shaoyou to jealousy, had been thrown into the light by the person he least expected to see it.

Li Pei En said nothing more. He only held Shen Wenlang's gaze, allowing the weight of silence and truth to do the work for him. The Alpha seemed unable to articulate another word, caught in the trap of his own hypocrisy.

A cab suddenly parked in front of them and the one who got in was Gao Tu—Li Pei En—. The cab door closed with a thud, a final sound that cut through the tension like a knife. Through the slightly dirty glass, Li Pei En saw Shen Wenlang still planted on the sidewalk, his tall, stiff figure cut out against the dim afternoon light. The expression on his face was a frozen storm: anger, disbelief, and something deeper, something that resembled the panic of seeing something precious slipping through his fingers.

"Goodbye, Chairman Shen."

The words, spoken in Gao Tu's soft but firm voice, echoed in the silence of the cab like an epitaph. There was no submission in them, no usual deference. There was a farewell. A line drawn in the sand.

The cab started up, pulling away from the curb and the still figure of the Alpha. Li Pei En did not look back. He let himself sink into the vinyl seat, feeling the adrenaline that had sustained him begin to dissipate, leaving behind a dull tremor in his hands and a peculiar emptiness in his chest. He had planted a seed of chaos in the ordered world of Shen Wenlang. Now it only remained to wait to see what kind of monster would grow from it.

Chapter Text

The days of rest passed with a strange slowness, marked by the rhythms of the body he now inhabited. Li Pei En devoted himself to the painstaking task of scrutinizing Gao Tu's life, and each discovery was more desolate than the last. The poverty was not just economic; it was a poverty of care, of self-esteem, of hope.

The visit to the doctor was a watershed. The clinic was modest but clean, and the doctor, a middle-aged Beta with glasses and infinite patience, could not hold back a smile of genuine relief when Li Pei En—pretending to be a determined Gao Tu—explained that he wanted to get off suppressants for good.

"You can't believe it," the doctor murmured, reviewing the latest tests with a mixture of concern and hope. "He's been on them for years... years intoxicated. The oral suppressants, the injectables, the painkillers to put up with the side effects..." He shook his head, with a hint of professional sadness. "Your body is a battlefield, young Gao. Your endocrine system is a mess, your kidneys are working under terrible pressure, and your stress levels are... well, catastrophic."

Li Pei En listened with a seriousness that was not acted. Every word was a blow. Him was living the consequences of slow and steady self-mutilation.

"But it can be improved," the doctor continued, perhaps detecting the shadow of panic in his patient's eyes. "With a strict diet, supplements, absolute rest and no more toxins, we can begin to reverse the damage. I hope this is for life and that he does not relapse to prolonged use of suppressants, inhibitors or other products that damage his omega nature."

"Agreed," Li Pei En nodded, his voice, a thread of determination. He was not speaking for Gao Tu alone; it was a promise to himself, to the responsibility he had acquired with this borrowed body.

The doctor signed some prescriptions and handed him an order for more tests. Then he paused, his expression becoming more serious. "There is one other thing. Given the state of your health and that, upon discontinuation of the inhibitors, your body will attempt to regulate itself... it is very likely that he will go into heat soon. It won't be a full one, given her condition, but it will be intense. The best, safest thing to do is to stay at home to spend it. Avoid going out and, above all, avoid hanging out with people who... despise the Omegas". The doctor cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "That Alpha who came with you the other time, for example... he seemed to be one of those."

The mention of Shen Wenlang was like a key turning in an invisible lock. That other time. Gao Tu had already been here with Shen Wenlang. The Alpha had taken him, probably struggling and complaining. The piece fit with another: the rumors he had read on the phone about Sheng Shaoyou and Hua Yong living together. Months had passed. The plot was moving forward.

And then he remembered. The banquet they would have at the X hotel. A key event in the novel. The place where Hua Yong would orchestrate one of his most ruthless moves. An event that Gao Tu, as a loyal secretary, would always attend, much to his own disgrace.

Li Pei En wrinkled his nose, not because of the smell, but because of the certainty that took hold of him. The doctor was right. Attending that gala, in his current state, surrounded by powerful Alphas and with the ticking time bomb of impending zeal, would be monumentally idiotic. It would be to throw Gao Tu straight into the jaws of the wolf.

"You're right, doctor," he said, and this time his voice sounded genuinely grateful. "I think I'll stay home. I need... I need to rest."

As he left the clinic with a bag full of medicine and instructions, Li Pei En made the decision. Him would not go to the gala. His would let the drama of Shen Wenlang, Hua Yong and Sheng Shaoyou unfold without his presence. For the first time, Gao Tu would put himself first. And Li Pei En would be the architect of that small, but significant, rebellion.

…

The shower water had cleansed the surface, but not the heaviness that built up in his bones. Dressed in Gao Tu's baggy, worn-out clothes, Li Pei En sat at the table, spreading out in front of him the pharmaceutical loot from his visit to the doctor. Boxes of vitamins, supplements, an appetite—whetting syrup—each a silent indictment of the neglect to which Gao Tu had subjected his body. He was arranging the blister packs according to the prescribed schedule when the vibration of the phone cut through the silence like a knife.

Shen Wenlang.

Gao Tu, in a week there will be an important gala that you have to accompany me to.

A dry sound, a "tss” of annoyance, escaped Li Pei En's lips. Not even a question. An order. The Alpha's arrogance, intact even after his confrontation, bristled his skin. But no. This time would be different. This time, health-his health in this body-would come first.

Gao Tu.

I won't be able to go with you. Take the Secretary General.

The reply was sent with a coldness that he hoped was final. But I knew Shen Wenlang. The vibration was almost immediate.

Shen Wenlang.

Why can't you attend? It is your job to accompany me.

Li Pei En read the message, and a bitter disappointment, sour as the syrup in front of him, flooded his mouth. Really, he thought, is that all it is, after all? Am I just an accessory to his work? All his efforts to plant a seed of change felt swept away by the relentless reality of Shen Wenlang's character.

Gao Tu.

Do you want me to go with you, strutting around like an Omega that's in heat?

He turned off the phone screen with a dry snap. There was nothing more to say. With hands that were beginning to tremble slightly, he took the first handful of pills, swallowing them with a sip of warm water. The metallic taste lingered on his tongue.

Him got up to head for the small kitchen, thinking about what his could prepare that would be easy on his resentful stomach. And then, like a ghost on the threshold of him mind, Jiang Heng appeared. The image of his warm smile, his silly jokes, the way his eyes lit up when he tried a new dish... The security of his hugs, which enveloped him and made everything else disappear.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his chest. It was not physical. It was the emptiness of absolute absence.

Gao Tu's eyes—his eyes at that moment—suddenly clouded. An uncomfortable warmth flooded them, and before he could restrain himself, the first tear overflowed and ran down his cheek. It was followed by another, and another, until a hoarse, wrenching sob burst from her throat, shattering the silence of the room.

Him dropped back into the chair, his body shaken by tremors him could not control. He wept for the life his had lost, for the love him missed with an intensity that burned his insides. He wept for the injustice of being trapped in a sick body, in a life of strife, far from all that was familiar and safe. Shen Wenlang was a pale, distorted, cruel shadow of Jiang Heng, a lingering memory of all he had lost.

Tears were falling on the formic table, forming small salty puddles. The physical and emotional exhaustion, combined with the shock of the new medications and the overwhelming wave of homesickness, was too much. His head began to spin, his vision blurred completely. He tried to lean against the table, but his arms gave way.

With a last gasp, consciousness left him. His body slumped on the table, his cheek flattened against the cold surface, his folded arms serving as a last precarious pillow. The tears still wet on his face were the only testimony to the battle he had fought, and lost, against the overwhelming reality of his new existence.

Chapter Text

The grayish light of dawn filtered through the dingy window, illuminating the same cracked ceiling that had been him first glimpse of hell. For a moment of sheer paralyzing terror, Li Pei En thought he had dreamed it all. That the exchange, the company, the confrontation with Shen Wenlang? It had all been a fever dream, and now he was waking up again in the wrong body, in Gao Tu's misery.

But the pain was real. A dull weight in every muscle, a persistent throbbing in his temples. He sat up with a groan, the rough sheets sliding over his skin. How had he gotten into bed? Him last sharp memory was the cold of the table against his cheek, the salt of his own tears.

"You woke up."

The voice, deep and familiar, startled him. He turned his head toward the door, and there, leaning against the frame as if he owned the place, was Shen Wenlang. He was not in his full executive armor; he had removed his jacket and tie, the sleeves of his fine dark blue shirt were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a pale complexion and the faint gleam of a silver watch. He wore an aura of casual, ungainly, but no less intense power. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed a night of wakefulness.

Li Pei En was not there to appreciate the Alpha's aesthetics. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced him. What the hell was Shen Wenlang doing in his house? How had he gotten in?

"You weren't answering my messages," Shen Wenlang said, as if that explained everything, as if violating someone's privacy was a natural response to being ignored.

Li Pei En averted his gaze to the window. The sky was tinged with a pale blue. Six-thirty in the morning, he calculated. He turned again to the man at the door, his voice flat, lacking the submissiveness Shen Wenlang would expect.

"Is that why you came in like a thief in the night?"

Shen Wenlang frowned, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

"You wanted me to leave you in that position on the table? You'd be in back pain," he rebutted, crossing his arms over his chest. The excuse sounded weak, even to him.

That was the last straw. Li Pei En faced him, weakness momentarily drowned out by indignation. 

"That doesn't justify you breaking into my house. And how do you have my key?"

The direct question impacted against Shen Wenlang. The alpha fell silent, his gaze drifting for an instant, a shadow of discomfort-or was it guilt? Clouding his arrogant expression. He had no answer. He didn't have an excuse that didn't sound like what it was: a total violation of boundaries.

Silence stretched out, more eloquent than any words. Shen Wenlang, the man who had everything under control, could not explain why he possessed a key to his secretary's house.

"I hope this is the last time you do this, Wenlang. I'm not here to play cat and mouse" muttered Gao Tu-Li Pei En, walking past the Alpha. His Sage scent was all over the place in the house, him knew Shen Wenlang could breathe it in. "If you're coming because of the banquet, I already told you I won't go."

Li Pei En's statement—cool, clear, delineating a boundary with the precision of a knife—floated into the room laden with sage aroma. Shen Wenlang looked at him, and for the first time, there was no glint of defiance or irritation in his eyes. Just a weary, almost resigned acceptance.

"All right."

The words were so simple, so unexpectedly complacent, that Li Pei En turned fully around to face him. "It's okay?" Disbelief tinged him voice. Gao Tu's body seemed to shudder at the lack of resistance, at that unusually peaceful expression on the Alpha's face.

"Yes. All right," Shen Wenlang repeated, and this time a hint of his former irritation peeked through, like a muscular reflex. He brought the hand with the watch to his face, index finger and thumb sliding down his cheeks with a gesture of deep fatigue. "You said your zeal is about to manifest. And clearly, that would be a big problem in a place full of asshole Alphas sticking their noses where they shouldn't."

Li Pei En watched him, disbelief growing to form a lump in his throat. It was infuriating. This man was a puzzle of contradictions. He would shatter any breakthrough with his arrogance, only to appear later with surprising lucidity and a concern that, for once, didn't seem selfish. It was as if one part of Shen Wenlang; was fighting fiercely to hold on to his old hatred, while another, new and hesitant, was trying to elbow its way through, driven by the truths that had been thrown in his face.

"And I want you away from my house," Li Pei En pointed, reasserting territory. Him sat down in the old dining room chair, which creaked under his weight. His gaze did not stray from Shen Wenlang, defiant. "I don't want you to come near these days. My doctor told me I may come into heat, and I'm willing to hit you with one of my old frying pans if you dare touch me."

The threat was absurd—the image of Gao Tu, weak and trembling, brandishing a frying pan at the S-class Alpha was almost comical—but the intent behind it was steely. Shen Wenlang looked at him, and for an instant, Li Pei En thought he saw the glimmer of something that might have been... Amusement? Respect? It was hard to tell.

Shen Wenlang nodded. It was a terse gesture, one of displeasure, but of acquiescence. "I won't go near," he said, and his voice sounded husky. “ But...eat. Take your meds . ” The order came out awkwardly, disguised as concern with the elegance of an elephant in a china shop.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the small apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence. Li Pei En was left alone, listening to the footsteps receding down the hallway, the strange truce hanging heavily in the air, as fragile as the very body it inhabited.

...

The sensation was insidious. It was not a sharp pain, but a general heaviness, as if a potent flu were incubating in his bones. Two days before the banquet, Li Pei En—Gao Tu felt strange, vulnerable. Every movement required conscious effort. This would be the first time his would experience real zeal, not a choreographed performance on set with lights and director's cuts. This was instinctual, real, and terrifying.

He hands, a little shakier than usual, clenched several amber folders against the desk. He needed someone else to take them to the board. He couldn't risk breaking down in front of all the high-ranking Alphas in the company. His gaze swept the office and settled on Hua Yong, who was drinking water from a bottle with studied elegance.

"Hua Yong," he called him, deliberately omitting the title 'Secretary Hua'. He took advantage of the fact that the usual bustle had quieted down, most of the secretaries already preparing for the executive meeting.

The Enigma turned slowly, his eyes narrowed, appraising him like a feline calculating the distance to its prey. He approached, stopping a few paces away, close enough to speak privately, far enough to keep up the facade.

"Is it because of your zeal?" it was not a question, but a concerted statement. Hua Yong knew it. Him sense of smell, sharpened by his own Enigma nature at the edge of his rut, was superior to that of any ordinary Alpha.

"Mm, yes," nodded Li Pei En slowly, without dissimulation. "I think I'll have to leave first." He watched Hua Yong's every micro gesture, looking for the inevitable trap.

"All right, I can cover for you," Hua Yong conceded, and a minimal, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. "But you owe me a favor, Gao Tu."

Sly fox, Li Pei En thought, an inward smile drawing in his mind. There was no charity here, only transaction. 

"Of course. Tell me when you need it back." He held out the folders with both hands, a gesture of esteemed respect. "I know you'll do the presentation better than everyone else."

Hua Yong accepted the folders with a nod. "I won't let you down." But then, in an unexpected move, he put them back on Gao Tu's desk. The action was so surprising that Li Pei En blinked, puzzled.

"It's been days since the time you told me you were an Omega," Hua Yong began, his voice soft, but charged with a curiosity that didn't fit his character. "And I wanted to ask you about the results, “what did the doctor say?"

The question took Li Pei En by complete surprise. In the novel, Hua Yong was a pathological narcissist; his world revolved exclusively around Sheng Shaoyou and his obsession with Sheng Shaoyou. Why on earth was he now interested in Gao Tu's health? Suspicion gripped him, but he answered truthfully, keeping the details in general terms: the damage from suppressants, the need for supplements, rest.

Hua Yong listened, his expression impassive. When Li Pei En finished, the Enigma frowned, a wrinkle of genuine? Concern?... appearing between his eyes. 

"Won't that much medicine hurt your stomach?"

The question was so practical, so mundane, so human, that Li Pei En was speechless for a moment. It was not the question of a manipulator seeking advantage. It sounded like the real concern of someone who knew the ravages of chemicals on the body. It was the kind of question Jiang Heng would have asked him. The disconnect between the Hua Yong he knew from the novel and the man in front of him was so vast that it was disorienting. Was he setting him up for a more elaborate trap? Or was there something else, something that even the original author had not foreseen, going on beneath the surface?

Li Pei En's response was rounded, measuring every word. "Maybe," he conceded, granting a thread of confidence to Hua Yong. "But the doctor prescribed a stomach wall protector for me. To prevent irritation and other symptoms."

Hua Yong stared at him for a second that stretched to feel eternal. His expression was inscrutable, but Li Pei En had the strange feeling that behind those dark eyes a silent battle was being waged, a swift and brutal assessment of variables he could not comprehend. Finally, Hua Yong nodded, an almost inconsequential movement.

And then, in a twist that Li Pei En would never have anticipated, Hua Yong's hand slipped inside his impeccable sack. From it, him extracted a small cream-colored glass jar, with a rounded shape and a minimalist label that made it look like a strawberry milk carton for children. The incongruity of the object with the person holding it was absolute.

Hua Yong looked at the bottle with an unusual strangeness about him, a shadow of doubt that did not square with the image of the master manipulator who had every move calculated from the cradle. His gaze lifted, and through his thick lashes, he riveted his eyes on Gao Tu's-on Li Pei En's.

"I like you, Gao Tu," he said, and his voice had a strangely sincere quality, devoid of its usual venomous seduction. "And for this, I will help you with your problem. This is..." He paused infinitesimally, as if even he himself wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. "It replaces all the medicine the doctor gave you. This is much milder and much more effective. Just add a couple of drops in a glass of water and that's it."

The words were simple, but the implications were huge. It was an act of genuine helpfulness, or so it seemed. A calculated risk on Hua Yong's part, an investment in a pawn he suddenly saw with new eyes.

Before Li Pei En could articulate a response, a question, or even a coherent thought, Hua Yong grabbed the board folders. "Take care of yourself," he said, and his tone was almost... kind.

Then he turned and walked away with his graceful, quiet stride, leaving Li Pei En planted in front of his desk, the absurd cream bottle in his hand and his mind, spinning at breakneck speed. The bottle was cool to the touch. He stared at it, as if he expected it to transform into something more logical, into a poison or an obvious trap.

But it wasn't. Or at least, not in a way he could decipher. This unexpected plot twist, this act of seeming kindness from the most unlikely source, was more disconcerting than any direct confrontation. Hua Yong, the architect of chaos, had reached out to him. And Li Pei En, trapped in Gao Tu's body, had no idea what to make of it.

The ride home was a boira. Li Pei En—Gao Tu's every step-was heavy, as if he were advancing against an invisible current. Notification of his absence had been sent with trembling fingers, justifying the absences with the only reason no employer could refute in his world: the imminent onset of an Omega's zeal. The Secretary General's response had been immediate and sympathetic, a "rest and recuperate" that sounded genuine, but Li Pei En's mind was already elsewhere.

In the oppressive stillness of his small apartment, with the door locked as if he could block out the reality outside, he extracted the cream-colored vial Hua Yong had given him. He held it up under the dim light of the lamp. The glass was thicker than it looked, pharmaceutical grade. As he unscrewed the cap, a complex aroma enveloped him: a fresh herbal base, like mint and licorice, but with a chemical undertone, clean and precise, not at all bitter or medicinal. It was the smell of advanced technology disguised as nature.

With careful movements, he followed the instructions to the letter. Two drops of the liquid, a translucent, vibrant pink, fell into a glass of water. On contact, they swirled like ink in water, staining the liquid a pale, uniform pink, the color of cherry petals. He stirred it with a spoon, the clinking of metal against glass the only sound in the room.

He drank it in one gulp. The taste was... surprising. It wasn't the bitter potion he'd expected, but a sweet, tart burst of wild strawberry, so realistic he could almost feel the imaginary little seeds on his tongue. There was no artificial aftertaste, no chemical, none of that metallic aftertaste left by suppressants. It was simply delicious. A medicine that didn't taste like punishment.

And then, the final piece of the puzzle clicked audibly in his mind.

Hua Yong.

Prodigy Biochemical empire owner.

X Holdings Company.

He wasn't just a master manipulator obsessed with his childhood sweetheart. He was the boss behind the scientific geniuses of his secretive but monumental company, specializing in ABO chain diseases. Li Pei En recalled the rumors he had researched on Gao Tu's phone, the technical articles that only scratched the surface of X Holdings' breakthroughs. And the biggest one of all: in a few months, Hua Yong would reveal to the world "I&O,” what the tabloid press would dub "the cure for cancer in scent glands."

A breakthrough that would revolutionize medicine, bringing him untold fame and power. But for Hua Yong, Li Pei En knew, there was always a single personal goal behind every achievement: to heal Sheng Shaoyou's father. That illness was the shackle that kept Sheng Shaoyou tied to his family, to his duties, away from Hua Yong. "I&O" was not just a scientific triumph; it was the key to freeing his obsession.

And now, Li Pei En held in his hands-in Gao Tu's body-a product of that brilliant, twisted mind. Was this cream—colored vial a precursor to "I&O"? An ultra—advanced and probably illegal formula that Hua Yong was testing on a low-profile subject, on an omega that would not arouse suspicion? The sudden help, the concern for his stomach? Was it genuine? Or was it just the meticulousness of a scientist who would not tolerate contaminating variables in his experiment?

The empty glass suddenly felt very heavy in his hand. He had drunk the offering of a fox playing a multidimensional game. Not only was he dealing with zeal, with Shen Wenlang, with poverty. He was now, potentially, a guinea pig in the personal experiment of the most dangerous genius he knew. The feeling that his body was no longer entirely his—or Gao Tu's—intensified, imbued with a new level of vulnerability. What exactly had he taken? And, most crucially, what did Hua Yong hope to get in return?

Chapter Text

The tip of the chopstick pierced the last piece of carrot, and Li Pei En brought it to his mouth with an almost mechanical movement, without elegance. The hunger that had overcome him was primal. A plate of instant noodles or an apple from the fruit bowl would not satisfy him. The sign was unmistakable: the heat had begun.

A strange, clammy heat ran through his thighs. It wasn't sweat. It was a peculiar secretion, clear and viscous like egg white, but imbued with an intense, herbal scent of sage—his scent, Gao Tu's scent, finally released without chemical barriers. The first day had been a haze of low fever and extreme sensitivity; every brush of fabric against his skin was an electric and exasperating caress.

Driven by a curiosity that overcame his discomfort, he had thrown a clean towel on the bed and sat on it. With tactile concentration, he brought his fingers to explore the epicenter of that biological change. He was no stranger to his own body, but this... this was different. The lubrication was constant, abundant, a perfect, moistening mechanism for a specific function. His fingers slid over the sensitive skin, which wrinkled slightly at the touch, and became impregnated with the clear substance. He brought it to his nose.

The scent of sage was intoxicating, dense, earthy, and sweet at the same time. It was a smell that screamed availability in a primal language that Li Pei En had always understood from the outside, but had never felt from the inside. It was strange, yes. Invasive. But it was also deeply amazing. The brutal efficiency with which an Omega's body prepared itself, yearning to be possessed, filled, fertilized... it was a fascinating and Dantesque process.

He collapsed onto the bed with a sigh that came from deep within. There was an incipient urgency, a void that demanded to be filled, but for now, physical hunger had been more powerful. And part of him wondered if Hua Yong's strange medicine had accelerated or intensified the whole process. The physical pains had been real, like a fierce flu attacking every cell, just as the doctor had predicted when he detoxified. But the intensity of the heat itself... seemed different. Less debilitating, more... focused.

Now, looking at the empty plate in front of him, he sighed, exhausted but lucid. He had rejected the suppressants. He wanted to experience this in all its rawness, to understand it. The only thing he allowed himself was a cooling patch on the gland at the back of his neck, a small relief from the constant heat radiating from there. Clothes were an unnecessary nuisance. He walked around the small house in his underwear and a gray T-shirt, too loose for Gao Tu, allowing the cool air to slightly calm the internal fire burning beneath his skin. He was vulnerable, at the mercy of a biology that was not his own, but for the first time, he was not fighting it. He was observing it. Studying it. And preparing to survive it. 

He pushed the plate away with a sigh, having barely calmed the fever of his body in heat. The scent of sage, now familiar and omnipresent, seemed to permeate every corner of the small room. With movements that still felt heavy with feverishness, he opened the second-hand laptop that was now his window to the world. He didn't know if the real Gao Tu had ever dreamed of owning one, but now he needed it. Not just to survive, but to devise an escape plan.

The screen lit up, casting a bluish light on his concentrated face. He opened a browser tab and began his search: "Apartments for rent, affordable prices." The results were a mirror of Gao Tu's life: limited and gray options. Old buildings on the outskirts of the city, with peeling facades and references to nearby “industrial areas” that promised noise and bad smells. Each click was a door to an equally bleak reality.

Frustrated but not defeated, he changed his strategy. He opened an Excel spreadsheet, a skill he had picked up from Gao Tu's files at the office. He created meticulous columns: Address, Price, Size, Distance to work, Comments.

He began filling them in, typing with a determination that contrasted with the subtle tremor in his fingers. But as the rows multiplied, a discouraging pattern emerged. The options fell into two equally impossible categories:

Too far: A tiny but affordable apartment on the extreme outskirts. The daily commute by public transport would be two hours. Impossible in his current state, and a sentence of perpetual exhaustion.

Too expensive: A decent place close to work or with better lighting. The price was a mockery of his budget, demanding more than twice what he could afford, even with the modest savings him had found.

A grunt of frustration escaped him. He rested his elbows on the table, massaging his temples. The idea of moving, of giving Gao Tu a decent space with colors other than the gray of resignation, felt more and more like a mirage. His gaze wandered around the room: the peeling paint, the single lamp with its dim light, the window that barely filtered the afternoon sun. How could he transform this? Buy a can of paint, perhaps, some less dreary curtains... but it was like putting a band-aid on a deep wound. The problem wasn't just the color; it was the oppression, the poverty seeping through the cracks.

The laptop emitted a soft buzz, an insignificant notification that pulled him out of his thoughts. There he was, trapped in a body that did not belong to him, in a life he had not chosen, fighting for a future that seemed to refuse to exist. The Excel spreadsheet, with its columns of mostly red “Yes” and “No” answers, was a stark reminder: dignity came at a price, and for now, for Gao Tu, that price was unattainable.

The frustration of the housing search turned into a judicious and practical determination. Li Pei En closed the apartment tab. Dreaming of moving was a luxury he couldn't afford yet. First, he needed to fortify the trench he was already in. His mind, sharpened by years of memorizing scripts and analyzing character motivations, began to work on a new plan. It wasn't just about earning more money; it was about optimizing every penny and cutting off financial leaks at the source. And the biggest, most insatiable leak had a name: Gao Tu's father.

He reopened Excel, but this time he created a new sheet titled “FINANCIAL STRATEGY.”

The parasite: That's how he labeled the first column. He reviewed old account statements on Gao Tu's phone, looking for patterns. Recurring transfers to the same account, always preceded by dramatic text messages or veiled threats. He wrote down dates, amounts, and the excuses used: "medical debt,” "car repair," "safe investment." All lies. All to feed a gambling addiction and a life of irresponsibility. Li Pei En not only needed to cut off the flow of money; him needed evidence. Him began saving screenshots of those messages and documenting each transfer in a hidden folder, his titled "Extortion."

Optimization: Gao Tu earned well, yes. Very well for his position. Shen Wenlang, in his twisted way, valued his efficiency to the point of paying him above market rate. But that money was disappearing. Li Pei En analyzed the fixed expenses: rent (which was now paid for a month), utilities, his sister's medical debt (cancelled, a monumental relief), and food. Then the variables: transportation, that was key. Taking the bus every day, at that distance, added up to a significant amount per month. What if, instead of moving, him invested in a bicycle? It was cheaper in the long run and would give his some control over him mobility. He wrote it down as "BIKE OPTION —Research safe routes."

The esotericism of misery: This is where the mind of Li Pei En, the actor, found an inconsistency in the script of Gao Tu's life. How could someone with that salary live in such a... depressing and dangerous place? The answer, he now saw clearly, was in the first column of his spreadsheet: The Parasite. His father not only took money from him; he extracted any possibility of progress, condemning him to a stagnant existence in misery to keep him dependent and available. And Shen Wenlang, the first time he saw him here, must have sensed it. Not just the smell of poverty, but the visible injustice of it. Perhaps that was why his reaction had been so strong, so laden with contempt that now, in light of the facts, it seemed less directed at Gao Tu's; Omega status and more at his apparent lack of ambition, his decision to live like this. Shen Wenlang, raised in opulence, could not conceive that anyone would choose this. He did not understand that Gao Tu had no choice.

Security: The final thought was the most chilling. Now, without the layer of suppressors, he was a target. The neighborhood, which had always been uncomfortable, suddenly felt like a trap. The shadows on his way home at night, the groups on the corners... every shadow seemed hostile. He wrote in bold: SECURITY REINFORCEMENT. New lock today. Research inexpensive cameras. Strict schedule: home before dark.

Closing his laptop, Li Pei En took a deep breath. The plan was there, logical and executable. It wasn't dramatic, it wasn't glamorous. It was pure crisis management. But for the first time since him arrived, his felt like she was in control of the script. Not the plot of Desire ABO, but the script of Gao Tu's life. And the first act was to cut off funding to the villain of this particular story: his own father.

...

The next morning filtered through the window with a softness Li Pei En didn't think possible. The fire of lust had subsided to low embers; the fever had broken, the annoying discharge had decreased slightly, and the scent of sage, though still present, had lost its most urgent and intoxicating edge. It was such a profound physical relief that it almost made him cry. He dressed in the same comfort as the previous days—underwear and a loose gray T-shirt—and devoted the day to a mission: to get to know every inch of his new and rugged home.

He rummaged through drawers and closets, finding layers of Gao Tu's life as if unearthing a historical archive. And among faded photos of a happier childhood and various documents, he found two artifacts that made him pause.

The first: a class photo, worn at the edges. There was a teenage Gao Tu, thin and with a shy smile, and right next to him, with an already arrogant and possessive expression, his arm casually draped over Gao Tu's shoulders, was Shen Wenlang. The second: the suit jacket Shen Wenlang had left behind the night he found him unconscious. He had folded it and put it away in the closet almost on reflex, but now he took it out.

He brought it to his face, burying his nose in the fine fabric. "It smells good," he whispered to himself, unable to help himself. The now familiar scent of lilies flooded his senses, causing an involuntary warmth to spread across his cheeks. It was a scent he had associated with oppression and arrogance, but now, in the privacy of his home, it just smelled like... Shen Wenlang. Something complex and, in a way him didn't want to admit, deeply attractive. "That idiot," he muttered, more in exasperation than conviction, folding the jacket with unnecessary care and putting it away again, as if hiding evidence.

Night fell without him noticing, absorbed in his thoughts and the bites of food he had ordered. His laptop was still open on the table, displaying the tabs of his potential life: unattainable apartments and, in a burst of existential curiosity, a dating site for Omegas. It was a window into a future he didn't know if he belonged to.

It was at that moment of vulnerable peace, surrounded by Gao Tu's relics and his own digital projections, that a voice pierced him like a knife.

"Gao Tu?"

The voice was low, but unmistakable. Li Pei En dropped the box of old photos he was holding, scattering images of a smiling mother and sister across the table. He frowned, his heart suddenly racing. Was he imagining things?

He walked cautiously toward the only window facing the street, the one above the small sink. He pulled back the faded curtain.

And there, standing in the hallway illuminated by the dim light of a streetlamp, like an elegant and stubborn specter, was Shen Wenlang. He stared at him, his expression difficult to read from a distance and in the dim light, but his posture was tense, expectant.

All the anger, the warnings, the promise of frying pan blows... all vanished in an instant, replaced by utter disbelief. Shen Wenlang had come. Again. A flash of lucidity pierced the fog of his residual jealousy: the banquet at Hotel X. He had excused himself, but Shen Wenlang... Shen Wenlang was the host, the center of everything. His absence there would not be a mere disaster; it would be a monumental scandal, an insult to all the guests. What the hell was he doing here, in his miserable hallway of this building, instead of being there? The incongruity was so vast that it was alarming.

And in the shock of the moment, that question hung there, unanswered, adding yet another layer of confusion to his already turbulent inner turmoil.

"Wait, I can let you into the room so as not to be rude, but we have to leave." The words floated in the air between them, a strange and conditional truce. He didn't want him there, in the vulnerable sanctuary of his newly subsided zeal, but a primal need to escape those four walls, to feel the night air on his still-sensitive skin, spoke to him. And the presence of an Alpha— that particular Alpha—though irritating, was a shield against the dark dangers of a neighborhood that now felt more hostile than ever.

Shen Wenlang nodded. It was a slow, almost automatic movement, an obedience that didn't suit him. His eyes, intense and reflective in the lamplight, didn't leave Gao Tu as he approached the door with cautious steps and turned the key. The squeak of metal sounded like thunder in the heavy silence. The door opened just enough for Shen Wenlang to slip inside, and Li Pei En immediately stepped back, delineating an invisible but firm territory: only the living room. Nothing else.

Shen Wenlang stood in the center of the tiny room, his tall, impeccable figure seeming out of place, like a diamond in a bed of coal. His gaze swept quickly, almost involuntarily, across the space: the paint, the worn furniture, the humble but meticulous cleanliness. But then, his attention focused entirely on Gao Tu. On his eyes, to be exact.

"You're not wearing your glasses," he observed, his voice a little rougher than usual. It was an intimate detail, one that Shen Wenlang clearly knew and noticed its absence.

Li Pei En didn't give him time to say anything else. He turned his back on him, a deliberate move that was both a rejection and a display of reckless confidence. 

"I'm going to change my clothes to go out," him announced, and headed for the bedroom, leaving the Alpha alone in the living room.

Shen Wenlang froze for a moment, the whirlwind of conflicting emotions stunning him. The speed with which Gao Tu's mood changed, from hostile to condescending to indifferent, completely baffled him. But then, another sense took over: smell.

The house smelled of Gao Tu. Not the faint trace he sensed in the office, filtered by inhibitors and suppressed by fear. This was pure, concentrated, unapologetic. Sage. Fresh, earthy, and with a sweet, vulnerable note that hit him in the gut with almost physical force. Shen Wenlang had ingested high-potency suppressants before coming, a precaution against being carried away by his own instincts, but the scent was so powerful that it seemed to mock the chemistry. He took a deep breath, holding back a surge of something he wasn't prepared to name.

And then, his gaze, searching for an anchor in the sensory storm, settled on Gao Tu's back as he walked away. He followed the line of his spine, visible under the thin gray T-shirt, and then... it fell. It fell with deliberate, torturous slowness toward the Omega's bare legs.

Li Pei En—Gao Tu—wore only underwear. Simple, loose-fitting shorts that revealed the pale, smooth skin of his thighs, his slim but well-formed calves, his fragile ankles. The sight was a direct, unfiltered shock to the Alpha. His eyes widened slightly, an inhalation caught in his throat. His Alpha instinct, so fiercely suppressed, roared in a silent cacophony of possessiveness and uncompromising desire. For a second, his entire being felt defeated by the simple, overwhelming beauty of that vulnerability.

But the image vanished as quickly as it had appeared, with Gao Tu entering the room and closing the door behind him without a sound.

Shen Wenlang blinked, shaking his head as if to clear a spell. Frustration and confusion washed over him. His gaze, seeking distraction, wandered around the room and settled on the open laptop on the table. The screen glowed, a window into Gao Tu's secret thoughts.

Moved by an impulse he couldn't—or wouldn't—control, he moved closer. His long, elegant fingers hovered over the touchpad. His eyes scanned the open tabs: lists of apartments for rent, prices, addresses... A dagger of understanding pierced him. He wants to run away too.

But then, his gaze fell on a particular tab. The favicon was a cheesy pink heart. His index finger, almost of its own accord, slid the cursor over it and clicked.

The page loaded instantly.

"Blind Dates — For Omegas Only"

"Omega, this is your chance to meet your ideal partner!"

"We connect compatible souls. Sign up now."

The world stopped for Shen Wenlang.

The air suddenly thickened, heavy as tar in his lungs. A deathly pallor washed over his face, immediately followed by a wave of dark heat that flushed him with a cold, piercing rage. He felt like he was drowning, not in water, but in vinegar—sharp, corrosive, poisoning every corner of his being.

There it was, on the screen, tangible proof that Gao Tu wasn't just thinking about escaping his neighborhood, but him. That he was actively seeking to replace him. That his scent, his presence, his... his concern... meant nothing. All the tentative progress, the carefully chosen words, the internal battle to accept the unacceptable... crashed against that cheesy, vulgar web page.

Shen Wenlang's jaw clenched until it hurt. The knuckles of the hand resting on the table turned white. The scent of lilies, usually so controlled, soured and thickened, becoming metallic and dangerous, a sonic warning that only another Alpha could detect. It no longer smelled of comfort or curiosity. It smelled of betrayal. And of a rage that promised consequences.

Chapter Text

Shen Wenlang's anger was an obvious storm, a hot, metallic vapor emanating from him and saturating the small room, drowning out the sweet scent of sage. His posture was rigid, his fists clenched, and his eyes, fixed on the laptop screen, glowed with a dangerous, wounded light. He was on the verge of something—an explosion, a declaration, a mistake from which there would be no turning back.

But then, the unexpected happened.

Pshhhht—!

A sharp, liquid sound cut through the tension. A fine, chemically charged spray hit him directly in the face, unceremoniously spraying his nostrils, his half-open mouth, his eyes.

Shen Wenlang recoiled as if he had been struck. A violent, convulsive cough shook his body, bending his proud back. Tears, involuntary and caused by the irritant, streamed from his eyes, clouding his vision. The world was reduced to the burning in his lungs and utter surprise.

"Ghack—! W-What...?"

He couldn't finish his protest. In the midst of his convulsion, a hand slammed hard against his mouth. It was not an affectionate gesture; it was an act of force, thin but determined. His lips, parted by the cough, were forced open a little wider. And then, he felt the rough rub of capsules against his lips before they were pushed into his mouth. The taste was instantaneous: a bitter, metallic explosion, the unmistakable mark of an emergency suppressant, designed to act quickly and without mercy.

"I warned you, Shen Wenlang!"

Gao Tu's voice sounded right in front of him, laden with a trembling fury that was not just anger. Shen Wenlang, still coughing and his eyes clouded, managed to open one wide enough to focus.

Gao Tu was there, standing in front of him, panting. His face was flushed with a deep red blush that spread up his neck and cheeks. Small beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. His breathing was irregular, ragged, and his whole body seemed to vibrate with relentless adrenaline. It wasn't just anger that Shen Wenlang saw in his eyes; it was the wild flash of Omega instinct, the very same that he had come to... What? To protect? To claim? The heat hadn't completely gone away; it was just dormant, and he, like an idiot, had provoked it.

"Why are you like this! I just...!" Gao Tu's voice broke. He bit his lip hard, as if to prevent even more dangerous words from coming out. A sharp click of frustration escaped his lips.

And then, in a final act of pure exasperation, Gao Tu grabbed the suppressant spray bottle and activated it again, this time spraying it all over the room with a violence that was almost exorcism. Pshht! Pshht! The chemical cloud expanded, forcibly neutralizing its own sage scent and Shen Wenlang's aggressive lily smell, creating an artificial, sterile snow.

Without another word, Gao Tu threw the empty bottle onto a sofa cushion and stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard that it rattled the picture frames on the wall.

The sound of the slam echoed in Shen Wenlang's ears as he continued to cough weakly, the bitter taste of the capsules and suppressant permeating every particle of his being. The rage had vanished, drowned out by physical shock and the indelible image of Gao Tu: beautiful, furious, vulnerable, and completely out of his control.

"Gao Tu!" he managed to roar, but his voice came out hoarse, broken, and lost in the empty room, drowned out by the silence and the ghost of the suppressants.

Him footsteps echoed on the cracked pavement of the old district, an area of long shadows and flickering neon lights advertising businesses with faded names. The air smelled of street frying, damp concrete, and the distant river. Li Pei En stepped into the shadows, heading determinedly toward the small food mini-market he had discovered on one of his reconnaissance walks. The door, with a bell that rang listlessly, announced his entrance.

But before he completely crossed the threshold, he stopped. A feeling, a familiar and persistent presence, made him turn his head.

There, about fifteen meters away, silhouetted against the yellowish light of a streetlamp, Shen Wenlang was escorting him.

He didn't approach. He didn't shout. He just stood there, keeping his distance like a scolded guard dog reluctant to leave his post. His tall, elegant figure seemed absurdly out of place on that narrow, neglected street. The light bathed his profile, illuminating the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hands were clenched in the pockets of his suit, now ruined by the suppressant spray. He was still wearing the dark purple shirt, stained and smelling of chemicals.

A crooked smile, laden with the dark humor that only this surreal situation could generate, appeared on Li Pei En's lips. Seriously? Is he following me like a teenager? The absurdity of it all was monumental. The powerful Shen Wenlang, head of a biochemical empire, bewitched and then sprayed like vermin, was now following him at a distance in a dangerous neighborhood because he didn't know what else to do.

He didn't want Shen Wenlang to have seen that dating page. It was a minefield of implications he wasn't prepared to handle. But undeniably, a wicked part of him—a part that was pure Li Pei En—felt a strange, warm satisfaction in his chest. He had completely thrown the Alpha off balance. He had shown him that Gao Tu, the submissive and predictable Omega, no longer existed. He had stood up to him, humiliated him chemically, and yet there he was, following him like a magnet, unable to walk away.

However, the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. That satisfaction was a dangerous luxury. He wasn't Gao Tu. He was an intruder. And by provoking this reaction in Shen Wenlang, by so dramatically altering the course of his... Obsession? Interest?... he was playing with fire. He was causing something, a turning point that the real Gao Tu would eventually have to deal with. He hoped so. The idea of the Omega returning to his body and facing the consequences of Li Pei En's actions—a wounded, confused, and potentially more possessive Shen Wenlang than ever—sent a chill of guilt through him.

He held Shen Wenlang's gaze for another second from a distance, a silent challenge in the dim light. Nevertheless, he turned and pushed open the door of the convenience store, leaving the Alpha standing in the street, alone with his confusion and the lingering bitter aftertaste of the suppressants. The doorbell rang again, more faintly this time, like an echo of the complicated truce that had just been established in the cold of the night.

The air inside the mini-market was a dense mixture of smells: the pungent sweetness of artificially lemon-scented detergents, the acrid smell of bleach, the faint smell of dust from the high shelves that no one ever cleaned thoroughly. Li Pei En walked down the narrow aisle, the plastic basket hanging from his arm with a weight still invisible. He didn't have a list. Only the need to move, to do something normal amid the chaos that his life—Gao Tu's life—had become.

Him fingers ran over the packages of sponges in different colors and harnesses. Him gaze rose to the top shelf, where a specific brand, one his had seen in an online review promising durability, rested mockingly out of reach. Him snorted, an exhalation of annoyance that briefly clouded the cold air. The frustration over a trivial object felt like a metaphor for everything else.

That was when the murmurs reached his ears, overlapping the faint ambient silence. Two voices, female, intertwined in a conversation charged with that particular tone that only arises when life-altering news is shared.

"Didn't you know?" A sharp, meaningful click of the tongue.

A scent made its way through the chemical smells: sweet cinnamon and earthy thyme. Two middle-aged Omegas, wearing aprons and with the fatigue of a long day etched on their faces, stood next to the multipurpose cleaners.

"It looks like the old buildings in the other area have been included in the demolition documents." The words fell like bricks. "The landlord hasn't told the tenants what's going to happen. From what I heard from my son, this was supposed to happen after three years, but it looks like they've moved up the dates and the purchases."

Li Pei En froze, his fingers still suspended in the air toward the unreachable sponge. His heart lurched sharply against his ribs.

Demolition?

"The other area? Isn't that where they just put up some nice lighting fixtures?" The second voice sounded indignant, a sigh laden with the helplessness of someone who sees their world being erased.

The other area. Their area. Gao Tu's old building. The new lamps that had never managed to hide the decay of the foundations.

A sterile understanding began to spread through his stomach. This wasn't in the script. In the novel, Gao Tu simply resigned and fled, seeking a new place far away from Shen Wenlang. Demolition was never a factor. But now... now everything was different. He was here, altering reality with every interaction. His revelation as an Omega, his new and volatile dynamic with Shen Wenlang, his unexpected... Alliance? With Hua Yong... These were all new variables. And the world around him was adjusting accordingly, like an ecosystem reacting to a newly introduced predator.

The landlord. The surly man who banged on the door demanding rent. Of course, he wouldn't say anything. Why would he? As long as he kept getting paid, until the very last day. The tenants were expendable, pawns in a real estate game whose rules they didn't know. Li Pei En slowly removed his hand from the shelf. Him no longer wanted the sponge. Him mind, clear and fresh despite the remnants of excitement and adrenaline from the confrontation with Shen Wenlang, began to process the information at breakneck speed.

Three years ahead. Purchases. Someone was pulling strings. Someone with power and influence wanted that land, and they wanted it now. Who? Why?

He glanced toward the door of the mini-market, as if he could see through the walls to the figure of Shen Wenlang waiting in the shadows. Could he have something to do with it? Was this another layer of his obsession, a way to corner Gao Tu, to leave him with no options so that he would have to depend on him? Or... Was it Hua Yong? The Enigma with his shell companies and multidimensional power games. Was he literally clearing the ground for one of his projects?

Gao Tu's life, which had always been a struggle against poverty and contempt, was suddenly entangled in a much larger and sinister web. Li Pei En not only had to deal with him body, his zeal, and a confused and possessive Alpha. Now his also had to face the possibility of becoming homeless, turned into an insignificant piece on an urban chessboard manipulated by forces him didn't even fully understand.

The basket suddenly seemed much heavier. He took a breath, the smell of cinnamon and thyme from the Omega women now seemed bittersweet to him, a community he was part of, whether him liked it or not, and which was about to be scattered. He spun on his heels, leaving the cleaning aisle. He had to get out. He had to think. And most importantly, him had to find answers.

The turn was abrupt, a clumsy movement driven by the panic of the news and sudden claustrophobia. Li Pei En lunged backward, blinded by the need to escape the hallway and the conversation that threatened to collapse his already precarious world.

The impact was sharp, forceful. His nose collided with a wall of muscle and solid fabric. A sharp, blinding pain exploded across his face, causing him to see a flash of white light. A muffled groan, more from surprise than pain, escaped him. His glasses, which he had taken off at home, slid awkwardly down his nose, bending one of the arms with an ominous crack.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled instantly, the reflex to apologize springing from Gao Tu's upbringing before his own consciousness could process the blow. He brought his hand to his face, feeling the stinging heat radiating from his nasal septum. It wasn't bleeding, but it promised to be a spectacular bruise.

He looked up, squinting against the pain, and then the world stopped.

The man in front of him was a mountain of contained strength. A simple but well-cut black coat emphasized his broad shoulders. His hands, raised in a gesture of peace, were large, with calloused knuckles and faint scars that spoke of physical labor that Shen Wenlang would only know about from reports. But it was the face that made Li Pei En's throat go dry.

Ma Heng.

"Are you okay?" Ma Heng's voice was deep, a bass that vibrated in the confined space. He didn't sound angry, but genuinely concerned, which was even more alarming. He leaned forward slightly, his dark, piercing eyes scrutinizing Li Pei En's reddened nose with an intensity that was almost physical.

But then, his gaze lifted. It pierced through the pain, the discomfort, and locked onto Li Pei En's eyes—Gao Tu's eyes, naked without his glasses, wide with shock and instant recognition. And Ma Heng smiled. It wasn't a broad or cheerful smile. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement at the corner of his lips, but his eyes... His eyes sparkled with a flash of deep familiarity, of a shared secret that made every hair on Li Pei En's arms stand on end.

"Bunny?"

The nickname fell like a hoarse whisper, intimate, laden with a history that Li Pei En knew only from Gao Tu's borrowed memories. Bunny. The name Ma Heng had given him in childhood, in the days before life separated them. A name that only came to light in the harshest moments, such as the conflict with Gao Tu's father that Li Pei En vaguely remembered from the plot.

A violent chill, completely unrelated to the pain in his nose, ran down his spine. What is he doing here? Now? Ma Heng wasn't supposed to appear until much later, at the climax of the family drama. His presence here, in this seedy mini-market, was a terrifying anachronism, further proof that the timeline was being distorted beyond repair.

And then, as if the universe decided that the level of chaos was not yet sufficient, Li Pei En's gaze drifted past Ma Heng's shoulder, toward the glass door of the mini-market.

There, silhouetted against the night, stood Shen Wenlang; he had advanced, his posture rigid, his head tilted like a predator that has picked up a frequency of danger in the air. His expression was a mask of contained anger, his eyes fixed on the scene inside the hallway. Shen Wenlang's lily scent, which until moments ago had been sour and confused, suddenly thickened, becoming metallic and aggressive, a chemical warning that pierced through the smells of detergent and cinnamon.

Ma Heng, perceptive as only a lone wolf can be, followed Li Pei En's terrified gaze. His smile faded, replaced by icy curiosity. He turned his head just enough to glimpse the menacing figure in the doorway, then looked back at Li Pei En.

"Are you an Omega?" Ma Heng stammered, his voice now laden with a new and abrupt understanding. His gaze swept over Li Pei En's body as if seeing it for the first time, searching for the signs he had always ignored or that Gao Tu had been too good at hiding.

Pure, crystalline panic injected adrenaline into Li Pei En. "See you another day," he excused himself hastily, and with a strength he didn't know he had, he pushed Ma Heng aside—who gave way in surprise—and rushed toward the exit.

He bolted out of the convenience store, the bell ringing shrill. Shen Wenlang was already just a few steps from the entrance, his stormy aura almost physical. But before the Alpha could cross the threshold, say a word, or even fully process the identity of the man inside, Li Pei En grabbed his elbow with desperate ferocity.

"Let's go," Li Pei En ordered, him voice not Gao Tu's—soft and evasive—but Li Pei En's, sharp, imperious, laden with absolute terror that brooked no reply.

Shen Wenlang stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze one of anger and confusion, dropping to the hand that held him so tightly, and then to Gao Tu's pale, determined face. By some miracle, or perhaps the shock of the unexpected command, he yielded. He spun on his heels, allowing Li Pei En to drag him away from the mini-market, leaving behind Ma Heng, the demolition, and the unanswered questions that now hung in the night air, heavier than ever.

Chapter Text

“Shit. Your nose is turning purple... I'm going to kill that guy,” Shen Wenlang roared, his voice charged with such irrational anger that it seemed to vibrate in the quiet air of the Thai restaurant. His fingers, which moments before had applied the ointment with almost incongruous delicacy, were now clenched into a fist on the table, his knuckles white. “Who was that bastard? Why did he touch you?”

“It only hurts a little,” Li Pei En lied, though the throbbing pain in him nose contradicted every word. The glasses, now crooked and unbalanced on his face, were a reminder of the encounter.

“A little?” Shen Wenlang's growl was low, guttural, like that of an animal wounded deep in its territory. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the jar of ointment, a thin layer of cold sweat on his temple betraying the internal battle between murderous rage and the need to care. “There's no blood, but it's swollen. That... that jerk didn't know where he was walking.”

