Chapter Text
***
Today was a good day.
No—for Orm, every day was a good day now.
She hummed to herself as she walked in from the car park, greeting everyone with bright eyes and an easy smile as she slipped through the bustling crowd. Her giddiness only grew when she sat down and her makeup artist began gently dabbing foundation onto her skin.
Even her mom had been surprised that morning. Normally, she had to drag Orm out of bed at 6 a.m., half-asleep and grumbling the whole way. But today? Today, she’d stared in astonishment as her daughter—fully dressed and wide awake—came sprinting down the stairs like an over-caffeinated morning bird.
Something had changed.
Something soft and glowing had settled into Orm’s chest, and it spilled out of her in smiles and sunshine.
“Good morning, N’Orm. You’re so early today.”
The sweet, familiar voice made her pause.
Orm opened her eyes, causing her makeup artist to lift the brush mid-stroke. She turned her head toward the voice—and was immediately rewarded with the most beautiful sight in the world.
Lingling Kwong.
The alpha was flawless, even before makeup. Her lashes were impossibly long—like they could sweep Orm off her feet. Dark, almond-shaped eyes that always looked at Orm a second too long. That perfect nose. The soft mole on her left cheek. And those lips—red like the first bite of a ripe cherry.
And that was it.
As Orm thought to herself again—
Today was a good day.
“Hi, P’Ling! You look so beautiful today!”
And as always, her mouth had been faster than her thoughts. Thankfully for the makeup, her face couldn’t be redder. Lingling, gods help her, laughed cheerfully, clearly amused by Orm’s compliment. She must have thought it was a joke, that Orm was just another junior actress who was trying to get on her good side. But for Orm, it was definitely not just that.
They met a long time ago, when Orm was still a fifteen-year-old trainee and Lingling—twenty-five, and already a rising star at Channel 3—visited as a special guest in their acting class. Lingling was phenomenal, having just won Best Actress the year before. She was so captivating that Orm couldn’t take her eyes off her. The class ended too quickly, and before Orm knew it, Lingling was already walking out the door.
Orm didn’t know what had gotten into her that day—but she ran. As fast as she could. Just in time to catch Lingling before she stepped into the elevator.
“K’Ling!”
She shouted before she could stop herself.
Lingling paused, one foot already inside the elevator, and turned around in surprise.
She was even more beautiful up close—taller than Orm expected, with long black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, and dark eyes that softened when they landed on her.
“Yes?” Lingling asked gently.
Orm froze.
Her mind blanked completely, every word she had rehearsed during class vanishing in a puff of panic. She just stood there, wide-eyed and breathless, like an idiot. She wanted to say so many things—that she admired her, that her performance in her latest drama had made her cry for days, that she had watched it six times just to study her expressions, that she had been her idol ever since she saw her first drama on TV.
But what actually came out was a shaky, rushed mess.
“I—I really love your acting! You’re amazing! I want to be like you one day!”
Orm winced, bracing for the worst—maybe a laugh, maybe a scoff, right in her face.
But Lingling just blinked… and smiled.
It was a soft, genuine curve of her lips—nothing rehearsed or distant. Her eyes crinkled just slightly, like Orm had said something that truly touched her.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low and kind. “That means a lot.”
And just before turning to leave, Lingling reached out and gave her a light pat on the head. Her hand was warm. Gentle. The kind of affectionate gesture no one had ever given Orm before in that way.
Orm stopped breathing altogether.
“Keep working hard,” Lingling added, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hope we’ll act together someday.”
Then she was gone.
The elevator doors closed, and Orm stood there stunned, her cheeks burning, her heart pounding so loud she was sure the walls could hear it.
She didn’t know exactly what had happened. But something in her shifted.
Maybe it was the head pat. Maybe it was the way Lingling’s eyes had held hers. Or maybe it was just the simple, incredible kindness of being seen.
Whatever it was, Orm was never the same after that.
She went back to class still dazed, hugging the moment to her chest like a secret she could never tell anyone. She didn’t know if it was love—not then. But it felt dangerously close.