Li Pei En watched the whirlwind of emotions on the Alpha's face. The anger was real, yes, but beneath it there was something else: acute frustration, fierce helplessness at not having been there to prevent the blow. He was so... intense. So utterly focused on Gao Tu, on his well-being, on his integrity, that everything else—including the mysterious Ma Heng—seemed to fade into a threatening but distant background.

And then, driven by an instinct that wasn't entirely his own—a mixture of Gao Tu's gratitude and Li Pei En's curiosity—he softened his voice until it became a silk thread, intimate and soothing. “It's okay. Really, it's okay.”

His hand rose, moving with deliberate slowness, and his palm rested on Shen Wenlang's cheek. The skin beneath his fingers was warm, slightly tense. The surprise was so absolute that the fire in the alpha's eyes dimmed for an instant, replaced by pure astonishment. Shen Wenlang stood still, his breathing ragged. He let him touch him.

The look Shen Wenlang gave him then was the most discordant Li Pei En had ever seen in him. There was no arrogance, no anger, no usual cold calculation. There was a soft pout on his lips, a vulnerability so raw that it almost hurt to look at it. It conveyed an emotion of failure, of deep regret, as if he were reliving the moment over and over again, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could go back in time and stand between Gao Tu and the impact.

Li Pei En, inside Gao Tu's skin, couldn't help herself. A genuine smile, warm and full of a tenderness him didn't know he could feel for this man, broke out on his face. Him eyes narrowed into crescents, and his lips curved gently. This Shen Wenlang, so powerful and feared, reduced to a beaten and worried puppy, was absurdly touching to him. He thumb, almost of its own accord, moved in a small arc over the Alpha's high cheekbone, a reassuring, almost absolving gesture.

It was at that precise moment, with the smile still on his lips and his thumb caressing Shen Wenlang's skin, that the world stopped.

Li Pei En's eyes flew open, not from pain, but from the sudden, soft but irrevocable weight of lips on his.

Shen Wenlang had leaned forward, closing the last bit of space between them. The kiss was neither demanding nor violent. It was a firm but restrained pressure, a silent question laden with all the confusion, possessiveness, concern, and pent-up desire that had simmered beneath the surface since he discovered the truth. It tasted of lilies and the faint bitterness of the suppressant that still lingered, but above all, it tasted of raw, unfiltered surrender.

Li Pei En froze, his thumb still on Shen Wenlang's cheekbone, the rest of his body petrified. The scent of sage from his own body seemed to intensify, entwining with that of lilies in an ancient and inevitable dance. In the silence of the restaurant, broken only by the faint hum of a refrigerator, the kiss resonated as the definitive turning point, the moment when all words were superfluous and only the electric, incontrovertible truth of contact remained. 

Li Pei En's mind was enveloped in a warm, white fog. He couldn't process thought, only sensation. A primitive impulse, arising from the back of his neck—a chemical, inescapable command from the Omega body he inhabited—pushed him to respond. He lips, which had remained motionless at first, softened under the pressure of Shen Wenlang's, opening slightly in a surrender that was as much he’s as it was Gao Tu's.

He noticed the surprise in the Alpha. A microsecond of stiffness, of disbelief, as if he expected to be rejected again. But that hesitation vanished the instant Li Pei En granted him access. Shen Wenlang was quick to take advantage of the invitation. His tongue, tentative at first, met Li Pei En's, and then any trace of awkwardness transformed into urgent, determined exploration.

Li Pei En closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensory rush. A shiver ran down him spine as Shen Wenlang's tongue tangled with his. The Alpha was clumsy, yes. There was an inexperienced awkwardness to his movements, a lack of rhythm that betrayed a genuine first time. But he made up for it with devoted intensity, with the soft, persistent sucking he applied to his lower lip, as if he were savoring an exquisite fruit and feared it would vanish. Li Pei En knew, with a certainty that burned him insides, that Shen Wenlang had longed to do this. That he had fantasized about these lips countless times.

But this wasn't a script. It wasn't the controlled fiction of the novel. This was real. The rough wood of the table beneath his elbows, the scent of Thai herbs and curry wafting through the air, the faint hum of the refrigerator... and the tangible, salty-sweet taste of Shen Wenlang in his mouth.

And then, Li Pei En, the actor, the expert at faking emotions he didn't feel, decided to intervene. He couldn't resist. A teaspoonful of his vast experience—simulated on screens, but no less practical for that—crept into the kiss. His lips began to move with determined skill, guiding, teaching. The hand resting on Shen Wenlang's cheek slid to the back of his neck, his fingers burying themselves in the Alpha's short, well-cut hair, gripping with a firmness that allowed no retreat.

He showed him, without words, how a kiss felt with ease. With rhythm. With the confidence of someone who knows how to make someone gasp.

And it worked.

A guttural sound, muffled by surprise and pleasure, vibrated in Shen Wenlang's throat. It was a hoarse gasp, completely involuntary, that broke the spell of the moment.

Li Pei En pulled away abruptly, as if the sound had electrocuted him. His breathing was ragged, his lips swollen and shiny. The taste of Shen Wenlang was still in his mouth, addictive and unsettling.

No more. He couldn't let this go any further. Not here. Not now. Not when he was an impostor in this skin, in this life.

“Auntie makes the best Thai food,” He said, his voice sounding strangely calm, a stark contrast to the whirlwind that had just occurred. He looked away at the laminated menu, feigning a normality him did not feel.

The looked up and met Shen Wenlang's gaze. The alpha's eyes shone with an intensity that was almost painful to behold. His cheeks were flushed, not with the anger of before, but with a warm blush that gave him a vulnerable and tremendously attractive youthfulness. Too attractive for Li Pei En's heart, which was beating hard against his ribs, reminding him that even though he was an actor, his body—Gao Tu's body—was responding with an incontrovertible truth.

Chapter Text

The air in the small Thai restaurant was thick, heavy with the spicy aromas of food and the unresolved electricity that buzzed between them. Shen Wenlang's statement was not a whisper, but a grave affirmation, carved into the space between them. His hand did not close tightly around Li Pei En's wrist, but his grip was firm, unyielding, as if he feared that Gao Tu would vanish into thin air like smoke if he let go.

"Don't think I'll let you go now."

And then, he repeated the words. The same words that Li Pei En, from Gao Tu's body, had demanded he memorize and repeat every five days like a mantra of redemption. The words that had echoed in the taxi like a newly discovered truth. But now, in the stillness of the restaurant, with the taste of his kiss still on his lips, they sounded different. Deeper. More painfully sincere.

"If you are that Omega. Even if you were a Beta, I don't want you to give up or walk away from me." Shen Wenlang paused, his gaze diving into Li Pei En's, searching for something—absolution, understanding, perhaps both. "And I could repeat this until you memorize it. I know I've hurt you with my words and actions, and you don't know how much I regret that." His voice broke slightly on the last word, a vulnerability so rare it was disarming. "What would have happened if you had disappeared because you didn't tell me you were an Omega?"

Li Pei En looked at him, and felt a knot of conflicting emotions tighten in his throat. He didn't know which part of him was responding—the method actor, the shocked Omega, or some remnant of the real Gao Tu that still inhabited that body. Gao Tu—Li Pei En's perfectly heart-shaped lips twisted into an involuntary pout, a grimace of distant pain and fragile hope.

And then, Li Pei En spoke. Not with his own voice, but with the sharp memory of the tragedy he had read, that he had acted out, and that now felt like a heavy shadow over his own borrowed existence.

"We probably would have had a lot of misunderstandings," him began, his voice soft but clear, each word a channel. "Maybe I would have gone to that gala, gotten into heat, and you, without fully realizing it, would have sensed it and even slept with me, and that night... I would have gotten pregnant."

Him saw Shen Wenlang's face contort, a succession of flashes—desire, horror, possessiveness, panic—crossing his eyes like lightning on a stormy night.

"Out of fear, I would have run far away from you... And I don't know, you wouldn't see me for three years?" He continued, driving the dagger of possibility home with brutal precision. "I'm sure you would suffer, but not as much as I would with a baby."

It was Gao Tu's destiny. The destiny that Li Pei En was now the temporary guardian of and wanted to change. And he was using it as a weapon, to test the strength of this fragile truce.

"You would even have told me to abort it if I had asked you, 'What would you do if an Omega got pregnant with your child?'" The question came out like a lash, loaded with all the fear and mistrust that Gao Tu had carried for years. Li Pei En took a deep breath, feeling the lump in his own throat tighten. "I don't know, Wenlang. We can take one step forward, but we can take many steps back. Are you sure your hatred for Omegas will change so quickly just because I'm an Omega? Just because we kissed?" He paused one last time, the most vulnerable question welling up from deep within. "Do you even really like me?"

Shen Wenlang's reaction was instant and fierce. There was no hesitation.

"Do you think I would stay and listen to you?" His voice was harsh, laden with a deep truth that brooked no doubt. "I would look for you. Everywhere, Gao Tu. I couldn't live with the fact that you're pregnant. Expecting a baby that is as much yours as it is mine." His eyes shone with an almost fanatical intensity. "Even if it weren't mine, and I didn't like children, I would love that child. Just as I love you."

The statement hit like a bomb, echoing in the silence of the restaurant. And then came the proposal, as ancient as time and as bold as only Shen Wenlang could be.

"Let me court you, Gao Tu."

Li Pei En's eyebrows arched toward the ceiling, disbelief, and a twinge of something dangerously close to hope battling within him. He was on the verge of saying something, of questioning, of testing that monumental word, when the world burst into his bubble again.

The soft but firm footsteps of the "aunt" approached, breaking the spell. The older woman appeared beside their table, his face a mask of professional serenity, as if she hadn't been discreetly hiding during the intimate and charged exchange. His wise eyes moved from Shen Wenlang, whose grip still held Li Pei En's wrist, to Gao Tu, whose lips still tingled and whose heart was racing.

"Nong, I'm here. Are you going to order the same dishes or different ones?" He asked, his voice as calm as if she were asking about the weather.

The moment was broken. The future nightmare and the promise of courtship dissolved into the temporary aroma of curry and lemongrass. Shen Wenlang finally let go of his wrist, but his gaze did not leave Li Pei En, waiting for his answer not about the food, but about everything that had just been said and offered.

Chapter Text

Li Pei En spun on his heels with the precision of a stage actor and stood in front of the peeling door of him little house as if defending a castle. He hands dug into him waist, highlighting his thinness, but also a new belligerence. Shen Wenlang stood there, barely a step away, his tall, elegant silhouette seeming to absorb all the light from the dimly lit street, but failing to eclipse the firmness of Gao Tu's stance.

The difference in height was stark, obvious, but Li Pei En did not back down. Him looked up defiantly and saw the Alpha's tense, arrogant features soften under him gaze. Shen Wenlang's arms, which had been stubbornly crossed over his chest, slowly uncrossed, falling to his sides with a surrender that was almost civil.

"Go home, Wenlang, you've kept me company long enough. I can take care of myself here," Li Pei En said, using Gao Tu's voice, but with a final tone that brooked no objection. He moved his chin toward the street, a gesture of farewell.

But Shen Wenlang didn't move. He seemed to have his feet anchored in concrete with cement. His gaze, instead of obeying, became inquisitive, concerned.

"Are you moving?" The question came suddenly, charged with a new tension. "I heard they were going to demolish this old building. Is that why you're looking for...?"

"No," Li Pei En interrupted him sharply. "That's not why I looked for you in the first place." Him paused, letting the truth come out, raw and simple. "I didn't even know the building was going to be demolished. I just found out, like you."

Shen Wenlang's brow furrowed, creating a deep shadow between his eyes. "What do you mean you didn't know? The idiot landlord had to notify the tenants about this. Even I..." His lips parted, and Li Pei En could almost see the unspoken words floating in the air: Even I had lights installed here to light your way, you ungrateful old man. But Shen Wenlang bit his tongue, swallowing the sentence with an exasperated sigh. "Move into the house I have downtown in Jianghu. It's fifteen minutes from the company."

Li Pei En looked at him with intense suspicion. Was it a trap? A gilded cage?

"Why would I want to move where you tell me to?" he retorted, frowning as well, mimicking the alpha's expression.

"Why do you have to contradict me now? You weren't like this before," Shen Wenlang complained, and for the first time, his tone sounded almost whiny, childishly frustrated.

"Shh. Don't shout," Li Pei En scolded him, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper as he squeezed Shen Wenlang's left arm. The thin fabric of the coat gave way under his fingers. "We're not at work, and people here are very nosy." He paused, searching for a middle ground. "I can't move without you agreeing to a rent."

"I won't," Shen Wenlang refused flatly, his voice firm as steel. "Consider it a gift from me."

That's worse, Li Pei En thought. Him knew Gao Tu's moral fiber, his noble stubbornness to accept nothing he hadn't earned through his own efforts. But he also saw the absolute determination in Shen Wenlang's eyes. It was a dead end.

"Stop being stubborn," Shen Wenlang murmured, and his hand rose, not to grab, but to gently squeeze the still sensitive tip of Gao Tu's nose—Li Pei En, in a gesture that was exasperatingly affectionate. "On Monday, I'll give you the key and the address. I'll send someone to help you with your belongings..."

Li Pei En stared at him as if he had grown a second head. This was not the Shen Wenlang him knew from the novel. This was the man he had become after years of regret and searching. Approachable. Willing to give everything. He gazed lingered on the details of the Alpha's face: the softened curve of his jaw, the lack of tension around his eyes. He looked so much like Jiang Heng in his calm moments that the heart skipped a beat.

Was Gao Tu, in his body, with Jiang Heng right now? Would Jiang Heng have realized that it wasn't him? The irony was bittersweet.

And then, an idea came to him. A test. An absurd condition that only an Alpha steeped in opulence and arrogance like Shen Wenlang would find as insulting as it was impossible.

"Let's make a deal," Li Pei En proposed, his voice regaining a hint of his former actor's confidence, mixed with Omega softness. The hand that was on Shen Wenlang's arm slid up to his cheek, patting it with an intimacy that made the Alpha hold his breath. "If you want me to agree to let you court me, learn how to cook."

The silence that followed was complete. Shen Wenlang's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched toward his hairline, his gaze shifting away for a microsecond in disbelief before returning to stare at Li Pei En in utter shock.

"What? Learn to cook?" he repeated, as if he hadn't understood correctly, as if Li Pei En had asked him to fly to the moon.

Li Pei En didn't back down. A slight, defiant smile played on his lips. "You can't?" him asked, his voice a thread of poisoned silk. "Then forget about me."

The bomb had been dropped. The ball was in the court of the immaculate, powerful, and culinarily incompetent Shen Wenlang. 

The refusal was on the tip of Li Pei En's tongue, ready to be thrown like another shield. But the words that came out of Shen Wenlang's mouth were not what him expected.

"No." The Alpha's voice was clear, sharp, but not angry. With an absolute bellicosity that seemed to change the air pressure around him. "I'll do it."

Three words. Simple. Direct. And completely revolutionary.

Shen Wenlang did not look away, did not hesitate. He held Li Pei En's defiant gaze with a tenacity that was almost physical. He would not allow Gao Tu—Li Pei En—to beat him at this. Not at this. He had drawn a line in the sand, and Shen Wenlang, with all his arrogance and power, had crossed it to accept the most absurd challenge he had probably ever been given in his life.

"But move into that house," he added, his voice regaining a hint of its usual commanding tone, but now tinged with an almost negotiating urgency. It was the non-negotiable condition. The price for his culinary dignity.

Li Pei En watched him for a long moment, gauging the sincerity in those dark eyes that no longer seemed to belong to the ruthless tyrant of the office. He saw stubbornness, yes, but also a spark of something that resembled panic at the thought of Gao Tu refusing, of this fragile thread they had just woven breaking.

And then, slowly, Li Pei En tilted him head. A contemplative gesture, almost feline curiosity. A tiny smile, not of triumph, but of genuine surprise and a hint of admiration, played on his lips.

Him nodded. Once, firmly and clearly.

No buts. No additional conditions.

"Okay," he said, and the word sounded like the signing of a contract that changed all the rules of the game.

The relief that flooded Shen Wenlang's features was so clear you could almost touch it. The tension in his shoulders dissipated, and for a moment, he looked younger, less burdened by the weight of his own ego. He nodded too, a sharp movement, as if afraid Li Pei En would change him mind.

Without another word, Shen Wenlang turned on his heel and walked away, his tall, determined figure disappearing into the shadows of the old building's stairwell. But his gait was no longer that of a frustrated retreat, but of a man with a mission.

Li Pei En stood at the door, watching the receding back until it was lost from view. The silence of the night enveloped him once more, but now it was different. He was no longer alone with the threat of demolition and the shadow of Ma Heng. Now he had an S-class Alpha who had promised to learn to cook for him and a key to an uncertain, but decidedly less gray, future waiting for him on Monday.

A sigh, half disbelief, half anticipation, escaped his lips. Gao Tu's script had just been completely rewritten, and Li Pei En, the accidental actor in the lead role, had no idea how he was going to perform in the next act.

Chapter Text

The weekend vanished like smoke between him fingers, a blink between the decision made at the door of his little house and the tangible reality of boxes stacked in the middle of the room. Li Pei En, inside Gao Tu's skin, contemplated the modest pile of belongings that constituted an entire life. There was no trace left of the Excel column titled "Home Improvements." That spreadsheet, a meticulous plan for painting walls and buying new curtains, had been deleted with a sharp click. Now it was irrelevant.

As he packed, a cold, clear understanding had come over him. Every object, every worn garment, every underlined book told a silent but eloquent story. The truth was simple and brutal: everything Gao Tu earned through superhuman effort was disappearing. Not into him, but into the insatiable black hole of his family. His father, the "bloodsucking worm," devouring sums in bets and absurd debts. The exorbitant medical expenses of his sister, Gao Qing, a burden he had carried alone for years until Hua Yong's scheming intervened. Gao Tu was the pillar, the silent provider who consumed himself to keep the others afloat, neglecting his own well-being to the brink of collapse.

Li Pei En looked at the pills lined up on the table: vitamins, supplements, gastric protector. The strict regimen to heal a body poisoned by despair. He had to admit it: he felt better. Noticeably better. The phantom tremors that haunted his hands had ceased. The dizziness that forced him to lean against the walls was a distant memory. There were no more needles piercing his skin to inject toxic suppressants. His inner Omega, so long oppressed, seemed to stir restlessly, but... contentedly. Like a caged animal seeing sunlight for the first time. He took a deep breath, and the clean, uninhibited scent of sage filled his lungs. It was a scent he now associated with freedom, with recovery.

Gao Tu deserved to be happy . The thought was an absolute certainty in Li Pei En's mind. And he, as his temporary tenant, was laying the groundwork for that happiness, both for the Omega and for himself. Because, deep down, he understood the loneliness of the provider, the agony of neglecting oneself in order to care for others.

He checked his phone. A message from the hospital. Gao Qing. His operation was completely paid for, all that remained was recovery and signing the discharge papers. A genuine, gentle smile touched his lips. At least that burden, the heaviest one, was lifted.

Brushing imaginary dust off his jacket—one of Gao Tu's few presentable garments—he left what had been his home for a brief and turbulent time. The taxi took him through a city that was beginning to feel a little more familiar, a little less hostile. A discreet patch on the back of his neck mitigated just enough of his scent, a precaution for the office.

Upon entering the HS secretarial floor, the first person to see him was the Secretary General. The senior Beta opened his eyes slightly, and a sincere smile of relief appeared on his lips.

"Secretary Gao," he greeted him with a cordial nod.

"Secretary General," Li Pei En replied, feeling a slight warmth in his cheeks. The formality of the place clashed with the intimacy of his recent dramas. "I'm so sorry for missing..."

"Don't apologize," the man interrupted him with firm gentleness. "Remember I told you that health comes first." He paused, his expression becoming a little more practical. "But now that you're here, you can take care of what Secretary Hua left behind."

Li Pei En frowned, a cold feeling running down his spine. "Secretary Hua?" he asked, confused.

The Secretary General's expression turned to genuine surprise. "Didn't they tell you? Secretary Hua resigned on Friday afternoon."

The words fell like a bucket of cold water. He resigned? Hua Yong. The cunning fox, the manipulative genius, the man who had given him a bottle of pink medicine and a friendly warning... was gone. Just when the pieces on the board were beginning to move unpredictably.

The office, which a moment before had felt like a familiar refuge, suddenly felt enormously empty and fraught with unanswered questions. Hua Yong's departure was not a simple resignation. It was the retreat of a master player, and Li Pei En couldn't help but wonder what move he was making now, and what that meant for him, for Gao Tu, and for the fragile balance he had just established with Shen Wenlang.

Hua Yong's resignation resonated in his mind like a gong, an echo of unpredictable consequences that extended beyond the walls of the office. Li Pei En knew, with the cold certainty of one who has read the final chapter, the fate that awaited Hua Yong and Sheng Shaoyou: a life woven from the broken threads of deception, love, and obsession. But that was a drama for another act. Now, the only spectators—and protagonists—of the immediate changes were he, as Gao Tu, and Shen Wenlang, the Alpha who was rewriting his own script through clumsiness and belligerence.

He sank into the chair in front of Gao Tu's desk, a piece of furniture that now felt more like his own than ever before. The computer screen glowed, illuminating an inbox full of Shen Wenlang's pending emails. With meticulous concentration, Li Pei En immersed himself in the work. He began drafting replies, imitating Gao Tu's practical and concise style, but adding a touch of the efficiency he himself had cultivated. He reorganized schedules, changed meeting dates following the Alpha's new guidelines—prioritizing inexplicably longer lunch breaks—and even ventured to open the files Hua Yong had left ready, finding impeccable presentations and perfectly polished reports that only needed to be sent out. It was as if the Enigma, even in his disappearance, had ensured that his work would not suffer.

Three hours passed in a whisper of keystrokes and mouse clicks. Only the gentle stretching of his wrists and neck, conscious of the fragility of the body he inhabited, broke his concentration. He had created an island of order in the chaos that had been his recent life.

And then, the sound of a notification snapped him out of his trance.

Shen Wenlang.

Can you make me some tea?

Li Pei En stared at the screen. It wasn't the request itself, but the choice of words that struck him. Can you? It wasn't a command. It wasn't the usual dry, expected "Bring me tea." It was a question. A request that, for the first time, admitted the possibility of a "no."

His lips tightened involuntarily, holding back a surge of complex emotion. This Shen Wenlang... was transforming in a way that was both disconcerting and deeply moving. And what was more dangerous: he was becoming alarmingly similar to Jiang Heng.

Not in arrogance or fury, but in those flashes of vulnerability, in the clumsy but genuine way he tried to connect, in the way he asked for things with that seed of doubt that invited complicity rather than demanding submission. It was like seeing him beloved through a dark and distorted mirror, but one whose reflections were slowly beginning to show flashes of the same light.

And somehow, against all logic and every warning from his mind, Li Pei En felt a small sprout of affection—tender, protective, and absurdly familiar—taking root in him chest for this confused and stubborn Shen Wenlang. After all, deep down, he was a version of his partner. A damaged, lost, and much more dramatic version, but physically, undeniably, the same.

With a sigh that was half resignation, half something akin to affection, Li Pei En positioned her fingers on the keyboard.

Gao Tu.

Yes. The usual?

The reply came almost instantly.

Shen Wenlang.

Yes. Please.

Li Pei En rose from his chair, a weight that was not unpleasant on his chest. The walk to the adjoining kitchen had never seemed so short, nor the task of preparing tea so fraught with meaning. It was not just a drink. It was a bridge, fragile and newly built, over the chasm that once separated them. And he, Li Pei En, was now its architect and sole guardian.

Chapter Text

The scene was eerily familiar, a déjà vu seasoned with a crucial twist. If he counted the days—weeks now—since he had inhabited this body, he would clearly remember that explosive moment in the office when he snapped at Shen Wenlang that it was “ridiculous” for him to have an Omega partner. He could recall the Alpha's expression of angry bewilderment, the tension about to explode, interrupted only by the timely—and calculated—appearance of Hua Yong. Now, Hua Yong was gone, and he was here, making tea for the same Alpha, but the dynamic had completely changed.

The fine porcelain teapot, the one only Gao Tu knew how to use properly, swayed slightly on the tray as he walked down the quiet hallway toward Shen Wenlang's office. This time, there was no hesitation. His steps were direct, determined. He stopped in front of the imposing wooden door and knocked with his knuckles, a soft but firm tap.

“Come in.” The voice from inside was clear, expectant.

Upon entering, the atmosphere was different. The oppressive aura of absolute power had softened, replaced by a bubbling charged with something new, something undefined. Shen Wenlang was behind his desk, but he wasn't working. He was watching him, his eyes following Li Pei En's every movement with an intensity that was almost voracious.

“Here's your tea,” said Li Pei En, placing the tray carefully on the polished desk. The soft click of porcelain against wood was the only sound. Him took a step back, creating a respectful but no longer submissive distance.

Shen Wenlang did not look at the tea. His gaze remained fixed on Gao Tu. Then, with a sudden movement that betrayed his nervousness, he opened a drawer and took out a small lacquered wooden box. From inside, he removed a shiny silver card.

“This is the card and the key to the door,” he said, holding it out to Li Pei En. The words came out quickly, as if he feared he would regret it if he delayed.

Li Pei En took it with both hands, an almost ceremonial gesture. The card was cold and smooth beneath him fingers. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper. And then, him couldn't resist. The smile he had been holding back seeped into his tone. “How much is the rent?”

Shen Wenlang's reaction was instantaneous and hilarious. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with such deep exasperation that it seemed to come from his soul, as if he wanted to slap his forehead at the Omega's stubbornness. Li Pei En lowered his head, pretending to examine the card, to hide the laughter bubbling in his throat. He waited for Gao Tu's face to hide his amusement.

“We already talked about this, Gao Tu,” Shen Wenlang said, his voice laden with annoyance that couldn't hide a hint of affection.

“I know, but I told you...” Li Pei En tried to protest, playing the role of the conscientious Omega.

“Nothing,” Shen Wenlang cut him off with a snort, firmly closing the subject. Clearly, he wasn't going to win that battle. The Alpha paused, then, in a shift of topic as abrupt as it was revealing, asked, “Have you had lunch yet?”

It was evasion, yes. But it was also an invitation. A way to switch the channel from a “pointless” discussion—from his perspective—to something practical, something that would keep them close. It was the same Shen Wenlang, but with a completely new instruction manual, and Li Pei En was beginning to enjoy figuring it out.

“Not yet,” Li Pei En replied, and the moment the words left his lips, the world lost its axis.

It was a dizzying, brutal sensation. It wasn't ordinary dizziness, but as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to jelly, refusing to support him. His legs, which had been steady a second before, became useless, uncoordinated strides. A wave of cold nausea swept from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, and his vision immediately clouded over, as if a thick, gray curtain had fallen over his eyes. The colors of the luxurious office—the deep brown of the wood, the silver of the accessories, the dark blue of Shen Wenlang's suit—blended and blurred into an abstract, meaningless smudge.

Him barely registered the sound of Shen Wenlang's chair being pushed back with violent force, the creak of wood against the floor, a distant and distorted echo. A voice, deep but now strangled by pure terror, shouted his name “Gao Tu!” but it sounded miles away, as if coming through an underwater tunnel.

His own hands rose in a futile attempt to find balance, and his fingers touched his own forehead. The skin was cold and damp, covered in sudden, clammy sweat. It was the last clear physical sensation he remembered before darkness engulfed him completely.

Consciousness detached from his body like a kite whose string is cut.

Chapter Text

The private hospital room was a cubicle of silence and dim light, broken only by the soft hum of a monitor tracing Gao Tu's steady, too steady, heartbeat. Shen Wenlang, sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside the bed, had abandoned all pretense of his impeccable executive posture. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his back forming a curve of utter concern.

With a delicacy that was foreign to him, almost clumsy, he took Gao Tu's hand. It was snowy white, cold against the warmth of his own palm. He raised it slowly, as if holding a relic of immense value, and brought the back of that lifeless hand to his own forehead. His eyelids closed, and for a long moment, he just breathed. The scent of lilies, his essence, began to emanate from him not as a display of power, but as a cloak, a silent offering. It was dense, soothing, a perfumed mist designed to envelop, to counteract the pheromones of stress and fear that still seemed to emanate from the Omega's sleeping body, a last unconscious defense mechanism.

Shen Wenlang felt a knot so tight in his throat that he had trouble swallowing. The cold, elusive idea that Gao Tu might not wake up coiled around his heart like poison ivy, consuming him from within.

The Alpha doctor's words echoed in his skull like a hammering. “Excessive stress... years of suppressants... his system needs rest... it's as if his Omega side decided to shut down for a moment to rest.”

“Rest?” he had replied that day, his voice sounding like a muffled roar, as if the doctor had uttered the greatest blasphemy.

But the man in the white coat didn't flinch. “Not only that. His body is expelling pheromones as a way to ward off others. It's as if it's even trying to protect itself. We need someone to be by his side and at least cover him with their pheromones so his don't feel like you're being attacked.”

“Specify that someone,” Shen Wenlang had demanded, his voice turning to steel.

“Someone who is compatible with him. Are you his partner? You should take a test. If you are, it will help him a lot, and he may wake up sooner.”

“Do it.”

The result: a 90% compatibility, a figure so rare and monumental that it was labeled “soulmates”—had not surprised him. Not really. He had always felt it, from the first day that shy and overly competent beta had walked into his office. An irrational attraction, an invisible thread that had always pulled him toward Gao Tu, through universities and work coincidences. Destiny, it seemed, had a peculiar sense of humor.

But that was two days ago. Two endless days in which Gao Tu remained in a deep sleep, oblivious to the world and the Alpha who watched over him. The tests showed improvements in his toxic levels, but his pheromone profile was in chaos. And Shen Wenlang carried the weight of bitter guilt. He had been part of that stress, that pressure. He, who had always blindly trusted Gao Tu's Beta facade, had never stopped to see the agony behind the mask.

“Oh, there you are...”

The voice, soft as silk but laden with familiar arrogance, cut through the silence. Shen Wenlang frowned, an instant gesture of irritation. He held back the urge to let his pheromones turn aggressive, to bristle the atmosphere with a warning. He turned his head slowly.

Hua Yong stood in the doorway, smiling with that mixture of mockery and superiority that was so characteristic of him. He wore a hospital gown open over his underwear, an absurd and yet threatening image.

“Hua Yong,” Shen Wenlang muttered, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. How had he gotten past security?

The Enigma raised his hands in a gesture of false peace, ready to unleash one of his poisonous phrases. But then, his gaze shifted past Shen Wenlang to the motionless figure on the bed. All arrogance vanished from his face, replaced by an expression of genuine shock. His smile faded.

“What happened to Secretary Gao?” The question was not a remorseful whisper, but a sharp demand, laden with unexpected authority. He approached the bed, completely ignoring Shen Wenlang's murderous glare. “What happened?”

Shen Wenlang didn't give him any ground. “Shouldn't you be writing to your Alpha to ask for forgiveness because he discovered in that tremor that you weren't an Omega?” he retorted, twisting the knife in Hua Yong's freshest wound.

A shadow crossed the Enigma's face. “That's exactly why I was looking for you,” he admitted, his tone losing some of its edge when he mentioned Sheng Shaoyou. “I want you to send his with someone and buy flowers.” But then, his attention returned irrevocably to Gao Tu. “Shen Wenlang.”

The insistence made Shen Wenlang tense even more. “I thought Sheng Shaoyou was your only priority. Why do you want to know about Gao Tu? He is my responsibility and priority.”

Something flashed in the depths of Hua Yong's eyes then. A flash of wicked triumph, as if he had been waiting to hear those words his whole life. You finally admit it, idiot, his gaze seemed to say.

But what came out of his mouth was simpler, and perhaps more sincere, than Shen Wenlang expected: “Because unlike everyone else, I like Gao Tu.”

The S-class Alpha was not used to hearing such sincerity from a crazy Enigma.

“According to the doctors, it's stress,” Shen Wenlang blurted out, the answer a vague and evasive murmur of the complex truth. He didn't go into details. He couldn't, without falling apart. He watched as Hua Yong, for once, put aside his mocking facade and studied Gao Tu with a clinical intensity that rivaled that of any doctor.

The Omega lay on the stretcher, a figure sculpted in an unsettling peace. The usual tension that sharpened his features had vanished, softening him into an ethereal version of himself. His dark eyelashes rested on pale cheekbones, his lips, usually pressed into a line of worry, were slightly parted. Gao Tu is very beautiful. The thought struck Shen Wenlang with the force of a belated revelation and a pang of guilt. He bitterly regretted every disparaging comment, every word designed to hurt and alienate, all the times he had belittled a beauty that now seemed so obvious and fragile to him.

“You know, I have a slight suspicion that something has changed here,” Hua Yong murmured, his gaze shifting between Shen Wenlang and Gao Tu's sleeping figure. His voice had lost its mocking tone, taking on a strangely contemplative one. “I don't know, but I have a feeling that if Gao Tu hadn't told you he's an Omega, things between the two of you would be very different. You would suffer even more.”

Shen Wenlang let out a dry snort, a humorless imitation of laughter. “Thanks for your encouragement, Hua Yong,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It's nothing. But I have a feeling,” Hua Yong insisted, with an unusual strangeness in his voice. He sighed, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely concerned. “Gao Tu is going to wake up, Wenlang. You'd better go home and get some rest, too. It won't be a pleasant sight for him when he wakes up and sees those ugly dark circles under your ugly face.”

A crooked smile, almost a tic, played on Shen Wenlang's lips. It was the closest thing to a gesture of camaraderie that Hua Yong could offer. He looked at him, and for the first time, he saw a glimmer of something that wasn't manipulation in the Enigma's eyes.

And then, Hua Yong dropped the grenade.

“Besides, I have to confess that I gave Gao Tu a bottle of syrup that will be much more useful to him than the medicines the doctor gave him for his recovery and return to being an Omega, not pretending to be a Beta.”

The air in the room immediately thickened. The fragile truce was broken. 

“What did you say?” Shen Wenlang's voice was a low growl, charged with renewed anger. He sat up, his posture bristling. “Were you trying to experiment with something that hasn't been publicly announced on Gao Tu?”

Hua Yong didn't back down. Instead, his face took on a cold serenity, that of a scientist facing an emotional layman. He raised a hand, a calming gesture that, coming from him, was surreal.

“I haven't experimented with anything in Gao Tu,” he clarified, each word measured. “The X Holdings research team worked on the pheromone modifier, specifically to generate new cells that aid in faster healing progress in the body of an Omega who has pretended for too long to be a Beta.” He paused, letting the technical explanation calm the waters. “It's different from the one I used to pass off my scent as that of an Omega,” he admitted, with a hint of bitterness, “but that one... failed. Due to the excessive release of pheromones to protect my Mr. Sheng.”

The mention of Sheng Shaoyou, of his own failure, gave his words an atypical weight of authenticity. It wasn't an excuse; it was an admission of limits. He was speaking, for once, not as a manipulator, but as someone who understood the risks of playing with biology and the consequences of mistakes.

“The syrup I gave Gao Tu,” him continued, his voice softer, “is designed to heal, not to deceive. To rebuild, not to conceal. It is... a gift. An apology, perhaps. For liking him.”

Chapter Text

Shen Wenlang exhaled a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his lungs, a sound that was lost in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. For this time, just this once, he would give in. Not for Hua Yong, but for the image of Gao Tu, pale and motionless, that pierced his mind. Before leaving, he paused beside the bed. He closed his eyes, focusing not on dominance, but on calm, on protection. He let his pheromones, the scent of lilies that was as inherent to him as his own blood, be released in a controlled and dense manner, permeating every corner of the room. Like a blanket, an olfactory barrier meant to envelop Gao Tu in a bubble of Alpha security, counteracting any trace of stress or threat that his Omega subconscious might still perceive.

Then, with a sharp movement, he snatched the letter Hua Yong was still holding—the apologies or excuses addressed to Sheng Shaoyou—without deigning to look at him. Leaving the room took physical effort, as if leaving Gao Tu behind meant tearing apart from himself away.

In the hallway, his gaze met that of the guards standing guard at the door. His already grave expression turned icy. 

"No one," he said, and the word fell like a channel of ice, "absolutely no one other than the assigned doctor or myself crosses this door." He paused, letting the weight of his S-class Alpha aura crush any possible objection. "If I find out that anyone else has entered, no matter who it is, you will all lose your jobs. And your hands." The threat was not a shout, but a whisper laden with such absolute violence that even the most experienced guard shuddered imperceptibly.

Once outside the hospital, the cold night air, thick with the city's smoke, hit his face. He looked up at the sky, a dark, starless blanket tinged with the orange glow of streetlights. Two days. He had spent two days cloistered within those walls, breathing filtered air and despair. Cheng Yu, Hua Yong's efficient and discreet Alpha secretary, and someone he could call a close friend, had brought him a change of clothes, a small gesture of normality amid the chaos. He had paid for a VIP suite, but now he needed to escape from it.

He glanced at his watch. Midnight. Too late to bother his staff. He raised an arm and a taxi pulled up with a soft squeal.

The address he gave the driver was not that of his penthouse in the financial district, with its immaculate windows and oppressive silence. It was that of the dusty street and decrepit building that Gao Tu called home.

During the ride, he watched the city lights blur into bright streaks outside the window. An irrational need, a magnetic pull he didn't understand but couldn't ignore, guided him to that place. It was as if a part of him needed to verify that Gao Tu's world still existed, that it hadn't vanished along with his consciousness.

The taxi stopped a few blocks away, unable to go any further into the maze of narrow alleys. Shen Wenlang paid and started walking. The loneliness of the street was evident, broken only by the distant barking of a dog and the aggressive hissing of a cat fight in the shadow of a garbage container. He felt eyes on him, human parasites lurking from dark doorways, assessing, calculating. But they were eyes that quickly looked away when they met his. His S-class Alpha aura was an invisible force field that kept lesser predators at bay, a superior animal walking through hostile territory with inherent contempt.

He let out a sigh, not of physical exhaustion, but of deep annoyance at the misery that surrounded him. He began to climb the stairs of the building, each step creaking under his expensive shoes, a discordant sound in the poor silence.

Just as he set foot on the top landing, a harsh noise cut through the night.

"Gao Tu! Don't you want to come out?!"

Shen Wenlang stopped dead in his tracks. His head turned slowly, like a predator identifying the source of a sound. He recognized the voice instantly: the landlord. The greedy, lying Beta who hadn't informed his tenants about the demolition.

"What are you doing?"

His words were a steel blade wrapped in ice, so sharp and cold that the air itself seemed to freeze around the landlord. The man, who had been knocking on the door with his knuckles, froze on the spot. He turned around with a jolt, his body visibly shaking. It was as if Shen Wenlang's voice, laden with the absolute weight of his rank and his restrained anger, had physically struck him, forcing him into instant submission.

"I-I-I-I was looking for the tenant of this house, who are you?" The landlord's voice was a faltering squeak, a pathetic mixture of fear and bravado that crumbled instantly. In any other situation, his words might have sounded threatening. Now, they just sounded like pure panic. He had never met anyone who made him so nervous, so dishonest, that he felt urine trickling down his shorts, soaking his feet.

"No one you care about," Shen Wenlang replied, his tone deliberately casual, as if he were talking about the rain, but every word was a nail in the coffin of the man's confidence. "Besides, the person in this ramshackle house already paid you in advance. And in any case, he wouldn't have to pay you anymore. I heard they're going to demolish this building."

The blow was direct. The landlord paled visibly, even in the dim light, his eyes widening. He opened his mouth to protest, to lie, but the words died on his lips. Because then, from the mists of the other floors, like angry specters, figures began to appear. Six women, two with crying babies in their arms, seven men with faces hardened by rage and poverty. They had been listening. Waiting.

"You old fart and liar!" shouted one woman, pointing an accusing finger at the landlord. "How dare you charge us in advance for the monthly payment?!"

"That's right! There's still two weeks to go!" added another, her voice a burst of collective indignation.

The complaints erupted, then, a cacophony of angry voices, harsh words, and long-held accusations. The landlord found himself cornered, his lie exposed in front of an angry crowd.

Shen Wenlang watched the scene with disdain, a sphinx amid the chaos. And then he added his two cents, his voice projecting above the din with terrifying clarity: "Didn't you know? These buildings were sold and are going to be demolished."

The silence that followed was brief but encouraging, followed by an even louder outburst of shouts and protests. "What?!"

The uproar erupted in all its fury. Taking advantage of the distraction, Shen Wenlang slipped between the angry bodies, completely ignoring the landlord who was now trying, futilely, to calm the mob. With a quick movement, he inserted the key he had taken from Gao Tu's keychain—another small intrusion that he now justified—into the lock, turned it, pushed the door open, and slipped inside the small apartment. He slammed it shut behind him, cutting off the sound of the growing commotion in the hallway. The dusty, familiar silence of Gao Tu's home enveloped him, a surreal contrast to the chaos he had just left behind.

Wenlang stood still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, broken only by the dim light of a streetlamp filtering through the dirty window. The first thing that caught his attention were the cardboard boxes, few and modest, stacked with a precision that betrayed Gao Tu's meticulousness. They were labeled in clear, functional lettering: "Clothes," "Books," "Kitchen Utensils." The austerity of the belongings struck him with sudden force. It was so little for an entire life.

A black garbage bag, bulging with discarded items, and some old furniture pushed aside near the door completed the scene of a hasty move. Shen Wenlang had already taken care of furnishing the new house down to the last detail, but something about Gao Tu's belligerence in getting rid of these vestiges of his old life gave him a twinge of... Admiration? Sadness?

He moved through the confined space, each step echoing in the incipient emptiness. A few steps took him to the tiny kitchen, others to the living room, which was little more than a hallway. The half-open door to the bedroom called to him, that place where the confrontation between the spray and shared vulnerability had taken place.

His duty, he told himself, was to make sure everything was ready for the move. He approached the boxes, noticing that some flaps were still open, waiting for a last glance or a last item. He knelt in front of the box labeled "Clothes," his curiosity piqued by its contents. He expected to find worn-out garments, faded by years and cheap washing.

But no.

When he opened it, he found crisp, new online shopping bags. His brow furrowed, a line of confusion creasing his forehead. He carefully pulled out several bags. Soft cotton shirts in colors he had never associated with Gao Tu: soft greens, muted reds, pastel orange, immaculate whites. Modern-cut pants, linen shorts... and at the bottom, two pairs of white sneakers, impeccable. It wasn't the wardrobe of someone hiding. It was the wardrobe of someone trying to be reborn.

And then, among the new clothes, his hand touched the cold, familiar surface of the laptop.

A brief war raged inside him. Ethics screamed at him to respect Gao Tu's privacy. But curiosity—and a deep concern bordering on obsession—was a stronger magnet. The memory of the quotes page, of the open document he had only glimpsed, burned in his mind.

With movements that felt both deliberate and furtive, he took out the laptop and sat down in the old chair at the desk. The wood creaked under his weight, groaning as it had done under Gao Tu's so many times before. He opened the lid. The screen lit up immediately, without asking for a password. It was a confidence or carelessness that struck him as both touching and reckless. His index finger, usually busy signing million-dollar contracts, slid over the touchpad with nervous clumsiness. He navigated through the desktops, avoiding looking too closely, until he found the "Documents" folder. There it was, with a name that made him frown again: "FinancialStrategy.xlsx."

He opened it.

The columns and rows unfolded, displaying a level of organization and analysis that impressed even Shen Wenlang. Detailed budgets, savings calculations, payment plans... and then his gaze fell on a specific column, marked with a word that took his breath away:

PARASITE.

Below it, there were no numbers. There were dates. Amounts. Chilling descriptions.

"03/04–50,000: 'Dad's medical emergency' (Lie: gambling)"

"04/15–80,000: 'Car repair' (Lie: gambling debt)"

"05/01– 100,000:  'Safe investment' (Lie: ?) —CAUTION: threatened to go to the company, but nothing was handed over."

Each entry was a stab in the heart. A meticulous documentation of years of financial and emotional abuse. It was irrefutable proof of the leech Gao Tu called father. Shen Wenlang could almost feel the weight of each transfer, the resignation in each entry, the fear in the last entry.

His heart beat with a fresh, silent fury. Now he understood everything. The inexplicable poverty. The worn-out clothes. The perpetual exhaustion. The desperate need to hide. Gao Tu wasn't just fighting his own biology; he was fighting a vampire with whom he shared blood. And the fear that even this one would find out he was an Omega.

Shen Wenlang closed his eyes, clutching the laptop in his hands as if he could squeeze the injustice out of it. The image of Gao Tu, pale and asleep in the hospital, overlapped with the cold Excel cells. It wasn't just stress. It was a burden designed to break anyone.

And at that moment, the promise to protect him, to give him a safe home, ceased to be a whim or a possession. It became a mission.

Chapter Text

His body sank into the wooden bench, a crude piece of furniture that seemed to protest under his weight. Shen Wenlang let his head rest against the hard backrest, his gaze fixed on the branches of an ancient tree swaying with a languor he could not share. The landscape was picturesque, tranquil, the kind of scene that would calm any restless soul. But to Shen Wenlang, each sway of the leaves was a reminder of time slipping away, a metronome of his growing anxiety. Four days. A number that felt heavy, ominous, like a slab on his chest. Four days since Gao Tu collapsed in his office, since the world had shrunk to waiting for a blink, a whisper, any sign that he would return to him.

"If you keep releasing pheromones, they'll find out we're here, Wenlang," Hua Yong's voice cut through his reverie, harsh, devoid of empathy.

Shen Wenlang turned his head lazily, as if the movement required monumental effort. There was the Enigma, reclining on the bench as if on a private yacht, a pair of high-end binoculars half-abandoned in his lap as he sipped a strawberry frozen with a straw. The absurdity of the situation—stalking Sheng Shaoyou and Chen Pinming in an outdoor yoga class like two teenage stalkers—did not escape him, but it was the unspoken price of the temporary truce with Hua Yong.

"If our roles were reversed, it would be worse," Shen Wenlang complained, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His lily scent, often so controlled, emanated from him in waves of worry and impatience.

A middle-aged woman with a cart full of brightly colored ice pops passed by them, hawking his wares.

Hua Yong slowly lowered his binoculars, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Want a popsicle to sweeten your bitter taste?" he asked Shen Wenlang, his tone mocking.

"How kind," Shen Wenlang replied, bitterness and sarcasm mixing into a poisonous cocktail.

Hua Yong let out a dry sound, a "tks" of amusement, and raised his hand slightly. As if emerging from the shadows, Cheng Yu, his Alpha secretary, appeared at his side with supernatural efficiency.

"Let me buy it, boss," Cheng Yu offered, his voice a model of neutrality.

Hua Yong nodded, already absorbed again in spying on his obsession, and Shen Wenlang rolled his eyes in irritation. As Cheng Yu negotiated with the saleswoman, Shen Wenlang's phone vibrated in his pocket. A familiar number. The hospital.

"Go ahead," he replied, his voice rougher than intended.

The doctor's voice on the other end was cautious. 

"Mr. Shen, Mr. Gao has woken up, but..."

Shen Wenlang's eyebrows instantly furrowed. The "but" stabbed his heart like an icy knife. He jumped to his feet, the bench creaking with the violence of the movement. 

"But what? Where is he?" he demanded, beginning to stride away, completely forgetting Hua Yong, Cheng Yu, the paddles, everything.

Hua Yong turned his head, watching Shen Wenlang's stiff back walk away. A strange smile, almost one of resignation, touched his lips. 

"Looks like he didn't want paddles," he muttered to himself.

Cheng Yu, who had approached with two popsicles in hand, frowned at Shen Wenlang's hasty retreat. 

"Actually, Secretary Gao woke up and left his room, and no one knows where he's gone," he reported, his tone professional but with a hint of concern. "I'm sure he must be with his sister. They were both admitted to Heci," Cheng Yu suggested, trying to find some logic.

But Hua Yong slowly shook his head, his gaze lost in the direction Shen Wenlang had taken. 

"But his sister is on another floor in the hospital, unlike Gao Tu." He knew this because he had personally checked the records, another of his little intrusions. He sighed, a sound unusually laden with something that could be... Concern? "Cheng Yu," he said, his voice regaining its usual tone of command disguised as suggestion. "Send flowers to the hospital. To Gao Tu's sister's room. The best ones."

Cheng Yu nodded serenely, putting away the pallets that no longer had a recipient. "Of course, boss."

While Cheng Yu took care of the flowers, Hua Yong raised his binoculars again, but he no longer looked toward the yoga class. His gaze was lost on the horizon, wondering where the hell the stubborn Omega was who had managed to awaken the dragon in a way that even he, the master manipulator, had not fully anticipated.

...

When Gao Tu opened his eyes, it was with the slowness of someone emerging from the depths of a dark and silent ocean. His eyelids felt heavy, as if they were made of lead, a pleasant heaviness that spoke of deep rest, not the sickly exhaustion he was accustomed to. As he blinked, clearing the fog of sleep, he felt... different. Noticeably different. The slab of bodily pain he had carried like a second skin was gone. The specter of death, that constant presence that haunted him due to his chronic abuse of suppressants and painkillers, had vanished. For the first time in years, his body was not a battlefield.

His vision, still a little blurry, focused on the ceiling. White. Immaculate. The low hum of a monitor and the unmistakable smell of antiseptic confirmed what he already sensed: he was in a hospital.

What have you done now, Peien?

The thought came naturally, a question directed at the intruder, the actor who had inhabited his body. With a cautious movement, he turned his head on the pillow, surprised by its softness. His gaze fell on a latest-model smartphone resting on the nightstand. It wasn't his; his was old and broken. A pang of confusion shot through him. He stretched out his arm, feeling the gentle tug of the IV in the back of his hand, and picked up the device. He examined it, unlocking it with the ease of facial recognition. The screen lit up, displaying 11:03 a.m. and a date that left him speechless. Months? Had he been here that long?

With fingers trembling slightly, he navigated through the apps. Social media, chats full of unread messages... and then he found it. A file, meticulously titled, "For When You Wake Up (READ IN ORDER)." He opened it.

The first lines, in bold and capital letters, made him hold his breath: "PRETEND TO HAVE LOST YOUR MEMORY FOR A WHILE TO READ ALL THIS." And just below: "ASK THE DOCTOR FOR HELP."

Gao Tu frowned, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. Why? What had happened? He was about to continue reading when the soft squeak of the door opening interrupted him.

A tall man in a white coat and a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face entered. He wore an inhibitory patch on the back of his neck, a standard precaution. But then, Gao Tu's nose twitched involuntarily. The air in the room... was permeated. It wasn't the cold, sterile smell of the hospital. It was saturated with a scent that was both deeply familiar and strangely comforting: lilies. Sweet, earthy, soothing lilies. Shen Wenlang's pheromones. But they weren't the aggressive, dominant, hostile pheromones he remembered. These were... kind. Protective. And intermingled with them, like a perfect harmony, he could discern his own sage scent, clearer and more defined than ever. So Wenlang knew? He knew, and... he wasn't angry?

"You're awake," said the doctor. His voice was calm, but Gao Tu, trained to detect the subtlest nuances in the voices of Alphas, picked up on the wave of genuine joy and relief emanating from him.

Gao Tu swallowed, remembering the bold instructions. He played his part.

"Where am I? Who are you?" His voice sounded hoarse from disuse, but clear. He knew exactly where he was and who Doctor Han was, one of the best specialists in scent glands in the country.

The doctor paused, his relaxed demeanor tensing slightly. "You don't know where you are?" he asked, moving cautiously toward the bed.

Instantly, Gao Tu's instinct took over. Without thinking, he released a surge of his pheromones. But it wasn't the timid, suppressed release of before. It was a clear, powerful discharge, loaded with an acidic, defensive warning. The scent of sage, usually herbal and soothing, became sharp and painful, like a splinter.

The effect was immediate. Doctor Alpha, probably a Beta, stopped dead in his tracks three steps from the bed, as if he had collided with a glass wall. His eyes widened behind his mask, not with fear, but with utter surprise. It was not the reaction of a Beta or a low-ranking Alpha. It was the reaction of someone overwhelmed by a complex and powerful chemical signal.

Gao Tu narrowed his eyes, analyzing the situation. It wasn't just his scent. It was the mixture. Shen Wenlang's trace of lilies permeated everything, entangling with his own sage in a way that created a new olfactory signature, a territory marked and defended jointly. And his own scent... it was more solid, easier to control. He didn't need to be in heat to project it. While he slept, his inner Omega had been releasing pheromones at a high level, a constant defensive barrier. And Shen Wenlang... Shen Wenlang had been responding. Saturating the atmosphere with his essence, not to challenge, but to calm. To protect. To give him security. The idea was so overwhelming that he found it hard to breathe.

"I'm Dr. Han, from the Alpha and Omega scent gland specialty area," said the man, regaining his composure, though his voice had a slight tremor. "I was actually looking at your case. You haven't woken up in four days, but... I didn't expect you to remember nothing that happened." He paused strategically, searching for a file. "Your sister is also hospitalized here."

Gao Qing. The name was a direct blow to his heart. Had Li Pei En not signed the discharge papers? Or... had he not had time, caught up in this drama, just as he himself had not had time to say goodbye to his own life?

The mention of his sister was the push he needed. With sudden determination, Gao Tu slid to the edge of the bed. His feet found the cold floor. He stood up, a little unsteady at first, but the stability he felt in his muscles surprised him. There was no trembling, no trace of weakness. He grabbed a sweater hanging from a nearby chair—a pastel orange color he would never have chosen himself, but which smelled strongly of Shen Wenlang—and put it on. The fabric was soft, and the Alpha's scent enveloped him like an invisible embrace.

"Wait, you can't just leave like that. I have to run some tests," protested the doctor, alarmed.

Gao Tu looked at him, and this time his voice was firm and clear. "I'm sorry, but I do remember my sister."

He grabbed the iron bar of the IV stand, using it for support as he walked toward the door. Each step was more confident than the last. Li Pei En... The actor... had rejected all painkillers, all lethal injections. He had forced his body to detoxify, to heal. He had shown him that he could live, not as a fake Beta, but as an Omega. A soft pout, a mixture of gratitude and disbelief, formed on his lips. While he poisoned himself out of fear, a stranger had shown him the way to his own strength.

As he pushed open the heavy door to his room, he found not the deserted hallway he had expected, but a wall of black suits and alert stares. Five imposing men, wearing earpieces and the unmistakable posture of high-level bodyguards, blocked the way. Their expressions were sterile, but their eyes assessed him, registering every detail of his appearance. The world outside his hospital bubble was much more complicated than he had imagined.

The bodyguard leader's gaze fixed on Gao Tu with renewed intensity. It wasn't just the inspection; it was the way the Omega wore his sweater, the way his scent—a potent, distinct blend of sage and Shen Wenlang's unmistakable lilies—enveloped him like a second skin. It was a statement of belonging as clear as a neon sign.

"Where are you going?" The bodyguard's question was firm, a reflection of his training, but tinged with an unusual softness, an instinctive respect for someone who was clearly... important.

Gao Tu raised an eyebrow, a defiant gesture that suited his now more defined features. 

"Don't follow me," he ordered, and his voice, though not loud, had a commanding quality he had not possessed before. He began walking toward the elevators with a determination that made it clear he was not asking for permission.

"We have to follow him," murmured a second bodyguard, his voice heavy with apprehension.

The leader sighed, an exhalation of deep resignation. The image of Shen Wenlang's threat to his hands was still vivid in his mind. 

"Two of you stay here. The rest of you follow me," he conceded, pointing to two of his men. "We have to follow him at a distance. We can't leave him alone."

As the small squad organized itself, Gao Tu had already pressed the elevator button. The doors closed softly, muffling the murmur of voices. Inside the silent cabin, he took out his phone. The screen lit up, displaying Li Pei En's document. He began to read, his eyes scanning the lines that detailed the weeks of chaos, confrontations, and the strange and tentative truce with Shen Wenlang. Every word was a revelation, a fragment of a life he had lived but did not remember. A wave of conflicting emotions—disbelief, gratitude, terror—overwhelmed him.

The soft ding of the elevator arriving at his floor snapped him out of his trance. He quickly put away his phone and stepped out, pushing his IV pole. His gaze swept the hallway until it found a nurse.

"Miss, where is Miss Gao Qing?" he asked, his voice calm but with an underlying urgency.

The nurse frowned slightly when she saw him. The patient's uniform, the IV pole, but above all, the aura of belligerence and that complex, powerful scent emanating from him created a jarring image. 

"In room XX," she said after a brief moment of hesitation, nodding toward a corridor.

"Thank you," Gao Tu murmured with a nod, and headed in that direction.

When he reached the door, he paused. He took a deep breath. Li Pei En had kept in touch with Qing, and for that he would be eternally grateful. He pushed the door open gently.

The scene he found instantly reassured him. Gao Qing was sitting on the bed, her face fuller and rosier than the last time he had seen her. A doctor was standing next to her, finishing taking her blood pressure and murmuring instructions about her latest tests. Seeing Gao Tu, the doctor smiled calmly and, with a discreet gesture, withdrew from the room, leaving the siblings alone.

Gao Qing's gaze fell on his brother's, and a broad, relieved smile lit up her face. "Gege!"

Gao Tu quickly approached her, an equally genuine smile stretching his lips. He hugged her gently, feeling his sister's thinness, but also a new strength in her embrace. 

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you," he murmured against his hair, closing his eyes. The guilt over his absence, real or perceived, was a tangible weight.

"Don't worry," Qing reassured him, stroking his back. "You were writing every day. And when you weren't... Shen Wenlang came to see me." The mention of the Alpha's name made her grimace slightly, a mixture of surprise and unresolved suspicion.

Gao Tu pulled away from the embrace, him eyes widening in genuine astonishment. "Wenlang came to see you?" He slumped into the chair beside the bed, the IV pole squeaking slightly.

"I was surprised too," Qing admitted with a nervous smile. Her gaze shifted to her brother's arm, to the IV and the half-consumed IV fluid. "I told you to take care of yourself, Gege, look at you. But..." She paused, her smile fading, replaced by an expression of keen curiosity. Her eyes narrowed, studying him in a new way. "Do they know you're an Omega? Why didn't you tell me?"

The question fell between them like a stone in a calm pond. There was no accusation in his tone, only deep confusion and a hint of pain at the secret kept for so, so long.

Chapter Text

The air in the hospital hallway suddenly thickened, becoming heavy and difficult to breathe. Shen Wenlang burst in like a storm, his presence filling every inch with the space. His brow was so furrowed it looked carved from stone, and his eyes, dark and flashing, swept the corridor with such obvious fury that several of the bodyguards, men trained for danger, instinctively lowered their heads, avoiding his gaze. The doctor, pale as the surrounding walls, stood frozen, his lips pressed into a white line, unable to utter a sound under the overwhelming weight of the Alpha's aura.

Shen Wenlang's lily scent, an elegant and controlled fragrance, had become an entity of its own: dense, oppressive, charged with fierce anguish and contained rage that guaranteed devastating consequences. It was the smell of violated territory, of a precious possession lost.

But then, the storm stopped dead in its tracks.

Suddenly, at the end of the hallway, a figure appeared. Gao Tu walked with an ethereal calm, pushing his IV pole, his steps soft but sure. He seemed lost in thought, navigating between the remnants of the fog from his long sleep and the shocking revelations Li Pei En had left him. He hadn't read everything—it was pages and pages of chaos and change—but he had absorbed enough. He knew about his improved health, the truth exposed, and the... relationship. That word, so loaded and new, echoed in his mind along with the influence of Shen Wenlang's voice in the audio recordings he had listened to: the apologies, the vulnerability, the promise not to let him go. "If you are that Omega. Even if you were a Beta, I don't want you to give up or walk away from me."

A wry smile, bitter and hopeful at the same time, had formed on his lips as he listened. Li Pei En had shown him the abyss of an alternate future, a tragic ending written on the pages of a novel that no longer contained them. This... this was a new chapter. One that he, Gao Tu, had control over writing.

And as he turned the corner, he came face to face with the author of that new plot.

His eyes met Shen Wenlang's.

It was a spark. An instant short circuit in reality.

The fury, the anguish, Shen Wenlang's oppressive aura of power... it all collapsed. It vanished like smoke in the wind, replaced by an expression of disbelief so raw, so vulnerable, that it took Gao Tu's breath away.

Shen Wenlang moved. It wasn't a walk, it was a restrained stampede. He passed between the bodyguards and the doctor as if they didn't exist, his world reduced to the figure of the Omega standing before him, alive, conscious, awake.

And then, he embraced him.

It wasn't a possessive or dominant gesture. It was an embrace of surrender, of absolute need. Shen Wenlang wrapped his arms around Gao Tu, burying his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply like a man who had just found air after being on the verge of drowning. His body, so large and powerful, trembled slightly.

"You don't know how long I waited for you to wake up," he murmured against his skin, his voice a hoarse whisper, broken by an emotion so intense it was almost painful.

Gao Tu's defenses crumbled. A tremor ran through his lips, and before he could contain himself, tears began to roll down his cheeks, silent and hot. And you don't know how long I've waited for you to hold me like this, he thought, the bitterness of years of fear and hiding mingling with the overwhelming wave of relief and hope. Always terrified that if you knew, you would push me away and hate me.

Him didn't resist. Him didn't want to. He let Shen Wenlang's arms wrap around his, sinking into that embrace that felt like a safe harbor after an eternal storm. And when his own arms rose to encircle the Alpha's torso, feeling the tension and strength beneath the suit, him heard the sigh Shen Wenlang exhaled against his neck. It was a sound of deep peace, of an essential piece of the universe finally returning to its place.

.

.

.

The calm that followed the embrace was as dense and fragile as glass. Under Shen Wenlang's intense and concerned gaze, Gao Tu allowed himself to be guided back to his room, to the stretcher that now felt less like a prison and more like a temporary refuge. Medical protocol had to be followed. He lay down, feeling the softness of the cool sheets against his back, as a Beta nurse with expert hands gently removed his IV. A small cotton swab pressed the tiny insertion point, and then sterile gauze covered it with adhesive tape.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gao Tu caught Shen Wenlang's gaze. He wasn't watching the procedure; he was fixated on the small gauze patch on the back of Gao Tu's hand, as if that tiny wound were a crack in the universe. His expression was a mixture of fierce concentration and a vulnerability that still baffled Gao Tu.

"You'll get a bruise," Shen Wenlang murmured, his voice, so laden with authority, sounding flat, almost disgusted with himself for allowing something like this to happen to Gao Tu, even at the hands of a doctor. His lips pressed into a thin line, resisting a pout that would have looked absurd on his hard-featured face.

Gao Tu couldn't help but let a small laugh, soft and laden with genuine amazement, escape her lips. It was so surreal. This man, this S-class Alpha who could paralyze a room with his presence, was worried about a bruise. 

"It's okay," he replied, his voice soft as silk. "The doctor will give me some ointment." He looked down, feeling the residual moisture from his tears drying on his eyelashes. Everything was so... light. So different from the constant weight he was used to. It was as if he had been carrying a backpack full of stones for years and suddenly someone had taken it away. He still couldn't quite take it all in.

Shen Wenlang didn't flinch. His hand rose, not with his usual brusqueness, but with slow, careful deliberation. His long, elegant fingers reached toward Gao Tu's face, and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped away the last traces of moisture on his cheeks with an almost reverential gentleness. The contact was electric and reassuring at the same time.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," he said, and this time his voice had a hint of the old command, but softened by genuine concern that made it sound almost like a plea. "If you're feeling unwell, please tell me. Don't keep it to yourself. Now... now I'll know why." He paused, then added, as if remembering something crucial: "Besides, you still have to move."

Gao Tu nodded, a simple nod of his head. "Okay," he repeated, the sweetest, most hopeful word he had uttered in a long time.

At that moment, the door opened, and Nurse Beta entered with a tray. On it was a steaming bowl of plain oatmeal and a glass of water. Shen Wenlang gestured for it, but the nurse, with a professional smile, handed it directly to Gao Tu.

"You need to regain your strength, Mr. Gao," him said kindly before leaving.

Gao Tu picked up the spoon. The simple aroma of the oatmeal seemed delicious to him. He took the first bite under the watchful gaze of Shen Wenlang, who had sat down in the chair next to the bed, watching his every move as if feeding himself were the most important feat in the world. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the future, though uncertain, did not seem frightening. It seemed, against all odds, promising.

...

Gao Tu's last day in the hospital unfolded with a procedural calm that stood in stark contrast to the emotional turmoil of the previous days. Under the watchful and now constantly present gaze of Shen Wenlang—who had turned the chair next to his bed into a sort of throne from which he supervised every medical interaction with a frown—he was transferred to Dr. Han's office for a final evaluation.

The doctor's office was austere, lit by the cold light of computer screens and reports piled on the desk. Dr. Han, the same Alpha whose reaction to his pheromones Gao Tu vaguely remembered, greeted him with careful professionalism. In his hands, he held a thick file: Gao Tu's medical history. But it wasn't the old history, the one about the furtive visits for suppressants and painkillers. This one was new. It documented the weeks under Li Pei En's care: the initial visits, the decision to stop the inhibitors, the introduction of vitamins, the terrible withdrawal crisis, and the final collapse.

"Mr. Gao," the doctor began, his fingers flipping through the pages filled with charts and notes. "Reviewing your case... the improvement in your liver and kidney toxicity markers since you stopped the suppressants is remarkable. Your hormone profile is beginning to stabilize, though it is still... volatile." He paused, looking up at Gao Tu. His expression was serious, but not reproachful. "The lack of previous concern for your long-term well-being was... significant."

The phrase hung in the air, a clinical euphemism for years of self-medication and bodily abuse. Gao Tu kept his eyes down, staring at the pattern on the carpet. Accepting his true nature had been, ironically, the most terrifying and liberating act of his life, and it had made him a stranger in his own body.

Then the doctor asked that made Gao Tu's throat go dry.

"In the past, due to your... negativity towards your Omega condition and efforts to hide it, did you suffer harassment? Additional pressure?"

The silence that followed was heavy. Gao Tu did not answer. Not with words. But his gaze drifted unconsciously to the closed door of the office, beyond which he knew Shen Wenlang was waiting, a fierce and protective presence. And then, in the darkest recesses of his mind, the image of another man emerged. His father. The constant source of demands, of debts, of glances, of contempt when he thought Gao Tu wasn't looking, of that dull, constant pressure that had been as much or more of a motivator to hide than Shen Wenlang's own disdain for omegas.

As far as he knew, or could tell, his father had not been writing while Li Pei En inhabited his body.

The revelation sent a silent chill down his spine. Li Pei En, the stranger, the actor, had not only given him the strength to face his biology; he had also, perhaps unwittingly, given him a respite from his most voracious parasite. He had intercepted the chain of extortion, even if only temporarily.

"No," Gao Tu finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper. It was a half-truth. He didn't want to talk about it. Not here. Not now. Not with a doctor whose main interest was his body chemistry, not his poisoned family history.

Dr. Han watched him for a long moment, as if he could read the shadows behind that "no." But he nodded, respecting the boundary. 

"Understood. The important thing is that you're on the right track now. Your stress levels have dropped dramatically, despite the recent incident. That's crucial."

The appointment ended with instructions for a new ointment, reinforced supplements, and orders for relative rest. When Gao Tu left the office, he found Shen Wenlang exactly where he had left him, his posture rigid, his gaze questioning.

"Everything okay?" asked the Alpha, his voice low, laden with a concern he no longer knew how to hide.

Gao Tu nodded once. "Yes. Everything's fine." And for the first time, as he said it, he felt that maybe, just maybe, it could become true. The road ahead was full of pending conversations and demons to face, but he would no longer walk alone. And for now, his father remained a silent echo, thanks to a benevolent ghost that had inhabited his skin.

Chapter Text

The interior of Shen Wenlang's car was a world apart: quiet, air-conditioned, smelling of new leather and impeccable cleanliness. Gao Tu sank into the passenger seat, his gaze lost in the urban landscape gliding past the window. These were not the familiar, gray, somewhat dilapidated streets of his old neighborhood. Now they were entering the heart of Jianghu, where corporate skyscrapers reflected each other, luxury hotels glowed with discreet neon signs, and the city's largest shopping mall stood like a temple to consumerism. It was a scene he had only seen from afar before, from the window of a crowded bus.

"Do you want to eat something before we get to your new home, or should we order something when we get there?"

Shen Wenlang's voice snapped him out of his reverie. Gao Tu turned his head and met the Alpha's gaze. It was no longer the cold, appraising look of his boss, nor the possessive fury of the wounded Alpha. It was... soft. Intense, yes, but with a warmth that made something stir in Gao Tu's stomach. It was a look that disarmed him, that made him feel seen in a whole new way, and he liked it, even though it made him feel deliciously uneasy. He knew, with instinctive certainty, that this look was meant only for him.

"Let's order in, preferably," he replied without hesitation. He remembered Li Pei En's advice, whispered in the digital pages: regain your confidence. And confidence began with claiming a space of his own, even if that space was a gift.

"Fine, at home it is," Shen Wenlang agreed, and a smile—a genuine one, not the sarcastic or cold grimace he was used to—played on his lips.

Ugh. When he smiled, he looked devastatingly attractive. Gao Tu quickly turned to the window, feigning a sudden interest in the architecture of a building, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

Shen Wenlang, driving with the confidence of someone who knows every inch of the city, didn't wipe the smile from his lips. He had spent the last few nights, between vigils at the hospital, personally supervising the move of Gao Tu's few belongings to the new house. He didn't understand why the omega wanted to keep those old pieces of furniture, now crammed into the garage, but he respected his wishes. The only things he had meticulously organized were the new clothes, the laptop, the little things that spoke of a new beginning.

The vehicle suddenly turned onto a tree-lined and surprisingly quiet street, far from the hustle and bustle of downtown. Gao Tu frowned.

"Where are we?" he asked, turning to Shen Wenlang just as the car stopped in front of an imposing security gate, at least six meters high, which opened with a soft hum.

A chill of apprehension ran down Gao Tu's spine. Where the hell is he taking me to lock me up?

A Beta security guard, impeccable in his uniform, approached the window that Shen Wenlang rolled down. "Good afternoon, Chairman Shen," he greeted with a nod, his curious gaze sliding inside toward Gao Tu.

"This is the one who will be living here," Shen Wenlang said in his usual tone of unrelenting seriousness, nodding toward Gao Tu.

The guard bowed slightly in respect. Gao Tu, sensing the tension, forced a cordial smile. "Nice to meet you, I'm Gao Tu," he said, his voice firmer than he felt. And then, driven by a desire to break the oppressive formality, he added, ignoring Shen Wenlang's surprised look, "But he'll be living here too." He shrugged his eyes, as if to downplay it.

The guard blinked, taken aback by the correction. "Oh, well. It's also a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Shen recently purchased this house, but I didn't think it was for his partner." The words came out before he could stop himself, and he immediately bit his lip, aware that he had overstepped a line.

Gao Tu arched his eyebrows, a playful smile playing on his lips. Shen Wenlang, his face slightly tense, muttered a curt "Go ahead," and the guard hurried away.

The car drove through private streets flanked by immaculate, manicured gardens until it stopped in front of a house that took Gao Tu's breath away. It wasn't a house; it was a modern two-story fortress, with large green spaces on the sides and back, protected by high walls and a designer roof that guaranteed absolute privacy. It seemed that Shen Wenlang had bought half a block just to make sure no one could bother them.

Gao Tu stared at it in disbelief. "I need to get some big pets to help me patrol the garden," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, imagining guard dogs patrolling the perimeter.

Shen Wenlang's response was soft, laden with a shared memory that Gao Tu had forgotten. "A few years ago, you told me we should adopt a puppy."

Gao Tu looked back at him, surprise written all over his face. Had he really said that? When? In one of those rare moments of vulnerability during their college years, before fear and lies solidified between them?

The words came out of his mouth before he could think, driven by a surge of gratitude and something deeper, more tender, that was beginning to blossom among the rubble of his past.

"Thank you, A-Lang."

The nickname—intimate, almost childish—sounded strangely natural in the still air of the car. Shen Wenlang turned to face him completely, his gaze wide, surprise and something else, something warm and unsuspecting, shining in his eyes. The world outside the car, the luxurious house, the high walls, everything faded away for a second. Only that name existed, stretched between them like a fragile, newly built bridge over an abyss that finally seemed to be closing.

"Let's take a look." Gao Tu's decision was quick, almost a reflex to break the charged tension that the nickname "A-Lang" had created inside the car. He unbuckled his seatbelt with barely trembling fingers, opened the door, and got out, standing in front of the imposing facade of the house. He took a deep breath; the air smelled of freshly cut grass and damp earth, a scent of new beginnings.

Shen Wenlang followed close behind, his footsteps silent on the immaculate pavement. He stepped slightly ahead at the entrance, pulling out the silver card he should have given him days ago, before the world fell apart. He swiped it through the reader with a soft click, and the front door opened silently, revealing the interior.

Gao Tu crossed the threshold, feeling the polished wooden floor resonate beneath his modest shoes. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. And then, he let out a sigh of genuine surprise. From the outside, the house screamed luxury and power, a fortress of concrete and design. But inside... inside was different. Warm light streamed in through large windows, illuminating a spacious but cozy room with modern yet comfortable furniture in earth tones and soft grays that invited you to stay. It wasn't the cold ostentation he had feared. He walked through the first floor with growing curiosity: two bedrooms, a study, a kitchen that was almost the size of him old apartment, fully equipped, but still seemed to be waiting to be lived in. Everything was new, impeccable, but it had... soul. The potential of a home.

"Isn't it too much?" The whisper escaped him, directed at the air, a confession of disbelief.

"Too much?" Shen Wenlang's voice was right behind him, much closer than he expected.

Before he could answer, he felt an arm wrap around his waist with possessive firmness but inexplicably gentle. Shen Wenlang pulled him closer, cutting off his retreat. Gao Tu suppressed the instinct to tense up, to escape. Instead, he let his hands rest on the Alpha's solid biceps, feeling the thin fabric of his suit and the hard muscle beneath.

"I feel like it's not even enough," Shen Wenlang murmured against his ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down his spine. Gao Tu could feel the Alpha's gaze on his profile, studying the soft blush he knew was rising to his nose and cheeks, warming even the tips of his ears.

With a courage that surprised even himself, Gao Tu turned his head slightly to look at him. A mischievous smile, small but real, played on his lips. "I will accept visitors," he said, his voice tinged with defiance, "but you cannot live here, even though I told the guard that."

Shen Wenlang's expression froze for a fraction of a second, a momentary pallor of disbelief quickly replaced by a dark, burning determination. He didn't get angry. He didn't protest. Instead, he leaned forward, closing the few inches between them until their foreheads almost touched.

"I like you very much, Tututu," he whispered, and the second nickname, even more intimate and absurd than the first, sounded like a solemn declaration.

And then, he closed the final distance.

His lips found Gao Tu's with a restrained urgency that made the world stop. It wasn't a demanding or rough kiss, but overwhelmingly delicate, as if he were savoring something precious and long-awaited. Gao Tu opened his eyes slightly, surprised by the intensity, by the speed at which everything was happening. He felt Shen Wenlang's lips moving over his, soft but insistent, sucking on his lower lip with a tenderness that took his breath away.

And then, the kiss deepened. Shen Wenlang's tongue sought entry, and Gao Tu, with a muffled moan that escaped him without permission, granted it. It was unlike any kiss he had ever imagined or remembered. Where Jiang Heng was fire and familiar passion, Shen Wenlang was dominance and surrender, a paradox that drove him mad. The Alpha's tongue tangled with his in a slow, deep dance, exploring, claiming, possessing with patience that was itself a form of desperation.

Shen Wenlang lowered his hands, his palms resting on Gao Tu's buttocks through the fabric of his pants, squeezing with a force that was both a question and an answer. Then, with a fluid movement that left Gao Tu breathless, he lifted him slightly, carrying him as if he weighed nothing, and sat down with him on the nearest sofa, settling him on his lap without breaking the kiss.

Gao Tu clung to him, one arm around Shen Wenlang's broad shoulders, the other hand finding his cheek, his fingers touching the slightly rough skin of his stubble. He began to respond, at first timidly, then with a growing urgency that surprised him. He gently bit Shen Wenlang's lower lip, an act of small defiance and possession.

Shen Wenlang frowned against him mouth, a low growl vibrating in his chest, but he didn't pull away. On the contrary, the kiss grew deeper, wetter, more charged with everything left unsaid.

When Gao Tu finally pulled away, panting, his lips were swollen and sensitive. He looked directly into Shen Wenlang's eyes, which shone with a light he had never seen in them before: a raw, vulnerable sweetness so intense it made him dizzy.

"I like you too, very much, Wenlang," him breathed, the words coming out between gasps, but clear and sincere.

The smile that lit up Shen Wenlang's face then was so bright, so genuinely happy, that Gao Tu knew, in that instant, that no wall, no matter how high, would be enough to protect him from this man. And perhaps, for the first time, he didn't want to be protected.

Chapter Text

The kisses, though charged with obvious electricity, did not escalate into something more frenzied. They transformed into a slow and deliberate exploration, a tactile map of rediscovery. Shen Wenlang's hands roamed Gao Tu's back through the fabric of his shirt, pressing with a vigor that spoke of possessiveness and a need that had been contained for too long. Gao Tu, for his part, clung to the Alpha's shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of the suit, responding to each caress with a tremor that was not of fear, but of overwhelming excitement.

It was then that Shen Wenlang tilted his head, burying his face in Gao Tu's neck. His lips found the sensitive skin just below the jawline, and then his teeth closed with a gentleness that bordered on roughness around his earlobe, dangerously close to where his scent gland beat, hidden beneath the skin.

A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped Gao Tu's lips. His body arched against Shen Wenlang's. "Tomorrow, I have to go back to the office!" he moaned, pushing the Alpha's chest with a force that was more symbolic than real.

Shen Wenlang pulled away just enough to look at him, a sly, mischievous smile curving his lips. His eyebrows rose in a gesture that was meant to be innocent but only came across as exasperatingly seductive. "You don't have to go," he murmured, his voice a low purr against Gao Tu's skin before burying his nose in his neck again, his tongue tracing a wet, hot line that made the Omega close his eyes tightly.

Shen Wenlang's lily scent began to release more deliberately, no longer like a blanket of calm, but like a net of seduction, dense and intoxicating. Gao Tu felt his own resistance dissolve, his body responding to the Alpha's call. He squeezed Shen Wenlang's shoulders, his knuckles white. 

"Wenlang, stop," he breathed, his voice a thread of pleading.

Shen Wenlang paused again, looking up. A spark of dangerous amusement glinted in his eyes. 

"Are you ordering me to stop?" he asked playfully, his long, nimble fingers sliding under Gao Tu's shirt. The cold palm against the Omega's flat, warm stomach made him shudder violently, his abdominal muscles contracting under the touch.

"Weren't we going to eat?" Gao Tu tried to protest, but the words came out broken. The position had changed; now he was leaning back against the sofa cushions, and Shen Wenlang was hovering over him, occupying the space between his legs, his weight a deliciously oppressive pressure.

"Of course," Shen Wenlang smiled, and this time his smile was pure devotion before he captured Gao Tu's lips in another kiss. This one was deeper, wetter, punctuated by soft smacks and the hoarse sound of their ragged breaths. Shen Wenlang's hands didn't just caress; they explored, memorizing every curve through the fabric, as he drank in the scent of sage that he now recognized and craved as his own.

When they pulled apart, they were both panting. Shen Wenlang stared at Gao Tu, whose face was flushed, his glasses gone at some point in the whirlwind. "I don't know where we would be right now if you hadn't told me you were an Omega," he confessed, his voice hoarse with emotion and desire.

Gao Tu looked at him, his mind clouded by passion, and the truth—relentless, unfiltered by caution—came out of his lips: "Probably far away from you, with a little one in my belly."

The effect was instantaneous. Shen Wenlang's expression darkened. Devotion vanished, revealing a shadow of fierce possessiveness and sharp displeasure. "Don't joke about that," he said, his voice low but laden with an icy warning.

And then, as if he needed to reaffirm his claim, his fingers hooked into the waistband of Gao Tu's pants. With a quick, decisive movement, he pulled them down, along with him underwear, exposing the pale skin of his hips and thighs to the cool air in the room.

"Ah—wait!" Gao Tu's protest was drowned out by a moan as Shen Wenlang's hand slid unceremoniously between his bare thighs. His fingers did not seek tenderness; they sought possession, affirmation. They closed around the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, squeezing with a force that would leave bruises, marking him. And then, his thumb found the very center of him sensitivity, pressing and rubbing with an expert insistence that made Gao Tu arch his back, a muffled cry caught in his throat.

Shen Wenlang sealed his lips to his again, his tongue dominating Gao Tu's in a rhythm that was no longer exploratory and everything conquest. One of Gao Tu's legs rose, finding support on the back of the sofa, while the other hung to one side, exposing him completely.

The sounds that filled the room then were obscene and intoxicating: the wet sloshing of Shen Wenlang's fingers moving inside him, Gao Tu's ragged gasps, the Alpha's low growls. Gao Tu moaned loudly, a guttural sound that was pure surrender when he felt the Alpha's first finger, warm and firm, slide into him, a shiver running down his spine. The finger moved in slow, exploratory circles, gently stretching the entrance, preparing his body for what was to come.

A second finger joined the first, and Shen Wenlang moved them skillfully, with a dexterity that denoted experience and an intimate knowledge of Gao Tu's body from his reactions. He stretched and rubbed the inner walls with delicious pressure, each movement causing greater natural lubrication. A louder moan escaped Gao Tu as he arched in Shen Wenlang's arms, his hands clinging desperately to the Alpha's shoulders. The pleasure was so intense that it bordered on pain, an overwhelming sensation that made him feel completely vulnerable and, at the same time, strangely powerful.

"Ngh, ah—!" The moans became uncontrollable. He felt tingles at the nape of his neck, Shen Wenlang's hot, heavy breath against his ear. The air was thick with the mixture of their scents; lilies and sage, a chemical symphony of possession and surrender.

"How much time we've wasted by not speaking clearly for this to happen," Shen Wenlang murmured against his neck, his fingers moving faster inside him, listening to the increasingly wet sound covering his hand.

Gao Tu sobbed, murmuring incoherent words. His legs tried to close out of pure instinct, but Shen Wenlang's strength prevented him. A barely audible "slow down" was the last thing he managed to articulate before his nails dug into the alpha's arms. A silent gasp, a spasm that ran through him from head to toe, and then release: an abrupt and intense orgasm that came to him solely from internal stimulation, without Shen Wenlang touching any other part of him.

Gao Tu's consciousness clouded for a few seconds, lost in the diffusion of pleasure. When he came to, he was being held tightly against Shen Wenlang's chest, the Alpha's chin resting on his head. The sofa was a mess, his clothes scattered. Shame flooded him, mixed with the residue of ecstasy, as he remembered the raw urgency with which he had responded. His cheeks flushed bright red as he recalled the urgency with which Shen Wenlang had explored every inch of his skin, and how, for the first time, Gao Tu had allowed himself to respond with freedom that both frightened and aroused him in equal measure.

Shen Wenlang, without a word, picked him up in his arms—as if he weighed nothing—and carried him to another armchair, one that smelled new and clean. Shen Wenlang, with unusual concentration, heated up the food they had ordered—a simple porridge of oats and steamed chicken—and sat down in front of Gao Tu to watch his reaction.

Gao Tu took the first spoonful cautiously. The flavors exploded in his mouth: simple, comforting, but... remarkably well-balanced. It wasn't a chef's food, but it had the touch of someone who had paid attention, who had made a genuine effort. For a moment, the taste vaguely reminded him of Jiang Heng's cooking, that familiar warmth he missed with a bittersweet pang. But no, this was different. This was Shen Wenlang's clumsy but sincere attempt. An attempt that, against all odds, had turned out edible. And that, somehow, meant more than any banquet.

Gao Tu's consciousness returned in fragments. First was the softness of the armchair beneath his body, then the warm, solid weight of Shen Wenlang beside him. And then, the most disconcerting revelation: it didn't feel sticky or uncomfortable. Shen Wenlang, in an act of intimacy that made Gao Tu's face flush again, had taken the liberty of cleaning him up with a warm, damp towel while he floated in post-orgasmic lethargy. Is this his way of housewarming? He thought, with a mixture of exasperation and a shameful heat rising up his neck. What a way!

"What are you thinking about?" Shen Wenlang's voice was casual, too casual, as if they hadn't just shared an intimacy that had left Gao trembling and exposed. As if his long, deft fingers hadn't explored every inch of him with a possessiveness that still made his skin burn.

Gao Tu opened his eyes a little wider, studying the Alpha's serene face. There was no trace of discomfort, of that postcoital regret that Gao Tu, in his inexperience, had feared. Shen Wenlang seemed... satisfied. Completely in control of the situation and of him. Gao Tu's head began to spin. This was different from any expectation he had had.

Shen Wenlang's soft laughter, a deep, vibrant sound that seemed to come from his chest, interrupted his thoughts. 

"I assure you, it was the most exciting first time I've ever had, seeing you in that state," he confessed, resting his elbow on the tabletop and looking at him with an intensity that made Gao Tu look away toward his bowl of porridge. The Alpha had barely touched his food, too busy watching him.

First time. The words echoed in Gao Tu's mind. It was true. Technically, it was still their first time for everything. Li Pei En had been a temporary guest, a borrowed actor. The kisses, the confessions... they had been with his lips, yes, but driven by someone else's soul. And now, what had just happened... that had been all his. As much his as the kisses he had given Jiang Heng in another body, in another life. The paradox swirled around in his head.

"I have to cover these marks," sighed Gao Tu, his gaze dropping to the bruises that were beginning to bloom on the fair skin of his thighs, where Shen Wenlang's fingers had clung possessively. He didn't see the alpha's carefree smile slowly fade.

"Don't," Shen Wenlang said, his voice losing its lightness, taking on a tone that was almost an order.

"I must," Gao Tu asserted, with more firmness than he felt. Even if no one would see those, the ones on his neck would be seen even more. He took another bite of porridge, finding inexplicable comfort in the simple food. To his surprise, Shen Wenlang served him a little more without him asking, his gesture both commanding and concerned. "What about your meetings? Have you been postponing them?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject, desperately needing to steer the conversation away from the dangerously intimate territory they were in.

Shen Wenlang's lips parted slightly, an expression of genuine surprise crossing his face. How had they gone from that to talking about corporate logistics? 

"I... I've been attending the meetings," he admitted, though the slight hesitation betrayed that it hadn't been in the ideal way—in person—but rather through screens, his attention divided.

Gao Tu narrowed his eyes, not entirely convinced. But then, another sensation distracted him. A ravenous hunger, which did not seem to be satisfied by the porridge, took hold of him. And, more alarmingly, Shen Wenlang's scent of lilies, which was always present, began to sting his nose in a new, more intense, almost... irritating way. An uncomfortable suspicion began to form in his mind.

"Are you close to your RUT?" The question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, his voice a little higher pitched than intended.

Shen Wenlang looked at him intently, his dark eyes scrutinizing Gao Tu's face as if searching for the reason behind the question. The atmosphere in the kitchen, which had softened, became tense again, charged with a new, powerful energy. The possibility that the Alpha's biological cycle was activating added a whole new layer of complexity—and danger—to their fragile new dynamic.

Chapter Text

"Yes," Shen Wenlang agreed, the word simple but laden with monumental meaning. His RUT was approaching, a hormonal whirlwind that, for an Alpha of his kind, was not a mere inconvenience but a force majeure event.

"How are you feeling right now?" Gao Tu asked, his voice soft but firm. He took the last spoonful of porridge and slowly slid off the stool at the kitchen island. His movements were deliberate, conscious of every glance Shen Wenlang gave him.

The Alpha watched him like a mesmerized feline. The robe he had put on him—too large for Gao Tu's slender frame—opened slightly with each step, revealing flashes of pale skin and slim thighs. Shen Wenlang swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The tie of the robe accentuated his waist in a way that he found deeply distracting.

"... Lang." Gao Tu's warm palms rested on Shen Wenlang's cheeks, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes. The intensity in them was new, a serene observation that took his breath away. "Let's go to bed."

"Huh?" was all Shen Wenlang could manage, a dazed sound. His arms, acting on instinct, wrapped around the Omega's body, pulling him against his chest. His nose buried itself in Gao Tu's neck, eagerly searching for the scent gland, inhaling the sage scent as if it were the only oxygen available. "Wenlang," Gao Tu repeated, and this time there was a note of warning in his voice.

Gao Tu gently pinched the Alpha's neck, a sharp gesture that made Shen Wenlang look up, bewildered. His pupils were dilated, black and deep, and he had an unusual pout on his lips, an expression of frustration and desperate need. Gao Tu frowned, concern replacing his initial belligerence. But then, Shen Wenlang pressed him harder against his body, almost desperately, as if trying to melt into him, eagerly searching for that spot on his neck where his scent was purest, most intense.

Shen Wenlang's fingers traced his back through the thin fabric of his robe, moving up and down with a possessiveness that bordered on fear. And then, suddenly, the full weight of the Alpha's body fell on Gao Tu.

"Shen Wenlang?" Alarm sharpened his voice. Gao Tu managed to hold him up, surprised by the dead weight. The Alpha was... asleep. Unconscious. 

Why are you doing this to me, you foolish Alpha! He thought, a mixture of exasperation and concern overwhelming him.

With an effort that made his muscles ache, Gao Tu managed to drag Shen Wenlang's limp body into the bedroom and lay him down as best he could on the large bed. The took off his shoes and tucked him in with the blankets, then placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was warm, but not feverish. He knew Shen Wenlang hadn't been sleeping well, that exhaustion was eating away at him, but passing out like this? An S-class Alpha, reduced to this? It was something he had never witnessed before, a new and disconcerting twist in everything between them.

As he watched him sleep, Gao Tu's cheeks flushed a deep pink. The Alpha's body, in his deep sleep, began to unconsciously release pheromones, a deep, territorial emanation of his nature. It was a dense, earthy scent, like a forest after rain, powerful and protective, which spread through the room and tangled itself in his skin, sending shivers from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair, triggering a range of responses in his own Omega body that embarrassed and excited him at the same time.

Unable to resist, he leaned down and left a couple of chaste kisses, barely a brush of lips, on Shen Wenlang's burning cheek. He secured the blankets around his body and withdrew silently. The air still vibrated with the intensity of the Alpha's presence. He needed distance, he needed clarity. He headed to the bathroom and let himself fall under a long, cold stream of water that did little to calm the internal turmoil. Afterward, wrapped in a clean robe, he sat on the sofa near the bed, picked up a book, and opened its pages, though his eyes, again and again, abandoned the printed words to rest on the sleeping figure of Shen Wenlang. Vigilant, waiting for dawn to find them both in this new and fragile domain they had just crossed into.

.

.

.

The struggle to stay awake, to watch over the Alpha sleeping in the bed, had been brief and lost. The book slipped from Gao Tu's limp fingers and landed on the carpet with a soft thud that did not disturb him. Fatigue, the stress of the last few days, and the hypnotic calm that now filled the room overcame him without ceremony. He settled himself on the sofa, searching for a less uncomfortable position, and sank into a deep and immediate sleep, oblivious to the world.

He didn't feel the exact moment when Shen Wenlang woke up in the early morning. It was a sudden return to consciousness, a silent start. The Alpha's hand felt the cold, empty space next to him on the large bed, and that emptiness was like a sharp blow to the chest. He jumped up, sitting on the mattress, his heart pounding in his temples. His eyes, still clouded with sleep, narrowed, scanning the darkness of the room until they found the huddled form on the sofa.

There was Gao Tu, lying in a position that promised certain hip and neck pain upon waking. A look of tenderness and exasperation crossed Shen Wenlang's face. With one fluid motion, he slipped out from under the sheets covering him and planted his feet on the soft carpet. The silence was absolute, broken only by the Omega's quiet breathing.

He approached with stealthy steps, stopping in front of the sofa. A slight, almost inaudible snort escaped his lips. Had he fainted? Really? Frustration overwhelmed him for a moment. There were opportunities, possibilities that vanished because of his own weakness. The memory of his collapse was a stinging embarrassment. But that frustration dissolved as he looked at Gao Tu's serene face, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the window.

He crouched down, bringing himself to the same height as the sleeper. His gaze swept over his slender body, lingering on him bare legs peeking out from under him half-open robe. The surrounding air was saturated with the delicious scent of sage emanating from Gao Tu, a fresh, clean fragrance that intertwined naturally and intoxicatingly with his own lily pheromones, creating a unique, intimate perfume that belonged only to the two of them.

He reached out a hand and, with infinite delicacy, his fingers traced the soft skin of Gao Tu's calf, feeling the vital warmth beneath its surface. The touch was addictive. His fingertips ascended to the edge of the robe, where the fabric met the skin, and paused there, holding his breath. He closed his eyes, caught up in a whirlwind of desire and irrational protectiveness. He sighed, an exhalation laden with an emotion too complex to name.

With the precision of a thief and the restrained strength that characterized him, he sought a way to carry Gao Tu without disturbing his sleep. He slid one arm under his knees and the other around his back, lifting him with a single fluid motion. Gao Tu instinctively settled into his arms, murmuring something unintelligible, and buried his face in the crook of Shen Wenlang's neck, seeking warmth.

Shen Wenlang stood still for a moment, the precious weight of Omega against his chest. Gao Tu's breath caressed his skin, warm and steady. He looked at him, really looked at him. His eyelids closed, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, lips slightly parted. An overwhelming feeling, so vast it almost doubled him over, ran through him from head to toe.

Gao Tu is truly beautiful, he thought, and the thought was simple, absolute, indisputable. Everything about him.

With careful steps, as if carrying the most fragile treasure in the world, he made his way back to the bed, determined that this time, they would wake up together.

Chapter Text

The sleep that enveloped Gao Tu was of a rare quality, a dense, warm fabric that drove away the traces of anxiety that always lurked in the recesses of his mind. It wasn't just the absence of nightmares; it was a positive presence, a strange happiness that had nestled deep in his chest, expanding with every heartbeat and bathing his thoughts in a peace that was almost foreign to him. The reason for that peace had a name and a scent: Shen Wenlang. And the monumental fact that he no longer needed to hide, that the person he had loved in secret for a decade now knew his most closely guarded truth, was something that his mind, even at rest, celebrated.

For so long, his life had been a succession of deprivation and fear. His childhood, a minefield where every step could betray his Omega nature to a father who would only see it as a weakness and a means to make money off his life... His mother's abandonment had left him burdened not only with his own survival, but also with the weight of a sick sister, a responsibility that had led him to take on multiple grueling jobs, to steal hours from sleep in order to barely finish college, always with his soul shriveled by the fear of being discovered.

That's why the simple, almost inevitable act of rubbing his nose and clenched fists against the firm, warm chest in front of him was not just any gesture. It was an unimaginable luxury. It was the materialization of a security he had never possessed before. Was it wrong to cling to it? Was it wrong to savor this feeling of belonging, of absolute protection? In the logic of his heart, the answer was a resounding no. It was good. It was more than good.

It was the first time he felt he had someone to truly lean on, not out of obligation or necessity, but by mutual choice. The truth, although it had seemed like a precipice at first, had turned out to be the bridge that led him to this place, to these arms. However, even in the midst of that happiness, a small remnant of his former self, the one who always expected the blow, whispered a faint fear: the fear that everything could change, that this delicate and perfect reality could be shattered. But that fear dissipated instantly with the gentle movement of a hand on his back.

The caress was slow, deliberate, a reassuring journey that followed the curve of his spine through the thin fabric of his robe. Gao Tu smiled softly, without opening his eyes, still immersed in the fog of sleep.

"Are you awake yet?" Shen Wenlang's voice was rough from lack of sleep, but infinitely tender. He felt the touch of lips kissing his crown, and the hand that was caressing him paused to entangle itself a little more in the fabric of his robe, pulling him gently toward the Alpha's body, as if claiming his closeness.

"Five more minutes," Gao Tu murmured, his voice thick and sleepy. It was a request, a desire to prolong the spell of that morning, to delay the outside world and its demands. He let the heaviness of his eyelids overcome him again, trusting that that chest would still be there to catch him.

Feeling the Omega surrender to sleep once more, Shen Wenlang smiled with a tenderness that only Gao Tu could elicit in him. 'Weren't you excited to go back to work?' he thought, remembering the boldness he had seen in Gao Tu's eyes earlier. But he didn't have the heart to wake him. He let him sleep, allowing his breathing to fall back into sync with the slow rhythm of the man in his arms.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, he stretched his free arm toward the nightstand. His hand groped around and found the phone. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow on his features in the dim light of the room. He unlocked the device and his fingers slid through the calendar, meticulously reviewing the schedule of meetings he had rearranged for the afternoon. Him mind, always calculating and forward-thinking, was already mapping out the day. An almost inaudible sigh escaped his lips. Gao Tu only had one more day of leave. Tomorrow, reality would claim them. Tomorrow, he would have to go back to work. But for now, for this morning, there was only the shared warmth and peace of a dream that was finally, pleasantly reconciled.

To Shen Wenlang's surprise, who had already mentally accepted that his Omega was an early riser by nature and by necessity, Gao Tu sank into a deep sleep for another hour. The Alpha, already dressed in an impeccably tailored two-piece suit that highlighted his broad shoulders and straight back, watched from the nearby armchair as the first rays of the morning sun played with Gao Tu's eyelashes. Gao Tu finally began to stir gently.

It was a slow, clumsy awakening. Gao Tu blinked heavily, his eyelids seemingly glued shut by the deep sleep that had overtaken him. He moved his head from side to side on the pillow, with a slight, sleepy groan, as if trying to orient himself in reality. He tried to sit up, but his body, still heavy and lethargic, moved clumsily, groping for the edge of the bed to get down.

Shen Wenlang raised his eyebrows, an unnoticed smile playing on his lips. It was a sight he never imagined he would have the privilege of witnessing: Gao Tu's absolute and adorable vulnerability upon waking. The vision intensified when, in his clumsy movement, Gao Tu's robe slipped, yielding a little more than it should have. The fabric opened, sliding down him slender shoulder, revealing a strip of pale, soft skin, and at the same time, the bottom of the robe rode up, exposing his long legs, much more than they usually showed. That glimpse of intimacy, casual and completely unconscious, made Shen Wenlang's smile grow darker, more possessive.

He rose from the armchair with quiet elegance and approached the bed. He said nothing, simply leaning over and, with a firm but gentle hand on Gao Tu's arm, helped him down until his bare feet touched the soft carpet. Then, without giving him time to react, he bent his head and planted a passionate kiss on his warm, sleep-flushed cheek. The contact was firm, charged with deep affection.

"Bunny, are you okay?" He asked, his voice a deep whisper that reverberated close to his ear, tinged with genuine concern that went beyond simply waking him up.

Gao Tu blinked, still disoriented. He brought his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "What time is it?" he murmured, his voice a low, hoarse trickle, still thick with the remnants of sleep.

"Eleven," Shen Wenlang replied casually, as if announcing the most mundane hour in the world, as if it were not extraordinary for a man like Gao Tu, always bound by the clock and responsibility, to have slept so late.

"Eleven o'clock?" The reaction was instantaneous. Gao Tu's previously heavy eyes flew open, the fog of sleep suddenly dissipating, replaced by panic. His gaze then focused on Shen Wenlang, and he really saw him: he wasn't in the loose-fitting sleepwear he had worn the night before, but dressed in a finely tailored, impeccable suit, from the jacket that fit his torso perfectly to the perfectly cut pants. He was serious, powerful, and extremely handsome. Embarrassment immediately flooded him. "Why haven't you left for work?" He murmured, feeling the weight of having delayed such a busy man's routine. Him tone was laden with guilt.

Shen Wenlang couldn't help but smile, enjoying every second of his "bunny's" reaction. 

"I wanted to see you wake up and say goodbye to you," he replied, his voice soft but firm. His gaze delighted in Gao Tu's face: the messy, unruly hair that gave him the air of a mischievous child; the cheeks still marked by the pattern of the pillowcase or, perhaps, by the imprint of his own hand as he slept. To Shen Wenlang, far from looking disheveled, it was an adorable and deeply desirable sight. Every detail, every sign of that morning vulnerability, only intensified the fierce, protective desire burning inside him.

"Say goodbye?" Gao Tu let out a soft snort, an attempt at protest that broke in the air before it was fully formed. He tried to take a step back, an instinctive move to gain some space, but it was useless. Shen Wenlang's arms, firm as bands of steel lined with silk, closed possessively around his slender waist.

The contact was a revelation of contrasts. The Alpha's palms against him skin through the thin robe felt slightly cool, perhaps from the morning air or from having been outside the covers. And then there was the metal: the unmistakable cold of Shen Wenlang's watch face pressed gently against the hollow of his lower back.

"Let me brush my teeth," Gao Tu requested, his voice a murmur between exasperation and a tenderness he couldn't hide. He gently tapped Shen Wenlang's arm, a feeble attempt to free himself that only served to make the Alpha press him harder against his body.

But Shen Wenlang, in a burst of mischievous evil that sparkled in his eyes, not only ignored the request, but buried his nose in the curve of Gao Tu's neck. There, he searched for and found the scent gland, the epicenter of the aroma that drove him crazy. He inhaled deeply, like a thirsty man who finally finds water, the scent of sage emanating from Gao Tu. He noticed, not for the first time, that the fragrance was more intense, more vibrant in the morning, enveloping the Omega in a fresh, slightly bitter cloud that made him lose his senses.

Before, that same scent had provoked a confused and bitter rage in him. It smelled good on him, yes, but it infuriated him that it surrounded Gao Tu because, in his mistake, he believed that the Beta he liked was involved with another Omega. That's why, in his blindness, he had uttered the most hurtful words, calling him disgusting, when in reality he was quite the opposite. It was the scent he now associated with belonging, with home. And even more so now, knowing that that scent, that person, belonged completely to him. He was the person he had always longed to hold in his arms.

"Wenlang?" Gao Tu's voice sounded tinged with genuine concern this time, noticing the almost desperate intensity with which the Alpha clung to him.

Shen Wenlang did not respond with words. He only pressed his Omega's body closer to his, as if he wanted to merge them into one. And then, he began to consciously release his pheromones, not those of desire or possession that sometimes overwhelmed him, but calming, serene pheromones, like a field of lilies bathed in the soft light of dawn. It was a scent designed to calm, comfort, and claim in the gentlest way possible.

Gao Tu felt it immediately. His body, tense with surprise, began to relax against his will. It was a biological, natural response. And almost without meaning to, his own pheromones responded, intertwining with Shen Wenlang's. Fresh sage and serene lilies mingled in the air, creating a unique, intimate perfume that sealed the space they shared.

"I like you very much," Shen Wenlang finally murmured, his deep, hoarse voice in Gao Tu's ear. "So much that I don't want to let you go."

The words, so simple and yet so loaded, made Gao Tu's heart skip a beat. 

"Are you crazy?" His own palms, which had been gently patting him earlier, now rose to caress Shen Wenlang's broad back, feeling the impeccable fabric of his suit, and then tangled in his hair with a delicacy that contradicted his words. After a moment, with the pragmatism that never completely left him, he asked, "Have you at least had breakfast?"

It was such a domestic question, so mundane, in the midst of that overwhelming declaration and the embrace that seemed to want to stop time. But in it lay all of Gao Tu's care, his way of saying 'me too' without saying the words, of worrying about the man who didn't want to let him go, even if it meant further delaying his arrival at the company.

"No, I wanted to have it with you."

Shen Wenlang's response was simple, direct, and charged with such absolute calm that it completely disarmed any other argument. His breakfast, like so many other things now, included Gao Tu. And only then, as if those words were the permission he needed to pull away, did the Alpha move away. But it was a minimal retreat, just a few inches, just enough for the cold air in the room to briefly seep between them before Shen Wenlang tilted his head again and planted a solid, possessive kiss on Gao Tu's neck, just above the gland that was still throbbing softly. It was a seal, a tacit mark before releasing his prey.

Gao Tu held his breath for a second, feeling the whisper of those lips on his skin. With a belligerence that took effort to muster, he pointed his index finger toward the door. 

"Fine, then wait for me in the kitchen," he said, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. He gently but firmly pulled away from the arms that still surrounded him, feeling Shen Wenlang's resistance finally give way, allowing him to escape.

He headed for the bathroom with quick steps, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded like a slam in the charged silence of the room. Under the hot stream of water from the shower, as steam fogged up the tiles and the scent of Shen Wenlang's body wash—clean, woody—filled the space, his mind began to wander.

He applied the creams him found lined up on a marble shelf. They were heavy jars, minimalist in design, with labels in French. Rich textures that melted instantly into his skin, subtle and complex scents that had nothing to do with the basic petroleum jelly he bought on sale. Him gaze swept over the immaculate bathroom, the glass shower, the chrome fixtures. A world of sumptuousness, of which he was now an accidental inhabitant.

As he left the bathroom, his gaze fell on the moving boxes stacked against one wall of the bedroom. Some were open. And they didn't just contain his few worn belongings. He saw carefully hung garments, all new, with the tags still attached. Soft cotton shirts, merino wool sweaters, perfectly cut pants. Below, boxes of shoes he would never have dared to dream of. Li Pei En had thought of everything. Even his phone, the old model that kept turning itself off, had been discreetly replaced by the latest model that was already charged and set up on the nightstand.

He stared at the piles of new clothes, a knot of conflicting emotions in his throat. Gratitude, of course. Relief, too. But also a twinge of something akin to vertigo. His old life, the one in the ramshackle little house, with tight finances and worn-out clothes, was fading at an alarming rate, replaced by this new reality where everything was impeccable, new, and organized. Where someone else took care of the details. Where Shen Wenlang wanted to have breakfast with him.

He took a deep breath, searching for the scent of sage that still belonged to him, now mixed with the Alpha's lily that permeated the room. So he turned on his heels and left the bedroom, heading for the kitchen, where the man who was completely rewriting the meaning of his world was waiting for him.

Chapter Text

The murmur of laughter and stolen kisses still seemed to vibrate in the air of the empty kitchen. Gao Tu stood for a moment, leaning against the door frame, feeling the residual warmth of their farewell. It had been a sweet and exasperating battle to finally get Shen Wenlang, the powerful CEO in his attractive suit, to leave for his office. The Alpha's pouting, as unexpected as it was genuine, and the kisses that began as brief rewards only to be deepened and lengthened by Shen Wenlang until his mind was clouded and his legs weak, were a weapon of mass distraction that Gao Tu didn't know how to resist. 

He wasn't used to this version of Shen Wenlang, so tactile, so openly needy. Was it because of the line they had crossed the night before? His body, treacherous, responded with shivers to the slightest touch of those hands that now knew how to explore him. And then there was the other thought, persistent in the back of his mind: Shen Wenlang's RUT was approaching. The idea filled him with expectant unease, a nervousness mixed with a deep desire he still didn't dare to fully examine.

But now he was alone. The silence, vast and slightly intimidating in the empty house, enveloped him. With a sigh that was half relief, half clarification, he turned to the moving boxes stacked in the living room. He began to open them, unpacking not only objects, but layers of a life that felt both foreign and deeply his own thanks to Li Pei En. Among the new clothes—still smelling of the store—and his old books, his hands touched the cold, familiar surface of a laptop. He opened it. It wasn't his old, worn-out one. This one was more modern, lighter. When he turned it on, it didn't ask for a password. And then he saw it. 

Files. Dozens of them. Folders with cryptic names but unmistakably related to future HS launches, market strategies, confidential financial reports. All compressed into WinRar files, but without any protection. Accessible to anyone who opened the computer. The air was knocked out of him. Li Pei En? How could you? The initial surprise was mixed with a pang of acute anxiety. The actor, in his well-intentioned effort to manage his life, had been handling such sensitive information with reckless abandon. Gao Tu felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck. Those documents in the wrong hands could sink not only Shen Wenlang, but the entire company. This led him to believe that the company's security had also been compromised. He had to delete all this information.

To distract himself from the rising nausea, he immersed himself once again in the digital diary Li Pei En had left him. But the facade of pleasantness vanished when his finger slid over the touchpad and opened an Excel file. There it was, documented with a veracity that took his breath away: every transfer, every lie his father had told. "03/04 - 5,000 - 'Dad's medical emergency' (Lie: gambling)." "15/04 - 8,000 - 'Car repair' (Lie: gambling debt)." The knot in his stomach tightened until it hurt.

And then, the darkest memory, the one he had read about in the pages of the novel, which now felt all too real, emerged like a shadow: his father, finding out he was Omega, trying to sell him to pay off his debts. And worse, much worse, the latent threat when the pregnancy became known... and those Alphas... 

A violent chill ran through him. What if his father reappeared?

With hands that were now trembling, he desperately searched his phone for text messages. He swiped the screen up, checking dates. Nothing. An unsettling void. Li Pei En had intercepted the chain, creating a respite of peace. But in the last notes, the ones he wrote before leaving, there was a clear and urgent warning: "Don't let him find you. Not you or Qing. Don't give him your new address. Don't respond."

The peace of the new house, the scent of Shen Wenlang's lilies that still permeated the sweater he was wearing, suddenly felt vulnerable. Like a glass castle built on a fault line. Gao Tu slammed the laptop shut, as if he could lock the dangers inside. He got up and walked to the living room window, looking out at the fenced-in garden, the safe world Shen Wenlang had built for him. But even the highest walls couldn't protect him from the ghosts of his own blood. And now, for the first time, he understood the true weight of the inheritance Li Pei En had given him back: not just a healthy body and a love found, but the battle he had always avoided and now, inevitably, would have to fight.

...

The next morning arrived in a flash, bringing with it a dull uneasiness that had taken root in Gao Tu's chest since the day before. The revelation of the unprotected documents and the threatening shadow of his father had disturbed the peace he had slowly managed to build. However, at the end of the afternoon, the sound of the key turning in the lock and the sight of Shen Wenlang crossing the threshold instilled an unexpected calm within him.

He greeted him with a smile that he hoped was calmer than he felt, and with the aroma of the dinner he had carefully prepared wafting through the air. 

"It smells delicious," Shen Wenlang murmured, setting his briefcase down near the entrance and heading straight for the kitchen, where Gao Tu was stirring a wok. His gaze, tired but satisfied after a day's work, softened when he saw him.

They talked about their previous days. Gao Tu, with a slight smile, commented, "I didn't expect to find the refrigerator so full. It looks like you did the shopping for a month." 

Shen Wenlang shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

"I wanted to make sure you had everything," he said, his voice a low purr that reverberated in the intimacy of the kitchen.

After dinner, Shen Wenlang insisted on helping with the dishes. He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his strong forearms. But Gao Tu, with gentle firmness, relegated him from his place at the sink. 

"You just make more of a mess," he teased softly, handing him a dry, clean dishcloth instead. "Better to dry." 

Shen Wenlang accepted the role reversal with a feigned snort, but he obeyed, his eyes following Gao Tu's every movement with a devotion that made the Omega's ears burn.

They showered separately, a small respite that Gao Tu appreciated, in order to gather his thoughts under the hot water. When they finally lay down, the large bed seemed to shrink. Shen Wenlang was relentless. His lips found Gao Tu's skin in the darkness: his shoulder, the nape of his neck, the curve of his jaw. Each kiss was a silent harpoon, accompanied by a steady, restrained release of his soft, protective lily pheromones, weaving a bubble of calm around him. It was a calculated strategy, and it worked. Gao Tu, overcome by exhaustion and the overwhelming sense of security that the Alpha projected, finally sank into a deep sleep, lulled by the scent he now considered home.

But morning brought reality. Back at the company, Gao Tu paused in front of the mirror in the employee bathroom. With hands that barely trembled, he picked up the spray bottle of suppressant. A feeling of guilt washed over him as he pressed the plunger. The fine mist settled on his skin and clothes, deliberately drowning out the precious lily scent that Shen Wenlang had impregnated on him. He couldn't afford to arrive after a long absence smelling so distinctly of his boss, an S-class Alpha. Rumors in the office were like fire in a dry field, and he wasn't going to be the spark. He had to keep up appearances, at least for now.

The elevator ride to his floor was tense. He had greeted the Betas at reception with a polite smile, feeling their curious stares on the back of his neck. 

Shen Wenlang's insistence that morning echoed in his mind: "I'll drive you. There's no need for you to take public transportation." 

The offer was tempting. But Gao Tu had been stubborn. "Let me get off a few blocks early. I'd rather walk a little." 

The Alpha's expression had clouded over, a cocktail of concern and disapproval. He didn't like it, seeing it as unnecessary rejection, a distance he didn't want to exist. But in the end, his lips pressed into a thin line and a grunt of displeasure, he had reluctantly agreed. That small victory for his independence now felt bitter as the elevator stopped at his floor and the doors opened onto the familiar bustle of the office, a world where he was just Gao Tu, the employee, and not Shen Wenlang's Omega.

The steam from the hot tea rose in soft spirals, lightly fogging the fine porcelain cup that Gao Tu held carefully. The aroma of white tea, fresh and delicate, was Shen Wenlang's favorite way to start the morning, and preparing it was a ritual that Gao Tu had missed during his absence.

"Oh, good morning, Secretary Gao."

The voice snapped him out of his concentration. He looked up from his cup and found the Secretary General, a middle-aged Beta with impeccable manners, watching him from the doorway of the small kitchen attached to the office.

"Secretary General," Gao Tu replied with a modest smile. "It's been so long since I've seen you. Good morning." His words were solemn, the polished and distant language required by the corporate environment, a stark contrast to the intimacy of the morning.

"I hope you're feeling better," the Beta smiled back, with a genuine warmth that eased Gao Tu's tension a little. Then the man leaned in subtly, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. "By the way, Secretary Hua is in Mr. Shen's office. And now that you're here, you can keep him company. He insisted on coming in, and he looked... different from before."

Gao Tu narrowed his eyes for a few seconds, processing the information. Different? That single word set off all his alarms. He knew exactly what it meant. Hua Yong had decided to drop his facade —at least the one that said he wasn't an Omega, and probably at this moment he was showing himself as an S-class Alpha—. If it weren't for the knowledge he had gained from Li Pei En's meticulously hidden notes on his phone—much more detailed and cautious than the brief notes on the laptop—and his own experience transmigrating to that other world where he discovered the novel "Desire ABO" and its intricate characters and endings, he would be walking blindly into a trap. But he knew. He knew that Hua Yong was not the weak and vulnerable Omega he appeared to be, but an Enigma, a rare and calculating being whose true nature was shrouded in layers of manipulation.

"All right, I'll go say hello," Gao Tu nodded, yielding to the Secretary General's unspoken plea. His tone was neutral, but his mind was already analyzing every possible scenario.

With the teacup in his hand, he maneuvered with the quiet elegance that only years of experience had given him and opened the door to Shen Wenlang's office. The scene he encountered was not what he expected. Not only was Hua Yong there, standing with a defiant posture that had nothing to do with his usual false modesty, but Cheng Yu, the Enigma's personal secretary, was also standing near the window.

"Gao Tu," the Enigma greeted him. His voice was soft, but the smile he wore was demure. His gaze, always observant and sharp as the edge of a dagger, scrutinized Gao Tu from head to toe. There was not a shred of affection in those eyes, unless, of course, it was Sheng Shaoyou, the sole object of Hua Yong's obsession.

"Hua Yong," Gao Tu replied with an equally restrained nod. He carefully placed the teacup on Shen Wenlang's desk, noticing the Alpha's absence. The space seemed smaller, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension.

The Enigma frowned slightly. His sensitive, ever-alert nose twitched almost imperceptibly, like that of a fox that had sniffed out unexpected prey in its territory.

"Why do you smell like suppressant spray?" Hua Yong inquired, his tone a mixture of curiosity and a hint of contempt for the medication. The question was direct, invasive, designed to put Gao Tu at a disadvantage.

Gao Tu didn't flinch. He looked directly into the Enigma's eyes, his expression calm. 

"I can't smell Shen Wenlang," he replied, his voice clear and subtle, as if explaining something obvious. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, facing Hua Yong, and glanced quickly at Cheng Yu, who, upon being observed, turned his head toward the window, feigning a sudden interest in the city sky.

Hua Yong smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. 

"I see your health has improved, and with things with Shen Wenlang, I'm glad for that." The words were kind, but they sounded hollow, like a poorly rewritten script. 

Gao Tu shifted his attention away from Cheng Yu and focused it entirely on Hua Yong. The surprise at the Enigma's statement was real, but he refused to let it show on his face. He kept his features under strict control.

"May I ask about your visit?" Gao Tu inquired, steering the conversation back to more neutral ground. He hadn't expected his to return; he knew he had many matters to attend to with his Alpha at this time. 

"Of course," Hua Yong said, his smile widening slightly, revealing a row of perfect teeth that seemed more like a threat than a gesture of kindness. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" Gao Tu raised an eyebrow, a deliberate gesture of skepticism.

Hua Yong laughed softly, a sound that lacked warmth. 

"You owe me a favor. Did you forget?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," Gao Tu replied, his voice tense as a silk thread, his eyes fixed on Hua Yong. He watched every slight expression, every flash in that cunning gaze that never revealed his true intentions. Furthermore, Gao Tu was aware that the favor was due to the crucial presentation he had made at the HS company meeting, an event that Li Pei En had neglected due to his own jealousy.

A satisfied smile, too broad to be genuine, spread across the Enigma's lips. 

"Good." He turned his head slightly toward Cheng Yu, who was still feigning interest in the cityscape. "Cheng Yu, give him the brochures."

Brochures? Confusion crossed Gao Tu's mind, but his face remained impassive, like well-polished marble. Cheng Yu approached with fluid movements and handed Gao Tu a couple of glossy brochures. Gao Tu accepted them. His fingers felt the smooth texture of the coated paper. His gaze fell to the cover, where a smiling, aesthetic Omega, in an impossible pose, stood out against the backdrop of a sunny park. The curved, modern letters proclaimed: "Outdoor Yoga Classes. Connect with your Omega essence. Safe and exclusive environment."

He looked up, fixing his eyes on Hua Yong's. "What does returning the favor entail?" he asked, allowing a hint of genuine perplexity to creep into his tone. The disconnect between the supposed debt and these colorful brochures was absurd.

Hua Yong made a delicate gesture with his hand, as if shooing away an annoying fly. 

"I need you to deliver something to someone there, that's all." His voice was light, too casual. "It's exclusive to Omegas, and you have to check it out. That's why I couldn't go myself." He shrugged, downplaying the matter, as if it were a matter of returning a borrowed book and not involving Gao Tu in one of his games.

But Gao Tu was not the same as before. Behind that facade of triviality, he saw the layers of manipulation. An exclusive place for Omegas. A task that Hua Yong, an Enigma posing as an Omega, couldn't do himself without risking exposure —or not yet revealing that he was an Enigma—. And he, Gao Tu, was the perfect pawn: a verified Omega, newly reinstated, with a "debt" to pay.

His fingers squeezed the brochures lightly, creasing the impeccable edge. It wasn't just about delivering something. It was a reconnaissance mission, a test of esteem, or the first piece in a much larger move that Hua Yong was plotting. And Gao Tu, now aware of the rules of the game and the real board, knew that every step, no matter how small it seemed, had consequences.

"I'll do it. But at least give me a photo of the person I'll have to give whatever you're giving them," he ended up sighing, taking it for granted that he no longer owed Hua Yong anything. Fine.

"You'll recognize him by his blue T-shirt and a white necklace with a lotus flower," Hua Yong said, handing him a small beige envelope. "It's also a gift; yoga really relaxes people," he concluded with a soft smile.

Chapter Text

The air in the secretary's office was familiar: the low hum of computers, the rustling of pages, the constant clicking of keyboards. Gao Tu immersed himself in the routine with a concentration that was both a balm and a barrier. He reviewed the documents on his screen, and once again, a silent gratitude toward Li Pei En washed over him. Everything was meticulously organized, sorted with an efficiency that only someone from another world, or someone desperately methodical, could achieve. The mess he had found on the laptop must have been a careless copy, a last-minute resource for the demanding presentations to the HS shareholders' meeting. Li Pei En, in his own way, had protected him even from a distance.

He replied to emails with renewed efficiency. His responses were concise, professional, without the unnecessary embellishment that these corporate exchanges sometimes required. As he checked the changes implemented by Shen Wenlang during his absence, his brow furrowed slightly. The adjustments to lunch schedules and meeting rescheduling were not characteristic of the Alpha. Shen Wenlang was deliberate, almost inflexible, with the structure of the company. These changes, however, seemed designed with a different premise: to optimize time, yes, but also to finish earlier, allowing most people to go home earlier. A pang of something warm and complicated washed over his chest. Was it... consideration for him? A way to ensure their schedules coincided, that Gao Tu wouldn't have to stay late? The idea was so overwhelming that he had to push it aside momentarily, filing it away to examine later, in the privacy of his thoughts.

The small beige envelope Hua Yong had handed him weighed heavily in his jacket's inside pocket. During a pause, his fingers searched for the object out of pure tactile curiosity. Through the paper, the rectangular shape, thin but rigid, with its barely discernible connectors and circuits, was unmistakable: a motherboard, the motherboard of a computer. Not a piece of jewelry, not a document, not a classic spy device. A piece of hardware. Why? Why did Hua Yong need an Omega in a park, identified by a blue T-shirt and a lotus necklace, to receive a motherboard? The absurdity of the situation was so great that it bordered on the disturbing. He decided not to take it out, not here. Curiosity could wait; caution could not.

The hours slipped by with the fluidity of a river. Between typing, printing and collecting documents, and brief interruptions from his colleagues to clarify questions about meetings or the new, generous lunch schedule, Gao Tu found a rhythm. But his concentration had a vanishing point: the door at the end of the hallway that led to Shen Wenlang's office.

The Alpha hadn't shown up in hours.

No internal call, no message, no trace of that ostentatious aura that seemed to expand and fill the space whenever Shen Wenlang was nearby. His absence became increasingly noticeable, a silent void that Gao Tu, against his will, couldn't help but notice. Even Hua Yong had left a while ago, saying goodbye with a casual "another day" that sounded more like suspended boredom than a simple see you later.

Finally, when the clock marked the end of the day and his colleagues began to turn off their monitors and gather their things, Gao Tu could no longer contain himself. The uneasiness, fueled by Shen Wenlang's strange absence and Hua Yong's absurd request, led him to make a decision. With a sigh that was meant to be one of annoyance but hid a hint of concern, he rose from his chair. His footsteps echoed softly in the now-silent hallway leading to the president's office. The door was closed. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked with his knuckles, a sharp, professional tap.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, a little louder. Only silence answered him.

His concern grew, overcoming his professionalism. He tried the doorknob. It wasn't locked. The door gave way with a soft creak. The office was almost dark, lit only by the dim light of dusk filtering through the half-open blinds. And there, sitting behind the imposing desk, was Shen Wenlang.

He wasn't working. He wasn't looking at papers or his computer screen. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table, his face hidden in his hands. His back, usually so straight and powerful, seemed weighed down by overwhelming fatigue. His suit jacket hung from the back of his chair, and his tie knot was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His white shirt, impeccable in the morning, was now wrinkled.

But what really took Gao Tu's breath away was the scent.

The air in the office was thick, saturated. It wasn't the soothing lily pheromones that Shen Wenlang released for him. It was something more stubborn, more primitive, more... painful. A scent of lilies, yes, but crushed, wilted, as if emanating from a source under immense pressure. It was the smell of extreme exhaustion, of stress that transcends the mental and becomes physical, almost tangible. It was the scent of an Alpha on the brink of collapse, whose mythical strength was being consumed from within.

Gao Tu stood frozen in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob, watching the defeated figure of the most powerful man he knew, and he felt all his own fatigue and worries of the day diminish in the face of that sight.

"Gao Tu."

The sound of his name, drawn out by that deep voice and laden with a tension that made the air vibrate, made Gao Tu's skin crawl. Without thinking, he closed the door behind him, isolating the space, and approached the desk with cautious steps. Shen Wenlang looked up, and what Gao Tu saw in his eyes took his breath away. It wasn't just fatigue; it was an internal storm, a visible struggle against something that was consuming him from within.

"How long have you been like this?" Gao Tu asked, his voice soft but firm, laden with concern he made no attempt to hide. He knew what was going on. It wasn't just a bad day; it was the fierce and unexpected onslaught of a RUT, one that Shen Wenlang, in an act of pure stubbornness or misguided responsibility, had tried to suppress with strong chemicals to avoid a scandal in the office.

"But I don't know how much longer I can hold out," the Alpha muttered, frowning hard. Beads of sweat pearled on his temples and slid down his chiseled face. Gao Tu closed his eyes for a moment, remembering with a pang of guilt the inhibitor spray he himself had used that morning. He knew its effect lasted twelve hours. Twelve hours in which his own scent, the scent Shen Wenlang desperately needed as an anchor, was artificially muted.

As he moved closer, he saw Shen Wenlang's pupils contract, and in the depths of his irises, a flash of wild, pristine desire emerged. Suddenly, a hand closed around his wrist with a force that made Gao Tu stifle a gasp. Shen Wenlang pulled him roughly, causing him to fall between his legs. Before Gao Tu could react, the Alpha buried his nose in the Omega's lower belly, inhaling deeply. A hoarse growl, laden with frustration and anger, escaped his throat as the scent of sage he so craved reached him faintly, veiled, artificially suppressed.

"Have you used suppressants?" he growled, his voice rough as sandpaper. His large, warm hands pounced on Gao Tu's suit jacket, unbuttoning it with clumsy, urgent movements, desperately searching for the source of that scent that was driving him crazy. The urgency escalated to the point where Shen Wenlang reached for Gao Tu's belt, his fingers drumming on the buckle with clear intent.

A hard pinch on his cheek stopped him in his tracks. The surprise and momentary pain caused Shen Wenlang to freeze.

"Let's go home," Gao Tu insisted with a severity that brooked no objection, even though his heart was pounding against his ribs. He watched as the Alpha's gaze, though still clouded with need, rose to meet his, showing a hint of surprise and recognition. "I'm not going to let you undress me here. I'll defend myself with whatever it takes," he added, his voice final. But then, where he had been pinching, his fingers softened and caressed the reddened skin with a tenderness that contrasted with his words.

That gesture, that confusion of firmness and care, seemed to make Shen Wenlang reconsider. With visible effort, he stood up. His figure, even in that state, seemed to fill the entire room, and his scent of lilies, which had been faint and overwhelmed before, now expanded with an oppressive intensity, like a wave seeking to envelop his Omega. He hugged Gao Tu tightly, pressing him against his chest, and in that intimate contact, the suppressants Gao Tu had used seemed to break down under the sensory assault. Gao Tu's natural sage scent, fresh and vital, began to seep through, faint at first, but enough for Shen Wenlang to detect, causing a groan of relief and need to vibrate in his chest.

He could barely hear Gao Tu, his voice somewhat shaky but determined, speaking to someone on the intercom, asking for a vehicle to pick them up. The journey to the exit was a silent battle. In the elevator, Shen Wenlang tried to grope him over his clothes, and Gao Tu responded with sharp pinches on the back of his hands, whispering complaints between clenched teeth. Thanks to the late hour and everyone having left, no one witnessed these compromising scenes.

Inside the vehicle, the struggle continued. Shen Wenlang kept kissing his neck, inhaling his now more noticeable scent. A hand slipped inside Gao Tu's unbuttoned jacket, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, feeling a burning embarrassment. Not only because of the Alpha's behavior, but also because of the presence of the Beta driver, a man trusted by both Gao Tu and the company. He was dying to know what was going through that man's mind, whether he was thinking that his boss, an S-class Alpha, was blatantly harassing him.

"Behave yourself," Gao Tu asked in a broken voice when Shen Wenlang's hot tongue licked his scent gland, causing an involuntary shiver that ran down his spine. He knew that those orders were futile against the biological tide sweeping the Alpha, but he also noticed the superhuman effort Shen Wenlang was making to fight his instincts, to not cross certain boundaries there, in the car.

Upon arrival, Gao Tu gave precise directions to the Beta driver about the street. They got out of the car, and Gao Tu noticed that the driver was not leaving, perhaps waiting for new orders or out of pure concern.

"I can wait for you," Beta said formally, his gaze shifting away from Shen Wenlang, who now, with a titanic effort, seemed to have composed himself enough to feign fragile sanity, although his breathing was still ragged and his gaze was burning.

"He'll take a taxi. Go home," Shen Wenlang replied with a frown, his voice a low command laden with an authority that sprang forth despite everything.

The driver looked at Gao Tu, seeking confirmation. The Omega nodded, trying to project a calm he did not feel. Even, in an act of pure cordiality toward the man, he moved his lips silently, forming the words, "I'll text you when I get home." All this, directly in front of Shen Wenlang, whose expression darkened at the silent exchange. He was not amused.

When the car finally drove away, Shen Wenlang took Gao Tu's hand in a grip that was both possessive and needy. They walked toward the gate of the residences, their fingers intertwined. Shen Wenlang greeted the security guard with a brief nod. The guard knew them and returned the greeting normally, though a spark of curiosity flashed in his eyes when he saw them arrive on foot, hands linked, when he knew they had left in the morning in a company vehicle. It was an incongruous detail, one that would fuel the gossip, but at that moment, for Gao Tu, it was the last thing he cared about. His world had shrunk to the hand holding his and the contained storm of the man beside him, whom he must guide safely to the privacy of their home.

As soon as the door to his house closed behind them, the last dam broke. The atmosphere became thick, oppressive, and fiery. Pheromones, Gao Tu's herbal sage and Shen Wenlang's heady lily, mingled and saturated the air, creating an inescapable physicochemical connection, a gravitational force that pulled them toward each other and propelled them toward the master bedroom on the first floor. Shen Wenlang's lips met Gao Tu's not with kisses, but with a voracious, desperate affectation; he felt that his life depended on tasting him, on possessing him. Every moan that escaped Gao Tu was absorbed by him, fuel for his internal fire. His hands moved with blind urgency, searching for buttons, pulling at fabric, eager to feel skin against skin.

Stumbling slightly, they reached the edge of the bed, where they separated with a loud smack of lips. Gao Tu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing hard. His gaze fell on Shen Wenlang, who stood before him, undressing with a mixture of desperation and admirable determination. He removed his dress pants and underwear with abrupt but effective movements, revealing a body as toned and powerful as Gao Tu had always imagined, but never allowed himself to contemplate. The reality of the situation, of the person in front of him, took his breath away.

Shen Wenlang leaned down to kiss Gao Tu, joining their mouths in a long, deep kiss. His lips sucked and licked his Omega's, driven by a burning desire that ran through his veins. Meanwhile, his other hand slid down Gao Tu's beautiful body, delighting in feeling and kneading his tender, pale skin, which flushed under every light squeeze. A tingling sensation ran through Shen Wenlang's body when he felt Gao Tu's short nails scratch his back and one of his legs wrap around his hip. He could feel the delicate pressure of his Omega's slender toes digging into his lower back and, at times, his heel pressing firmly against his buttock.

Shen Wenlang's lips traced Gao Tu's collarbone, claiming his Omega's long, slender, snow-white neck, which released a gasp. Gao Tu's hands didn't stay still, pressing the Alpha's mouth against his sensitive skin. Gao Tu closed his eyes tightly, his legs spreading even wider as he felt Shen Wenlang's long fingers teasing the spot he had touched so eagerly before. In addition, he felt his skin warming, as if he were experiencing early heat. Because he was starting to lubricate his entrance more than usual, and of course, Shen Wenlang wasn't helping much by inserting three fingers at once, moving fast and being accurate on that P-spot that made him moan loudly. 

"Gao Tu." The words, the name, the feel of his teeth on his ear—it all combined to push him over the edge. His body arched, seeking more, moaning uncontrollably, as Shen Wenlang continued his sensual assault. The pleasure was so overwhelming that Gao Tu felt like he was about to break, to dissolve into the fire that the Alpha was igniting inside him. 

But he did not allow him to reach the desired climax. Just as the tension building in his body was about to explode, his fingers withdrew with exasperating gentleness. The sudden absence of pressure caused Gao Tu to open his lips in a muffled groan, an amalgam of frustration and greed that echoed in the silent air of the room. Shen Wenlang, with a barely perceptible smile on his lips, leaned down to kiss him deeply. The kiss was possessive, quarrelsome, yet at the same time filled with a sweetness that left him helpless. As their mouths joined in a sensual exchange, Shen Wenlang's hands did not remain idle. Gently, but with a firmness that promised more, he squeezed his nipples, sending shivers down Gao Tu's spine. Each touch was a spark, fanning the fire that already burned within him.

After prolonging the kiss until their lungs demanded air, Shen Wenlang sat back on his heels, watching him with a gaze laden with desire and anticipation. With a slow, deliberate movement, he drew the Omega's legs closer to his lap, lifting them slightly. The contact of his warm thighs against his skin sent a new wave of sensations through him. The position left Gao Tu completely exposed, vulnerable, and at the mercy of Shen Wenlang's desires, a prospect that, despite his impatience, excited him deeply. The Alpha revered Gao Tu's beautiful nakedness: his body was a work of art, every curve, every shade of skin, every mark he himself had left on it drove him wild. He inhaled the scent of sage that now wafted strongly, mingling with the sweet smell of arousal. He licked his lips, savoring the remnants of the kiss, his dark, hungry eyes roaming over Gao Tu.

"Wenlang," Gao Tu whispered, the latter's gaze embarrassing and exciting him, lubricating him incessantly. He felt a strange and growing need to be taken and satiated by the Alpha.

The Alpha was not surprised, and if he was, it was a vague impression that evaporated as he pushed the bulbous tip of his penis into the Omega's hole, which was constantly lubricating, allowing his immersion to be relatively easy to penetrate. Gao Tu's slender legs wrapped around Shen Wenlang's hips. A moan escaped his lips as the man leaned in, gloriously thrusting his member even deeper. His inner walls opened up to the invasion of a long, wide object, sucking in hard. Shen Wenlang pulled back, without removing himself completely, only to thrust back in with force. Both let out a murmur as the Alpha closed his eyes, fully feeling the warmth and tightness inside his Omega and keeping his hand firmly on his slender waist. 

The thrusts were not slow; barely coordinated, their bodies moved to the rhythm of almost abrupt movements. The room was filled with the loud sounds of their skin colliding, and moisture ran down Gao Tu's thighs as he moaned shamelessly and murmured, "a little slower," knowing that Shen Wenlang's fingers would leave marks on his skin. The strong scent of both of them dispersed throughout the room, the sage and lily sweetening provocatively, entering into a propitious state of venereal appetite. Shen Wenlang's hips slowed the intensity of his strong thrusts, adopting a deliberate sway that provoked tender moans from Gao Tu, while at the same time plunging him into despair.

"Ngh. How annoying," Gao Tu groaned, feeling Shen Wenlang's eager mouth press against his again. Shen Wenlang's lips moved anxiously, his skilled tongue probing Gao Tu's mouth. The Omega wrapped one arm around the Alpha's neck, while his other hand's fingers squeezed the Alpha's arm muscle tightly. You could see both of them opening their mouths, their tongues entwining effusively.

Shen Wenlang's hands ran lustfully and possessively over Gao Tu's body, pausing at the inside of his thighs, where he sensed abundant moisture. Then he moved up the beautiful legs that had previously wrapped around his hips, placing his open palms behind Gao Tu's knees. As he bent Gao Tu's legs against his chest, the Omega closed one eye. The new position caused Gao Tu to arch his head back as he felt Shen Wenlang's powerful thrust inside him.

It was the deepest, most impactful thrust he had received so far. A cry, more animal than human, escaped his throat, muffled in Shen Wenlang's mouth. His hands clawed at the Alpha's back, digging his nails in with desperate force. The pleasure, sharp and searing, spread throughout his body, concentrating on the spot where he felt fuller than ever, where Shen Wenlang's hot pulse consumed him.

The Alpha growled, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through their shared lips. The scent of lilies, now completely fierce and dominant, filled the room, mingling with Gao Tu's heady sage. Shen Wenlang began to move again, his hips colliding with relentless regularity, each thrust filled with ecstasy and a reaffirmation of possession. The bed creaked under the rhythm, the only cadence in the maelstrom of their entwined bodies.

Gao Tu clung to him, his legs shaking uncontrollably, his muscles tensing with each thrust of the Alpha. He felt himself approaching the edge, that precipice where consciousness dissolved into pure sensation. 

"Wenlang, please!" he gasped, his voice barely audible. It was a plea, a command, a beg to take his to the end, to release him from that unbearable tension.

Shen Wenlang stopped his movements for a second, leaning down to look into his eyes. In the dim light, his irises glowed with a feverish intensity, filled with a desire so relentless that it made him gasp. 

"Mine," he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible, but the word resonated in Gao Tu's chest, in every fiber of his being. "Always mine." And with that final declaration, he sank into him with a powerful, decisive thrust that brought Gao Tu to an explosive climax, a blizzard of sensations that left him breathless, spent, and completely surrendered in his Alpha's arms.

Chapter Text

The world returned to Gao Tu in fragments of sensations: first, the softness of the sheets beneath his cheek, then the placid weight of his own body, limp and exhausted, as if every muscle had been melted and remolded. A deep, almost delicious numbness kept him prostrate face down, and he knew, with instinctive confidence, that any attempt at movement would cause him to collapse like a house of cards, vulnerable and fragile.

"You're awake."

The voice was a low whisper, imbued with such clear tenderness and concern, that Gao Tu raised his head with a titanic effort. He found it, clear, despite the blurriness of his senses: Shen Wenlang was sitting on the bed, in a posture that seemed strangely inclined, as if he had settled in to watch over him without interrupting his rest. He held an open book in one hand, but his eyes, now fixed on Gao Tu, revealed that he had been waiting for this moment, not reading.

"What day is it today?" The question came out hoarse, carried away by the echoes of a carnal and pleasurable fog that still clouded his mind. He felt disoriented, torn from the normal flow of time.

"Friday," Shen Wenlang replied. His lips tightened for a moment, a fleeting gesture of something that could have been guilt or simple exhaustion, before a soft, almost relieved smile softened them. As if the day itself was insignificant compared to the fact that Gao Tu was conscious.

"Friday..." Gao Tu repeated the word, settling his face back onto the pillow, seeking the comfort of the cool cotton. His mind, still slow, began to calculate. Friday. Shen Wenlang's RUT had started on... Monday! After finding him defeated in the office! Four days had passed! "Friday?!" The exclamation was a dry squeal that tore at his throat. He sat up abruptly, driven by panic, but the movement was a catastrophic mistake.

An intense but strangely pleasurable pain, like a distorted influx of the ecstasy that had consumed him, ran down his back from the nape of his neck to his tailbone. It was an electric shock of pure sensation that wrenched a silent gasp from him, opening his mouth in an 'O' of surprise and agony. Tears instantly welled up in his eyes, clouding his vision.

It did not go unnoticed. Shen Wenlang moved with the instinctive speed of a wounded protector. The book fell abandoned on the bed as he approached, his large, warm hands resting on Gao Tu's shoulders with an aplomb that was both possessive and careful. 

"Baobei," he whispered, the word both a balm and a reproach. He gently guided him back to bed, helping him find a position that wouldn't trigger the pain points. His lips found Gao Tu's sweaty forehead in a kiss that tasted of apology and concern. "I'm so sorry for being so rough." He frowned, his dark gaze sweeping over his Omega's weary face. With fingers that trembled slightly, he brushed away a strand of hair stuck to his temple. "Let's just say you didn't make it easy for me, either."

Gao Tu looked at him through a veil of tears, his brow furrowed not only from residual pain but also from the statement. His body might be broken and his mind still in shock, but his irony remained intact.

"Sure," he said, his voice weak but dripping with satire that cut through the tension of the moment. That single word, loaded with meaning that they both understood perfectly, was a mocking acceptance of shared guilt, an acknowledgment that in the fierce clash of their natures, neither of them had been exactly gentle.

Shen Wenlang let out a soft laugh, a hoarse, warm sound that vibrated in the quiet air of the room. It was a laugh of relief, of complicity, that knew how to tread the delicate new ground they were walking on after the storm. His large, long-fingered hand slid with an almost reverential gallantry over Gao Tu's waist, over the thin sheet. The contact was superficial, a touch that sought to comfort rather than possess, but Gao Tu looked at him with slight suspicion, his narrowed eyes capturing every nuance of the Alpha.

"Stay here, please." Shen Wenlang added that last word as a tender plea, a flash of vulnerability he didn't often show. His thumb lightly caressed Gao Tu's hipbone through the fabric before withdrawing his hand. "I'll bring you breakfast."

"Then I'll wait," Gao Tu replied, his voice still a tired whisper. He closed his eyes as Shen Wenlang leaned down and pressed another kiss against his forehead, a seal of vow and care. A fleeting smile touched Gao Tu's lips before the Alpha turned his back and strode out of the room with determined steps.

The wait was brief, no more than ten minutes, but to Gao Tu, immersed in a placid languor, it seemed like an eternity. He had settled into a semi-sitting position, leaning his sore but satisfied back against the soft headboard. When Shen Wenlang returned, the image he presented made Gao Tu admire him silently.

He was holding a rectangular tray made of light wood with both hands, but it was not the impeccable, modern tray from the kitchen. It was something more rustic, with natural grains that gave it warmth. And then Gao Tu noticed the Alpha's clothes: loose-fitting ecru linen pants and a T-shirt made of the same material, with three-quarter sleeves and mother-of-pearl buttons. The soft, slightly wrinkled fabric opened at the neckline, revealing a generous portion of his chest.

It was a pale chest, with soft skin and remarkably hairless, which made the marks that adorned it stand out with almost obscene clarity. There, blooming on his left pectoral, near his heart, was a cluster of small purple flowers. They were bruises in the shape of perfect ovals, with slightly purple centers, where the capillaries had yielded under the pressure of teeth and tongue. Gao Tu remembered the moment with searing clarity: the fever of heat, the need to mark, to possess even in his submission, leaning over Shen Wenlang's sweaty body and sinking his mouth into that flesh, savoring the frantic heartbeat beneath the skin, while his nails dug into the Alpha's shoulders.

He pressed his lips together, feeling a low bubbling, a distant, bittersweet reach of desire in his lower belly. But it was only a flash, a physical memory that soon dissipated, drowned out by what he saw on the tray.

His eyes opened slowly, with an incredulity that bordered on astonishment.

On the wooden tray, there were no fine ceramic plates or stainless steel cutlery. Instead, there was a deep white porcelain bowl of what appeared to be congee rice soup, steaming and garnished with thin strips of ginger and fresh scallions. On one side, on a small plate, were some steamed buns, baozi, perfectly round and fluffy, and a cup of black tea that gave off a familiar and comforting aroma.

Nothing looked burnt. Nothing looked raw. Everything seemed... right. More than right, it seemed carefully made.

Gao Tu looked up at Shen Wenlang, who was watching his reaction with a serious, almost expectant expression, like a student waiting for the results of a crucial exam. The powerful S-class Alpha, the impeccable CEO who commanded an empire, was standing in the middle of the bedroom, dressed in loose linen clothes, offering breakfast he had cooked himself. Was he really learning to cook? The question floated in Gao Tu's mind, not as a doubt, but as a moving revelation.

Gao Tu cautiously took the first spoonful of congee soup, testing the temperature and flavor. The surprise was more than visual; it was a taste revelation. The broth was perfectly seasoned, the texture of the rice was soft and comforting, the ginger added just the right amount of spice, and the fresh green onions provided freshness. It wasn't just edible; it was delicious. Each spoonful he took was further confirmation, and he knew that his relaxed and satisfied expression was the most eloquent response to his Alpha.

Shen Wenlang had sat on the edge of the bed, watching him eat with a look that bordered on touching. His gaze followed every movement of the spoon, every little expression on Gao Tu's face. Seeing that focused attention, that silent need for approval, warmed Gao Tu's chest in a way that the hot food couldn't match. No one in his entire life had ever made him breakfast like this. Not with such dedication. Memories of his time with Jiang Heng, that sweeter, kinder version of Shen Wenlang from another world, surfaced in stark contrast. That service, that love, had been reserved exclusively for Li Pei En. This, what he was experiencing now, was his. Only his.

"Is it delicious?" Shen Wenlang finally asked, breaking the silence. His voice was a thread of hope and a rare insecurity. He needed to hear the words, the verbal confirmation that his secret practices had borne fruit, even in something as basic as breakfast.

Gao Tu set aside the wooden tray, having finished even the last drop of black tea, which was strong and aromatic, just as he liked it—or had begun to like it. A genuine smile, laden with deep tenderness, lit up his face as he looked at his Alpha, who wore a hesitant, almost vulnerable expression.

He then moved, ignoring the small twinges of discomfort in his body, and approached Shen Wenlang. With a fluid motion, he placed one leg on either side of the Alpha's hips, sitting on his lap. Shen Wenlang needed no further invitation; his arms immediately wrapped around Gao Tu's waist, his large hands finding the skin beneath the robe and pulling the fabric up in a possessive, familiar gesture.

"Delicious," Gao Tu murmured, his lips inches from Shen Wenlang's. The Alpha closed his eyes, as if savoring the word more than any delicacy. Gao Tu then released his pheromones, a scent of fresh, calming sage that expanded into the space between them, enveloping Shen Wenlang and relaxing the almost imperceptible anxiety that strained his own lily scent. Gao Tu's fingers tangled in the Alpha's short hair at the nape of his neck, gently caressing it before leaning down and kissing him.

It was not a kiss of overflowing passion, but of tender desire. Their lips moved slowly, savoring the moment, the connection, the intimacy of the morning. It was a kiss of gratitude, of belonging, of a love that was slowly being built, brick by brick, between homemade soups and silent hugs.

Afterward, Gao Tu took a shower and dressed in comfortable clothes: soft pants and a loose-fitting sweater. When he went out to the dining room, he found Shen Wenlang sitting at the table in front of his laptop. The light from the screen illuminated his concentrated face, his fingers typing quickly on some report or memo.

"What are you writing?" Gao Tu asked, approaching and yawning softly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

"The next meeting about the new launch that HS is preparing with X Holdings," Shen Wenlang replied, wrinkling his nose in slight annoyance at the bureaucratic work. He turned his chair toward the Omega and nodded, a tacit invitation that Gao Tu immediately accepted, moving closer to be enveloped by those arms that already felt like home. "You smell good," Shen Wenlang murmured, burying his nose in Gao Tu's sweater.

Gao Tu let out a low, cheerful laugh. "I know," he said, and with his fingers brushed away a few stray strands of hair that fell across Shen Wenlang's forehead. After a moment of contemplation, he asked in a tone that mixed shyness with a newfound confidence, "Do you want to go out to eat?"

Shen Wenlang looked up at him, his hands gently squeezing Gao Tu's waist through the fabric. "Where are we going?" he asked directly, his curiosity piqued.

"Somewhere special," Gao Tu replied, a playful mystery in his eyes. He then leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on the Alpha's lips. It was a caress as fleeting as it was sweet, a simple touch that nevertheless made two hearts beat in unison with a force that resonated in the cozy silence of the house. It was the promise of a new beginning, of a normality that they themselves were defining, outside the four walls that had sheltered them for days.

Chapter Text

The engine of the luxury sedan roared softly before cutting out. Shen Wenlang remained silent for a moment, his hands still gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles slightly pale. He had driven almost by inertia, following Gao Tu's laconic directions, but every familiar street he drove down—narrower, noisier, more scarred by poverty—made his neck muscles tense further. He didn't understand. Why did Gao Tu want to come back here, to this earthly reminder of everything they had just escaped? They had left behind the lying landlord, the threat of demolition, the oppressive misery.

He turned the key and silence filled the car. He looked at Gao Tu, searching his profile for an explanation, but the Omega was already moving, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Wait," Shen Wenlang said, his voice a little rougher than intended. He activated the central locking with an audible click. "Why are we here?"

Gao Tu didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out and tangled his fingers with Shen Wenlang's, which were still resting on the gear shift. The contact was energetic, a silent impression that cut off the Alpha's incipient protest. Gao Tu's hand was smaller, but his grip was firm, confident.

"Just a moment," Gao Tu murmured, and there was a tone in his voice that Shen Wenlang couldn't quite place: nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe closure.

Before Shen Wenlang could utter another word, Gao Tu opened the door and stepped out, gently pulling the Alpha's hand to follow him. The street smelled of street frying, diesel exhaust, and old concrete. A brutal contrast to the filtered air of the car. Shen Wenlang, almost instinctively, moved slightly in front of Gao Tu, his body shielding him from the flow of pedestrians and the curious glances his obviously expensive clothes attracted.

They walked a short distance, and then Shen Wenlang saw it. The discreet sign, the muted colors. The Thai restaurant.

He stopped dead in his tracks, causing Gao Tu to stop as well. His gaze fixed on the facade, and suddenly, the air didn't smell like pollution; it smelled like intertwined lilies and sage, like the electricity of a stolen kiss under dim lighting, like the bittersweet taste of tea and confusion. Here. This was where everything had changed. Where Gao Tu's facade had cracked enough for Shen Wenlang to see the glimmer of truth beneath, and where he, in turn, had shown a vulnerability he had never allowed anyone else to see.

He turned his head to look at Gao Tu. The Omega was watching him, not the restaurant. A small smile, sad and serene at the same time, played on his lips.

"Why?" Shen Wenlang asked, his voice now a hoarse whisper.

Gao Tu squeezed his hand. "To remember," he said simply. "To remember where this began. Not where the old life ended, but where the new one began."

And at that moment, amid the bustle of the street and the goblin of their first kiss, Shen Wenlang understood. It wasn't a step backward. It was an act of reclamation. Gao Tu was taking the place that once symbolized his secret and his pain, and transforming it, with his presence and Shen Wenlang's at his side, into a monument to their new beginning.

"Nong!" exclaimed the woman Shen Wenlang had seen earlier, coming out of the restaurant door with her arms open toward Gao Tu. He returned a soft smile and allowed a brief hug before she faced him with an affectionate scolding. "You used to come often, now you visit me every week? Have you forgotten me already?" The scent of spices reached Shen Wenlang's nose, making him frown. Was the woman an Omega? The woman, who was greeting Gao Tu effusively, turned her gaze to him. "Wow, I thought I wouldn't see you next to my little Nong."

"Good evening," Shen Wenlang greeted his, his expression neutral, avoiding stiffness, especially under Gao Tu's watchful gaze.

"Good evening, dear," came a thick Thai accent in her voice. And again, his gaze fell on Gao Tu, who was smiling at Shen Wenlang.

The soft tinkling of the doorbell mingled with the murmur of conversation and the intoxicating aromas of grass, lemon, coconut milk, and chili. The outside world, with its hustle and bustle, seemed to fade away behind the carved wooden door of the Thai restaurant. Shen Wenlang watched, with a restrained curiosity he would never have admitted aloud, every little movement Gao Tu made. The scene that had unfolded at the entrance still resonated with him. The easy embrace, the warm and carefree familiarity between Gao Tu and the owner, a woman with a broad smile and eyes that seemed to hold all the stories of her diners, had been an intimate spectacle to which he felt like a privileged intruder.

The dishes arrived at the table like an explosion of color and aroma. An intense red curry alongside a saffron-yellow pad thai, fresh green sprouts, crispy pork, and a fish sauce that smelled of the sea. It was not the kind of food Shen Wenlang was used to. His palate, educated in the exquisiteness of luxury chains and Michelin stars, in the deep and complex tradition of Chinese cuisine, was faced with something different, vibrant, and challenging. But every objection his mind could muster vanished when he saw Gao Tu's expression.

Gao Tu ate with serene happiness, with a dedication that transformed the simple act of eating into a small liturgy of enjoyment. His fingers held the chopsticks with natural elegance, bringing a mouthful of noodles to his lips, and an almost imperceptible smile of pure pleasure played on his lips. Shen Wenlang found himself not savoring the food, but savoring the moment, the peace that emanated from the person in front of him. 

"How did you know about this place?" He handed his a napkin to wipe a small sauce stain from the corner of his mouth, a gesture that came naturally to him.

"Thank you," Gao Tu murmured, his voice a soft counterpoint to the cheerful rhythms of the Thai music playing in the background. His large, expressive eyes, behind the thin rims of his glasses, scanned the room, absorbing the cozy atmosphere before settling back on Shen Wenlang. The Alpha's question hung in the air between them. 

"I got bored with being at home," Gao Tu began, his tone thoughtful. "There were days when the walls seemed to close in on me. I would go out for aimless walks, just to think... or to think about nothing at all." Gao Tu remembered the notes Li Pei En had left on his phone and realized that his evening walks had allowed him to explore and get to know his surroundings, something he himself had never done. "I discovered parts of the city I didn't even know existed, despite living here. My life was a straight line: work, home, hospital, and back again. A cycle. Until one day, on one of those aimless walks, I came across this place. It smelled... different." A shy smile appeared on his lips. "The lady saw me pass by, smiled at me, and invited me in as if he had known me all his life. I think him just liked me. Since then, she has never forgotten my face. But she's like that with everyone, look."

With an almost imperceptible movement of him chin, Gao Tu motioned for Shen Wenlang to observe the small world around them. The owner, with her shiny apron and boundless energy, moved between the tables like a perfect hostess. She hugged a pair of women who were laughing conspiratorially, exchanged a few words and a laugh with a couple of older men who seemed to be sharing a private joke, and greeted a group of students who were noisily settling into a table near the exit with effusive warmth. There was not a single customer who was a stranger to her; everyone was greeted with the same genuine warmth, the same affectionate memory that made each one feel special, expected.

Shen Wenlang watched him, and for the first time, he understood. It wasn't just about the food, even though it was excellent. It was about this. About belonging, even if only for the duration of a dinner, to a circle of unconditional human warmth. It was the perfect antidote to the loneliness of a gray routine and the coldness of a hospital, a home, or even the pressure of work. Gao Tu didn't come here just for the curry or the pad thai; he came for the aunt's open arms, for the laughter of others that became a comforting background murmur, for the feeling of being remembered. And now, Shen Wenlang was there, included in that little world, sharing not only the table, but also the refuge that Gao Tu had found.

"Besides, it became more special the day we kissed for the first time here." His words were soft, but they thundered in Shen Wenlang with the force of distant thunder. The Alpha's eyes, fixed on him, softened into two pools of deep tenderness, a look that, even after all this time, managed to make Gao Tu's skin tingle with a delicious, intimate shiver.

Without saying a word, Shen Wenlang reached across the table. His long, firm fingers found Gao Tu's, intertwining with them in a gesture that was both possessive and deeply protective. The smile that blossomed on Shen Wenlang's lips was not just joy; it was a tacit agreement, a complete appreciation of that memory they now shared in the spicy air of the restaurant. It was a smile of immense love, so clear and naked that it made Gao Tu's heart race.

"And I can repeat that scene," Shen Wenlang murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper that blended with the ambient music. Slowly, with a deliberateness that was a caress in itself, he brought the back of Gao Tu's hand to his lips. The contact was soft, a warm, dry touch that conveyed an affection infinitely more eloquent than any words.

Gao Tu couldn't help it. A soft giggle escaped him, a light, happy sound that served to dispel the heat that had instantly risen to his cheeks, tinging them with a bashful pink. He looked down at his hand still wrapped in Shen Wenlang's, feeling the strength of those fingers and the devotion in that simple kiss. At that moment, the noise of the restaurant, the aromas, everything, faded into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in their own world, built on the foundations of a precious memory and the present.

…

Monday morning burst in with the realism of a bucket of cold water, dragging with it the leaden weight of routine. The light filtering through the large office window was grayish, diffuse, bathing the pile of new reports lying, with almost aggressive punctuality, in the center of Gao Tu's desk in an impersonal pallor. The contrast with the warm intimacy, the spicy aromas of the Thai restaurant, and the stimulating pressure of Shen Wenlang's hand on he's over the weekend could not have been more abrupt and crude.

A silent sigh, barely disturbing the still air of the office, escaped his lips. He settled into his chair, the leather seat that had already molded to the shape of his body after years of use. The cool, smooth wood of the desk was familiar beneath him fingertips, a known jurisdiction in a world that, outside there, seemed to have become deliriously complex.

The sensory world of the weekend—the cheerful dissonance of the restaurant, the sweet spiciness of the pad thai, the warmth of Shen Wenlang's gaze—faded, replaced by the austere smells of the office: new paper with a slight chemical stench, the dry ink of the laser printer, and the bitter aroma of coffee from the coffee maker, which someone had prepared in the common room. He picked up his pen, a cheap blue plastic model with the worn HS company logo, whose weight and balance were as familiar to him as his own hand. With an almost automatic movement, he opened the folder of the first file. The monotony of the gesture—the creaking of the spiral binding, the rustling of the paper—had something meditative about it, a ritual that silenced the whirlwind of emotions still swirling in his chest.

His eyes, usually so expressive, clouded over with concentrated seriousness. They scanned the lines of typed text, turning dense paragraphs into data, data into patterns, and patterns into potential errors or opportunities. His mind, so capable of immersing itself in the unspoken poetry of a kiss or the warmth of a breakfast cooked for him, was transformed into a cold, efficient tool of analytical precision.

The pen rose for a moment, circling in the air above a figure that did not add up in a column of expenses. Then it descended, tracing a precise and energetic circle in red ink. The stroke was clear, unquestionable, marking the error with the silent authority of someone who knows they are right. The sound of paper being turned—a crisp sigh—broke the silence and set the pace from then on. It was the sound of productivity, of imposed normality. A constant, unyielding reminder that outside those cozy four walls him shared with Shen Wenlang, life went on. Demanding, methodical, and as real as the weight of the pen in his hand.

"Secretary Gao, can you help me with this?"

The voice, laden with apprehension, broke Gao Tu's silent concentration. He looked up from the report he was about to finish—he knew he would then have to retype it all on the computer, print it out, and take it to Shen Wenlang for his signature—and found one of his colleagues from the secretarial office standing in front of his desk. His usually serene face was pale, and her fingers were twisting a corner of the folder she was holding.

"What's going on?" Gao Tu replied, setting him pen down on the paper. His tone was calm, despite the interruption at such a crucial moment.

The woman swallowed nervously. "It's about the upcoming gala... the one for the country's most renowned pharmaceutical companies. You know, the event where all the companies bring a gift to showcase their flagship products." She paused, as if the words were burning her tongue. "Well, it seems that... in the final list of approvals from HS, one was left out. It was completely overlooked."

Gao Tu frowned, a line of confusion creasing his forehead. That was... unusual. Extremely unusual. Shen Wenlang was obsessively meticulous about these details, especially in the biotechnology and pharmaceutical sectors, where every move, every product displayed, was a statement of power and innovation. He personally reviewed every report, every list, every line of every proposal before signing off on it. That something like this had slipped his mind was almost inconceivable.

A shadow of concern, different from that of his partner, began to form in his mind. Was he so exhausted? So distracted by... by everything that had happened between them in the last few days that he had made such a basic mistake?

"Let me see," Gao Tu said, reaching out with a calmness he didn't entirely feel. His voice was firm, an anchor in his colleague's sea of anxiety.

She handed him the folder with an almost reverential gesture, as if she were passing him a time bomb. Gao Tu opened it, his eyes quickly scanning the list of products and announcements planned for the gala. His index finger ran over the names, descriptions, and approved batch codes for display. And then he saw it. A blank space where the name of a new extended-release painkiller should have been, a product HS had been proudly talking about in internal circles for months. A glaring mistake. A gaping hole.

He looked up at him colleague, whose expression was now one of pure, expectant terror. "Calm down," Gao Tu said, her tone carrying a quiet authority that seemed to calm his a little. His sage scent even released unconsciously at the sight of her coworker. "Do you have the digital file for this list?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, on the shared server, in the 'Q4 Events' folder."

"Good," said Gao Tu, closing the folder and handing it back to him. "Send me the file. I'll take care of talking to Mr. Shen for last-minute approval. It shouldn't be a problem."

His words were confident, but inside, a question kept nagging at him: Would there really be no problem? Or was this slip-up a symptom of something deeper, something to do with the Alpha figure who, for the first time, had shown a crack in his armor of perfection?

Chapter Text

No sooner said than done, Gao Tu immersed himself in the documents again, reviewing each line with a thoroughness that rivaled Shen Wenlang's own. Sure enough, there was the gap: the new extended-release painkiller, a project that had been talked about with such fanfare, was conspicuously absent from the final list. He checked the parallel preparations for the gala and confirmed that, inexplicably, everything was proceeding as if the product did not exist. It was a serious omission, one that Shen Wenlang would never have allowed under normal circumstances.

As he worked, he noticed the void left by the Secretary General's paternity leave. His colleagues, accustomed to a clear hierarchy, now turned to him with questions they would previously have directed to their superior. There was even a new employee, a young Beta, who seemed to be swimming in an ocean of confusion, needing constant guidance. Gao Tu guided him patiently, remembering the days when he was the new guy, trying to decipher Shen Wenlang's whims. Because, he thought with internal irony, the only one who could really make someone rewrite everything from scratch, with a cold stare and cutting words, was the Alpha himself. Despite his severity, Shen Wenlang was an exceptional boss. The benefits, bonuses, and salaries at HS were the envy of the industry, rivaling even those of X Holdings, although Gao Tu couldn't say for sure. X Holdings, under Hua Yong, was a kingdom apart, even more exclusive and wealthy, where excellence was demanded and rewarded in ways that sometimes bordered on the obscene. Or perhaps its rivalry in terms of benefits, bonuses, and salaries was with Sheng Shaoyou's company. He couldn't be sure of that, either. 

And the thought of Hua Yong brought him back to the uncomfortable unfinished business: the motherboard and the yoga center. He needed a credible excuse and time to investigate. Then there was the matter of his sister. His decision to resume her studies and move to a boarding school to ease the financial burden both moved and worried him. He felt guilty for not being able to spend more time with her, for not having provided with a more stable life before. She just wanted him to be at ease, freeing him from a pressure he had carried for years.

A soft murmur rippled through the office, drawing his attention to the time on his computer screen. Noon. The aroma of lunch from the cafeteria began to waft through the air, another of the luxuries that HS offered its employees: free meals during all three shifts. It was definitely an enviable place to work.

"Enjoy your lunch, Secretary Gao, and thank you very much."

His colleague, the one who had made the mistake on the list, approached him again and bowed so exaggeratedly that Gao Tu, behind his glasses, opened his eyes slightly in surprise.

"It's okay, it's okay. Thank you, and bon appétit, everyone," he replied, dismissing the group with a tired but genuine smile. He took the freshly printed sheets, put them in a new folder, and, with renewed purpose, headed for Shen Wenlang's office.

He knocked on the door with firm knuckles, the sound echoing clearly in the quiet hallway. When there was no response, he pushed the door open and entered. It was a privilege that only he had: to enter without being reprimanded.

The scene he encountered was familiar, yet it caused him a twinge of concern. Shen Wenlang was on the phone, his back straight, but his voice, though tenacious, had a hint of fatigue that Gao Tu had learned to detect.

"Mm... Have a good day," said the Alpha before hanging up. He looked up, and his eyes, which moments before had been clouded with concentration on his work, lit up when he saw Gao Tu. A faint but incredibly gentle smile touched his lips—those wolfish lips that could tear anyone apart in a reprimand but became sweet as honey when it came to him. "Honey, shall we go out for lunch?" The proposal was a clear attempt to escape, to steal a moment of intimacy away from the office walls.

Gao Tu approached the desk, maintaining his professional composure. "Before we do that, can you review these two reports?" he said, holding out the folder. His tone was formal, deliberately distant.

Shen Wenlang's eyebrows instantly furrowed, a cloud of displeasure darkening his expression. "It's lunchtime," he replied, his voice carrying a tone that made it clear he considered work an intrusion on his personal time with Gao Tu.

Gao Tu was unperturbed. He leaned slightly across the desk, closing the distance between them. "Do it, Wenlang," his voice softened, taking on a persuasive, sweet tone that he knew the Alpha couldn't resist. He played his trump card, the one bargaining chip that always worked. "And I'll let you kiss me for as long as lunch lasts."

It was a disastrous plan from a productivity standpoint and blatant blackmail. But it worked. The irritation on Shen Wenlang's face dissipated, replaced by a spark of interest and a slow, promise-laden smile. He knew Gao Tu was using his own weakness against him, and for some reason, that only attracted him more. With a sigh of surrender that was more theatrical than genuine, he took the folder.

"You always know how to negotiate, Secretary Gao," he murmured, opening the folder. His finger began to trace the lines, searching for the error Gao Tu had already identified. The price of a quiet lunch had just gone up, and Shen Wenlang was more than willing to pay it.

The silence in the office was heavy, broken only by the faint rustling of paper under Shen Wenlang's fingers. Gao Tu watched, holding his breath, as the Alpha reread the report containing the critical error. The thrill of blackmail—the sweet bribe of kisses—faded, replaced by growing concern as he saw genuine surprise take hold of Shen Wenlang's face. This was not a simple oversight; it was an omission that the usual Shen Wenlang, the meticulous industry titan, would have spotted instantly.

"Shit," the Alpha cursed in a hoarse whisper, almost to himself. His eyes, clouded by unusual confusion, scanned the page again before picking up his fountain pen. The signature he stamped at the bottom of the document was energetic, almost violent, as if he wanted to seal the mistake and banish it. "You have to call the organizers to get this in at the last minute," he said, handing the report to Gao Tu. His voice was soft, but laden with contained frustration and a perplexity he couldn't completely hide. How had this happened?

Gao Tu took the folder, noticing the slight tension in Shen Wenlang's jaw. It was as if the Alpha was struggling to reconcile this flaw with his own image of perfection. But, to Gao Tu's surprise, he had already taken action. He had contacted the organizers, mentioning the "oversight" with the unspoken authority conferred upon him as Shen Wenlang's personal secretary. To his amazement, there were no objections, only a quick, almost servile acceptance that struck him as strangely suspicious. That would be something for the organization to discuss with Shen Wenlang after lunch, surely.

Determined to dispel the shadow of irritation and confusion clouding his Alpha, Gao Tu deliberately released his pheromones. The fresh, calming scent of sage spread through the air, enveloping Shen Wenlang in a cloud of tranquility. His feet moved of their own accord, circling the imposing desk until he stood behind the Alpha's chair. His hands rested on Shen Wenlang's tense shoulders, and he felt, almost immediately, the man's body begin to relax under his touch. In response, Shen Wenlang's lily scent mingled with his own, creating that unique olfactory symphony that defined them.

With courage that felt borrowed, Gao Tu leaned in until he was inches from Shen Wenlang's face. He tilted his head slightly and closed the distance with a kiss. It wasn't a passionate kiss from the start, but a long, firm press of lips, a contact that sought to encourage rather than incite. Both kept their eyes open for a moment, looking at each other in that vulnerable intimacy, before their eyelids grew heavy and slowly closed.

Shen Wenlang loved this: that Gao Tu took the initiative, that he overcame his natural shyness for him. His hands did not remain still; they wrapped around the Omega's waist and, gently but confidently, guided him to sit on the edge of the desk. He pushed folders and ornaments aside with a sweep of his arm, creating space for his "pretty Omega," who parted his lips with a sigh and allowed the Alpha's tongue to entwine with his in a happy, familiar dance.

The air became saturated with their combined scent, particles of sage and lily frolicking and merging as if they had always been meant to be. Shen Wenlang knew this, remembering the compatibility test at the hospital, that astonishing ninety percent that the doctors had labeled "soulmates," a biological rarity that sealed them as a destined couple. His hands caressed Gao Tu's sides through the fabric, pressing the spots he knew would elicit muffled moans, but it was the kiss that became desperate, charged with a need that went beyond physical desire. When Gao Tu gently bit his lower lip, a rough gasp escaped Shen Wenlang, surrendering completely to the moment.

After the encounter, which left Gao Tu with a pleasant ache throughout his body, they sat down to eat on the large bed attached to the office. The room was a luxurious, minimalist retreat, more like a miniature apartment than a simple break room. Gao Tu devoured a piece of juicy meat while watching a Turkish soap opera on television. The dramatic dialogue and exaggerated acting filled the room.

"How dramatic and loud," Shen Wenlang commented disdainfully, barely picking at some vegetables on his plate.

Gao Tu glanced at him sideways. With chopsticks, he picked up a piece of meat and brought it to his Alpha's mouth. Shen Wenlang looked at him with eyes that immediately lit up, happy to receive his attention, chewing with a satisfaction that went beyond the taste of the food. They remind me of someone, Gao Tu thought, continuing to feed him. Shen Wenlang was half-dressed, his formal shirt open to reveal his chest, while Gao Tu wore a silk robe that seemed to have become his unofficial uniform in his intimacy with the Alpha.

"We only have ten minutes," Gao Tu said suddenly, stuffing the last few bites into his own mouth and Shen Wenlang's before standing up. His bones creaked slightly with the effort.

"You should take the afternoon off, baobei," Shen Wenlang blurted out, moving with canine speed to wrap his arms around him again and settle him back on the bed, completely ignoring the clock.

Gao Tu frowned, a genuine look of displeasure. "Do you want to keep me home alone?"

Shen Wenlang shook his head, and a sly smile, laden with deep adoration and a hint of concern, played on his lips. "I have to take care of my Omega."

Besides, there's a curious scent on you, Shen Wenlang thought, but he didn't say it out loud. Instead, he sealed his statement with a kiss much more tender than the previous ones, a kiss that guaranteed protection and vigilance that Gao Tu, perhaps, did not yet fully understand.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu sipped warm milk from his cream-colored mug, the little porcelain rabbit glistening in the kitchen light. From his seat at the island, he watched Shen Wenlang with quiet attention. The Alpha, standing by the window, was answering a call that had interrupted his breakfast. From the slight frown and tension in his shoulders, Gao Tu knew it was important; otherwise, he would have ignored it without a second thought.

"Tomorrow?" Shen Wenlang's voice cut through the air, not as a complaint, but with a hint of contained anger. Gao Tu narrowed his eyes, running his tongue over his lower lip before setting the cup down on the granite countertop. He took another bite of the fluffy pancakes, a recent and surprisingly successful addition to his Alpha's culinary repertoire, which he usually accompanied by traditional Chinese dishes.

"Fine, then pack what I'll need, and I'll be on the first flight out tomorrow."

Flight? Gao Tu's eyebrows rose. He followed the conversation with his eyes, watching Shen Wenlang's sullen expression soften as he hung up, transforming into an almost childlike pout, vulnerable and open, when his gaze met Gao Tu's.

"Do you want to come to the gala's priority party tomorrow?" Shen Wenlang asked, sitting back down on the stool with a movement that caused his already loose tie to slip further down his shoulder. His formal shirt, not fully buttoned, revealed a line of pale skin and the outline of his collarbone.

Gao Tu didn't respond immediately. Instead, he speared a small piece of pancake with his fork and brought it to Shen Wenlang's lips, an intimate gesture they had adopted naturally. 

"And do you have to fly?" he asked, as the Alpha accepted the food.

"Mm," Shen Wenlang nodded, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed and then fixed his dark eyes on Gao Tu. "Will you come with me?"

Gao Tu studied him, searching for the layers behind the question. 

"Is it mandatory?" he inquired, avoiding a direct yes or no, keeping his tone neutral as he watched every microexpression on the Alpha's face.

"Don't you want to come?" The question came out flat, lacking its usual emotion, as if Shen Wenlang was trying—and failing—to hide an instant disappointment. His scent, usually a powerful and controlled signature of lilies, was tinged with a subtle but unmistakable note of sadness and something else... a twinge of insecurity.

"Can I decline this time?" Gao Tu asked softly but firmly. He saw Shen Wenlang nod, an almost mechanical movement, though his scent betrayed the internal struggle. "I have to stay in charge in the Secretary General's place."

Shen Wenlang's brow immediately furrowed, a shadow of his usual Alpha authority crossing his face. "But you are my personal secretary, you have no reason to take on the duties of others, other than mine."

Gao Tu looked at him impassively, but not coldly. It was a look that invited reason, not confrontation. 

"But what happens in the secretariat also has my opinion; the Secretary-General trusts me," he explained, his voice calm but steady. "Because you, Wenlang, do it with me. You trust me too. And if there is a problem, I try to find a solution. Like last time with your list for the upcoming gala."

He didn't raise his voice. He wasn't harsh. He simply stated the facts, gently reminding Shen Wenlang that his trust was not an empty gift, but a responsibility that Gao Tu took seriously, extending it beyond their personal relationship. He was telling him, without saying it directly, that his place was not only by his side, but also in the structure he himself was building. And that sometimes staying was as important as accompanying him.

"Just this once, if there's nothing to stop us, then I'll accompany you," Gao Tu concluded, his voice sweet, sealing an unspoken truce. He reached out and took Shen Wenlang's hand, who still seemed somewhat reluctant, influenced by his initial discontent at the refusal. However, the Alpha did not reject the contact. On the contrary, he gently turned Gao Tu's hand and brought those slender fingers, marked by constant use of the keyboard, to his lips. The kiss was a gesture of surrender, of acceptance. A seal of possession and peace.

"It's okay."

Shen Wenlang's words were simple, but laden with deeper meaning. It was a capitulation, yes, but also a promise that next time he would not take no for an answer so easily.

...

The following days at the company were a whirlwind of activity. These were not those quiet days when you could immerse yourself in the whisper of reports. They were days of constant movement, of back-to-back meetings, of internal seminars where HS's future vision was disseminated. The integration of new staff added another layer of dynamism, a process of assimilation where fresh ideas were sifted through, and old inertia was discarded.

In the boardrooms, ambitious projects were outlined. Not only for HS individually, but initiatives that intertwined its interests with those of X Holdings, creating a network of power and innovation that promised to dominate the corporate Jianghu. There were even rumors of foreign companies, giants from other continents, beginning to take notice of these local "monsters," seeking alliances or, at the very least, understanding the source of their formidable growth.

Gao Tu navigated all this with calm efficiency; but his mind was often divided between the numbers on the screen and the memory of the promise he had made to Shen Wenlang, and the other, more urgent and personal, promise he had pending with Hua Yong.

At noon, the buzz of the office turned into the anticipatory murmur of lunch. Gao Tu checked his watch, confirming the time. With precise movements, he tidied the documents on his desk, aligning folders and stacking papers with a neatness that reflected his state of mind. He said goodbye to his colleagues with a polite smile. 

"Enjoy your lunch," he said, as they made their way to the stairs leading to the in-house cafeteria, with its free menus and familiar bustle.

But Gao Tu took a different path. Instead of heading to the dining room, he pressed the elevator button down to the main floor. The soft ding announced his arrival in the lobby, a spacious and bright space of polished marble and steel, always impeccable. He crossed the gleaming floor, his footsteps echoing softly in the grandeur of the place, and stepped through the revolving doors into the outside world.

The city air, heavy with smoke and the constant murmur of traffic, greeted him. He raised his hand, a confident gesture, and a taxi glided to the curb almost immediately. He opened the door and slid into the back seat, the interior atmosphere permeated with the smell of upholstery cleaner and the faint aroma of old tobacco.

"Where to, boss?" asked the driver, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

Gao Tu took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the small beige object in his jacket's inside pocket. 

"Sun Yat-sen Park, please," he said, his calm voice hiding the knot of apprehension and determination forming in his stomach. It was time to fulfill Hua Yong's strange request.

The taxi stopped in front of an inconspicuous entrance, almost hidden among the lush vegetation bordering Sun Yat-sen Park. It was not the main entrance, but a carved wooden and dark metal door with a small sign in elegant characters that simply read: "Garden of Serenity." It did not look like a yoga center; it looked like the entrance to a private club.

As he crossed the threshold, Gao Tu was greeted by the soft sound of a wind chime and the scent of sandalwood incense and fresh jasmine. The air was noticeably calmer, isolated from the hustle and bustle of the city. A woman dressed in an impeccably ironed, raw linen habit approached with a serene but inquisitive smile.

"Welcome. Is this your first visit?" she asked, her eyes scanning his office attire, clearly out of place.

Gao Tu nodded. "I have an appointment for... a class." He hesitated for a moment before taking out the VIP pass Hua Yong had given him, a simple piece of black cardboard with a gold embossed lotus flower seal.

The woman's eyes fell on the pass and her expression changed instantly. Her professional serenity was tinged with obvious respect, almost reverence. Her smile became genuinely warm. 

"Ah, a special guest. Please excuse the initial formalities. Please follow me."

She led him to an antechamber with silk walls and tatami flooring. "To fully immerse yourself in the experience and not disrupt the group's energy, we require all our visitors to wear appropriate attire," she explained gently. "If you would be so kind as to provide me with your clothing and shoe sizes. And I will need to record your details for our VIP file."

Gao Tu felt slightly overwhelmed. Hua Yong hadn't told him any of this. He had only mentioned an exclusive place for Omegas and a simple assignment. But he nodded, providing the required information with a calmness he didn't entirely feel. The woman elegantly wrote everything down on a bamboo tablet with a digital screen, a surreal contrast. Within minutes, he was given a set of clothes: loose pants and a tunic made of cotton so soft it felt like silk, in a pearl gray shade that complemented his skin. The sandals had jute soles and soft leather straps. He was directed to a sliding shoji door that led to a private dressing room.

When him joined the group in the main hall—a spacious room with light wood floors, illuminated by natural light filtering through rice paper panels—he understood why the protocol was so strict. The atmosphere was one of almost palpable calm. A dozen Omegas, all dressed in the same attire, moved with silent grace, laying out their mats. The air was heavy with their relaxing pheromones, a mixture of lavender, chamomile, and other soothing essences that intertwined in an olfactory tide of peace. Any external scent, any hint of the fast-paced city life, would have been a violent intrusion.

Gao Tu found a spot in the back, feeling the discreet but curious glances of the others. He wondered, not for the first time, what the hell Hua Yong was doing bringing him to this place. And then he remembered the real reason for his visit. His eyes scanned the space, looking for a blue T-shirt and a necklace with a lotus flower. The task suddenly seemed much more complex than he had anticipated.

"Please take your places in each space marked for your mats," a calm voice, with a cadence that seemed to vibrate with calmness itself, echoed through the room. A man, the instructor, had appeared at the front of the room without making a sound. His smile was broad, too white, and perfect, and for some reason, it made the hairs on the back of Gao Tu's neck stand on end. It was a smile that didn't reach his eyes, that seemed carved out of wood. But Gao Tu, an expert at following protocols, nodded slightly and made his way to the back of the room, finding one of the last free spaces among the straw mats.

The class began with a soft chant, a word repeated to focus attention. Gao Tu had never done yoga before. The movements felt strange at first, postures that twisted the body in ways that seemed unnatural. However, to his surprise, he discovered a latent flexibility that allowed him to keep up, albeit clumsily compared to the fluid grace of the experienced practitioners around him. He concentrated on imitating, on blending in with the group, on not standing out. Then came the moment of stillness. The instructor guided the class to sit cross-legged, backs straight, hands on knees. 

"Close your eyes," said his voice, now a silk thread tangling in him mind. "Focus your attention on your Qi energy. Feel how it flows from the center of your being, how it connects you to the earth and the sky."

Gao Tu obeyed, closing his eyes. He tried to empty his mind, but thoughts about the assignment, about Hua Yong, about the strangeness of the place, fluttered like persistent mosquitoes. That was when he smelled it. A scent. Sweet, intense, like burnt sugar candy, mixed with vanilla and something else... something almost metallic, medicinal. It was a deeply strange smell for an Omega. Most, including him, gave off fresher, herbal, floral, or woody fragrances. This caramel scent was discordant, artificial, and extremely potent.

His eyes widened, breaking his concentration. He turned his head discreetly, searching for the source. His gaze swept across the row in front of him, then the one beside him... and then he saw him. A man sitting two mats away. Seen in profile, he wore a simple, deep cobalt blue cotton T-shirt. And around his neck, standing out against the dark fabric, hung a silver necklace with a delicate but intricate design of an open lotus flower.

It was him. The contact.

Gao Tu's heart began to beat hard against his ribs, the rapid rhythm at odds with the calm that was supposed to reign in the room. Hua Yong's request, which had seemed so abstract and absurd, suddenly became real. And extremely uncomfortable. He had to approach a complete stranger in the middle of a meditation session and hand him... a computer motherboard.

He held his breath, watching the caramel-scented Omega out of the corner of his eye. The man seemed deeply immersed in his meditation, his features relaxed, almost absent. Gao Tu wondered, not for the first time, what kind of game Hua Yong was playing, and why he was the chosen pawn.

...

The class ended with the same ceremonious silence with which it had begun. The instructor thanked everyone with a bow, and the attendees rose with fluid movements, gathering their mats without haste. The scent of incense still hung heavy in the air, now mingling with the soft murmur of conversations that were beginning to spring up.

Gao Tu was led, along with the others, to an adjoining room set aside for tea. The space was equally immaculate and serene: low tables of dark, polished wood surrounded by cushions on the floor and a few elegant, minimalist chairs. Gao Tu chose one of these chairs, feeling relief at not having to bend his aching legs any longer. Almost immediately, an assistant in a sand-colored linen dress approached and, with movements that were a ritual in themselves, served him a cup of steaming tea. The aroma of jasmine and something else, a herb he did not recognize, rose in seductive spirals.

He lifted the cup, feeling the comforting warmth of the fine porcelain between his hands. He was about to take his first sip when a soft voice, as sweet and enveloping as the aroma emanating from its owner, stopped him.

"You are Gao Tu, right?"

Gao Tu looked up, and there he was. Standing in front of his table, the man in the cobalt blue T-shirt and silver lotus necklace looked even more striking in the dim light of the tearoom. His beauty was peculiar, almost ethereal, with sharp features and pale skin that contrasted with the vibrant blue of his shirt. But it was his scent that truly dominated the space: that intense, sweet, sticky caramel fragrance.

"I'm Long Zuo, nice to meet you," said the man, extending his hand with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, which watched Gao Tu with intense, calculating curiosity.

Out of pure social reflex, Gao Tu's hand moved to shake Long Zuo's. The contact was brief, but the other man's skin was surprisingly cold. Gao Tu opened his mouth to ask how he knew his name, the question burning in his mind, but Long Zuo was quicker.

"I heard it when you came in," he explained casually, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. He sat down in the chair opposite Gao Tu without waiting for an invitation, with disconcerting ease. With an almost imperceptible gesture, he called a waiter and ordered a tea identical to Gao Tu's. Then he folded his hands on the table and fixed his gaze on him. "Hua Yong told me I would meet you. He said you had something for me."

The direct mention of Hua Yong, in this place of deliberate peace, made Gao Tu's mouth go dry. The game had begun, and he was right in the center of the board.

"Of course," Gao Tu replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. With a deliberately calm movement, he reached into the inside pocket of his soft cotton robe and pulled out the small beige envelope. He slid it across the polished surface of the table, stopping it right in front of Long Zuo.

Long Zuo took the envelope with long, slender fingers, as pale as the rest of him. He did not open it immediately, but let it rest on the table, as if its contents were of little importance.

"You know, I don't frequent places like this very often," Long Zuo remarked, gesturing vaguely with his hand to encompass the tearoom, the quiet luxury, the artificial peace. "I'm not from around here. I'm from country P, but look, Hua Yong made me come." The complaint in his voice was superficial, a hint of annoyance that failed to hide a deeper curiosity, or perhaps an obligation that went beyond a simple family whim.

The tea he had ordered arrived at that moment, placed with a silent bow by the waiter. Long Zuo ignored it completely, his attention fixed on Gao Tu.

Gao Tu took advantage of the moment to take a sip from his own cup. The liquid was hot, but not to the point of burning, just a warmth that spread through his chest. The question burning in his mind finally found an outlet. 

"May I ask what you are to Hua Yong?" he inquired, lowering his cup.

The answer came with disarming candor. "I am his cousin," Long Zuo said, as if announcing the weather. There was no hesitation, no hint of a lie. His dark eyes studied Gao Tu, searching for his reaction.

Gao Tu nodded slowly, processing the information. Cousin. That explained the confidence, the strange request. But it didn't explain why he was the messenger.

"It's good to meet another Omega you can trust, you know?" Long Zuo continued, his voice taking on an almost confidential tone, though his expression remained difficult to read. "Hua Yong is very distrustful," he added, as if Gao Tu didn't already know, "but if he sent you here, it's so we can get to know each other."

The words hung in the air between them, laden with meaning that went beyond a simple delivery. It wasn't just about the motherboard. It was about an introduction. A test. Hua Yong was weaving his web, and Gao Tu, unwittingly, had just become another thread in it. Long Zuo's caramel scent seemed to intensify, enveloping him, and Gao Tu knew with cold confidence that this was far from over.

"Let's be good acquaintances, shall we?" Long Zuo asked, smiling softly and sipping his tea.

Gao Tu did not anticipate that his "lunch" at the company would stretch on for over two hours, culminating in Long Zuo's phone number in his possession. As he walked away down the sidewalk, looking for a taxi, he stopped at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change. He checked Shen Wenlang's messages about the meeting and the party, and his impatience to return to China to be by his side. It had only been three days since their last conversation.

The soft, almost unconscious smile that curved Gao Tu's lips froze instantly, wiped away by shock and a wave of pure cold that ran down his spine. The world, which moments before had been a distant murmur of traffic and the mental echo of Shen Wenlang's affectionate messages, was reduced to a narrow tunnel. At the center of that tunnel was his father's congested face, marked by alcohol and rage.

The hand that grabbed him elbow wasn't strong; it was irrational. The fingers, rough and dirty, dug into his flesh through the thin fabric of him yoga top, with a force that promised bruises. The tug was sharp, without the slightest delicacy, pulling him off the sidewalk just as the green pedestrian figure gave him the right to cross. The movement was so abrupt that Gao Tu gasped, a short, muffled sound that was lost in the bustle of the city.

"You think you can cut off the money you send me and disappear without me finding you!"

His father's voice was a harsh roar, laden with a familiar hatred that made Gao Tu's skin crawl. His breath hit him head-on, a sour smell of cheap alcohol and stale tobacco that turned his stomach. His heart hammered against his ribs, so hard he could feel the beat in his ears. Panic, an old acquaintance, began to climb up his throat, sharp and paralyzing.

"Let me go," the command came from his lips with a firmness that surprised even him. It was not the broken cry of the terrified child he once was. It was the voice of a man who had rebuilt his life through effort and pain. But his father's drunken irrationality was a primitive, blind force that responded not to reason but to rage. 

"Let go of me?" the man spat, squeezing his arm even tighter until it cracked. His face moved closer, his bloodshot eyes scrutinizing Gao Tu's with contempt. "Now you talk to me like that, you piece of trash? You think you're so important in your fancy clothes?" His gaze drifted downward, sliding over the pearl gray cotton tunic, so different from his usual rags. Gao Tu carried his washed and re-ironed suit in a cloth bag. "Where's the money? Where's your sister?"

Each word was a blow. The mention of his sister set off an even more urgent alarm. He struggled, but his father's brute strength, enhanced by alcohol, was overwhelming. People walked by, averting their gaze, turning them into an uncomfortable spectacle that no one wanted to be a part of.

Then, a deeply buried, ancestral instinct took over. One of his hands moved toward his belly, a protective, automatic gesture that his father, blinded by rage, did not register. And in that microsecond of distraction, Gao Tu's other hand rose. It was not a fist, but an open palm, driven by a surge of pure adrenaline and desperation. It slammed hard into his father's nose.

The impact was sharp, a dull, satisfying crack. His father's cry of pain and surprise was drowned out by the roar of traffic. The grip loosened for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Gao Tu broke free. He didn't think. He just ran.

His feet pounded the pavement, propelling his body in the opposite direction, away from that ghost made flesh. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out every other sound. He knew, with visceral certainty, that this wouldn't stop him forever. His father was like a weed, always coming back. But for now, he had escaped.

He ran without looking back, each breath burning his lungs, not only from the effort, but from the raw fear that still gripped his chest. He ran for his sister, for the life he had built, for the man he was becoming, far from the shadow of that Alpha who only knew how to destroy.

Chapter Text

The world became a blur of colors and sounds as Gao Tu ran. His heartbeat was a frantic drum in his ears, drowning out the honking of cars, the footsteps of people, the very hum of the city. He felt only the primitive urge to put distance, lots of distance, between himself and the specter of his father. Adrenaline burned through his veins, a sour energy that clouded his reason.

He stopped as abruptly as he had started running, turning a corner and leaning a hand against the cold brick wall of a building to keep from falling. He gasped for breath, his chest rising and falling with effort. He turned his head, eyes wide, scanning the street he had just run down, expecting to see the staggering, furious figure of his father chasing him.

He saw nothing. Only the normal flow of pedestrians oblivious to his drama.

As he turned back around, a collision was inevitable. His body, still out of control, crashed into something solid but flexible.

"Excuse me," he managed to articulate between short, deep gasps, the air burning in his lungs.

The person he collided with did not back away. They simply looked at him, and when Gao Tu looked up, he was met with a peculiar sight. Blue mirrored sunglasses that reflected his own distraught figure. A black mask covered the lower half of the face. A black bucket hat from which strands of straight, ink-colored hair escaped, reaching down to the shoulders. The clothing was military style, a tight olive green jacket and cargo pants, spotless despite the impact.

But it was the scent that really caught Gao Tu's attention through his confusion. A familiar scent. Not identical, but in the same olfactory family. It was the scent of an Omega, yes, but with a powerful, earthy base that reminded him disturbingly of Shen Wenlang. It was as if his Alpha's lily scent had been filtered through the essence of another being, creating a similar but distinctive fragrance, calming and alert at the same time.

Behind the blue lenses, Gao Tu saw the stranger's thin, well-defined eyebrows arch in surprise. The man's head turned slightly, looking over his shoulder in the direction Gao Tu had come from, as if he could see the danger he had just fled.

"Are you okay? Is someone following you?" The voice that emerged from behind the mask was deeper than he expected for an Omega, but soft, with a calm cadence. His eyebrows were now furrowed, showing genuine concern. He took a step closer, but stopped, maintaining a respectful distance that Gao Tu, in his hyper-alert state, deeply appreciated.

Gao Tu tried to catch his breath, swallowing hard. "Yes, I think I'm fine," he lied, his voice still shaky. At that moment, a dull ache, not sharp but persistent, ran through his lower abdomen. He wrinkled his nose involuntarily.

The stranger didn't believe him. His eyes, barely visible behind dark glasses, scanned Gao Tu from head to toe with an intensity that was almost physical. His gaze stopped, fixed on Gao Tu's hand. The hand that, without him fully realizing it, had rested again on his belly, not in a gesture of pain, but of instinctive protection. A shield over something delicate, wary of anyone touching it.

"Are you really okay?" insisted the voice, now with a hint of urgency. "Are you pregnant? Why are you running?"

The word "pregnant" hit Gao Tu like a bucket of cold water. It threw him completely off balance. His mind, clouded by panic and adrenaline, suddenly cleared enough to register the anomaly: his hand on his belly. It wasn't a conscious gesture. It was... automatic. As if a deeper part of him, his Omega instinct, had been activated during the confrontation, pushing him not only to escape, but to protect. And it was true, in the last few months, since he had stopped taking the injectable inhibitors and painkillers, since he had drunk what Hua Yong had given him, his health had improved in a way that seemed almost miraculous to him. He was no longer weak. But this gesture... was new.

"You're very pale, puppy."

"Puppy." The second unexpected word. It wasn't a condescending term, but strangely affectionate, protective. Gao Tu looked up and, through the mirrored lenses, thought he caught a flash of honest concern in the stranger's eyes. An empathy that transcended simple courtesy.

"You need to go to the hospital," the man said firmly. "I can take you."

"No," Gao Tu's refusal was instantaneous, sharp. Distrust, fueled by recent trauma, surged strongly. "I'll go on my own." It was all too much: the violent reunion with his father, and now this enigmatic Omega who seemed to read him like an open book.

But the man didn't give up. He crossed his arms, and although his face was hidden, his posture conveyed unyielding determination. 

"But I'm coming with you. I can't let you pass out in the taxi," he insisted. His tone had a strangely maternal quality, like that of a mother scolding a stubborn child.

Gao Tu, feeling his strength begin to leave him, feeling the tremor return to his hands, didn't have the energy to argue further. With fingers that weren't quite responding, he took out his phone and called a taxi. When it arrived, he gave the driver the address in a voice he barely recognized as his own: "To Heci Hospital, please."

Before getting in, he looked at the stranger. The man nodded, a silent word. And as Gao Tu settled into the back seat, he saw through the window how the Omega in military clothes and blue glasses got into another taxi right behind his. He was going to be accompanied, whether he liked it or not. And amid the chaos and fear, a small, tiny part of him felt inexplicably relieved.

.

.

.

The bureaucratic familiarity of Heci Hospital was a surreal contrast to the chaos on the street. The fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic, the low murmur of the nurses... everything was predictable, almost reassuring in its normality. When the nurses recognized him, their faces showed a mixture of professionalism and slight concern.

"Secretary Gao, are you alone?" one asked, her eyes scanning the empty hallway behind him.

Gao Tu shook his head, gesturing vaguely toward the older Omega who stood at a discreet distance, a quiet but undeniable presence. 

"I'm with... him." He didn't know how to introduce him. The stranger said nothing, merely observing the procedure with a calmness that bordered on authority.

Given his pallor and obvious dizziness, they insisted he sit in a wheelchair. The feeling of helplessness as he was pushed down the hallway was humiliating, but he didn't have the strength to protest. The news that Dr. Han, his primary care physician, was busy, and he would have to wait was the last straw for the older Omega's frustration.

"This is the first time I've seen a doctor unwilling to see an Omega in your condition in the shortest amount of time," he commented, his voice a whisper laden with irritation that cut through the silence of the hallway. "Even knowing that this is the most expensive hospital in this city." His tone suggested that, in his experience, money and status should buy priority.

Gao Tu turned to him, feeling the need to defend, not the system, but the only medical constant in his life. "Maybe that's not it. Dr. Han has my life history, it's a bit complicated," he explained, choosing his words carefully. He wasn't going to reveal his pheromone problems, his history of inhibitors, to a stranger. "Besides, my partner chose this doctor." The blush that rose to his cheeks when he mentioned Shen Wenlang was instant and treacherous. At that moment, he wished with all his might that the Alpha was there, that his mere presence would be enough to dispel the vulnerability that flooded him.

The older Omega studied him, and for the first time, Gao Tu noticed a deeper curiosity in that gaze hidden behind the glasses. "I came to Jianghu a couple of days ago, it seems I was given the wrong information," he sighed, a sound that seemed laden with meaning that Gao Tu couldn't decipher. However, he abruptly changed the subject. "Have you ever wanted to leave Jianghu and travel to Country P?"

The question took him by surprise. "Under different circumstances, I would have," Gao Tu replied sincerely. If things had followed that strange plot thread in the novel he read in that parallel world with Shen Wenlang, before rebuilding his life, escape had been a constant fantasy.

"Really?" The older Omega's reaction was subtle, but Gao Tu thought he saw a faint smile in the slight arch of his eyes, a curve that, again, seemed vaguely familiar, fueling the strange feeling of connection he felt toward this enigmatic character.

"But now everything is different," Gao Tu confessed, and his hand, almost of its own accord, rested on his belly again. A slight grimace, a mixture of confusion and fear, appeared on his lips. He didn't know what was happening to his body, but he sensed that it would be something that would change everything again.

"They're taking too long," the older Omega suddenly muttered, his attitude changing completely. He turned his head toward the end of the hallway, his body tensing like a predator sensing danger. The tranquility vanished, replaced by a sharp alertness more befitting an Alpha.

"What's going on?" asked Gao Tu, alarmed by the sudden change.

The stranger turned toward him, and for the first time, there was physical contact. His hand rested on Gao Tu's shoulder. The gesture was not invasive, but willing, protective. 

"Please take care of yourself," he said, his voice grave, urgent. "You should get yourself some bodyguards. Omegas, in your condition, without a permanent mark, can be vulnerable."

The words fell like stones into the calm pond of his mind. No permanent mark? Did he mean...? The implication was clear, and terrifying.

Before Gao Tu could respond, ask questions, the older Omega stood up. With a final, almost carefree wave of his hand, he turned and began walking down the hallway, walking away with a belligerence that allowed for no goodbyes.

The scene changed dramatically in a matter of seconds. The void left by the stranger was immediately filled by an overwhelming, familiar, and longed-for presence. Down the same hallway where the senior Omega had disappeared, Gao Tu saw Shen Wenlang advancing.

The Alpha walked with long, quick strides, his S-class aura expanding like a shockwave that preceded his arrival. The usual elegance of his suit was disrupted; his jacket was open, his tie loose, his hair slightly disheveled. But it was his expression that took Gao Tu's breath away: a mixture of icy fury, abysmal concern, and a relief so deep it seemed painful.

"Gao Tu!"

His name, shouted in that voice he knew so well, shattered any remaining composure he had left. His eyes instantly filled with tears, an involuntary and intense reaction. He didn't understand why, at that precise moment, he felt an absurd, primal need for Shen Wenlang to hold him tight, to sink into his lily scent and feel safe, marked, protected. The older Omega's warning echoed in his ears, but at that moment, the only security that existed in the world was advancing toward him with open arms.

Gao Tu's world shrunk to the figure that burst into the sterile hospital corridor. Everything else—the echo of the senior Omega's warnings, the slight persistent pain in his belly, the hum of the fluorescent lights—faded in the face of Shen Wenlang's overwhelming presence. It wasn't just his arrival; it was the way he arrived. Not with the immaculate composure of the CEO, but with the wild fury of a protector whose treasure had been threatened.

"Why are you here? Why aren't you in a hospital room?"

Shen Wenlang's voice was not a shout, but a low growl, laden with disbelief bordering on horror. The words, rough from lack of breath—he had evidently been running—echoed in the silence of the hallway like a whip crack. He did not wait for an answer. There was no room for explanations in the torrent of emotions that flooded him.

Before the stunned eyes of Gao Tu and the nurse who was still nearby, Shen Wenlang sank to his knees. It was not a gentle or delicate gesture; it was a fluid but powerful movement, like that of a dog lunging. His knees hit the cold linoleum floor with a sharp sound that made Gao Tu shudder. And then, the Alpha's arms—those same arms that Gao Tu knew intimately, strong but always careful—wrapped around him.

And it wasn't a hug. It was a claim. A fierce, desperate possession. Shen Wenlang lifted him out of the wheelchair as if he weighed no more than a handful of feathers, with an ease that always took Gao Tu's breath away. The empty chair rolled backward with a metallic squeak of protest. Without letting go, Shen Wenlang sat down on the modern, austere sofa in the living room, settling Gao Tu on his lap, against his chest, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Gao Tu could feel Shen Wenlang's heart pounding against his own back, a rapid and chaotic rhythm that betrayed the panic the Alpha was struggling to contain. Shen Wenlang's breath was hot and ragged against his neck. The scent of lilies, usually serene and controlled, was now a storm: sour with adrenaline, thick with worry, and with a dangerous undertone of contained anger that guaranteed consequences.

"I'll make them regret this," Shen Wenlang murmured against his skin, his voice a low tremor. The words were not directed at Gao Tu, but at the entire universe that had allowed this to happen. "Stupid, incompetent... How dare they leave you here, exposed, in a hallway?" He was going to curse the hospital, the doctors, the nurses, the entire city. The scene was ready to explode in a display of Alpha power that would have been terrifying if it weren't for the fact that every syllable, every muscle tension, was driven by genuine, intense terror for him.

But then, in the midst of his rage, another feeling arose, an even deeper pang that was reflected in the slight tremor of his arms as he tightened his grip around Gao Tu. "And you?" he whispered, his voice broken this time, directed straight into Gao Tu's ear. "How could you allow this? Why didn't you demand a room? Why were you alone?" 

It was a painful accusation, born of helplessness. The nurses, from a safe distance, had mumbled something about a routine medical appointment, about Secretary Gao not wanting a room. But to Shen Wenlang, who had gotten off the plane as if the devil himself were chasing him and had driven to the hospital at breakneck speed, that was no explanation. It was a catastrophic failure of the system, and a personal failure on his part.

Because Shen Wenlang had come for two reasons that were intertwined in a spiral of guilt and need. The first was simple and overwhelming: he missed his Omega with a physical force that had consumed him during every hour of separation. He hadn't expected the news upon his arrival to be that Gao Tu was in the hospital. The second reason was darker, and it fueled the rage that now boiled beneath his skin. The bastard, the disgusting worm that was Gao Tu's father, Gao Ming, had shown up. He had sent for him, yes, to keep him under control, but the man had managed to slip away like the rat he was for a few days, only to reappear and dare to touch, to terrorize, his partner in the middle of the street. The very thought made him nauseous.

And above all, above everything else, there was a burning guilt. The guilt of having left. The guilt of not having left a team of bodyguards glued to Gao Tu's side twenty-four hours a day. He had underestimated the threat, prioritizing work over his Omega's safety, and now Gao Tu was pale and trembling in his arms, smelling of fear and hospital. Shen Wenlang buried his face in Gao Tu's hair, inhaling deeply, searching for his sage essence beneath the smell of antiseptic. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed, the words so low that only Gao Tu could hear them. "I'm so sorry, baobei. I shouldn't have left. It won't happen again." It was an oath made to the universe, a promise sealed with the trembling of his body against Gao Tu's. In that embrace, amid the chaos of the waiting room, Shen Wenlang was not the powerful CEO. He was simply an Alpha who had almost lost his entire world, and who swore never to let it go again.

Chapter Text

A small, almost furtive smile curved on Gao Tu's lips against the warm skin of Shen Wenlang's neck. The irony of the situation did not escape his perception: he was the one who had been harassed on the street, the one sitting in a wheelchair, and yet it was the powerful S-class Alpha who was trembling like a leaf, shaken to his core, hugging him as if the world were ending. Gao Tu's instinct was to comfort him, to sink into that embrace and let the storm pass. But the cold, urgent reality demanded to be addressed.

Shen Wenlang's question, laden with confusion and a hint of reproach, interrupted his thoughts. "What is this attire? Why aren't you at the company?" The Alpha pulled away just enough to scrutinize him, his hands still clinging to Gao Tu's arms like anchors. Shen Wenlang didn't give a damn if the waiting room was saturated with their intertwined pheromones; his only focus was Gao Tu.

"I went to a yoga meeting," Gao Tu confessed, remaining seated on the Alpha's lap, a territory that now seemed like the only safe place in the world. He watched as Shen Wenlang's eyebrows, usually perfectly arched with exasperation or concentration, twitched slightly. The disconnect between the image of Gao Tu, the efficient secretary and Gao Tu in loose yoga clothes was too great to process immediately.

"Yoga?" The repetition was flat, skeptical.

"Yes," Gao Tu affirmed, with a simplicity that he knew would fuel Shen Wenlang's perplexity or something else.

Before the Alpha could formulate the next question—which would undoubtedly be a suspicion-laden "why?"—Gao Tu decided to take control of the situation in the only way he knew would calm the rising tide in Shen Wenlang's dark eyes. He leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss.

Not a kiss of desperate passion, but something softer, more exploratory. A kiss of reconciliation, of "I'm here, I'm safe." His lips moved with deliberate tenderness, savoring the familiar texture, calming the tremor he felt on Shen Wenlang's lips. He knew, with instinctive certainty, that this was not the time or place for things to escalate. When he sensed Shen Wenlang's intention to deepen the kiss, when the Alpha's hand began to descend his back with more possessive pressure, Gao Tu gently pulled away.

"They're going to end up kicking us out for inappropriate public displays," Gao Tu murmured, his voice a reasonable whisper against Shen Wenlang's mouth. He made a move to climb off his lap, an attempt to restore some sanity to the situation.

It was useless. Shen Wenlang's arm, which was wrapped around his waist, tightened like a steel band, preventing any movement. "Let them try," the Alpha murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. 

Him gaze, however, was not on Gao Tu, but swept across the empty hallway with a ferocity that would dismiss anyone who dared to interfere. And his attention returned to Gao Tu, but the tenderness of the kiss was gone, replaced by a practical and burning concern. 

"How long have you been waiting for that Dr. Han to see you?" He snapped, the words coming out like a whip crack. 

Impatience, anger at perceived incompetence, burned in his eyes. Every minute Gao Tu had been waiting, vulnerable and unattended, was a personal affront to Shen Wenlang, further proof that the world did not understand the value of what he protected. And now, with Gao Tu in his arms, he was determined to rectify that injustice immediately.

Doctor Han's announcement, "Mr. Gao?" cut through the charged tension in the hallway. The voice was calm, professional, but enough to bring a shred of reality back to the situation. 

Gao Tu, taking advantage of Shen Wenlang's momentary distraction, slid from his lap with an agility that surprised even himself. His feet touched the cold floor, but a wave of dizziness made him stagger. His hand flew instinctively to his forehead, trying to hold on to a balance that was slipping away.

"Gao Tu." The name on Shen Wenlang's lips was not a question, but a statement full of alarm. In an instant, the Alpha was at his side, his arm firmly wrapped around his torso, becoming a living prop. The contact was solid, necessary, but also a reminder of the fragility Gao Tu was trying to deny.

Doctor Han, observing the scene with his clinical eyes, asked the logical question. "Can you walk?"

It was the spark that lit the fuse. Shen Wenlang turned to him with a slowness that was more threatening than a sudden movement. His gaze was a wall of ice. The doctor, an Alpha himself, but of a completely different category, got the message immediately. He closed his mouth, swallowing any other words, and simply nodded toward the open door of his office.

"I can walk," Gao Tu protested, his voice weak, even to his own ears.

Shen Wenlang completely ignored his protest. With a fluid movement that spoke of tremendous strength, he lifted him up bridal-style, as if he weighed less than a feather. Gao Tu, too dizzy and embarrassed to fight back, let himself be carried, burying his face in the Alpha's neck to avoid the stares he sensed from the reception area. Shen Wenlang carried him straight to the office and laid him down on the examination table, covered with crisp paper, with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the ferocity of his expression.

Gao Tu, lying down, let his gaze wander around the room. It was austere, functional. The cold light from the computer screens reflected off the frames of the diplomas on the wall. He remembered his last visit, weeks ago, when he was still under the residual effects of the inhibitors, when his body was a battlefield of chemicals and denial. Dr. Han had taken a seat on his swivel stool, a thick file in his hands. Gao Tu recognized his own name on the label. It wasn't the old file; this one was new, more voluminous. It documented the Li Pei En phase: the first consultations, the radical decision to abandon the inhibitors, the introduction of vitamins and supplements, the withdrawal crisis that had brought him to the brink, and his final collapse. It was the chronicle of his rebirth, written in clinical terms.

The transition from flashback to reality was abrupt. The image of Dr. Han reviewing that thick file faded, replaced by the same figure, now standing in front of the office sink, meticulously drying his hands with a paper towel. The cold light in the room was the same, but the atmosphere had changed. There was no longer just a patient and his medical history; now there was an S-class Alpha whose aura of concern and contained fury filled every corner with the space, and a pale, trembling Omega lying on the examination table.

"I was informed that you came in pale and dizzy," Dr. Han began, his voice regaining its professional composure, although a slight tremor in his hands as he discarded the towel betrayed the tension Shen Wenlang was projecting. "We can also move up the checkups we had scheduled for next month."

Gao Tu, reclining on the crisp paper, nodded weakly. His gaze met briefly with Shen Wenlang's, who stood like a sentinel beside the stretcher, arms crossed and jaw clenched. The Alpha said nothing, but his presence was an unmistakable statement: nothing that happened in that room would escape his scrutiny.

Doctor Han approached, a small ophthalmoscope in his hand. "Allow me," he said softly, leaning in to examine Gao Tu's pupils. The bright light made him blink. "The reaction is good," the doctor murmured, more to himself than to them. And with a precision that spoke of years of experience, he proceeded to take his vital signs. The sphygmomanometer inflated around Gao Tu's arm, squeezing with firm pressure. Shen Wenlang watched every movement, every number that appeared on the monitor, with the keen eye of a hawk.

"Blood pressure is a little low," the doctor commented, "but understandable, given the shock and physical exertion." He moved on to listen to his heart and lungs with his stethoscope. The cold metal against his skin made Gao Tu shiver. Shen Wenlang, sensing the tremor, reached out and placed his warm palm on Gao Tu's bare ankle, a soothing point of contact and grounding amid the clinical examination.

"Breathing is a little shallow, but the lungs are clear," the doctor noted. He then straightened up and looked Gao Tu directly in the eye. "Now, Mr. Gao, I need you to be completely honest with me. Aside from dizziness and paleness, did you experience any other symptoms during or after the altercation? Sharp pain, nausea, blurred vision..." He paused, and his gaze instinctively drifted down to Gao Tu's belly, where the Omega's hand had rested protectively earlier. "Or any... cramping or unusual discomfort in the pelvic or abdominal region?"

The question, asked with clinical delicacy, made Gao Tu's heart race again. His eyes flew to Shen Wenlang, whose face had darkened even further, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concern. The Alpha understood the implications as well as he did. The doctor wasn't just asking about the aftermath of the scare; he was probing into a much more momentous possibility, one that they had both avoided naming, but which had been hanging in the air for a couple of days.

The office fell into an expectant silence. The faint hum of the computer seemed to amplify. All attention was focused on Gao Tu, on the answer that would take the test in one direction or another, an answer that could change the course of their lives forever.

Gao Tu's "yes," uttered toward the white, impersonal ceiling, echoed in the office with the weight of a monumental confession. It was not just an acknowledgment of a symptom; it was the opening of a door to a possibility that both had been avoiding, consciously or unconsciously, for days.

Dr. Han's response was immediate and practical, a necessary counterpoint to the emotional charge that now saturated the air. "Okay, then I want to run some tests to confirm any suspicions and find out what your pheromone levels are like," he said, his voice a balm of clinical normality. "You've improved quite a bit since you stopped taking the inhibitors with the painkiller mixtures months ago." His gaze shifted briefly to Shen Wenlang, who stood motionless as a statue, absorbing every word. "And with your Alpha, the continued exposure to his pheromones may have helped improve things, but we'll see when I take a blood sample."

At the mention of the needle, Shen Wenlang couldn't help but frown slightly. The idea of something piercing Gao Tu's skin, even for medical reasons, caused him inevitable revulsion. But he bit his lip and nodded, accepting the protocol. Because behind that discomfort, an explosive mixture of emotions was bubbling. The possibility that Gao Tu was pregnant filled him with fierce, primal pride and an anxiety that wasn't bad, but rather the vibrant expectation of a future he longed for. However, his mind, treacherous, instantly flashed back to the moments of intimacy that had led to this point.

He remembered with searing clarity his zeal, the fierce need that consumed him. He had tried to protect himself, had intended not to tie himself down without Gao Tu's explicit consent, without being sure they wanted the consequences. But then his thoughts raced elsewhere, to a random day at the office. He remembered Gao Tu's face, red as a tomato, muttering through clenched teeth that "the office wasn't the place to end up doing this," just as Shen Wenlang had him pinned against the desk. And that afternoon... that afternoon there was no protection. The excitement of the place, the prohibition, the urgency, had brought them to a point of no return. He remembered the feeling of swelling inside Gao Tu, the frantic rocking, the muffled moan of his Omega when the knot formed, sealing them together. And when he finally deflated, the desire had been so overwhelming that they did it again, as if the first time had only fueled the fire.

"What are you thinking about, Wenlang?"

Gao Tu's voice, soft but laden with curiosity, snapped him out of his reverie. Shen Wenlang looked down and met those eyes staring at him from behind his glasses, a flushed face that was not only from fever or dizziness, but because Shen Wenlang himself, without realizing it, had been releasing suggestive and cheerful pheromones, a scent of lilies in full bloom that betrayed the direction of his thoughts.

And when he saw him, really saw his—those bright eyes, those plump, heart-shaped lips he loved to kiss, that intelligent, serious face that lit up just for him—something inside Shen Wenlang broke. All the precautions, all the plans to do things at the right time, vanished.

"I love you," he said plainly, the words coming out unfiltered, raw and honest.

He watched as Gao Tu's shy smile froze on his lips, disappearing completely, replaced by an expression of utter surprise. Then, a charming pout formed on his face, a jumble of exasperation and affection that only made Shen Wenlang want him more.

But it wasn't enough. Words alone were no longer enough.

"I love you, Gao Tu," he repeated, intensifying each syllable. "And I want you to, no, not like that..." He paused, searching for the right words, discarding his prepared speeches. This had to be real, like them. "Would you do me the honor of finally becoming my life partner? So I can bite you... And you can bite me too." The reference to biting, to the permanent bond, was the most profound proposal an Alpha could make. "I love you so much," he added, his voice laden with emotion so vast it almost overwhelmed him, "that if you tell me it's Christmas or New Year's, I'll believe you."

The statement was absurd, illogical, and perfect. It was the total surrender of a man who was always in control, offering that control to the person who had completely disrupted his world. The doctor's office, the doctor, the pending tests... everything disappeared. Only the two of them existed, and the question that now hung in the air, as earthly as the rapid beating of their hearts.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu's lips twisted into a grimace that couldn't decide between laughter and tears, and in the end, the tears won the battle. They fell silently, streaking down his cheeks already flushed with fever and emotion, a salty river that released a decade of silent waiting. He tried to sit up on the stretcher, a clumsy movement, and instantly Shen Wenlang's hands were there, not only to support him, but to frame his face. His large, warm palms caught the tears, thumbs caressing the damp skin with a reverence that made it hard for Gao Tu to breathe.

What is the name of that feeling that runs through you when, after years of loving in the shadows, you discover that your love was not only seen, but reciprocated with an intensity that eclipses all your fantasies? There was no word big enough. There was only a physical sensation, an expansive warmth that ran through his body from crown to heel, as if every cell were awakening to a new sun. More than ten years. An entire decade of stolen glances, of smiles treasured like secrets, of enduring the bitter words Shen Wenlang hurled at Omegas, knowing that he, hidden behind the facade of a Beta, was the secret target of that contempt. He had come to see Shen Wenlang as a distant star, a celestial body of cold, unreachable light, while he walked with his feet muddy in the soil of reality. No matter how high he looked, the chasm was always there.

The future he had feared—a pregnancy in solitude, a childhood in the shadows, a life of longing—faded like a bad dream at dawn. In its place was the Alpha in the flesh, kneeling before him, his smile a whirlwind of affection and concern. His pheromones, usually an imposing fortress, were now a serene blanket of lilies, woven specifically to calm him, to heal him, to tell him, without words, that he was protected, desired, and, above all, deeply loved.

They would have to talk, he knew. He would have to unearth those ten years of silent love, of necessary lies, of contained pain. But not now. Now, he could only allow himself to feel.

"I love you too," he confessed, tears streaming down his face, his voice breaking with emotion. He felt ashamed of his distraught expression, of the snot and tears, but the overwhelming feeling that everything finally fit together perfectly was stronger than any shame.

Shen Wenlang felt his heart lurch so violently that it almost made him dizzy. He leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss that was not of passion, but of taste. He savored the salt of his tears, the unique essence of Gao Tu, as if he were drinking a truth he had wandered too long for.

"I once told you that you would be the exception in everything in my life," Shen Wenlang murmured against his lips, pulling away only an inch. "I wish I hadn't been so foolish to wait so many years to know that you were an Omega." His gaze was intense, moist too. "If I had known in college or much earlier, we wouldn't be waiting here to find out about the existence of our first baby, but our second or third." The smile he gave was tender and a little sad, laden with the weight of lost time.

Dr. Han, whether out of understanding or simply prudence, seemed to have vanished, giving them this sacred space.

Gao Tu, hearing this, sniffed softly, a childish sound that elicited a choked laugh from him. The idea that Shen Wenlang regretted not having more children with him was as overwhelming as it was adorable. But then, a key word seeped into his clouded consciousness.

"So many years?" he asked, his eyes widening, the tears stopping out of sheer surprise.

Shen Wenlang snorted, a mixture of exasperation and affection. "I liked you from the first day I saw you," he confessed, his voice a hoarse whisper. "And as the days passed with you, I knew you were different from everyone else." He paused, his gaze clouding over with a hint of ironic bitterness. "And it's so ironic how cruel fate can be when, in the end, you have to discover who your true life partner is."

The revelation left Gao Tu breathless. It hadn't been a one-sided love. It hadn't been a secret obsession of he’s alone. It had been a game of mirrors, two souls in parallel love, blinded by lies and prejudice, orbiting each other without daring to cross the space that separated them. And now, here they were, in a hospital office, with the expectation of a baby between them and a truth that finally freed them both.

Gao Tu felt that if him didn't cry now, he would cry more, but he was feeling too overwhelmed for this to be happening. They were rewriting their history, despite the years that had passed, but they were here, forming a bond and unloading everything they had kept inside.

"Stop crying," Shen Wenlang asked, a hoarse whisper that oscillated between gentleness and a possessive growl. It wasn't an order, but a plea laden with the emotion that overwhelmed him. But Gao Tu, his ‘crybaby’ as he called him with a tenderness only he could afford, shook his head, burying his face even deeper into the hollow of the Alpha's neck. These weren't tears of sadness, but of a release so profound that it shook his slender body.

Shen Wenlang didn't insist. Instead, he surrendered to the embrace, tightening his arms around Gao Tu and resting his chin on his head. There, he inhaled the scent of sage, now mixed with the saltiness of tears, and swallowed hard with a lump in his throat. He was more than sure that the test results would be positive. It wasn't just a hunch; it was knowledge that resonated deep within his Alpha core. His Omega, the man he had loved in the dark for years, carried within him the beginning of their family.

Time lost all meaning. They didn't know if Dr. Han had gotten lost in the labyrinthine corridors of the hospital, had been called away by an emergency, or was simply granting them this precious and necessary space. The hour and a half that passed until the office door opened again felt like a sigh and an eternity at the same time.

When the doctor finally reappeared, he did so with a folder of documents in his hand. His expression was professional, but in his eyes there was a glimmer of something that could be satisfaction or simple relief at having conclusive news. Gao Tu and Shen Wenlang had settled themselves on the examination table, sitting side by side, their shoulders touching. Shen Wenlang's hand rested on Gao Tu's thigh, a constant and reassuring point of contact.

Most notable, however, was the atmosphere in the office. Despite the intense mix of pheromones they had both released—Shen Wenlang's storm of lilies and Gao Tu's excited sage—the air was neither heavy nor oppressive. On the contrary, it had settled into a strange harmony, a unique and complex perfume that spoke of belonging and calm after the storm. It smelled... good. It smelled like home.

Dr. Han cleared his throat softly, breaking the spell. "Well," he began, approaching and placing the folder on the small rolling table. "We have the results." His eyes rested first on Gao Tu, then on Shen Wenlang, acknowledging the unity they now represented. "And, as I'm sure you both sensed, I can confirm that Mr. Gao is pregnant. The blood tests are conclusive. The hormone levels are consistent with an early pregnancy, approximately five weeks."

He paused, allowing the information to sink in. "Your pheromone levels," him continued, addressing Gao Tu more specifically now, "show significant improvement. The stability you have gained by discontinuing the inhibitors, combined with constant and... harmonious... exposure to your partner's pheromones," he said with a slight nod toward Shen Wenlang, "has created an ideal hormonal environment for the pregnancy to progress. It is, medically speaking, a very favorable situation."

Shen Wenlang gently squeezed Gao Tu's thigh. He said nothing, but his posture stood tall with a pride so palpable you could almost touch it. Gao Tu, for his part, felt a new wave of tears welling up, but this time they were quiet, born of pure wonder. He looked down at his flat belly, where the most incredible life was just beginning, and then him looked at Shen Wenlang. The Alpha was already looking at him, and in his eyes there was no doubt, no fear, only absolute devotion to a future that, against all odds, they were finally going to build together.

And Gao Tu felt that everything in his head was processing at an exasperatingly slow pace, as if his thoughts were swimming through thick honey. The day had been a brutal roller coaster: the scare on the street, the appearance of the mysterious Omega, Shen Wenlang's stormy arrival, the confession of love, and now... this. The ‘five weeks’ of gestation echoed in his mind like a buzzing sound, separating itself from the other words. That specific number anchored him to a reality that had been abstract until then.

"But I haven't had any symptoms of pregnancy until today, and..." The phrase came out of his mouth with genuine doubt, almost a disconnect. He touched his belly gently, as if expecting to feel something different under his fingers. There was no morning sickness, no strange cravings, nothing but the usual fatigue and, today, the dizziness and slight pain caused by the shock. How could he have gone five weeks without knowing? His body, which had been a battleground of symptoms when he was poisoning himself with inhibitors, now kept the biggest secret of his life with a disconcerting silence.

Dr. Han looked at him with quiet understanding. "Your confusion is understandable, Mr. Gao," he began, folding his hands on the folder. "The absence of marked symptoms in the first few weeks is more common than you might think, especially in cases like yours." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "In part, it has been due to the recent instability. The sudden distance from your Alpha," he said, with an almost minimal gesture toward Shen Wenlang, who remained silent but stared intently at the doctor, absorbing every syllable, "can cause significant hormonal imbalance in an Omega whose body is becoming accustomed to a constant, stabilizing presence. The stress of separation, even if brief, can mask or delay the manifestation of symptoms."

Gao Tu nodded slowly, understanding that part. Anxiety over Shen Wenlang's absence had been a constant veil during those days.

But then, the doctor added the second piece of the puzzle, and this is where Gao Tu made a miscalculation. "And, of course," Dr. Han continued in a more serious tone, "today's episode, the altercation on the street, was a severe physical and emotional shock. That, without a doubt, has been the trigger for the symptoms you are now experiencing. Your body, under extreme stress, is making evident a condition that until now had passed silently."

In Gao Tu's mind, that explanation made sense. He believed that the doctor was referring solely to the shock of the encounter with his father, an event that, in his perception, only he and the strange Omega knew in all its rawness. He nodded again, a gesture of resignation. It made sense. Terror had brought to light what tranquility had kept hidden.

What Gao Tu didn't know, what he couldn't see, was the look that Shen Wenlang and Dr. Han exchanged at that moment. A quick glance, laden with mutual understanding. Because Dr. Han wasn't just referring to the altercation as an isolated event. He referred to it with full knowledge of the identity of the attacker, information that Shen Wenlang, with clenched teeth and contained fury, had provided him as soon as he arrived at the hospital, even before entering the office. Shen Wenlang already knew everything. He knew it had been Gao Ming. He knew about the chase, the struggle, the escape. And that omission, that letting Gao Tu believe he still held that secret, was an act of protection. It was a decision not to overwhelm him further, to handle the coming storm of repercussions himself, allowing his Omega to focus on the miraculous news, on the life that was beginning, and not on the nightmare of the past that had just reappeared.

So Gao Tu was left with the simplified version, believing the doctor's explanation to be complete. The slowness of his mental processing began to give way, replaced by a gradual amazement and deep acceptance. The pieces, though not all of them, were beginning to fall into place. Shen Wenlang's trip, his own fright, the revelation of the pregnancy... it was chaos, yes, but chaos that, for the first time, seemed to have a center, a purpose. And that purpose was sitting next to him, with a steady hand on his leg, promising him, without saying a word, that he would never have to face his battles alone again.

Chapter Text

The ringing of the phone broke the morning calm in Shen Wenlang's office. The screen displayed the name that always provoked a mixture of annoyance and resignation: Hua Yong. As he swiped to answer, there was no greeting, just the sound of deliberately casual breathing before the voice, laden with palpable sarcasm, filled the space.

"Secretary Gao is pregnant? Wow, Wenlang!"

Shen Wenlang let out a silent sigh and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, as if he could find patience in the moldings. His fingers, however, did not stop turning the pages of a report lying on his desk. Work normality was his shield.

"How did you find out?" he asked, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. It was useless; Hua Yong always sniffed out the juiciest information, or created it.

"I saw it by chance on Dr. Han's desk," replied the Enigma, as if leafing through other people's medical records were a common pastime.

"And what were you doing at the hospital?" Shen Wenlang couldn't help but sigh again, this time more audibly. Dealing with Hua Yong was like playing chess with someone who constantly changed the rules.

"Family matters," was the evasive answer, as smooth as a silk knife.

"Family matters?" Shen Wenlang repeated the words, knowing full well they were a wall. A "none of your business" disguised as politeness. "Did your Sheng Shaoyou get sick or something?" He tried a direct approach, betting on Hua Yong's most vulnerable point—and at the same time, his greatest obsession.

But his mind, treacherous, had already begun to wander. The conversation with Hua Yong blurred, replaced by the vivid memory of the night before. After returning home at dusk, following the car conversation about doctor's appointments and prenatal care—a chat that had been tinged with such deep happiness that it was almost painful—euphoria had consumed them. Shen Wenlang hadn't been able to stop kissing Gao Tu, and one kiss led to another, and their clothes had ended up in a pile on the living room floor. The sofa, the very one that would probably end up in the trash, had witnessed an encounter that was both rough and desperately slow. Shen Wenlang had been exquisitely careful, every movement calculated to protect the life he now knew was growing inside his Omega. But the excitement, the overwhelming joy, had added a current of intensity to every caress, every thrust.

And then, the memory crystallized into a specific moment, an instant that time had not managed to blur, but rather had made sharper, more vivid. The image of Gao Tu, his slender body on top of him, his silhouette precisely outlined against the soft golden light emanating from the night lamp, an almost ethereal halo that enhanced every curve. Gao Tu's face, at that moment, was transfigured; an expression of such pure and uninhibited joy, so deeply rooted in the present, that it took Shen Wenlang's breath away, a sweet blow to the chest that left him momentarily speechless, only able to observe and feel.

And so the words came, the words that came out unfiltered, born from the depths of his being, low and hoarse, like an intimate hum that only Gao Tu could hear. They were imbued with a possessive tenderness, an implicit declaration of ownership that was not control, but devotion: "Jump, bunny." An affectionate nickname, a whisper of their dynamic, a gentle nudge for Gao Tu to abandon herself completely to the moment. And Gao Tu, responding to the rhythm that united them, with a synchronicity that only love, desire, and passion could forge, had moved his hips. An instinctive, graceful, and powerful movement to meet Shen Wenlang's next thrust, a moan that escaped his lips, sweet and melodic, which was pure music to Shen Wenlang's ears.

"Shit," Shen Wenlang muttered in the present, without realizing it, his gaze lost on the ceiling of his luxurious office. He wasn't even listening to Hua Yong anymore.

"Did you hear what I said, idiot?" The Enigma's sharp, exasperated voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Shen Wenlang blinked, forcing himself back to reality. "What did you say?"

A growl of frustration came over the line. "Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," Shen Wenlang replied almost reflexively, his mouth dry at the memory.

There was a heavy silence, and then Hua Yong launched his final dart, the one he always saved for when he needed to regain control. "When are you going to pay me what you owe me?"

The mention of the debt acted like a bucket of cold water. The warm haze of memory dissipated at once, replaced by the cold lucidity of transactions and power plays. Shen Wenlang's mind instantly cooled.

"I wish you eternal happiness with your Sheng Shaoyou," Shen Wenlang said, his voice now flat and deliberately polite. It was his way of hanging up without hanging up, of ending the conversation on his terms.

Hua Yong's response was predictable, a sharp whisper before the final click. "Idiot."

The line went dead. Shen Wenlang set the phone down on his desk, the echo of Hua Yong's insult mingling with the ghost of Gao Tu's moan in his mind. It was an abrupt reminder that even though his personal world had turned toward the light, the shadow games in Jianghu and Country P, and with characters like Hua Yong, were far from over.

The knock on his office door was firm, professional. Shen Wenlang, immersed in the meticulous review of a report—this time he would not let a single mistake slip by, not a single misplaced comma, the memory of his carelessness with the gala list still burning—responded without looking up. "Come in."

The door opened with a soft creak. But it was the voice that made all his concentration evaporate instantly, swept away by a hurricane of immediate recognition.

"Mr. Shen."

It was that voice. The one he could identify among a million, the one that softened the roughest corners of his day. Gao Tu had entered, but he had done so with the straight posture and impersonal tone of a secretary, not with the confidence of his partner. A quick, fierce pang of irritation ran through Shen Wenlang. It was something that had to change, and soon. The need to make it clear to everyone in the company that Gao Tu was his, that no one should ever look at him with anything other than professional interest, became urgent in his chest.

"A-Lang?"

The nickname, short, affectionate, almost shy, gave him a direct jolt to the stomach. "A-Lang." It wasn't a name, it was a term of endearment, an intimate territory that Gao Tu was claiming even in the midst of office formality. Shen Wenlang swallowed, feeling the world reorder itself around those two syllables.

"How are you feeling, baby?" He changed the subject abruptly, rising in one fluid motion. He circled the desk, a wolf approaching his most precious possession. He took the folders Gao Tu was holding—the pretext for the visit—and laid them on the table with a carelessness that would have horrified his self of five minutes ago. His hands found Gao Tu's, smaller and colder, enveloping them completely.

Gao Tu frowned, observing the whole arrangement with a mixture of exasperation and that affection that only Shen Wenlang could provoke in him. 

"You have a meeting in half an hour," he informed him, a thread of reason in the bubble Shen Wenlang was creating around him.

The Alpha nodded, but his attention was not on the meeting. One of his hands broke free and rose to caress Gao Tu's cheek, an unmistakable gesture of possession and care. However, his thumb stopped just before reaching the scent gland on his Omega's neck. There, where the soft, exposed skin should have been, he felt the rough texture of a small patch.

Shen Wenlang's expression darkened instantly. The softness disappeared, replaced by a cloud of disapproval and something deeper: a kind of pain.

Gao Tu, sensing the change, hastened to explain, him own hand rising to cover Shen Wenlang's on his cheek. "Doctor Han told me I could cover it for a limited time. Now that I know I'm pregnant, my scent is getting a little stronger," he said, his tone confident, but his eyes seeking understanding in the Alpha's.

Shen Wenlang shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on the damn patch. "I don't like you hiding things from me," he declared, his voice low but laden with an affectation that trembled in the air. He leaned forward, closing the distance until their foreheads were almost touching. The heat of his body enveloped Gao Tu. "Don't you think it's better if they know?" he whispered, the words a hot breath against his Omega's skin. "That they know you're mine, and I'm yours?"

The question, so simple and yet so excessive, made the tips of Gao Tu's ears flush with a feverish blush. It wasn't just a question about pheromones or appearances. It was a proposal of total surrender, of public union, of erasing any line that separated them in the eyes of the world.

"Wouldn't that affect you?" floated in the charged air of the office. It wasn't a question of genuine concern for Shen Wenlang's reputation; it was the last trench of his old insecurity, from a time when he believed that his love was a burden, a secret that would tarnish the impeccable facade of the powerful Alpha.

Shen Wenlang's reaction was immediate and sharp. His brow furrowed not with doubt, but with genuine confusion, as if Gao Tu had asked if breathing would affect him.

"Affect?" He repeated the word with a hint of disbelief, almost contempt for the very idea. His voice, which had been a possessive whisper, took on a metallic edge, the voice of the CEO who brooked no nonsense. "It will affect the jerk who tries to yell at you or spread rumors about you or me."

Each word was a hammer blow. It wasn't about him, his image, his status. It was about a line drawn in the sand around Gao Tu. Any transgression would have adverse effects, and Shen Wenlang made it clear that he would be the one to mete them out.

He took another step forward, completely invading Gao Tu's personal space. His body was a solid, warm barrier between his Omega and the rest of the world. His hand, still holding Gao Tu's, tightened, not painfully, but with absolute resolve.

"You are mine," he declared, and this time there was no trace of doubt or question. It was a fact, a universal law as unquestionable as gravity. The depth of his gaze was scorching, fixed on Gao Tu's eyes, making sure that every syllable sank in. And then, he lowered his voice again, until it became a low, dangerous purr that only Gao Tu could hear. "And you know I'm only holding back."

Those last words were the key. They served as a reminder of the beast lurking beneath the surface of the civilized man. A warning that his patience and the premeditation with which he managed his public life were conscious decisions. A choice that could be revoked in an instant if he perceived the slightest threat to what was his. The restraint was not out of weakness; it was out of strategy. But that strategy had limits, and Gao Tu was at the center of them all.

At that moment, there was no room for doubt. Shen Wenlang was not asking for permission; he was announcing a reality. Gao Tu's question had been answered not with logic, but with the harsh, primitive, and absolute conviction of an Alpha who had found his mate and had no intention of hiding it, nor of allowing the world to bother him. The patch on Gao Tu's neck was no longer a medical precaution; in Shen Wenlang's eyes, it was an insult, a symbol of concealment that he was determined to remove.

"And those old men are going to find out at this meeting."

Gao Tu bit his lower lip. And Shen Wenlang saw this.

"We can do something about it first."

...

The atmosphere in the HS boardroom was as cold and pristine as ever, a steel and glass capsule suspended high above the city. But the energy Shen Wenlang projected as he entered was anything but impersonal. He wasn't just the CEO arriving at a meeting; he was an S-class Alpha bringing his mate into his territory, marking his before his pack.

Gao Tu walked beside him, one step behind per protocol, but the hand Shen Wenlang held firmly on his lower back was an unmistakable statement. Those present—a select group of strategic partners and minority shareholders with stakes in the most sensitive areas of Shen Wenlang's empire—could not hide their surprise. Some coughed uncomfortably, others adjusted their ties. They had all heard the rumors, but seeing the ever-impassive Shen Wenlang displaying such possessiveness was something else.

The meeting began with its dense technical agenda. They discussed biotechnology and pheromones: reports on advances in ABO genetic sequencing, the development of new-generation hormone inhibitors—less harmful, more effective—and pioneering treatments to regenerate damaged odor glands. This was the scientific core of HS, the source of its power and influence. They moved on to Infrastructure and Trade: aggressive expansion plans for distribution networks in Southeast Asia, a crucial geopolitical move. The conversation drifted to the Security and Surveillance Division, a branch that operated with almost military precision and protocols that faithfully reflected Shen Wenlang's iron-fisted and personal control over every aspect of his company. Finally, the Legal and Public Relations team presented their strategies for cleaning up HS's image in the face of persistent and dangerous rumors linking it to the lucrative and shady smuggling of restricted technology from Country P.

Shen Wenlang listened, nodded, and asked incisive questions. But his attention was not entirely there. His gaze occasionally rested on Gao Tu, who was taking notes with his usual efficiency, but whose neck was now free of the inhibitory patch. The scent of sage, slightly sweeter and deeper due to pregnancy, subtly intertwined with Shen Wenlang's own lily scent, creating a unique perfume that slowly filled the room. It was a quiet but powerful confirmation.

When it was time for the new strategic projects, Shen Wenlang leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table. The room fell silent. Everyone knew that when the boss adopted that posture, what came next was important.

"Colleagues," he began, his voice clear and resonant, without needing to raise his tone. "We have talked about controlling pheromones, suppressing them, treating them as a medical problem." He paused, letting his words sink in. "But there is another application, one that goes beyond therapy. One that focuses on freedom."

There was complete silence. Even Gao Tu stopped typing, looking up at him, intrigued.

"I propose launching the internal 'Beta Mask' program," Shen Wenlang announced. The name fell on the room like a stone. "The goal: to develop non-invasive, reversible technology that allows an individual to temporarily hide their secondary ABO classification, presenting themselves to society as a Beta."

Several of those present opened their eyes skeptically. A gray-haired man from legal was the first to speak. "Mr. Shen, with all due respect... Isn't that... dangerous? The social and legal implications... it could cause chaos."

Shen Wenlang was unperturbed. "Chaos already exists," he replied calmly. "It exists for people whose lives are limited by their designation. This technology would not be created for malicious deception, but for self-determination." His gaze deliberately shifted to Gao Tu, and for a moment, his expression softened. "The inspiration for this project is... deeply personal."

Everyone at the table followed his gaze. Understanding began to dawn on their faces. This wasn't just about business. It was about Gao Tu. It was about the years he had had to live in hiding, the oppression he had suffered for being who he was. Shen Wenlang wasn't proposing a product; he was building a legacy. A legacy that, in essence, said: No one should have to go through what my Tututu went through.

"Imagine," Shen Wenlang continued, turning his attention back to the table, his voice regaining its businesslike edge, "the applications. For Omegas in hostile work environments, for Alphas who want to fit in without the pressure of their hierarchy, for anyone who simply wants a break from social expectations." It was a brilliant argument: empathetic and hugely profitable. He was appealing to both morality and greed.

The meeting, which had already run an hour over schedule, stretched another forty-five minutes with technical questions, discussions of feasibility and risk. But the die was cast. Shen Wenlang wasn't asking for permission; he was reporting a new direction.

Finally, when the room began to empty, Shen Wenlang stood by the window, looking out at the city. Gao Tu came up beside him.

"Beta Mask?" Gao Tu asked, his voice a sigh.

Shen Wenlang turned his head toward him. "Yes," he said simply. "So that no one else has to hide like you did. So that our child," he added, placing a hand on Gao Tu's still-flat belly, "can live in a world where they can choose who they want to be."

In that boardroom, amid profit charts and expansion strategies, Shen Wenlang had done more than just present a new project. He had made the most powerful public statement he could make: he had used the power of his empire not only to protect his partner, but to change the world on his behalf. And everyone present understood it perfectly.

Chapter Text

The sound was tiny, a brief, sharp hiss that was completely lost in the chorus of moans and curses that filled the empty space. The smell of burnt phosphorus mingled with the dust and mold of the place. Shen Wenlang brought the cigarette to his lips, the first drag a familiar and forgotten burn in his throat. It had been years since college since he had last tried one. A vague and faded memory surfaced: Gao Tu, with his serious expression and glasses, murmuring that he should quit smoking. At the time, it had seemed impertinent to him. Now, the memory provoked an ironic pang.

The puff of gray smoke escaped from between his lips in a slow, ghostly cloud, floating in the dim light of the place. Dimly lit by his bodyguards' flashlights, the scene was surreal. They were in the concrete skeleton of an abandoned, half-built building, a grotesque project whose glassless windows looked out onto nothingness. Scaffolding skeletons stood out against the night sky like the bones of a dead animal. The floor was covered with dust, debris, and dark patches of moisture. It was the kind of place where echoes were lost forever, a perfect void for committing acts that the world should never witness.

His gaze, cold and calculating as steel, shifted from the glowing tip of his cigarette to the trembling heap on the floor. Gao Ming. The man was curled up in a ball, choking on a mixture of saliva, blood, and his own tears of fear and rage. The cold, rough concrete scraped against his cheek.

"Damn Shen! I know who you are! Agh!" The threat broke into a muffled cry as the heavy boot of one of the bodyguards sank into his stomach with brutal, precise force. The dull thud of the kick reverberated in the empty space.

Shen Wenlang didn't blink. He watched the scene with the same detachment he would have examined a boring financial report.

"These are all the people Gao Ming owes money to," the bodyguard leader's voice was flat, professional. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Beta with a scar across his eyebrow. He held a tablet up to Shen Wenlang. The screen illuminated the Alpha's impassive face, revealing a list of names, photos, and personal details. Most were low-class Alphas and Betas, small fish in the muddy pond of debt. "They were all paid," the bodyguard continued. "But two Betas were snooping around the place where Mr. Gao Tu used to live." He paused significantly. "They seemed to want to find him because they saw that he now had money to pay off his father's debts."

Shen Wenlang's expression hardened even further, if that was possible. His usual attractiveness, that combination of sunny lines and latent power, distorted into a mask of pure displeasure. Every word about Gao Ming was a reminder of the years of silent suffering Gao Tu had endured. The burden of paying his father's debts, extorted under the threat of physical and psychological abuse, with the constant sword of demands that Gao Ming, as legal guardian, could do something to Gao Qing, the younger sister, if Gao Tu failed to comply. Shen Wenlang felt a deep, numbing rage at the thought that he had not intervened sooner, that the laws supposedly designed to protect Omegas and minors had failed miserably.

"What did you do with those Betas?" Shen Wenlang's question came out low, almost a whisper, but laden with an authority that made the air grow heavier.

The Alpha bodyguard, who was one step behind the Beta leader, replied without hesitation. His voice was grave, without a trace of emotion. "We eliminated them and covered our tracks. We even sent a message to anyone who dares to loiter around Mr. Gao Tu's building."

Shen Wenlang nodded slowly, taking another drag on his cigarette. The orange tip glowed brightly, briefly illuminating the absolute coldness of his eyes. There was no praise, no reproach. It was simply confirmation that a task had been accomplished. The message was clear: any threat to Gao Tu would be eradicated with brutal and definitive efficiency. This abandoned building was not just a place for a settling of scores; it was a lesson. And Shen Wenlang was about to teach the final class.

The cigarette, barely half-smoked, was thrown to the ground with a gesture of contempt. The orange ember sizzled briefly against the damp concrete before dying in the darkness. Shen Wenlang approached Gao Ming with the sinister calm of a predator who has cornered his prey. There was no rush, only the certainty of the outcome. He bent down and his fingers, strong as pincers, closed around Gao Ming's greasy hair. The force was so excessive that a lock of hair came away from the scalp with a dull, wet sound, causing the man to cry out in sharp pain, a sound that mingled with his previous moans.

"What do you know about Gao Tu's whereabouts?" Shen Wenlang's voice was low, but every word was clear and sharp as an ice knife. There was no emotion in it, only the demand for an answer.

The pain and blinding rage gave Gao Ming one last flash of recklessness. "Son of a bitch, you think you're going to get away with this?!" he spat, his mouth full of blood and hatred. "I'm going to sell Gao Tu to the Alphas, the ones who like pregnant Omegas! Did you know? Gao Tu is an Omega!"

The revelation, shouted like a weapon, did not surprise Shen Wenlang, but it did ignite a fuse inside him. The fact that this scum knew not only the truth about Gao Tu, but also about the pregnancy—though fortunately he was unaware of his whereabouts—was the last straw. Before Gao Ming could add another word, Shen Wenlang, with a brutal movement that emanated pure icy fury, slammed his face into the concrete floor. The impact was sharp and rough, without a shred of mercy. It was not an act of losing control; it was a deliberate execution.

An ominous crack, the sound of nasal bones giving way, filled the air. Shen Wenlang began to release aggressive pheromones, a dense, oppressive wave of wilted lilies and muddy earth that heralded imminent danger. The scent was so potent that even the bodyguards, trained for such situations, instinctively took a step back.

At that precise moment, Shen Wenlang's mind briefly escaped the nightmare he was in. He projected himself into his warm, brightly lit apartment. He saw Gao Tu, dressed in his soft pajamas, moving quietly around the kitchen, perhaps preparing a simple dinner while waiting for his return. He imagined him sitting on the sofa, a book on his lap, one hand gently caressing his still-flat belly, where his future slept. The peace of that image, the absolute vulnerability of his Omega trusting in his protection, contrasted so violently with the current scene that it fueled his anger to a white-hot point.

He grabbed Gao Ming's hair again, now with even less care, and repeated the impact against the floor. This time, the crack was more serious, more profound.

"Are you going to kill him?"

A hand rested on his shoulder. The contact was light, but Shen Wenlang reacted with the speed of a spring. His own hand shot up, catching the intruder's wrist with a force that would have broken a normal man's bone. His eyes, filled with murder, met Hua Yong's.

The Enigma stood there, immaculate in his usual dark suit, as if he had stepped out of a boardroom rather than emerging from the shadows of an abandoned building. His expression was serene, but his translucent eyes watched the scene with grim curiosity.

"What are you doing here?" Shen Wenlang's eyebrows furrowed, but he did not let go of Hua Yong's wrist. The other man's presence was an uncalculated variance, an intrusion on his ritual of revenge.

Hua Yong didn't seem bothered by the grip. "I came to remind you that you can't go to prison," he said, his voice a silk thread in the atmosphere charged with violence. "We're in Jianghu, not Country P." A smile played on his lips, but it was an empty gesture, a grimace that didn't reach his eyes. It expressed neither amusement nor approval, but a pragmatic warning. "But," he continued, his gaze descending to Gao Ming's semi-conscious, moaning body, "we can make some arrangements for his body if we're going to let him go."

The suggestion was made with chilling deliberation. "Fixes" did not mean medical attention. It meant mutilation. It meant leaving Gao Ming so broken, so terrified, that he would never dare to approach Gao Tu again, but alive—and guilty—enough that his disappearance would not raise uncomfortable questions. It was Hua Yong's cold, calculated solution, the offer of an accomplice who understood the rules of dirty games better than anyone.

Shen Wenlang held Hua Yong's gaze for a long moment, the Enigma's wrist still trapped in his fist. The wild wolf inside him roared for blood, for the final end. But the strategist in him, the man who had an Omega and a son to protect, began to weigh the offer. Killing Gao Ming would be satisfying, but was it the smart thing to do? Hua Yong's empty smile reminded him that sometimes a message of terror was more effective than a corpse.

.

.

.

The hotel's facade was discreetly opulent, polished marble and subdued lighting that didn't draw attention. But Shen Wenlang didn't enter through the front door. He slipped in through the back, through a service entrance he knew all too well, a passageway for those whose wealth and power preferred to operate away from prying eyes. This place, beneath its superficial luxury, was a swamp where the depravities of the Jianghu elite unfolded amid whispers. Here, men and women with surnames that shook the foundations of the economy and with records that would make an executioner pale practiced their cruelties with impunity. Shen Wenlang had grown up hearing rumors about this place, and some, those related to his own enigmatic family from Country P, were too close to the truth to ignore. But today, he was not here to please or for business.

He entered a suite reserved under a false name. Without wasting any time, he took off his jacket and shirt, tearing off the fabric as if it were contaminated. The clothes, impregnated with the smell of smoke, dust, and Gao Ming's palpable misery, were thrown into the electric fireplace that decorated the room. He pressed a button, and the artificial but intensely hot flames engulfed the fabric, reducing it to ashes in minutes. The crackling was the only sound in the silent suite.

Then he headed to the bathroom, a space of black marble and chrome fixtures. He turned the shower on full blast, letting the steam quickly fill the room. He stepped under the stream of nearly boiling water, rubbing his skin with a strong, citrus-scented body wash, as if he could wash away not only the smell, but the memory of Gao Ming's touch. He rinsed his mouth over and over with an abrasive mouthwash, wishing to completely remove the stale aftertaste of the cigarette he had tasted after years. He didn't want the slightest trace of that night to reach Gao Tu. His Omega must continue to live in his bubble of peace, protected from the ugliness Shen Wenlang had just faced.

"I didn't think your thirst for blood would lead you to this."

Hua Yong's voice came from the bathroom door, which Shen Wenlang had left ajar. The Enigma was leaning against the frame, watching him with that mixture of curiosity and detachment that characterized him. He spoke as if he hadn't almost broken Shen Wenlang's wrist a moment ago, as if he himself hadn't contemplated—and probably executed—much more sadistic plans to protect Sheng Shaoyou. As if killing out of boredom wasn't a potential pastime in his repertoire.

Shen Wenlang, now wrapped in a thick cotton hotel robe, ignored the initial comment. He approached the fogged mirror and began buttoning a new shirt, identical to the one he had burned.

"How did you know it was there?" he asked, his voice clear through the steam.

Hua Yong shrugged, an elegant movement. "Chang Yu mentioned that you were investigating Gao Tu's father." Chang Yu, his personal secretary, another pawn on Hua Yong's chessboard. "It seemed like the rat had gone into hiding, but it came out and scared the rabbit." The analogy was deliberately simple, almost dismissive. "I wonder who helped him hide. That man owed money to half the city's sewers."

"People who dare to show up will only be doing so to die," Shen Wenlang declared, finishing buttoning the last button. His tone was as cold and factual as if he were announcing the time.

Hua Yong smiled at him sideways, an expression that didn't reach his eyes. Then he threw his most penetrating dart. "Will you ever tell Gao Tu about your family history?"

Shen Wenlang froze for a moment, his fingers still on his shirt collar. The question echoed in the luxurious suite like a bell. Finally, he turned and walked to the suite door, opening it. Outside, his bodyguards—men whose training went far beyond physical protection, experts at making problems and evidence disappear—were already cleaning up any traces of his visit. They weren't escorts; they were a high-end sanitation unit.

"I will, someday in the distant future," said Shen Wenlang, without looking at Hua Yong. Words that were a heavy promise, laden with the awareness that that day would come, and with it, the revelation of a legacy that Gao Tu might not be prepared to accept.

With that, he closed the door. The click of the latch was final. On the other side, Hua Yong lingered for a moment longer, then nodded slightly, almost to himself. He pursed his lips, shaping them into a duckbill, a strangely childish gesture in someone so calculating. It was the expression of someone who had planted a seed and now waited, with infinite patience, to see what kind of tree would grow from it.

...

The crunch of gravel under the car's tires was the sound that marked the transition. Every meter that brought him closer to home was like a layer of dirt being washed off Shen Wenlang. The memory of the violence in the abandoned building, the smell of blood and fear, the cold interaction with Hua Yong, all began to fade, pushed into a dark corner of his mind by a more powerful force: anticipation.

As he passed through the gate, the security guard gave him a brief nod. Shen Wenlang responded with an almost minimal gesture, his attention already beyond, on the illuminated house that stood at the end of the road. He parked as gently as someone who doesn't want to make a sound, turned off the engine, and for a moment sat in the darkness of the car, breathing deeply. The air inside the vehicle still smelled clean, like himself after the burning doubt in the hotel. But he needed to be sure. 

As he stepped out, the cool night air greeted him. He hung his jacket on the coat rack in the entryway with an automatic movement, took off his shoes, and lined them up with a precision that betrayed his need for order, for normality. He entered the living room wearing only his socks, feeling the soft texture of the carpet under his feet. And then he began to release his pheromones. It wasn't a sudden release, but a gentle, deliberate flow. The clean, serene scent of lilies spread from him like a calming wave, filling the silent space. It was his way of announcing himself, of saying "I'm home" in the most primitive and honest way he knew. His gaze instantly turned toward the kitchen.

And there he was.

Gao Tu was sitting on a high stool at the kitchen island, illuminated by the warm light of the pendant lamp. In one hand, he held half a steamed bun, which he had just taken a bite out of. His other hand held his phone, and his attention seemed absorbed in the screen. His posture was the very picture of domestic tranquility: his back relaxed, one foot gently swaying in the air to the rhythm of an internal melody. The sight sent a shiver down Shen Wenlang's spine. It was such a stark contrast to the scene he had just come from that it almost took his breath away. Here was the reason for everything. The peace for which he had dirtied his hands.

"Wenlang!"

Gao Tu's exclamation was a flash of pure joy that broke his concentration. He set the bun on the plate and slid off the stool, walking toward him with a smile that lit up the entire room. It was an unguarded smile, beautiful in its simplicity, the smile of someone who feels safe and loved.

Shen Wenlang opened his arms, and Gao Tu melted into them without hesitation. The Alpha wrapped his arms around his narrow waist, feeling the familiar thinness beneath the soft fabric of his pajamas. Gao Tu, in turn, raised his arms to entwine them behind Shen Wenlang's neck, a gesture of intimacy that made his heart shrink.

"Did you miss me?" Shen Wenlang asked, a hoarse whisper against Gao Tu's hair.

"I did," Gao Tu admitted bluntly, nodding against his shoulder.

Shen Wenlang buried his nose in his Omega's neck, right where his scent gland pulsed. The aroma he inhaled instantly intoxicated him. The sage, always fresh, now had a new, deeper sweetness and a light, almost imperceptible trace of milk. It was a scent of life, of the future. He couldn't help but release more pheromones, a wave of lilies that enveloped Gao Tu in a cloud of protection and belonging. He felt his Omega's body relax completely against his, a total surrender. He kissed the soft skin of his neck, a brush of lips that turned into a slow, possessive lick on the gland. Gao Tu responded with a shiver that ran through his entire body and a muffled moan that was music to Shen Wenlang's ears.

"Let's go to bed," Shen Wenlang murmured against his skin, the words not a suggestion but a deeply rooted desire. He needed to feel Gao Tu, he needed to reaffirm their connection, he needed to erase any remnants of the ugliness of the outside world with the beauty of their love.

And so, carrying his Omega in his arms to the bedroom, Shen Wenlang sealed the night. What had happened hours before—the violence, the threats, the cold blood—all remained outside, in the darkness. Gao Tu never knew. And Shen Wenlang would do whatever it took to keep it that way, sleeping safely in his arms, protected in the bubble of peace that his Alpha had built—and defended—just for him.

Chapter Text

Gao Qing's cry cut through the quiet murmur of the café. 

"I'm going to be an aunt?!" Her voice was charged with such pure, explosive emotion that several diners turned their heads in surprise. Her eyes, large and expressive like his brother's, were wide open, and her mouth formed a perfect 'O' of utter amazement. She didn't care about the curious stares or whispers; the news was too overwhelming, too wonderful to contain.

"Gao Qing, lower your voice," Gao Tu asked gently, although a shy smile played on his lips. He reached out and placed his palm on his sister's, which had grabbed his with almost painful force on the cool surface of the table. The contrast between them was palpable: the wild, youthful energy of the Alpha and the deepening serenity that emanated from the Omega.

"It's the only good thing I'm going to accept from that Shen Wenlang," Gao Qing declared with exaggerated petulance, but her wide, genuine smile betrayed her true feelings. The love story between his brother and the S-class Alpha had been an earthquake for her. She knew that the stability they now enjoyed, the discreet luxury that surrounded them, even her own release from the hospital, were largely due to Shen Wenlang's power and resources. She remembered with painful clarity the final days in the hospital, wearing only a patient gown, feeling like a burden as his brother struggled to pay for her treatments. It had been her decision to enter boarding school, a difficult choice to take the financial pressure off Gao Tu and resume his studies with the determination to graduate and repay him for all his sacrifice. The mysterious disappearance of their father had been, though unsettling, a profound relief to both of them, sweeping away a shadow that had haunted them for years.

"A-Qing, Wenlang is trying his best every day," said Gao Tu, his voice a gentle reproach filled with affection. He couldn't help but defend the Alpha, especially after the scene that very morning: Shen Wenlang, his hair tousled and pouting ridiculously because Gao Tu had prioritized brushing his teeth over greeting him with a kiss. That image of the powerful CEO acting like a spoiled child was a secret Gao Tu cherished tenderly.

"You're just saying that because you're so in love with him," Gao Qing grumbled, but a laugh escaped her lips as she watched his brother's cheeks turn a deep pink. She knew it. Maybe she didn't dislike Shen Wenlang so much; she was, after all, deeply grateful. But learning the details of the Alpha's past, his vocal contempt for Omegas, had initially tarnished his image of him. However, every time she saw them together, she could see it clearly: in the way Shen Wenlang looked at his brother, in the careful possessiveness of his gestures, in the absolute devotion that shone through every action. That idiot Alpha was madly in love with his Omega brother. And that, in the end, was all that really mattered.

"What are you going to order?" Gao Tu changed the subject, sliding the lacquer menu toward she, desperate to divert attention from his blush.

But Gao Qing didn't look at the menu. His attention was completely captured by his brother. Gao Tu, sitting across from her in the soft light of the cafe, seemed to radiate an ethereal beauty. He had always been handsome, with a graceful elegance that could pass him off as a tall, slender Beta, but now... now there was something more. The soft colors of his clothes, the healthy blush on his cheeks, his hair that seemed softer and fluffier than ever—everything about him screamed a serene vitality. Pregnancy was softening him, smoothing his edges, adding a layer of luminous sweetness that was impossible to ignore. Was this the magic of gestation? Gao Qing wondered.

"I want to name him Lele if it's a boy," she blurted out suddenly, the idea springing to mind without premeditation.

Gao Tu put the menu down on the table, looking up at her with eyes wide with surprise.

"It's a beautiful name," Gao Qing continued enthusiastically. "'Le,' the character, means 'happiness,' right? And because you shine so brightly, and we are getting better and better, it has to be twice the character: Lele. Double happiness. Do you like it?"

Gao Tu looked at his sister's face, full of joy and hope. And then, a memory hit him with the force of a wave, an echo of a life that was not his, but one he had lived intensely. In that other world, when his soul inhabited the body of actor Li Pei En, he met the sweet and gentle version of Shen Wenlang, actor Jiang Heng. And they had a poodle puppy, a little ball of joy and brown fur, whom they called 'Lele'. Even in the novel that recounted that alternate reality, Gao Qing's version had suggested that same name for his brother's son. It was a common thread, a name that transcended universes, always linked to happiness and a new beginning.

"Yes," said Gao Tu, his voice barely a whisper, charged with an emotion that went beyond simple approval. "I like it."

At that moment, the name was not just a loving suggestion from a sister. It was a symbol, a bridge between realities, a promise that this time, happiness would be twofold, and it would last.

The quiet breakfast had given way to a relaxed stroll through the mall. The transition was natural, driven by Gao Qing's contained energy and Gao Tu's desire to enjoy a normal day, or as normal as possible under the circumstances. They walked through the wide, brightly lit corridors, shiny display cases on either side, but Gao Tu was aware of a constant, almost invisible presence. Behind them, mingling with the crowd of shoppers, moved an entourage of bodyguards. Men and women dressed in casual clothes, pretending to talk on the phone, looking at shop windows, or simply walking aimlessly. But their eyes, sharp and ever alert, methodically scanned their surroundings, and their bodies were always positioned to keep Gao Tu and his sister within their field of vision. Shen Wenlang, after the incident with his father, took no chances. Gao Tu's freedom now had very definite limits, marked by the silent and discreet surveillance that followed him everywhere.

Gao Qing, however, seemed to have accepted this new reality with surprising ease. Perhaps, after years of living under his father's threat, the presence of protectors was more of a relief than an intrusion to her. She hooked his arm through his brother's, his step steady and healthy—a miracle they both deeply appreciated after his long years of illness—and pointed enthusiastically at shops.

"Do you want to go look at baby clothes?" she suggested suddenly, stopping in front of a store whose facade was adorned with soft pastel colors and stuffed animals. Her voice sounded excited, with a spark of feminine complicity.

Gao Tu stopped beside her, a soft smile lighting up his face. "Sure," he agreed immediately. He hadn't done this with Shen Wenlang yet. He knew that moment would come, it would be an event, probably charged with the Alpha's characteristic intensity—he imagined Shen Wenlang examining each garment meticulously as if it were a multimillion-dollar contract, rejecting anything that wasn't of the highest quality. But today was different. Today he had his sister, hooked on his arm, laughing, her cheeks flushed with excitement and health. It was a moment of sisterly normality, something they had been denied for too long.

As they walked through the store's door, they were greeted by a warm and quiet atmosphere. The air smelled of new cotton and soft fabric softener. The shelves were lined with tiny garments, carefully stacked: snow-white bodysuits, little woolen outfits, booties so small they looked like toys. Gao Qing let go of his brother's arm and rushed to a section of little blue and pink dresses, touching the fabrics with a delicacy that contrasted with her usual energy.

"Look at this, brother," she murmured, holding up a tiny red silk qipao, adorned with dragons embroidered in gold thread. "It's so small!" Her voice was a whisper of wonder.

Gao Tu moved closer, feeling a surge of emotion so intense that he closed his eyes for a second. As he reached out to touch the soft silk, his gaze briefly met that of a man pretending to be interested in some bibs a few feet away. It was one of the bodyguards. The man gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod before looking away. It was a subtle reminder, but Gao Tu accepted it. It was the price of his safety, of his son's safety.

But at that moment, surrounded by the tiny clothes that would soon dress his baby, with his sister laughing beside him, the weight of surveillance felt less like a chain and more like a shield. A shield that allowed him to enjoy this precious and fragile moment, knowing that, for the first time in his life, he was truly protected. And so, he was able to smile at Gao Qing with genuine happiness, immersing himself in the sweet task of imagining the future.

The atmosphere in the children's clothing store was a bubble of softness and pastel colors, but the dynamic between the Gao siblings was a small microcosm of emotions. Gao Qing, with the energy of a newly awakened puppy, had found his new object of desire.

"Awww, look at this little hat," she drew out the vowels, holding up a tiny white woolen hat with a pair of pink rabbit ears that folded adorably. "It's so cute." Her enthusiasm was so palpable you could almost touch it. She examined it carefully, turning it between her fingers, imagining it on her nephew or niece's little head. But then, her eyes fell on the price tag. The sparkle in her eyes instantly faded, replaced by disappointment so clear that his bergamot scent, which Gao Tu had begun to perceive more clearly lately—noticing how her Alpha pheromones emerged in moments of high emotion—diminished noticeably. With a silent sigh, she returned the hat to its place with exaggerated care, as if it were made of glass.

Gao Tu, who was a little further ahead, absorbed in contemplating some baby pajamas with wild animal prints, caught the change in his sister out of the corner of his eye. He didn't need to hear the sigh; the fluctuation in his scent was enough. He was already mentally calculating whether he could buy that hat with his own salary, without touching the unlimited black card Shen Wenlang had given him—a gift he still found difficult to fully accept—when the interaction took an unexpected turn.

A Beta woman, dressed in the impeccable elegance of a luxury store manager, approached them with a smile that was almost too perfect. Her perfume was discreet, her makeup flawless.

"Oh, that hat has a prize, miss," she said, her voice honeyed. "Check the tag. The store rewards its future customers with luck." The kindness in her tone was so thick it was almost measurable.

Gao Qing, confused, picked up the hat again and checked the price tag. There was nothing. Nothing to indicate a prize, a discount, or anything out of the ordinary. Her brow began to furrow, mistrust rising in her eyes.

The woman, unperturbed, extended her hand in a helpful gesture. "Allow me." She took the hat with white-gloved hands and walked away a few steps, returning moments later with the same hat and a small device that looked like a pocket flashlight with a purple light. "Look," she explained, directing the beam of light toward a corner of the label. "It has a special seal that is only visible under ultraviolet light. It's part of our promotion."

But Gao Qing didn't move to see the stamp. In an instant, his whole body tensed. With a quick, protective movement, she stepped between the Beta woman and his pregnant brother, his posture straightening, projecting an Alpha authority her didn't often show.

"Doesn't that light harm pregnant people?" She asked, his voice not a whisper but a clear and firm demand. His eyes, now sharp, fixed on the woman, challenging the narrative of "luck" with open suspicion.

The effect was immediate. The manager's impeccable smile cracked. Her eyes widened slightly, showing a flash of surprise and, perhaps, a little alarm. The hand holding the ultraviolet light device moved quickly, hiding it behind her back as if it were a forbidden object.

"I'm sorry," said the woman, and this time her voice lacked its previous mellowness. It sounded sharp, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know."

The brief standoff in the baby store aisle lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough. Gao Qing, the younger sister who had been protected for so long, had changed roles in the blink of an eye. Now she was the protector, using her Alpha instinct to defend his brother and the baby he carried, even from a threat as subtle as a mysterious light and a fake smile. Gao Tu, watching from behind her, felt a surge of pride and affection so great that, for a moment, the world of bodyguards and threats faded away, replaced by the simple, powerful certainty of family bonds.

.

.

.

The return home was a smooth transition from the bustling energy of the mall to the familiar calm of their home. Gao Tu closed the door behind him, leaving the world outside, and for a moment leaned against the wood, feeling the sweet weight of exhaustion and satisfaction from a day well spent. The memory of the afternoon with his sister was like a warm gift in his hands.

The incident at the baby store had taken a surreal turn after Gao Qing's intervention. The attitude of the manager and staff had changed overnight. The prices, which had previously seemed carved in stone, suddenly became negotiable, "due to an oversight in labeling," they murmured with tense smiles. Gao Qing, with a perceptive gaze that Gao Tu did not know he possessed, had pointed at the Beta woman with a silent determination that brooked no opposition. The situation escalated until the owner himself appeared, a middle-aged man in an exquisite suit with an expression of genuine concern. Not only did he insist that they choose the set they liked best as an apology, but the apologies multiplied, especially when Gao Tu, with a gesture of practical resignation, took out the heavy black centurion card that Shen Wenlang had given him.

The owner's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes widened, recognizing not only the payment instrument, but the power and status it represented. "I hope you will honor us with your visit soon," he said, with a deference bordering on reverence, "we have other wonderful sections that may interest you: strollers, cribs..." His voice trailed off as Gao Tu, with a polite but firm smile, completed the purchase.

In the taxi on the way back, Gao Qing couldn't contain himself. "Wow! I never thought the power of a card would get me three beautiful new baby outfits," she blurted out, chuckling, though his laughter had a hint of disbelief. The experience had been as strange as it was gratifying.

Gao Tu, gently arranging the bags, nodded. "Well, I tell you, sometimes the phrase 'money buys everything' is very true," him commented, his tone thoughtful, not cynical. "At the meetings and galas I've accompanied Wenlang to, you can see the social classes in every gesture, in every glance. That little black rectangle of metal," he said, pointing to the card she was holding, "is a pass to a world where the rules are different." He paused and then looked at his sister with genuine gratitude. "Thank you for what you did in the store. For stepping in."

Gao Qing looked away, a blush rising to her cheeks. "It's nothing," she murmured, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "It was just my instinct that made me move. I felt that... spark, that alertness, that I hadn't felt in years." It was the first time she had mentioned the return of her Alpha instincts since her recovery. It was another sign that she was healing, becoming whole again.

Then, changing the subject with her typical abruptness, she asked, "Shall we go eat? By the way, I wanted to ask if you've been vomiting or feeling dizzy. You seem quite calm."

The question took Gao Tu by surprise. He touched his belly unconsciously. "Actually, no," he replied, his astonishment still not dissipated. "Apart from fatigue and a little tenderness... in my breasts, no nausea. Dr. Han says it's normal, that everybody is different." He smiled, a little relieved. "Wenlang makes sure I eat well and rest, and that helps a lot."

At the mention of the Alpha, a familiar warmth washed over him. Soon Shen Wenlang would be home, and Gao Tu could tell him about his day, about Gao Qing's protective ferocity, and about the little outfits they now kept in the closet, waiting for the new member of their family, who might be named Lele. The peace he felt at that moment was as pleasant as the card in his pocket, but infinitely more valuable.

The soft click of the door opening and closing was a sound Gao Tu eagerly awaited every afternoon. He rose from the sofa with a fluid movement, abandoning the book he was reading and the warm blanket that covered him. Winter was beginning to set in, and the cold air seeping through the cracks heralded the approach of the Christmas holidays, but at that moment, his world was reduced to the man who had just entered.

Shen Wenlang had his back to him, hanging his long dark coat on the coat rack in the hallway. The thick fabric was beaded with tiny drops of moisture, evidence of the cold outside. But what instantly caught Gao Tu's attention was not the coat, but what Shen Wenlang was holding in his right hand, his dominant hand, with a delicacy that contrasted with his usual aura of power: a bouquet of flowers.

It was not a large, ostentatious bouquet, but a compact and elegant one. Bright orange gazanias that looked like little suns were mixed with delicate white lilies and a few sprigs of lavender that added a touch of rusticity and a subtle fragrance. Shen Wenlang concentrated on placing his leather shoes impeccably on the cabinet under the coat rack, a ritual of order that Gao Tu knew well. Then he turned his head. His eyes met Gao Tu's, and a soft, almost shy smile appeared on the Alpha's lips. It was an expression he reserved exclusively for him, a surrender of strength to tenderness.

"Baobei," Shen Wenlang murmured, the word a whisper laden with affection that echoed in the cozy silence of the foyer.

As he approached, Gao Tu could feel the change in the air even before he touched him. Shen Wenlang's pheromones, usually a constant and calming presence, were released more consciously, enveloping him in a cloud of fresh, serene, and deeply protective lilies. Gao Tu instinctively opened his arms, and the two melted into a tight embrace, a perfect refuge. Gao Tu buried his nose in Shen Wenlang's neck, inhaling his scent, while the Alpha did the same, kissing the soft skin of his neck with a reverence that made Gao Tu's skin tingle.

Pulling away just enough, Shen Wenlang held out the bouquet. "How thoughtful," Gao Tu murmured, his eyebrows arching playfully as he accepted the flowers. He held them with both hands, as if they were a treasure, and leaned in to smell them. The mixture of scents—sweet, earthy, fresh—was delicious.

"Only with you," Shen Wenlang affirmed, his voice a deep purr. It wasn't a cliché; it was an immutable truth. And then, he closed the distance again, capturing Gao Tu's lips in a kiss that began gently but quickly became charged with obvious fervor, a need contained for hours. Shen Wenlang savored his Omega, finding the aftertaste of the chocolate Gao Tu had eaten earlier, and a soft moan escaped Gao Tu's throat as he tried to keep up with the pace, his arms wrapping around the Alpha's shoulders.

"What are you trying to do?" Gao Tu laughed between kisses, his laughter breaking into a gasp of surprise when Shen Wenlang, with an easy movement that always took his breath away, lifted him into his arms. Gao Tu's legs naturally wrapped around the Alpha's hips, and their lips didn't part, the kiss continuing, deepening, as Shen Wenlang walked purposefully toward the bedroom.

"What do you think I'm doing? I miss you," Shen Wenlang said, his voice now soft and honeyed, but laden with unmistakable intent. He set him down gently on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight.

What followed was a slow and devoted exploration. Shen Wenlang did not rush; he worshiped. His lips did not part from Gao Tu's, but the kiss evolved, becoming deeper, wetter, more intimate. The Alpha's mouth began to descend. He kissed every inch of Gao Tu's flushed cheeks, then slid down his neck, leaving a trail of sensations in his wake: light bites that did nothing but make his skin tingle, sucks that would leave faint, possessive marks, long, soothing licks. He paused at Gao Tu's Adam's apple, kissing it with a tenderness that made him arch his back. Meanwhile, his large, warm hands slid under the soft cotton shirt Gao Tu was wearing, patting the smooth skin of his back, his ribs, his still flat belly, which hid his greatest secret. Every touch, every kiss, was a reaffirmation, a silent reminder that, whatever had happened in the outside world, here, in this room, only the two of them existed, and the love that united them was the only reality that mattered.

The world was reduced to the bed, to the intimate space where the shadows of dusk began to paint the walls. Shen Wenlang's fingers, which moments before had delicately held the bouquet of flowers, now found the soft elastic of Gao Tu's pajama pants. There was no struggle; with a firm, expert movement, he squeezed the waistband and pulled down, sliding the fabric over his Omega's hips and legs until it lay in a pile on the carpet. At the same time, his other hand slid under Gao Tu's cotton shirt, lifting it with an almost ritualistic reverence, revealing the pale, smooth skin of his torso.

There, on Gao Tu's slightly arched chest, were his nipples, small and dark brown, already erect with anticipation and desire. Shen Wenlang's mouth, which had been savoring his, moved with clear intent. He leaned down and captured one between his warm, moist lips. It was not a passive gesture; his tongue curled around the nipple with insistent pressure, sucking rhythmically, as if, in an act of pure instinct, he sought to extract something more than pleasure, as if he longed for an even deeper connection with the life growing inside Gao Tu.

"W-Wenlang," Gao Tu moaned, his voice broken by a wave of sensation so intense that his legs, almost of their own accord, opened wider in a gesture of total surrender.

Shen Wenlang needed no further invitation. As his mouth continued its work on one breast, the hand that had freed his pants descended. His fingers, large and calloused, found Gao Tu's crotch with a familiarity that made his heart race. He took his member, already erect and throbbing, and began to stroke it with deliberate slowness. The movement was from bottom to top, a constant, skilled pressure that knew exactly how to stimulate him, how to make every nerve in Gao Tu's body ignite.

Then Shen Wenlang switched nipples, abandoning the first, bright and sensitive, to give the same attention to the other. This time, he added a small bite, a gentle but electric pinch that made Gao Tu arch his back off the bed. And at that moment, Shen Wenlang looked up. His dark eyes, filled with fierce adoration, met Gao Tu's glassy ones. He wanted to see his expression, he wanted to witness every gasp, every moan that he himself provoked.

He took his time. There was no rush. This was not a furtive or hurried union. It was worship. His open mouth pressed repeatedly against Gao Tu's still flat belly, kissing the skin with a tenderness that moved him to tears. Each kiss was a message to the little being inside, a promise of protection and love. His mouth moved lower, kissing the inside of Gao Tu's thighs, an incredibly sensitive area. The Alpha's lips and tongue explored that soft skin, eliciting a series of muffled moans and groans that Gao Tu could no longer contain.

The room became saturated with their intertwined pheromones. Shen Wenlang's lily scent, now dense and sweet, mingled with Gao Tu's warm, slightly sweetened sage, creating an intoxicating perfume that sealed their intimacy.

And as he performed this slow and meticulous worship, Shen Wenlang's mind took a brief trip into the past. He remembered the days, not so long ago, when his life consisted of cold offices and endless stacks of documents. He preferred to stay late, working meaningless overtime, because returning to his villa, that imposing and silent mansion, only meant being greeted by the polite salutations of the employees. It was an existence of empty achievements and resounding loneliness.

Now, everything was different. Now he had someone waiting for him. Someone whose face lit up when he walked through the door, someone whose arms opened wide for him, someone whose lips tasted better than any business success. He had Gao Tu. And with him, he was building a family. That certainty, that earthly future that lay between them in that bed, made every caress, every kiss, not just an act of desire, but a celebration of a home finally found.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the heat of their bodies and the heady scent of their mingled pheromones. "Wenlang, Ngh!" Gao Tu's cry was a sound torn by pleasure, a murmur of the intensity that consumed them. His legs, agile and slender, wrapped around Shen Wenlang's hips with a force that spoke of need, not just desire. His arms clung to the Alpha's broad shoulders, anchoring herself to him as the world spun around them.

Shen Wenlang moved with controlled power. Each thrust was long, a deep and generous penetration that seemed to seek the very center of Gao Tu. The Omega could feel every inch of the Alpha's member brushing against his insides, grazing sensitive spots that sent electric jolts through his body, forcing him to moan with a force that came from deep within. Shen Wenlang would withdraw almost completely, a torturous pause that made Gao Tu trap him with his legs, begging wordlessly, before pushing back in with measured vigor. Despite the increasing speed, there was a noticeable restraint in his movements, a conscious care that transcended the passion of the moment and spoke of the deep protection he felt toward the life he carried inside.

Shen Wenlang's breath was hot and ragged against Gao Tu's neck. Each exhalation was a hoarse whisper that mingled with the Omega's moans. Gao Tu's hands, meanwhile, roamed his man's back, feeling the play of muscles that tensed and relaxed with each movement. The skin beneath his palms was warm, covered in a thin layer of sweat that made it slippery.

Then Shen Wenlang changed the dynamic. With a fluid and surprisingly smooth movement, he rolled over, positioning himself underneath Gao Tu, who was now on top, riding him. The new position did not slow the pace; the thrusts continued, but now from below, bruising that deeply sensitive inner area of Gao Tu that continued to secrete a natural lubricant that facilitated each movement. Each penetration was a wet and perfect slide, and the watery sounds of their union coupled obscenely with the moans that escaped from their half-open mouths.

Gao Tu rested his hands on the headboard, finding a foothold to move to the rhythm of the powerful thrusts coming from below. He rocked, finding the perfect angle, until a weak, broken moan escaped his lips—Shen Wenlang had found that sensitive spot, that place that made Gao Tu's vision blur. The sensation was so overwhelming that his hands lost their strength, falling from the headboard to cling to Shen Wenlang's shoulders, his fingers digging into the sweaty skin.

But Gao Tu was not a passive participant. A spark of initiative burned within him. Without waiting for Shen Wenlang to sit up or otherwise take control, he squeezed his thighs around the Alpha's hips, subtly changing the angle of his own movements. Gao Tu's head threw back, a line of ecstasy across his extended neck, and his legs spread wider, allowing for deeper penetration. His body shook with each thrust, and the sounds of their skin colliding, the guttural moans, the gasps, intensified, filling the room with a symphony of pure desire.

At that moment, all his senses seemed to sharpen to an almost painful point. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as Shen Wenlang's mouth pounced on one of his already sensitive and swollen nipples, capturing it between his lips. The suction was strong, insistent, a sensation that mingled with the rhythmic pounding inside him, creating an overload of pleasure. Shen Wenlang's hair, dark and damp with exertion, clung to his forehead, and his low, steady grunts reverberated through Gao Tu's body, warming his skin and tinging it with a deep pink. It was a total fusion, physical and emotional, where the outside world ceased to exist and only the primal rhythm that united them remained.

With a final couple of deep, deliberate thrusts, the frenzied rhythm reached its climax. A long, torn moan escaped from the depths of Gao Tu as the base of Shen Wenlang's member began to swell inside him. It was an overwhelming sensation, a mixture of pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain, an expansion that filled every corner with his being. Shen Wenlang, though his movements now became noticeably slower and more restricted by the knot that was beginning to form deep inside Gao Tu, did not stop completely. He continued with short, circular thrusts, securing the union, making the Omega feel every beat of the Alpha inside him.

As Gao Tu waited, his body trembling, for the overwhelming sensation to stabilize and anticipating the heat that would soon flood his insides, Shen Wenlang's hand moved. It was not a sudden gesture, but a possessive caress that rested on the back of his neck. With gentle but irresistible pressure, the Alpha drew Gao Tu toward him, capturing his lips in a kiss that was both a seal and a question. His tongue traced the outline of the Omega's swollen lips before gently biting the lower one, a playful reminder of the ferocity that lay beneath the surface of his devotion.

"I want to mark you," Shen Wenlang murmured against Gao Tu's lips, his voice a low purr laden with primal desire. He kissed his Omega's sweaty cheek, then descended his neck, not caring about the skin beaded with sweat. His lips found the violet blossoms his previous caresses had left on the skin, kissing them with a reverence that made Gao Tu shudder.

"Do it," Gao Tu moaned, his voice a thread of sound, a total surrender. His own hand rose to tangle in the damp hair at the nape of Shen Wenlang's neck, squeezing, encouraging him.

In a movement that required superhuman self-control, Shen Wenlang pulled away just enough to look Gao Tu in the eyes. The physical connection was maintained by the knot, but it was the intensity of his gaze that truly bound them together.

"I love you," Shen Wenlang declared, each word an oath. "And I want to be with you every day of my life. And I want you to be sure about taking my mark." He paused, swallowing. "I don't want to force you."

The words, laden with a vulnerability Shen Wenlang rarely showed, caused Gao Tu's eyes to instantly fill with tears. They were not tears of pain, but of emotion so deep it could not be contained.

"In these months that I've been with you," Gao Tu said, his voice trembling but clear, "you've shown me that you can change and learn better every day." A smile through his tears lit up his face. He leaned down and slowly kissed Shen Wenlang's lips, a sweet, slow kiss. "I love you too, I have for years. Why wouldn't I want your mark?"

A sigh of relief and absolute love escaped Shen Wenlang. "I'm so sorry for being so stupid and not knowing that the scent that always relaxed me was you," he confessed, burying his face in Gao Tu's neck for a moment before adjusting his position. His arm wrapped around the Omega's slender waist with infinite tenderness, guiding him to lie on his side, in a position where the knot inside him was not a nuisance, but a constant intimacy. One of his hands caressed Gao Tu's back in circular, soothing movements, while the other lovingly kneaded his buttocks, keeping them together.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, between kisses, as they felt how the knot would take time to undo, Shen Wenlang began his final ritual. His lips found Gao Tu's neck again, this time focusing on the scent gland that was throbbing strongly, where the scent of sage was stronger, more intoxicating, more him. His tongue licked the sensitive skin, over and over, preparing it. His fangs, long and sharp, peeked out, a flash of white in the dim light.

With fingers trembling slightly, Shen Wenlang gently took Gao Tu's chin, guiding his head to better expose the curve of his neck and shoulder. There, at the gland that throbbed with every beat of their intertwined hearts, Shen Wenlang paused. His eyes met Gao Tu's, seeking and finding final consent.

Then, he sank in.

His sharp fangs pierced the tender flesh with precision. Gao Tu let out a sharp moan, a mixture of sharp pain and absolute ecstasy, and his fingers clung to Shen Wenlang's arm with desperate force. The sensation was so intense that it triggered a powerful new ejaculation inside Gao Tu, a visceral response from his body to the act of being claimed completely.

For Shen Wenlang, the taste of his Omega's blood in his mouth was neither metallic nor unpleasant. It was sweet. It was the taste of belonging, of a promise fulfilled, of the eternal bond that now, at last, united them not only in body and soul, but in essence. As Gao Tu's life mingled with his in that primal act, he knew that they would never be apart again.

Chapter Text

The scene in the bedroom was one of domestic intimacy and unfathomable depth, woven with the silent threads of love and the scars of the past. Gao Tu watched, a soft, slightly snorting smile playing on his lips, as Shen Wenlang sank to his knees in front of the bed, not in submission, but in courtesy. In his hands, the powerful S-class Alpha held the tiny garments Gao Tu had bought with his sister with a delicacy that seemed almost incongruous. Gao Tu knew every nuance of his partner—his ferocity, his intellect, his possessiveness—and seeing him like this, completely absorbed in contemplating a little white shirt no bigger than his palm, was both touching and deeply amusing.

With his fork, Gao Tu speared three small pieces of apple bathed in golden honey and popped them into his mouth. The sweetness exploded on his palate, a contrast to the sensitivity that still throbbed at the nape of his neck. The bite mark, now a permanent stamp on his skin, was a constant reminder of the bond that tied them together. He noticed how his body, since the marking ritual, felt different—more relaxed, more protected, as if Shen Wenlang's pheromones, now irrevocably intertwined with his own, had woven an invisible safety net around him.

"It's so... tiny," Shen Wenlang murmured, his voice, usually so impassive, tinged with genuine amazement. He lifted the little shirt, which had a pattern of a small sleeping bear. "What do you think it is?" He lowered the garment, and his gaze, laden with a vulnerability he rarely showed, met Gao Tu's. The Omega chewed slowly, watching as the Alpha, who was still practicing basic recipes in the kitchen for him, faced the overwhelming reality of fatherhood.

"I don't know. It's still too small," Gao Tu replied, his voice soft. His hand instinctively rested on his belly, a protective gesture filled with a love that still felt new and vast.

Shen Wenlang set the shirt aside with exaggerated care. 

"I want to be a good father to him or her," he said, and the sigh that escaped his lips was tinged with such deep sadness that it darkened the scent of lilies that surrounded him, as if a passing cloud had obscured its essence.

Gao Tu set the plate and cutlery down on the side table. He stood up, feeling a dull, satisfying ache in his body, a remnant of the union of the night before. He approached Shen Wenlang, and his hand, light but firm, rested on the Alpha's broad back. The contact made Shen Wenlang look up, and Gao Tu saw a turbulent conflict in his eyes: love, fear, and an ancient guilt.

"I want to be a dad to our baby too," Gao Tu declared, his smile a beacon of serenity in Shen Wenlang's internal storm. He stood on tiptoe, a movement that caused a slight muscle pull, and placed a soft kiss on the Alpha's cheek. He felt Shen Wenlang's arm immediately wrap around his waist, an inevitable response of protection. Gao Tu knew fragments of Shen Wenlang's past, snippets of a story of abandonment and violent expectations that he had glimpsed in the parallel world. But he knew that was only the surface, the tip of the iceberg of a pain that his Alpha carried buried deep inside.

"Not all of us know how to be parents until we walk in those shoes," Gao Tu continued, his voice a soothing thread, "and even then, there are those who stumble along the way." He paused, choosing his words with the care of someone defusing an emotional bomb. "In my case, I had a mother who told me to hide when she found out I was an Omega. She feared for my life." He saw Shen Wenlang's eyes darken with a mixture of fierce love and a dull rage directed at those who had hurt his Omega. "She was the one who taught me to hide from an early age, to pretend to be a Beta with asthma." A shadow of pain crossed his face, but not of resentment. "You know, I don't blame her. Because I knew that, in the long run, it was her way of protecting me from the monster I had for a father. A man who lived in alcohol and got into trouble, to the point that my mother decided to leave, taking my sick sister with her."

Gao Tu guided Shen Wenlang to sit on the edge of the bed and took another set of baby clothes himself, this time a little red qipao. He held it in his hands as if it were a relic.

"What I never imagined," he murmured, his voice lowering to a sigh laden with old pain, "was that it would be the last time I would see my mother."

At that moment, he felt a comforting warmth wash over his body. Shen Wenlang's pheromones, which a moment before had been clouded with sadness, transformed. They became a blanket of calm and protection, enveloping him, holding him. They were not a shield against the pain of the memory, but a safe haven in which to feel it. Gao Tu smiled at Shen Wenlang, a smile full of infinite gratitude. The Alpha grabbed his hand and intertwined his fingers with his, a gesture of unity and unwavering support. Shen Wenlang was completely present, in listening mode, absorbing every word, sharing the weight.

"On my part," Gao Tu concluded, looking at the little red qipao, "there are no good examples. I don't have a role model for what a good father is." He looked up at Shen Wenlang, his eyes shining with clear, calm determination. "That's why I'm going to decide what kind of dad I want to be for our baby. And starting by seeking psychological help to heal my non-acceptance of my Omega nature was the first step."

There was immense strength in that statement. It wasn't about ignoring the past or pretending it didn't exist. It was about acknowledging the scars, naming the pain, and then, with fierce and loving will, choosing a different path. Gao Tu wasn't waiting for Shen Wenlang to guide him; he was taking the lead in his own healing, forging his own model of fatherhood from the ruins of his childhood. And in doing so, he was not only building a future for his baby; but reaching out to his Alpha, showing him that they too, together, could learn, heal, and create a new story, one where love, and not fear or the legacy of pain, was the foundation of their family.

"My Omega dad," he began, and the way he said 'dad' had a hint of distance, as if the word itself were covered in dust,  the tenderness of baby clothes, sinking into a deep silence, broken only by the barely audible tremor in Shen Wenlang's voice. "He wasn't very good at showing his affection." His eyes, fixed on Gao Tu's, sought touch. The Omega's eyes, free of lenses for a moment, opened slightly, showing a depth of understanding that instantly calmed the initial whirlwind in the Alpha's chest. That serene gaze softened Shen Wenlang's hard features, and he took Gao Tu's hands in his. Although his own hands were larger, rough compared to the Omega's slender fingers, the gesture was touchingly frail. Gao Tu's sage scent, now tinged with that unique sweetness of gestation, acted as a balm, giving him the courage to continue.

"Actually, he did it his way," Shen Wenlang continued, his voice a little firmer, "by worrying about every training session my Alpha father put me through." The word 'training' resonated with an ominous harshness. It didn't sound like paternal lessons, but something more systematic, more crude. "My Omega dad tended to pat me on the head and smile a little weirdly when he healed and encouraged me."

He paused, swallowing hard. The air grew heavy. "When... when he died," Shen Wenlang's voice broke, a harsh, painful sound. He cleared his throat, looking down at his clasped hands, playing with Gao Tu's fingers as if they were rosary beads. "Everything changed." Those two words contained a universe of pain. "My Alpha father is scum, and he's the worst example there could be to take as a father." His tone became sharp, laden with atavistic and well-founded resentment, but it immediately softened as he turned and met Gao Tu's gaze again, who was watching him with absolute attention, without judgment, just listening.

"There's a reason I hate Omegas," he admitted, and it was the hardest confession. "Maybe to some or all of you it's stupid and irrational, but when you live with two crazy people and experience and see things that children shouldn't at their age, your mind gets damaged." The harshness of his statement was heartbreaking. "And my Omega dad made me watch a scene... a scene that made me classify all Omegas as attention-seeking, self-interested, and..." He paused, and when he spoke again, it was with the voice of another, a ghostly voice that had haunted him for years: "'Wenlang, don't believe in smiles, don't believe in sweet words. Invisible goodwill is more terrible than pure, blatant malice. Those who can hurt you are often the people around you whom you trust. The knife stabbed by your own people is the most painful and the most deadly.'"

The words hung in the air like a curse. Shen Wenlang recited them with a precision that showed how many times he had repeated them in his mind, carving them into his own psyche. "Those words became so ingrained in my mind that to this day I cannot forget them."

His gaze, which had been clouded by the bitter memory, cleared and settled completely on Gao Tu. He traced his soft features, his eyes filled with held-back tears, his mouth slightly parted. "But..." The 'but' was a sigh of redemption. "You have always been the exception to everything." His hand freed itself from Gao Tu's and rose to touch his cheek. The skin beneath his fingers was warm. "And my fear of losing you only grew when you said you were spending your 'heat' with that Omega you mentioned." His thumb slid to Gao Tu's lower lip, pressing it gently with a mixture of possessiveness and regret. "You don't know how jealous I burned when you weren't at the company and I imagined someone else kissing you... and touching you." The admission was a dagger to himself. "And I'm a vile idiot because I never considered that that Omega was, in fact, you."

Gao Tu felt his own eyes moisten. His irises trembled at his Alpha's ruthless honesty.

"That's why," Shen Wenlang continued, his voice now a broken thread, "I believe everything you tell me. And the day you told me you were an Omega and that you were going to quit that same day, I felt that the fragile castle I had built all these years with you by my side, working or at university, began to slowly crumble." The image was powerful: a house of cards built on defenses and mistrust, with Gao Tu as its only pillar. "The idea of losing you, of not knowing anything about you... It drove me crazy, and it hurt me more than my parents ever did."

Shen Wenlang pressed his lips together, fighting back a flood of emotion he could no longer contain. His eyes, those eyes that usually radiated fire and determination, were filled with tears that glistened with heartbreaking intensity. "I don't want to be like my Alpha father and keep you locked up, I don't want you to become my Omega dad, I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to leave me either." Each "I don't want" was a silent cry against the ghost of his heritage. "I love you, and I will never completely forgive myself for being part of your suffering, Gao Tu."

And then, the tears fell. They were not a few discreet tears, but a silent torrent that ran down his face, falling onto his clasped hands and onto the baby clothes lying between them. It was the cry of a child who had never been able to cry, of a man who had carried too heavy a burden for too long, and who finally, in the safe arms of his Omega, allowed himself to break down, trusting that he would be rebuilt with love.

Gao Tu said nothing. There were no words that could heal an old and deep wound. Instead, he moved. With infinite gentleness, he freed his hands from Shen Wenlang's and, in a gesture that was pure compassion, wrapped the trembling Alpha in his arms. He pulled him close to his chest, allowing Shen Wenlang's forehead to find refuge in the hollow of his neck, just above the still-sensitive mark that bound them together.

Shen Wenlang's body, so powerful and controlled, shook against his. The sobs were silent but exhaustive, shaking his frame like an internal earthquake. Gao Tu simply held him. One hand stroked his back in long, soothing motions, while the other tangled in his hair, sweeping it away from his face. He didn't rush the moment, didn't try to stop the tears. He allowed the pain accumulated over decades to find an outlet, washing away old wounds with a river of salt and vulnerability.

Gao Tu's scent, sage and gestational sweetness, intertwined with that of Shen Wenlang's lilies, which now smelled of fresh rain after a storm, of damp earth and renewal. It was the smell of catharsis.

After what seemed like an eternity, the tremors began to subside. Shen Wenlang's ragged breathing gradually calmed, until it became a deep, trembling sigh against Gao Tu's skin. He slowly pulled away, just enough to look at him. His eyes were red, his face marked by tears, but there was a lightness in his features that had not been there before, as if a monumental weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Gao Tu raised his hands and, with his fingertips, wiped away the wet traces of tears on Shen Wenlang's cheeks with infinite tenderness. His touch was as light as the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

"Wenlang," Gao Tu murmured, his voice a sweet whisper in the heavy silence. "You don't have to be like them. You're not anymore." His words were not an empty apology, but an assertion of the reality he saw. "You look out for me, not over me. You protect me, you don't imprison me. You're learning, Wenlang. Every day, you learn and change for us. That's what matters."

He took Shen Wenlang's hand and placed it on his belly, where the new life, their shared future, rested.

"This baby," Gao Tu continued, holding his gaze, "will not know the pain we knew. Its castle will not be made of cards, it will be made of rock. And we will build it together. You and me. Breaking the chains of our past with our own hands."

Shen Wenlang closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth beneath his palm, on the path to the future. When him opened them, conflict and fear had been replaced by a quiet, deep boldness.

"Together," he repeated, his voice hoarse from crying, but tenacious. He intertwined his fingers with Gao Tu's on his belly, sealing the pact. The road ahead would not be easy, they knew. The ghosts of the past do not vanish overnight. But in that room, surrounded by the innocence of baby clothes and bathed in the soft light of dusk, they had taken the most important step: they had chosen to heal together, and in that act of choice, they had begun to rewrite their destiny.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu's absence from the industry's most recent gala did not go unnoticed by the most observant circles. The event, held in the ballroom of a five-star hotel, was a hotbed of power and ambition. Beneath dazzling crystal chandeliers, where the clinking of champagne glasses mingled with the murmur of calculated conversations, the titans of the pharmaceutical and biotechnology industries gathered. It was a ballet of dark silk suits and haute couture dresses, where every smile was a strategy and every handshake a potential multimillion-dollar alliance.

Amid this ecosystem of influence, Shen Wenlang was a pillar of unshakable strength. Moving with the confident grace of a predator in its territory, he exchanged measured words with CEOs and key shareholders. It was during the HS Group's keynote speech that the evening reached its climax. On a giant screen, impressive graphics were projected of their latest feat: the cure for odorous gland cancer, developed in conjunction with X Holdings, which was already revolutionizing the market and had sent their stock values skyrocketing to stratospheric heights. But the real bombshell was the next slide.

"And our next frontier," announced the speaker, his voice echoing in the expectant silence, "is 'Beta Mask.'"

No formulas or clinical data were shown. Just a sleek logo and an ambiguous slogan: "The freedom to be whoever you choose." It was enough. The buzz in the room intensified instantly. If the glandular cancer cure had cemented his dominance, 'Beta Mask' promised something even more profound: redefining the very foundation of ABO society. Whispers turned into animated conversations, and Shen Wenlang could feel the weight of dozens of calculating eyes on him, evaluating, wanting a piece of the pie. To top it off, a new joint venture between Shengfang Bio and X Holdings was announced for the construction of modern apartment complexes, further expanding their real estate empire.

While the Jianghu elite reveled in canapés and prospects of a lucrative future, Gao Tu experienced the evening from a completely different perspective. Reclining on his living room sofa, a soft blanket over his legs, he listened to the calm voice of the Secretary General over the phone. The man detailed every announcement, every reaction, with the meticulousness of a sports commentator. Gao Tu, whose instinct would have led him to be at the center of that whirlwind, taking notes and anticipating needs, now found himself in a doctor-ordered domestic exile.

The first trimester of his pregnancy, though miraculous, had come with unexpected vulnerability. Rest was the order of the day, a word that resonated strangely with someone whose life had been a succession of schedules and responsibilities. However, there was a positive and deeply fascinating aspect to his new reality. Ever since Shen Wenlang's mark had been sealed onto his skin, something within him had changed at a cellular level. His own pheromones, once fluctuating and sometimes chaotic after years of inhibitors, had found astonishing stability. It was as if Shen Wenlang's lily scent, now a constant and calming presence in his bloodstream, had acted as a master key, healing cracks he didn't even know existed. The doctor had explained it as a rare phenomenon of extreme compatibility, over 90%, where the biology of one partner can positively influence the other in almost symbiotic ways.

But science was one thing; everyday reality was another. For a mind as active as Gao Tu's, forced peace could quickly become a martyrdom of boredom. The vast, luxurious house, once a simple place to sleep, now sometimes felt like a gilded cage. He had begun to spend hours in the garden, observing the flower beds with a new curiosity. He had mentioned to Shen Wenlang, during one of their intimate dinners, the idea of starting a vegetable garden. "Let's take advantage of all this land," He had said, pointing to the extensive backyard. "We could grow our own vegetables."

Shen Wenlang, whose protective instincts had intensified to almost obsessive levels, not only accepted the idea but encouraged it. And that was how Mrs. Zhang came into their lives. A Beta woman with a serene face and expert hands, she was in her forties and exuded a calmness that was contagious. She was no ordinary employee; she had been in the service of the Shen family since Wenlang's adolescence, a discreet and trusted figure on the margins of his tumultuous youth. Now, she became a reassuring presence in the house, taking care of household chores with quiet efficiency and, more importantly, keeping Gao Tu company during the long hours when Shen Wenlang was away. She brought him herbal teas, talked to him about plants, and sometimes just sat in the next room, her discreet presence a panacea against loneliness.

As the gala drew to a close and the tycoons began parading out to their limousines, laden with new ambitions, Gao Tu hung up the phone. His world was smaller, quieter, but not without purpose. He looked out the window at the moonlit garden, imagining the rows of lettuce and tomatoes that would soon sprout there. One world of high finance and another of fertile soil. And he, at the center of both, learning to navigate the stillness, protected by the love of an Alpha who was willing to move mountains—and reveal technologies that would change the world—to ensure his well-being and the future growing inside him.

And the stillness of the room, broken only by the soft touch of Gao Tu's fingertips on the gentle curve of his belly. It was no longer completely flat; a slight but unmistakable bulge hinted beneath the soft fabric of his pajamas, a silent display of the life blossoming inside him. Although, given his build, he would probably never have an excessively large belly, his body was changing in other, more subtle ways. His cheeks, once thinner and marked by stress, now had a soft, healthy fullness, rounded by the natural deposits of fat that accompanied pregnancy.

The first few months had not been easy. Morning sickness visited him with piercing regularity, and occasional dizziness forced him to stop and lean on furniture. But he had found his talisman, his anchor in the hormonal storm: the scent of Shen Wenlang. The house was permeated with it. It wasn't just a passive olfactory presence; it was an active barrier, a balm. The Alpha's pheromones, stable and powerful, seemed to intertwine with he's, calming the internal turbulence. And at the epicenter of this calm was his personal sanctuary: the nest.

Meticulously constructed over weeks in the center of the large bed, the nest was a masterpiece of instinct and comfort. It did not follow an aesthetic pattern, but rather a deeply visceral one. At its base lay several of Shen Wenlang's shirts. Some, the most precious ones, still retained the residual warmth and intense scent of lilies from having been worn that very day. Others, freshly laundered but "stolen" by Gao Tu from the laundry basket, carried a more subtle but equally comforting version of his essence. He had mixed in soft towels, a pair of sweatpants, and, in an act of familial inclusion that had cost him a bit of embarrassment to ask for, a couple of shirts belonging to his sister, Gao Qing.

He remembered the video call, the look of surprise on his sister's face when, blushing, he had asked his for those clothes. But understanding had quickly come to the young Alpha's eyes, and a few days later, a package with the shirts had arrived at the villa. Now, those garments, which smelled of his sister's fresh and energetic bergamot, were strategically placed at the edges of the nest, like sentinels.

Gao Tu had arranged everything carefully, creating a protective perimeter of fabric and scent that marked the space where they slept and rested. He loved to curl up in the center, surrounded by the scents of the two people who made up his world, his small but solid family. Buried among the clothes, with one of Shen Wenlang's shirts clutched to his chest, he felt impregnable, enveloped in a bubble of olfactory security that kept the anxieties of the outside world at bay.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he picked up his phone. His fingers slid across the screen, searching for news of the gala he had been unable to attend. The headlines highlighted the success of the event, the advances presented by the HS Group and X Holdings, and the intriguing announcement of 'Beta Mask'. But his gaze lingered on a more speculative section, dedicated to the most prominent attendees. It named shareholders who had flown in from other provinces and, causing him to frown slightly, "a delegation of influential businesspeople from Country P."

The article, written in a tone somewhere between admiring and cautious, mentioned that these individuals were "quite well known" to Mr. Shen Wenlang, adding the inevitable "according to rumors." The word "rumors" was loaded with an implication that Gao Tu was beginning to understand. These were not mere society gossip; they were echoes of a past that Shen Wenlang was only just beginning to talk about, shadows of a complex and possibly dangerous family heritage that extended beyond the borders of Jianghu.

He set the phone aside and sank a little deeper into his nest, pressing Shen Wenlang's shirt against his nose. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of lilies wash over him. Outside, the machinations of power and the echoes of a complicated past continued to play out. But here, in the center of his fortress of fabric and love, surrounded by the scent of his Alpha and with the promise of his child growing inside him, Gao Tu could, for a moment, close his eyes and feel safe from everything.

Dawn filtered its dim light through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the bed. Gao Tu emerged from the deep layers of sleep with a placid, heavy slowness. His first conscious sensation was not the light, but the solid, familiar weight of an arm encircling his body with possessive firmness. He didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was; the scent of lilies, now an integral part of his own olfactory landscape, gave him away.

Shen Wenlang, already awake, gazed at his Omega's face with a tenderness that melted his heart. His mouth slightly open, dark eyelashes resting on his slightly rosy cheeks, his expression completely relaxed... Gao Tu was adorable without the slightest effort, a serenity that Shen Wenlang never tired of contemplating.

He remembered the night before. His arrival home had been greeted by a deep silence, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. The kitchen light, left on like a beacon, illuminated a plate covered with plastic wrap and a note from Mrs. Zhang: 'You can heat it up in the microwave. The message was clear: Gao Tu had retired early. Upon entering the room, the sight had moved him deeply: his baobei, sunk into the center of the nest he had built with dedication, was hugging one of his shirts tightly. The air was thick, not only with the scent of Gao Tu's sage, but with a deep layer of his own lily scent, emanating from the clothes that formed the nest. It was a sacred space, a bubble of peace and belonging.

Aware that his skin and clothes carried the influences of the gala—a mixture of expensive perfumes, alcohol, and the pheromones of dozens of people—he had showered immediately. He had put his elegant suit in the washing machine, wanting to remove any traces that might disturb his Omega's heightened sensitivity. Emerging from the bathroom, wrapped only in a robe and with his skin clean, he had begun to release his pheromones deliberately but gently, like an offering. He approached the nest with the caution of someone approaching a sanctuary, knowing that even the most beloved couple could be expelled from that intimate space if they disturbed its balance.

"Wenlang," Gao Tu's whisper was a thread of sound laden with sleep. His hand rose weakly, and his fingers curved in a clear invitation: 'come'. All of Shen Wenlang's caution vanished. He slid into bed, moving with the fluidity of a large canine until he was pressed against his Omega's warm body, settling behind him.

"Did you eat dinner?" Gao Tu asked, his voice still hoarse with sleep, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Yes," Shen Wenlang replied, his voice a whisper laden with affection. He slipped an arm around Gao Tu's slender waist, reaffirming his possession, while his other hand rested flat and protective on the slight bulge of his belly. The food at the gala had been sufficient, and Mrs. Zhang's gesture—fresh fruit and a simple chicken breast—had been the perfect complement.

Shen Wenlang tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on Gao Tu's warm cheek. He felt the Omega's lips curve into a sleepy smile. But then, the Alpha's body shook with an involuntary, violent jolt.

Gao Tu's hand, which moments before had lain inert, had slipped with sleepy determination under Shen Wenlang's robe. His fingers, warm from the bed, found the Alpha's skin, still cool from his recent shower. The contrast in temperatures was stimulating. And then, Gao Tu's hand descended, sliding without hesitation into the elastic of Shen Wenlang's pajama pants. The gasp that escaped the Alpha's mouth was harsh, completely involuntary, a raw sound of surprise and instant desire. The response was Gao Tu's laughter, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated against Shen Wenlang's chest, as the Omega finally opened his eyes, bright with mischief and affection.

"Can we...?" Gao Tu's question, laden with a desire as clear as the morning light, was cut short.

Shen Wenlang needed no further invitation. He pounced on him, capturing his lips in a fiery, devouring kiss that drew a deep, pleasurable sound from Gao Tu's throat. All morning rationality vanished, replaced by a torrent of pure need. Shen Wenlang's hand on Gao Tu's back moved hastily, pulling down the waistband of his pajamas and underwear in one swift motion.

Their bodies met in a spontaneous and familiar act. Shen Wenlang's now-free hands kneaded the tender skin of Gao Tu's inner thighs, opening him up, preparing him with a mixture of ruthlessness and tenderness that only he could conjure. Gao Tu, for his part, did not cease his own assault. His hand continued its movement, trouncing Shen Wenlang's length with an intimate confidence that drew soft, ragged gasps from him, sounds that were lost and died in the fiery connection of their mouths, in the sacred space of their nest, sealing the morning not with words, but with the universal language of desire and reaffirmed love. The morning, which had begun in domestic peace, quickly transformed into a whirlwind of rekindled desire, where words were superfluous and only the senses ruled.

...

The morning was not a mere awakening, but the ardent continuation of a bodily dialogue begun in the darkness of dawn. What they had shared hours earlier was only the prelude, a warm-up that had left an absorbing tension in the air, a tacit lightness that the need was not yet satisfied.

After a light breakfast, little more than a formality to avoid the dizziness of an empty stomach, it was Gao Tu who took the initiative. With a belligerence that made Shen Wenlang's blood boil, he took the Alpha's hand and guided it around his waist. Using that same connection as leverage, he pulled Shen Wenlang toward him in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was effusive, voracious, a clear and wordless demand.

Gao Tu's face pressed against the soft pillows as he settled himself on his side, offering himself. His fingers, white with force, dug into the Egyptian cotton sheets, wrinkling the pristine fabric. Lascivious moans escaped his half-open mouth, guttural, broken sounds that were the perfect fuel for Shen Wenlang's fire. Every moan, every gasp, made the Alpha's movements, though still restrained by fear of hurting him, become more energetic, faster, deeper.

Shen Wenlang leaned over him, a colossus of warm skin and taut muscles. He pressed his sweaty chest against Gao Tu's arched back, a full contact that joined them from shoulders to hips. In this new position, the penetration intensified, reaching a depth that made Gao Tu whimper, a deliciously desperate sound that was lost in the pillow. One of Shen Wenlang's hands found Gao Tu's on the sheets, and their fingers intertwined in a fierce grip, an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations. His other arm, a bastion of strength, wrapped around the Omega's waist with absolute devotion, his hips moving in a hypnotic and powerful rhythm.

The sound that filled the room was no longer just their voices. It was the obscene, wet clash of flesh against flesh, a primal rhythm that echoed off the walls, mixed with Gao Tu's high-pitched moans and the low, hoarse growls that escaped from deep within Shen Wenlang's chest. The wetness of their fluids slid down Gao Tu's trembling thighs, painting them with the evidence of their union. Each thrust of the Alpha's flat, hard belly against his buttocks, now softly rounded by pregnancy, made them tremble and blush with the repeated impact, an image of surrender and pleasure that Shen Wenlang treasured.

This intensity, frequency, and dedication were not just the result of desire. They were backed by science and the express recommendation of Dr. Han. During his consultations, the doctor had explained in detail that persistent and satisfying intimacy between highly compatible Alpha-Omega couples was, in many cases, the best therapy for the vitality of the pregnant Omega and the development of the fetus. During sexual intercourse, there was a massive, synchronized release of pheromones. This biochemical cocktail not only strengthened the emotional bond, but also had a direct physiological effect: it helped to strengthen the amniotic membrane.

Dr. Han had even shown them diagrams. "The amniotic membrane," he explained, "is the inner layer of the amniotic sac, that vital fluid-filled bag that protects the baby. By strengthening it, it offered superior protection against external impacts, more efficiently regulated the fetus' temperature, and allowed optimal space for fetal movement, crucial for the healthy development of bones and organs.' For Shen Wenlang, knowing that his desire for Gao Tu, his physical need to merge with him, had such a tangible benefit for their child added another layer of depth and urgency to their union. It was the freedom to love each other without reservation, without the shadow of concern for protection, knowing that every caress, every moan, every union, was actively contributing to the well-being of the little life growing between them.

That was why the weekly checkups with Dr. Han were rigorous and unavoidable, especially in these early stages. The doctor was determined that Gao Tu, after years of physical abuse with inhibitors, should have the best possible start to a long and healthy pregnancy, culminating in an uncomplicated delivery. His commitment was such that he had met with Gao Tu's previous doctor, the one who for years had only seen a "Beta with asthma problems" who needed regular injections. When that doctor saw Gao Tu again, he could not hide his amazement and genuine joy at his transformation. However, that joy was accompanied by a direct and firm scolding directed at Shen Wenlang, who, despite his status, remained in the room, listening with clenched teeth and biting his tongue to keep from responding. The former doctor blamed him, not without reason, for his willful blindness, for not seeing the truth that had been right in front of his nose all those years, allowing his Omega to suffer in silence. It was a bitter pill for Shen Wenlang's pride to swallow, but he swallowed it without complaint, because every word from the doctor was a reminder of his past failure and a fiercer motivation to be the perfect pillar that Gao Tu and his son needed in the present.

.

.

.

Steam rose in silky spirals from the surface of the hot water, enveloping the intertwined bodies in the spacious marble tub. Despite its size, the space seemed to have shrunk, occupied by Shen Wenlang's commanding presence and Gao Tu's slender form, resting against his chest. The Omega's head was resting on the Alpha's shoulder, his breathing slowly calming down. The warm water caressed their sensitive skin, washing away the mixture of sweat and dried fluids from their intense union.

"Are you okay?"

The question, whispered by Shen Wenlang against Gao Tu's damp shoulder, was the third in the last few minutes. Each word was accompanied by a soft kiss, as if the Alpha needed to physically reassure his partner's well-being after the ferocity with which they had both climaxed. His arm, a ring of possession and care, wrapped tightly around Gao Tu's waist underwater.

"Yes, I'm fine," Gao Tu replied with patience tinged with a hint of affectionate exasperation. He wrinkled his nose, feeling Shen Wenlang's lily scent mingle with the steam, creating an intoxicating mist.

"You know I'm going to stop if..." Shen Wenlang began, his voice laden with a concern that was never far from the surface when it came to Gao Tu.

"Why would I want you to stop?" Gao Tu interrupted, not bothering to glance at him. He felt a familiar heat rising to his cheeks. "You were excellent before I knew it, now even more so." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and a wave of embarrassment washed over him. Since when did his mouth spew such obscenities so naturally?

"Really?" Shen Wenlang's voice was a low, satisfied caress. One of his hands, which until then had been resting flat on Gao Tu's stomach, moved. It climbed up his chest, and his skilled, knowing fingers found a nipple. With a deliberate stroke, he rubbed it, feeling Gao Tu's body tense instantly under the water. "Sometimes I like to focus on just one part of your body," he murmured, his hot breath against Gao Tu's ear. "I don't always need to penetrate you to know that it feels too good."

"Wenlang!" Gao Tu's cry was an embarrassed moan. He turned his head to face his shameless Alpha, meeting an openly flirtatious smile, an expression only he had the privilege of seeing. Shen Wenlang's dark hair, wet and slicked back, accentuated the line of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze, making it difficult for Gao Tu to breathe. He quickly looked away, only to realize, with horror, that his own body was responding to the stimulus again. A familiar tension began to grow between his legs. What was wrong with his body? It seemed to be in perpetual heat!

The low, triumphant chuckle Shen Wenlang let out didn't help at all.

"I want to test how sensitive your breasts are, my love," Shen Wenlang announced, and his hands, neither slow nor lazy, moved to completely cover Gao Tu's breasts. His palms molded them, and his fingers began to pinch and circle his nipples, which immediately hardened, painfully sensitive. Gao Tu closed his eyes tightly, a pitiful moan escaping his lips.

"Awww, that's cute," Shen Wenlang murmured, watching his Omega's reaction with fascination.

"No—Ah," Gao Tu tried to protest, to tell him that the sound he was making wasn't "cute," but a firmer tug on his nipple interrupted him, eliciting another sharp moan.

"When will milk come out of here?" Shen Wenlang asked with ruthless curiosity, continuing his relentless massage, pinching the nipples with a lack of delicacies that was both exasperating and exciting. Gao Tu whimpered, his own hands rising weakly to try to push his Alpha's claws away.

"D-don't touch, they're too sensitive," he begged, his voice breaking.

But what really made matters worse, sealing his fate for the afternoon, was when Shen Wenlang slid a hand under the water. His fingers found Gao Tu's erection and began to masturbate him with expert, ruthless technique, quickly bringing his to a new point of sobbing and surrender.

...

Dinner arrived via delivery. Neither of them had the energy, nor the will, to get up and cook. As they ate—Gao Tu devouring a plate of meat, vegetables, and rice with sudden hunger, his legs crossed on the sofa—they discussed the logistics of the next day.

"We have to go to the supermarket tomorrow night, we need to stock up," Gao Tu said between bites.

"I've never shopped at a supermarket," Shen Wenlang blurted out suddenly, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Gao Tu's eyes widened. He put his chopsticks down.

"Weren't you the one who stocked the cupboards and refrigerator for us these past few months?"

Shen Wenlang looked at him with an expression of genuine perplexity. "No. I give Mrs. Zhang a weekly list. She takes care of everything."

They were silent for a moment. Gao Tu processed the information. The Alpha, who commanded an empire, negotiated billion-dollar contracts, and introduced technologies that would change the world, had never set foot in a supermarket. The disconnect was so vast that it was almost comical.

Tomorrow, Gao Tu would return briefly to the company, not to work, but to formalize his maternity leave. The first few months were critical, and Dr. Han had been emphatic: he must avoid the sensory overload of multiple aromas in the office until the dizziness and vomiting subsided. Shen Wenlang, for his part, had already implemented notable changes at HS Group. The cafeteria menu now included specific, nutritious options for employees in similar conditions, and he had ordered the expansion and improvement of the nursing room. The employees, though grateful, murmured among themselves about the president's sudden interest in family welfare. Only a few, the most senior and observant, connected the dots and smiled discreetly, while stifling any rumors before they could bother "certain ears."

And now, in addition to navigating a pregnancy, hyperactive pheromones, and a territorial Alpha who was adorably clumsy in domestic matters, Gao Tu would have to teach Shen Wenlang something as mundane and yet as intimate as doing the weekly grocery shopping. Life, without a doubt, would never be boring.

Chapter Text

The morning in the HS Group's Human Resources office was a microcosm of administrative tasks and hushed murmurs. The air smelled of freshly printed paper and cheap coffee. Gao Tu arrived punctually, the neatly signed and folded maternity leave letter in his hand. He knew the process would be simple, almost automatic, but the reaction of the HR employee, a young man with glasses and a permanently overwhelmed expression, was more amusing than he had anticipated.

The man took the letter, read the reason with slightly unfocused eyes, and then looked at Gao Tu with a mixture of surprise and confusion. It was clear that, despite working at the epicenter of paperwork comings and goings, the juiciest rumors in the building; such as the president's personal secretary's pregnancy—had not yet permeated his bubble of forms and regulations.

"Ah, yes... maternity leave," he muttered, passing several documents to Gao Tu to read and sign. "We will proceed as usual. We will send a copy of this documentation to President Shen for his information."

Hearing this, an idea popped into Gao Tu's mind. "I offer to deliver them personally," he said with a docile smile that gave nothing away. "After all, I'll be stopping by his office to report." His tone was that of a model employee, but a spark of complicity flashed in his eyes. The leave did not mean complete disengagement; it meant a transition. From now on, he would work from home, handling specific tasks, and in the case of unavoidable in-person errands, he would coordinate with Secretary General Qin Ming, who would take on the burden of events and travel alongside Shen Wenlang.

As he stepped into the employee elevator, he pressed the button for the presidential floor. As the cabin ascended with a soft hum, his hand instinctively found the soft curve of his belly. A tender, private smile touched his lips. In a few days, they would have their first ultrasound. Anxiety and excitement intertwined as he thought about that moment: seeing the gestational sac, the tiny embryo, measuring it to accurately date the pregnancy, hearing for the first time the miraculous, rapid beating of that tiny heart. He longed for that first blurry image, the real proof of his future.

However, when the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, sensory reality hit him. The air on the executive floor, usually filtered and neutral, was charged with a complex mixture of scents: the woody cologne of an executive, the floral perfume of an assistant, the faint smell of coffee from an intern. The combination, once insignificant, now caused a slight but unmistakable wave of nausea. He took a deep breath, remembering the doctor's words. His body was in a state of hyperalert-ness, protecting itself and the baby. He wasn't here for the scents of his colleagues, he reminded himself. His mission was more important.

He walked steadily down the carpeted hallway, greeting colleagues who recognized him with a polite smile and returning their warm expressions.

"Secretary Gao, it's so good to have you here!" A voice stopped him. It was one of the junior assistants, holding a folder with a look of desperation on his face. "Can you help us with this? We can't figure out the syntax the president wants for this summary."

Gao Tu was about to refuse, citing his status and his new position, but before the words came out, his body had already moved out of pure professional reflex. He took the folder. The title of the document made his nausea fade into the background: "Research and Improvement of Drugs for Hormonal Stabilization in Post-Inhibitor Omegas."

His eyes widened slightly, though he maintained a neutral expression. Of course, he knew about this. In the HS Group, very few things happened without him, directly or indirectly, being aware of them. His information network, built on years of efficiency and willingness to help, always provided him with context. And this particular project resonated deeply with him. He remembered with vivid clarity the key meeting with the shareholders, right after one of those intimate and urgent encounters with Shen Wenlang in this very office. The Alpha, in an act of radical ownership and transparency, had refused to allow Gao Tu to use more than a small patch on his glands. The result had been unmistakable: the air in the boardroom had become saturated with the combined scent of a pregnant Omega and the powerful lily of an S-class Alpha, an olfactory statement impossible to ignore for everyone present, including the skeptical minority shareholders. And it was at that same meeting that Shen Wenlang had revealed, with cold calculation, the plans for the "Mask Beta" project.

Now, holding this document in his hands, Gao Tu saw more than just a work report. He saw a direct echo of his own story, of his physical struggle, turned into the engine of a change that would transcend the walls of the company and affect the lives of thousands of Omegas. He maternity leave was not an end; it was the beginning of a new way to contribute, from the privacy of his home, to the legacy that he and Shen Wenlang were building together, a legacy that, ironically, had been born out of the need to hide what they now proclaimed to the world with every fiber of their being.

Gao Tu's initial intention; to deliver the documents quickly and perhaps steal a furtive kiss from his Alpha—evaporated as soon as his fingers touched the folder. The organized chaos of the presidential floor absorbed him completely. What began as a simple clarification about the syntax of the summary turned into a cascade of minor emergencies. One assistant needed help deciphering Shen Wenlang's cryptic notes on a contract; another, desperate, couldn't locate a crucial file for an impending call. Gao Tu, moving with the familiarity of someone who had been the backbone of that office for years, plunged into the maelstrom.

He sat down at an empty workstation, his sharp, methodical mind processing information at lightning speed. He answered questions and redirected calls with patience that disarmed even the most stressed, all while his subconscious continued to monitor his body, noticing how the concentrated scent of so many Betas and the occasional Alpha in the enclosed space began to form a subtle but persistent knot in his stomach. Thirty minutes passed, then forty-five. He signed some papers that were handed to him, delegated tasks with precision, and, almost without realizing it, had been there for a full hour, immersed in the adrenaline-fueled rhythm he would miss so much.

It was in the midst of this hustle and bustle, while explaining the protocol for a specific report for the umpteenth time, that Shen Wenlang's office door swung open.

The Alpha's figure filled the doorway. Shen Wenlang was wearing his suit jacket, clearly ready to leave for a meeting. His expression was the usual mask of professional impassivity, but his eyes, which scanned the room with the efficiency of a scanner, instantly stopped on Gao Tu. The surprise was as brief as a flash of lightning, but Gao Tu, who knew him better than anyone, caught it: a slight flicker, an almost imperceptible tightening of his jawline.

"Secretary Gao," Shen Wenlang said, his clear, projected voice cutting through the office chatter like a knife. There was no anger, only unflappable authority. "I was informed that you had already formalized your resignation." He paused for an infinitesimal moment, his gaze laden with a meaning that only Gao Tu could fully decipher. "Come into my office. Now."

It was a direct, unquestionable order. Without waiting for a response, Shen Wenlang turned and reentered his sanctuary, leaving the door open behind him.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the workspace. Gao Tu, feeling the curious stares of his colleagues, stood up with as much dignity as he could muster. He gathered the folder with his resignation documents and walked toward the office, closing the solid wooden door with a soft click that instantly isolated the outside world.

Inside, the atmosphere was different. The air was filtered, cleaner, and dominated by Shen Wenlang's familiar, soothing scent of lilies. The Alpha was standing in front of his desk, his back to the door for a moment, before turning around. The professional mask had completely cracked, revealing a sharp and deep concern.

"What do you think you're doing?" Shen Wenlang asked, his voice now a harsh whisper, laden with frustration born of care. "Tossing and turning here for an hour? Exposing yourself to all these scents?" He gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the general office. "The doctor was explicit, Gao Tu. The first trimester is critical. Stress, sensory overload... these are risks we're not going to take."

Gao Tu sighed, the folder pressed tightly against his chest. "I was just helping, Wenlang. A few things piled up and..."

"And nothing," Shen Wenlang interrupted, stepping closer. His gaze swept over Gao Tu's face, looking for signs of fatigue or discomfort. "Your 'help' ends today. Here." He reached out and took the folder from Gao Tu's hands, setting it down on the desk with a thud. "Your job now is to rest. It's to protect yourself and our child. Understood?"

His tone left no room for discussion, but there was no anger in his eyes, only a fierce, protective devotion that made Gao Tu's protests die on his lips.

"Yes," Gao Tu murmured, finally nodding. The internal struggle between his work ethic and his maternal instincts subsided under the intensity of his Alpha's concern.

Shen Wenlang nodded, a line of tension leaving his shoulders. He reached up and gently caressed Gao Tu's cheek, an intimate and possessive gesture that was a world apart from the cold interaction of moments before. "Go home, baobei," he whispered, his voice now soft as silk. "The car is waiting for you downstairs. Qin Ming will accompany you."

Gao Tu nodded again, not trusting his voice. Shen Wenlang leaned down and pressed a quick but intense kiss to his lips, a reinforcement of his command and his love.

"Now," Shen Wenlang said, pulling away, his voice regaining a hint of its usual authority, though his eyes remained soft.

Gao Tu left the office, feeling Shen Wenlang's gaze on his back until the door closed. The brief confrontation had been private, but its message was clearer than any public reprimand: his well-being was the absolute priority, and Shen Wenlang would not hesitate to enforce it, even against Gao Tu's own wishes. As he headed for the elevator, he felt nausea, perhaps exacerbated by the stress of the confrontation, but also relieved by the familiar scent that now enveloped him. His place was no longer among the hustle and bustle of papers and phone calls. His new duty, imposed by the doctor and reinforced by his Alpha's iron will, was a different challenge: learning to rest, to take care of himself, and to wait.

He barely saw Shen Wenlang leave the office again and turned his gaze to the paralyzed attendees. "Qin Ming will take care of any questions from now on. Is that clear?"

Under the President's icy gaze, the assistants had muttered "Yes, President Shen" in unison, a choreography of professional subservience. Qin Ming, the Secretary General, had nodded solemnly, accepting the new mandate.

However, once the elevator door closed behind Shen Wenlang, the stiffness in Qin Ming's shoulders relaxed a little. He turned to Gao Tu, who still felt exposed and slightly stunned by the abruptness of the interaction.

"Secretary Gao," Qin Ming said, his voice low and full of an understanding that surprised Gao Tu. "I'm sorry. The Chairman... his concern sometimes gets the better of him." It was not an apology for Shen Wenlang, but a tacit acknowledgment of Gao Tu's difficult position. He handed him a packet of soft cookies. "For your stomach. The trip home may be long."

Gao Tu accepted the cookies with a murmured thank you, touched by the gesture. The ride in the company car was quiet, the image of Shen Wenlang's worried but determined expression etched in his mind. However, the calm was broken a block away from the villa. Due to strict security protocol, the car could not enter the gated community without prior authorization, which, in the morning rush, no one had arranged.

"I'm sorry, Secretary Gao," the driver said with genuine regret. "You'll have to walk the last stretch."

Gao Tu nodded, feeling a pang of apprehension join the nausea he had managed to keep at bay. Each step along the neat, tree-lined sidewalk seemed to increase the pressure in his stomach. The world began to sway slightly at the edges of his vision, colors became saturated, and cold, metallic saliva filled his mouth. He stopped, leaning against the cold stone wall of a house, breathing heavily.

"Mr. Gao!"

The voice, sharp and full of alarm, cut through the fog of his discomfort. A few yards away, Mrs. Zhang, who must have been watching him from the window, rushed out of the villa with a speed that belied her age. Her usually serene face was marked with concern.

"Lean on me," she urged, sliding a firm arm around his waist. Gao Tu, too weak and miserable to protest, let himself be guided. They walked the remaining distance at a pace much faster than he could have managed on his own, each step an effort against the rising tide in his throat.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold of the house than the battle was lost. Gao Tu broke free from Mrs. Zhang's arm and lunged toward the nearest guest bathroom. Falling to his knees in front of the toilet, his body convulsed. The breakfast he had eaten hopefully hours earlier returned in a bitter, violent surge, burning his throat and nose. The harsh, guttural sounds of his agony filled the small room.

When the spasms finally subsided, leaving him gasping and trembling, leaning against the cold porcelain, that was when the tears came. They were not tears of physical pain, but of overwhelming frustration and deep vulnerability. Tears for his treacherous body, for the loss of his independence, for the humiliation of needing help with something as basic as walking to his own home. They rolled down his hot cheeks and mingled with sweat and traces of vomit, a stubborn and heartbreaking endorsement of the often unglamorous reality of the pregnancy he so desired.

Mrs. Zhang said nothing. She simply knelt beside him, holding his forehead with one hand, while with the other she offered him a cool, damp cloth. Her silent, nonjudgmental presence was a small harbor in Gao Tu's storm of misery, a reminder that, despite everything, he was not alone.

The warm water ran over his skin, washing away not only the sweat and residue of vomit, but also the layer of frustration and vulnerability that had covered him. Inside the bathroom, enveloped in steam, Gao Tu allowed himself a moment of stillness. Outside, the soft click-clack of Mrs. Zhang's knitting needles was a soothing rhythm. She had set herself up in front of the closed door, in a chair she had brought from the dining room, her fingers shaping a soft white thread that would eventually become a hat for the baby. Her vigilance was discreet but unwavering.

After changing into comfortable, cool clothes, Gao Tu opened the door. Mrs. Zhang looked up from her work, her wise eyes scanning his face.

"You can leave, Mrs. Zhang, I'll be fine," Gao Tu said, trying to project a confidence he didn't quite feel.

The woman looked at him for a long moment, assessing. "If you don't mind, I'll sleep in the maid's room," she declared, her tone soft and unyielding, imbued with a maternal concern that disarmed any resistance. "I can't leave you alone, Mr. Gao."

Gao Tu instinctively pouted, a silent protest. He wanted to say that he was an adult, that he could handle himself, but the words died on his lips. At that moment of post-dizziness weakness, with the influence of nausea still fresh, the truth was that he longed for Shen Wenlang's presence. The loneliness of the large, silent villa suddenly felt oppressive.

"All right," he conceded, his voice a little weaker than he would have liked. "I'll write to you via chat." He gave his a small but genuine smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Zhang."

A flash of surprise crossed the woman's face before her expression returned to its professional serenity. "It's my pleasure. Go to bed, I'll leave you some light meals for lunch and dinner."

Gao Tu nodded and headed for the bedroom, feeling a slight, persistent dizziness accompany him. He wondered, not for the first time, if the prolonged exposure to the mixture of scents in the office had been too much for the little being in his womb. A wry smile touched his lips. Was his baby as finicky as his Alpha father? The idea, though exhausting, was strangely endearing.

As he lay down on the bed, the cool sheets were a relief. He closed his eyes and, overwhelmed by physical and emotional fatigue, sleep quickly carried him away into a deep and restful oblivion.

...

When he awoke, the afternoon light had softened, bathing the room in golden hues. He blinked, disoriented, until his clock on the nightstand informed him that it was almost four o'clock. He had slept deeply for hours. It was then that he registered the sounds coming from the hallway: the low but firm murmur of Mrs. Zhang and the deep, unmistakable voice of Shen Wenlang.

"... You should consider working part-time at home and at the office," said Mrs. Zhang, her tone respectful and full of unwavering conviction. "Although more at home than at the company, Mr. Shen. Mr. Gao constantly needs your pheromones. Just because you are now a marked couple does not mean you can be far from each other. Now, more than ever, your Omega needs your Alpha."

Gao Tu held his breath, listening. There was no audible response from Shen Wenlang, only a deep murmur that must have been his assent. Then, steady footsteps approached the door. The doorknob turned, and Shen Wenlang appeared in the doorway, his silhouette outlined against the light from the hallway.

Turning his head, his eyes met directly with Gao Tu's, who was watching him from the bed.

"Honey, are you feeling okay?" Shen Wenlang strode over to the bed. He was still wearing his elegant office suit, the fine gray wool clinging to his broad shoulders and defined torso. His expensive winter coat was folded over his arm. The first thing Gao Tu registered, almost subconsciously, was the scent. Shen Wenlang smelled purely of lilies. There was no trace of other people's cologne, other Alphas' pheromones, or the faint scent of Betas. It was as if he had locked himself in a bubble or, more likely, turned his office into an impenetrable fortress and conducted his meetings virtually, all so as not to bring a single molecule of foreign scent home to his sensitive Omega.

Gao Tu swallowed, feeling a familiar warmth rise up his neck until it tinged his cheeks pink. Was pregnancy making him... more sensitive? His gaze, almost without meaning to, roamed over Shen Wenlang's figure. He had always known that his Alpha was dazzlingly attractive, but now, perhaps enhanced by his hormones, every detail seemed magnified. The way the suit highlighted his powerful shoulders, the suggestion of strength in his arms, the narrow line of his waist opening into firm hips, the imposing length of his legs. And his face... that combination of noble lines and relentless intensity that made people turn to look at him on the street.

A new and poignant thought arose in his mind: was he feeling... jealous? The idea was absurd and intoxicating at the same time. Shen Wenlang was his, completely his, marked and committed. But the idea that others could see him, desire him, even from afar, now gave his a tingle of possessiveness that tangled with the already familiar desire his mere presence aroused in his. Pregnancy, it seemed, brought not only nausea and sleepiness, but also a deeper, more complex layer of emotions that he was just beginning to navigate.

"Gao Tu, baby?"

Shen Wenlang's voice, laden with concern that seeped through his usual composure, cut through the fog of Gao Tu's tangled thoughts. The Omega frowned, not at the interruption, but at the internal confusion that assailed him. His pregnancy felt like a typhoon of physical symptoms and an emotional roller coaster that didn't seem to follow any known map.

Clarity came suddenly, crystal clear and undeniable, rising from the depths of his being.

"I want to have sex," he admitted, his voice sounding surprisingly confident, echoing in the silent room.

The effect on Shen Wenlang was instantaneous and, for Gao Tu, deeply gratifying. For the first time in months; perhaps since they had met—Gao Tu witnessed the powerful Alpha's impeccable mask shatter completely. His eyes, usually so calculating and controlled, widened. His tightly clenched jaw relaxed for a fraction of a second. It was an expression of pure, genuine shock, as quick as a flash, but unmistakable.

Shen Wenlang's recovery was almost as quick. In less than a minute, his expression transformed. The astonishment gave way to intense seriousness, absolute concentration. His gaze became dark, piercing, and he nodded once, a slow, deliberate gesture. It was the look of a CEO evaluating a high-risk proposal, but with a much more primitive subtext: total surrender to the will of his Omega. He moved to sit up, presumably to begin undressing or to accommodate Gao Tu, accepting the stated desire without question.

But Gao Tu wasn't finished.

He reached out with a speed that surprised even Shen Wenlang. His fingers closed around the Alpha's wrist, stopping his movement. The skin beneath his touch was warm, and he could feel the rapid pulse beating against his fingertips.

"No," Gao Tu said, his voice a solid whisper, laden with an intent that made the air thicken. His eyes, bright and full of a newfound fire, locked with Shen Wenlang's. "Leave your office suit on." He paused, letting the words, so unusual and full of meaning, sink in. "Just unbuckle your belt and pull your pants down far enough."

It was then that Shen Wenlang's brain, which managed financial empires and revolutionary technologies, suffered a complete short circuit. The order was so specific, so deliberately restrictive and yet so intimately possessive, that it left him paralyzed for a second. This wasn't about undressing, about the equality of skin against skin. This was about him, Shen Wenlang, the Chairman, being desired and taken while still clad in the armor of his power, with the evidence of his workday still upon him. It was a surrender of control in the very symbol of his control.

A low growl, almost a muffled roar, escaped from deep within his chest. The scent in the room, already a mixture of sweet sage and serene lilies, exploded in intensity. Gao Tu's pheromones became sweeter, more intoxicating, a clear and urgent invitation. Shen Wenlang's became denser, more earthy, a storm of lilies promising possession and an overwhelming response to his Omega's bold challenge.

Without breaking eye contact, Shen Wenlang brought his free hand to the thin leather belt. The click of the buckle opening was an obscenely clear sound in the charged silence. His movements, though deliberate, were not slow. There was a contained urgency to them, a wolf responding to the call of his mate. He did as he was commanded: he unbuckled his belt and unzipped the fly of his tailored suit pants, just enough to free his erection, already hard and throbbing against the restrictive fabric of his underwear.

He stood there, next to the bed, dressed in his impeccable jacket and shirt, his tie perfectly knotted, but with the crudest evidence of his desire exposed, surrendered to Gao Tu's commands. His breathing was deeper than normal, his eyes burned with a dark fire, and his entire body was a tense line of anticipation and forced submission. The room was now a sanctuary of intertwined scents and surrendered power, and Gao Tu, from the bed, was in complete control.

With a courage that sprang from the depths of a fierce and sudden desire, a spark ignited by jealousy and the overwhelming attraction he felt for his Alpha, Gao Tu sat up in bed. His movement was decisive, without a trace of the weakness that had afflicted him hours earlier. His hand rose, firm and confident, and closed around Shen Wenlang's length.

The contact was electric. Shen Wenlang let out a sharp hiss, a sound of surprise and pleasure that seeped through his clenched teeth. Gao Tu's hand, soft and deliberate in its pressure, began to massage the hard, throbbing flesh. His fingers explored the protruding veins that ran its length, and his eyes, intense and fixed on Shen Wenlang's face, caught the glisten of a clear secretion at the tip. As his hand moved with torturous slowness, his gaze never left Shen Wenlang. The Alpha was a statue of contained tension. Every muscle in his body seemed carved from stone, his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked as if it might snap, and his hands, hanging at his sides, opened and closed into fists. He was exercising superhuman self-control, holding back the rush that Gao Tu was deliberately unleashing with every caress.

Then Gao Tu tilted his head. His tongue, tender and moist pink, emerged between his lips and made a slow, deliberate journey around the sensitive glans. The reaction was instant and violent. Shen Wenlang's breath caught in his throat, as if he had been punched in the stomach. His already tense body stiffened even more, trembling with the effort of not losing control.

Gao Tu knew from experience and from the doctor's warnings that Shen Wenlang restrained himself when making love to him, moderating his strength and depth because of the pregnancy. But at that moment, a defiant part of his mind wondered how far that control would go if he weren't pregnant. What fierce beast would he unleash if he gave himself free rein?

Acting on the impulse of that dangerous thought, Gao Tu's plump lips parted. He took the head of the Alpha's penis into his mouth and sucked hard, creating a vacuum that made Shen Wenlang close his eyes tightly and his hand rise gropingly to cling to his Omega's hair.

The penis was too large and heavy to fit completely in his mouth. Gao Tu, in an act of determination that surprised even himself, relaxed his throat. What he couldn't accommodate with his mouth, he made up for with the skillful movement of his hand, creating constant, unnerving friction.

It was the sensation of that moist, enveloping warmth, combined with the pressure of his hand, that finally broke Shen Wenlang's last vestiges of control. A deep, hoarse moan, laden with pleasurable agony, escaped his throat. His head threw back, exposing the taut line of his neck, and the fingers tangled in Gao Tu's hair tightened, not with force to cause pain, but with possessive desperation.

Gao Tu, moving his head back and forth, smiled inwardly around the member filling his mouth. His free fingers found and caressed Shen Wenlang's heavy testicles, squeezing them gently in rhythm with his movement. In the midst of it all, a rational part of his mind wondered if he was crazy. Not long ago, he had been vomiting, miserable and weak, and now he was here, cheeks hollow and mouth full, feeling his own body respond with abundant lubrication that moistened his crotch. Sudden jealousy had given him reckless courage, but the sight before him was his own reward.

Shen Wenlang, his eyes now open, looked down. His pupils were dilated, almost black, and the corners of his eyes reddened from the effort and excitement. His parted lips released hoarse moans and ragged gasps. He was the image of a fallen god, an S-class Alpha reduced to a state of raw vulnerability and abject pleasure by the skills and audacity of his Omega. It was an image that Gao Tu knew he would keep forever, burned into the depths of his memory.

Outside, in the maid's room, Mrs. Zhang slept soundly, completely oblivious to the symphony of muffled sounds and ragged breaths that filled the master bedroom, a room that, thanks to a discreet but effective design, kept its most intimate secrets from the outside world.

Chapter Text

Under the harsh white light of the fluorescent lights, the supermarket was a universe of artificial order and garish abundance. A world outside the sanctuary of intimacy and pheromones they had inhabited hours earlier. Gao Tu, driven by gestational insomnia and a sudden craving for yogurt, had dragged a barely awake but submissive Shen Wenlang on this domestic mission.

He moved through the aisles with a belligerent energy that contradicted his condition. He pushed the metal cart with a firm hand, while the other held a list written in his neat handwriting. His comfortable, loose-fitting clothes could not hide the slight but unmistakable curve of his belly, nor the determination on his face. A small smile of satisfaction played on his lips with each item mentally crossed off the list, like a general marking victories on a campaign map.

A few steps behind, Shen Wenlang was the antithesis of his surroundings. His casual dark wool suit and immaculate cut seemed out of place among the "2-for-1" offers and stacks of canned goods. His presence, which usually dominated any boardroom, felt scattered here, almost ethereal. He wasn't scrutinizing prices or comparing brands. His intense gaze, typically so penetrating and calculating, was fixed on Gao Tu's back with a hypnotic distance.

His mind was not in the dairy aisle. It was miles away, reliving every moment of the early morning in vivid detail. The memory was a satisfying rush that ran down his spine and made his fingers involuntarily close around the handle of the cart.

He saw, as if it were happening again, the image of Gao Tu kneeling before him. Not submissively, but with a defiant boldness that had taken his breath away. He remembered the look in his Omega's eyes, a dark fire of pure desire that had overwhelmed every other thought. And then, the physical sensation: the perfect, moist warmth of his mouth enveloping him, the pressure of his tongue, the husky, lascivious sounds vibrating against his skin. It had been a surrender, yes, but a surrender that had given Gao Tu absolute power, a power that Shen Wenlang had willingly handed over to him at that moment.

And then, the change. The breaking point where his own Alpha instinct, unleashed by the provocation, had taken control. The memory of turning Gao Tu over with a gentleness that did not betray the fierce need that consumed him, of spreading his buttocks and finding that incredibly sensitive skin, of savoring his essence with an incorrigible tongue that left no inch unexplored. He remembered how Gao Tu's body had arched, how his moans had become higher-pitched, more desperate, and how his own trembling hands had prepared him before sinking into that receptive warmth with a thrust that was pure delight, pure reclamation. The indocility of that act, the stubborn truth of their union, still made his blood pound in his temples and a familiar heat build in his lower abdomen.

He was so immersed in the vivid reverie that, as he took a bag of instant soup from a shelf, he noticed a slight tremor in his fingers. Pregnancy, it seemed, was not only revolutionizing Gao Tu's body and emotions. It had him in a state of sensory hyperalert ness, where every memory, every image of his Omega, was amplified to the sublime and unbearable.

"Let's go buy the meat and chicken," Gao Tu announced, turning to look at him. His voice, practical and soft as spring water, cut through the dense veil of memory.

Shen Wenlang blinked, like a man awakening from an intense dream. The world of the supermarket, the screams of a child, the hum of the freezers, the artificial aroma of freshly baked bread—invaded his senses once more. He nodded, a slow movement, and placed the bag of soup in the cart with a care that bordered on reverence, as if he were placing a state document.

This was the first time in his life he had done a weekly shop. There had always been staff, lists, discreet deliveries. But now, following Gao Tu down the meat aisle, watching the concentration on his face as he felt a steak or inspected the color of a chicken breast, he felt a pang of something new, something deeply rooted and satisfying.

It wasn't the act of shopping itself. It was the symbol. It was the most real materialization of the domestic life they were building together, a world away from corporate strategies and cold transactions. Seeing Gao Tu, so immersed in this simple task, so obviously in his element as the planner and provider for their small family unit, filled his chest with a possessive and deep calm. He enjoyed this stolen everyday life, simply being the silent shadow of his Omega in the hustle and bustle of the supermarket, the partner in a shared mission to fill their pantry and, by extension, the home that now felt more like his own than any empty luxury villa. For the first time, the controlled chaos of a supermarket did not overwhelm him, but rather seemed like just another setting, perhaps the most human one, where he could admire the quiet competence and fierce determination of the person he loved.

"What are you thinking about? Your shopping cart is almost empty. Are you following the list I gave you?" Gao Tu's practical and slightly exasperated question broke Shen Wenlang's spell of memories.

Gao Tu left his own cart, which was prudently full, and approached his Alpha. With an intimacy that was both tender and possessive, he squeezed Shen Wenlang's cheek between his fingers, a domestic gesture that made the powerful executive's heart skip a beat.

Shen Wenlang's response was a whisper laden with disbelief and the residual heat of his memory. "How can you be so calm after what we did a few hours ago?"

An instant blush stained Gao Tu's cheeks, but his gaze was one of pure exasperation. 

"Why do you have to bring this up here?" he scolded, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Better stick to the list, or I won't give you any of what I plan to cook later." To seal his point, he pinched Shen Wenlang's cheek again, but this time added a quick, chaste peck, a flash of sweetness before turning and returning to his cart, refocusing on the list with a belligerence that defied any suggestion of embarrassment.

Shen Wenlang twisted his mouth in a gesture somewhere between annoyance and surrender. He took the crumpled list and began to read it, his eyes scanning the items with the same tone with which he would review a contract. He set off, but his attention never strayed from Gao Tu. His presence was a beacon, a fixed point around which he orbited. He knew, with the absolute certainty that his protective paranoia gave him, that several bodyguards, discreetly camouflaged as other early-morning shoppers, were following them at a safe distance. Gao Tu's freedom had well-defined limits, edges guarded by Shen Wenlang's fierce fear of losing him.

It was in the pickles and sauces aisle, between jars of mustard and olives, that the bubble of domestic normality burst.

"Gao Tu?"

The voice, familiar and laden with deliberate cadence, made Shen Wenlang look up from the list with instant abruptness. He couldn't believe it. Of all the supermarkets in the huge chain, in the middle of the night, they had to run into Hua Yong. And, of course, with Sheng Shaoyou glued to his side like a spoiled shadow.

"Hua Yong," Gao Tu greeted him with a faint smile, a polite gesture that didn't reach his eyes. His gaze shifted to Sheng Shaoyou, whom he hadn't seen in months. The other S-class Alpha looked different. His powerful aura was tinged with a peculiar scent, softer, more... restrained. And there was something about his posture, the slight roundness of his face, and the way his loose-fitting sweater clung subtly to his torso, that told Gao Tu, with an expert's clarity, that Sheng Shaoyou was in the same state as he was. "Mr. Sheng," he greeted, more formally.

"Please, just call me Shaoyou. We're not at work," replied the Alpha, with a weary but genuine smile, before glancing sideways at Hua Yong. And it was that glance that caught Gao Tu's attention. Hua Yong, the ever-impassive and calculating Enigma, was smiling at Sheng Shaoyou with an expression of such pure and disarming devotion that Gao Tu could almost see hearts floating around his head. It was such a radical transformation that it was almost shocking.

"We've already greeted each other, let's move on," Shen Wenlang interrupted, his voice a grunt of annoyance. He had rolled his eyes at the expression on his 'best friend's' face, a mixture of exasperation and resignation at what he privately called Hua Yong's 'obsession with the surname Sheng'.

"What a killjoy, Wenlang," Hua Yong said, his smile unwavering, but his eyes, as they slid toward Shen Wenlang, regained their usual sharpness, sparkling with mischievous amusement. The chance encounter in the pickles aisle had turned into a small social battlefield, where unspoken tensions and shared (and not-so-shared) secrets floated in the air between the jars of pickles and mustard.

The air in the supermarket aisle, already heavy with the sweet and sour smell of pickles, became saturated with a new layer of social tension. Gao Tu, taking advantage of tacit permission from the security staff who were discreetly watching, had opened a yogurt and was taking a sip, an act of small rebellion.

"Late-night craving?" he asked, deliberately, his gaze fixed on Sheng Shaoyou with an instant, shared understanding that transcended formalities.

Sheng Shaoyou returned his gaze to Gao Tu. He didn't seem surprised that the other had deduced his state; among Omegas, especially those whose bodies were undergoing the same miraculous and exhausting transformation, there was a silent recognition. A small pang of conflict, a remnant of social programming about what it meant to be an S-class Alpha, quickly dissipated. Neither Gao Tu nor the 'idiot Shen Wenlang' beside him looked at him with pity or strangeness. They were simply there, on the same absurd and urgent mission dictated by hormonal whims. While Gao Tu commanded two carts with the determination of a general, Sheng Shaoyou was content with a basket that Hua Yong carried with the devotion of an acolyte.

"Yes," Sheng Shaoyou admitted, his voice softer than usual. "But I want pickles." He wrinkled his nose slightly, as if he himself couldn't believe the craving of his 'little peanut', his baby.

Gao Tu wrinkled his own nose in a gesture of genuine sympathy mixed with revulsion. 

"Then we'll let them go," he said kindly. "I can't stand the smell of pickles right now." He gave Sheng Shaoyou a soft smile, who watched him for a moment with thoughtful intensity.

A fleeting thought crossed Sheng Shaoyou's mind: 'Had I known you were an Omega before, Secretary Gao, I would have teased Shen Wenlang by asking you out.' It was an idle thought, a wink to an alternate past. His gaze then drifted to the "madman" beside him, whose face radiated such absolute adoration that it was almost tangible. 'But fate sent me this madman,' he thought, and a deep peace washed over him, 'and I am so happy for it.'

Before the silence became uncomfortable, Sheng Shaoyou spoke again, changing the subject with the ease of someone accustomed to leading conversations. 

"Before you leave, Christmas is coming up, and Chinese New Year will be here soon too. Shengfang Bio will be hosting a party at the end of the year, and it would be nice if you could come." His tone was not that of the CEO of a biopharmaceutical empire, but that of an acquaintance extending a casual invitation.

"You've already sent those invitations to the HS Group," Shen Wenlang replied immediately, his voice flat. It was the automatic rejection of a man who preferred a thousand business meetings to a social event.

But it was Hua Yong who clarified things, his voice a sharp silk thread as he caressed his Alpha's back possessively. "My Mr. Sheng is not inviting you to that party and subsequent vacation," he said, emphasizing the possessive pronoun. "He is inviting you to a private one."

The distinction was clear. This was not a corporate event. It was a personal invitation, into the intimacy of his circle.

It was Gao Tu who took the lead, turning his head toward Shen Wenlang with a smile that held a glint of mischief. 

"Then we will accept your invitation, kindly, Shaoyou." Then, he fixed his eyes on his own Alpha, whose face was a mask of reluctance. "Right, A-Lang?"

The effect was instantaneous. The diminutive "A-Lang," so affectionate and domestic, acted like a spell. Shen Wenlang felt his mouth go dry. Gao Tu was being deliberately wicked, knowing full well the power that simple syllable had over him, capable of melting his resistance and making him blush slightly, even in the middle of a supermarket aisle.

Caught between the expectation in his Omega's eyes and Hua Yong's challenging gaze, Shen Wenlang had no escape. He swallowed hard and, in a tone that was meant to be stoic but sounded noticeably resigned, conceded, "Yes, we will."

The social battle was over. Gao Tu had won, securing not only a social evening, but a small victory in the ongoing war to bring Shen Wenlang out of his shell. And as the two groups drifted apart, each toward their own nocturnal pursuits, the promise of a private meeting hung in the air, a reminder that their lives, so complex and intertwined, continued to meet in the most unexpected places.

.

.

.

The return home had the quality of sleepwalk. The porch lights came on, illuminating the silent facade of the villa. The two Beta bodyguards, efficient and discreet, unloaded the numerous bags from the car, their fluid movements breaking the stillness of the early morning. Gao Tu, still in a fog of exhaustion, watched the scene from the doorway, sucking on the last remnants of his popsicle. The contrast between the frenetic energy of the supermarket and the absolute calm of his home was almost surreal.

With Gao Tu's silent permission, the bodyguards deposited the spoils of their nighttime shopping on the large granite island in the kitchen. The bags piled up, a colorful chaos of provisions that told the story of their cravings and culinary plans.

Mrs. Zhang, whose existence seemed synchronized with sunrise, appeared in the kitchen doorway, already dressed and her hair impeccably styled. Her wise eyes swept the scene: the scattered bags, Gao Tu fading away on the living room sofa, the ice cream now reduced to a stick, and Shen Wenlang standing with an expression that mixed fatigue with the satisfaction of a mission accomplished.

"You can go to sleep," she said softly, addressing the couple. "I'll take care of this." Her gaze fell on Gao Tu, whose body was finally succumbing to sleep, sinking into the sofa cushions with the heaviness of someone who had reached their limit.

Shen Wenlang nodded. Without a word, he approached the sofa and, with an ease that always astonished Gao Tu even in his semi-conscious state, lifted him into his arms. Gao Tu murmured something unintelligible, burying his face in his Alpha's neck, where the scent of lilies was most intense and comforting. Shen Wenlang dismissed the bodyguards with a nod, but before they left, he handed them two thick, discreet red envelopes. A bonus for their nighttime service, a gesture of gratitude that was both practical and deeply rooted in the culture of respect that Shen Wenlang demanded and granted.

In the room, Shen Wenlang laid Gao Tu on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted with his strength. The Omega, not even fully awake, instinctively tangled himself in the cool sheets, searching for the most comfortable spot. A moment later, Shen Wenlang's arms wrapped around him, pulling him against his chest, creating a haven of warmth and security. There was no need for words. Within minutes, both of their breathing had become deep and synchronized, sinking into a restful sleep that the hustle and bustle of the night had denied them.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen bathed in the first light of dawn, Mrs. Zhang began her ritual. With methodical movements, she began unpacking the bags. Her expert hands sorted and stored. Noodles and rice found their place in the pantry; cans were lined up by type. Then she came to the meat and chicken. She took out a cutting board and a sharp knife, and with precise technique, she began to divide the large cuts into individual portions, wrapping each one in plastic wrap before storing them in the freezer. "So they only take what they require," she murmured to herself.

Her gaze lingered on the ice cream and fresh fruit—Gao Tu's favorite treats—and an almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. Her fingers found something else: a pair of soft fabric dolls, one with rabbit ears and the other with a star-shaped rattle. She held them for a moment, the simplicity of the toys contrasting with the luxury of the kitchen. They were a glimpse of the future, a signal of laughter and mess that would soon fill these quiet rooms.

Finally, she put the dolls away in a high drawer, a safe place until they were needed. She glanced at the wall clock. The hands marked a time that was neither night nor morning. She wondered, not for the first time, whether she should make breakfast or wait and make an early lunch. There was no way to know when her employers would wake up. With a resigned and affectionate sigh, she decided to prepare a pot of congee, a comforting meal that would stay warm on the stove for hours, ready to be served whenever the couple, and the future growing inside Gao Tu, emerged from their slumber. The villa was once again at peace, its rhythm dictated by the sleep of its owners and the silent care of the one who watched over them.