After that day, Orm started seeing Lingling everywhere. Not just on billboards or TV screens, but in real life—at the Channel 3 studio, brushing past her in the corridors, in the cafeteria, rehearsing a scene behind glass, or disappearing into a dressing room with scripts in hand. Lingling always nodded at her. Shoulders straight, eyes steady, that same faint smile that Orm secretly hoped meant I remember you .
But she still felt worlds away. Distant. Untouchable.
Orm never ran up to her again. She didn’t want to be annoying. But every time she saw her, something fluttered inside her chest like a tiny bird trying to escape.
So she made a promise to herself. Right there in the middle of her teenage years, standing with trembling hands and wide eyes outside the elevator where it all started:
One day, I’ll work with her.
Whatever it takes. I’ll get there.
She trained harder. Took more lessons. Stayed behind for hours after everyone else had gone home, watching old clips of Lingling’s dramas and practicing in the mirror until her throat was sore.
Eight years passed.
And somehow, unbelievably, she did it.
She finally landed her first real role in a primetime drama called Legal Rights . It wasn’t a lead, but it was the most significant part of her career so far—and, more importantly, it was the first time she would share scenes with Lingling, the lead actress of the series.
A lot of scenes.
When she found out, she screamed into her pillow. She’d been cast as Lingling’s junior lawyer: bright, driven, full of promise. Someone Ling’s character had mentored from the ground up, trusted, even treated like a little sister. But as the story unfolded, that bond splintered. Orm’s character betrayed her—seduced her partner behind her back and schemed to take her place as partner at the firm.
It was messy. Dramatic. Deliciously layered.
And every time Orm looked into Lingling’s eyes on set, the script blurred. The lines, the stakes, the plot—it all faded.
Because the truth was, she couldn’t care less about the other characters.
She didn’t want to seduce anyone but her .
The idea of fighting for someone else’s affection felt laughable when Lingling was right there, commanding every room she walked into like she’d been born to do it.
And speak of the devil—
The curtain to the changing room slid open, and there she was.
Lingling stepped out, already dressed in her tailored navy-blue suit. The fabric clung to her in all the right ways—sharp shoulders, cinched waist, pants perfectly hugging her hips. But the jacket… gods, the jacket. It was tight across her chest and arms, straining just slightly over muscle that shouldn’t have looked that good under corporate wear.
Orm’s mouth went dry.
One part of her—the part still clinging to sanity—pictured taking Lingling on her dream date: a dinner cruise along the Chao Phraya river. The skyline glowing, soft jazz playing, candlelight between them. She imagined Lingling smiling across the table, sleeves rolled up, trying Orm’s favorite crispy catfish salad with green mango and actually liking it. Their knees would touch. Their hands would brush. And it would be perfect.
But then there was the other part of her.
The hungrier part.
The part that wanted nothing but to peel that jacket off slowly, drop to her knees, and lick her way from the heels of Lingling’s polished shoes up to the cut lines of her abs. She could already hear herself moaning, begging the alpha to let her ride that cock. To take her. Fill her. Claim her.
And that was the problem.
There was one detail Orm might’ve forgotten to mention.
She had presented as an omega when she was twenty—just three years ago. And ever since then, she’d stayed on suppressants. It wasn’t just industry protocol—it was survival. There was no way she could’ve maintained her rising career while letting raw instinct run its course.
Until now, it had never been a problem. She had never wanted anyone enough to feel the ache beneath the surface. Never once looked at a co-star and thought: Take me.
Not until she saw Lingling again at the first script reading.
The admiration she once held from afar—safe, quiet, harmless—had bloomed into something darker. Deeper. Her omega instincts had made their decision before her brain had time to catch up.
And they had chosen Lingling Kwong—the most sought-after alpha in Thailand, ten years her senior—as the perfect candidate for a mate.
Now, every time they were in the same room, it was a battle. Her heart beat too fast. Her face flushed too easily. And worst of all, her body betrayed her. Slick gathered between her thighs if she sat too close, if Lingling so much as rolled up her sleeves or leaned forward while reading her lines.
And right now?
Orm shifted uncomfortably in her seat, legs crossing, jaw clenched as she tried to focus on literally anything else. Her thoughts raced. Her pulse thundered. The heat in her lower belly simmered despite her best efforts to suppress it.
Lingling suddenly looked flushed too.
The alpha ran a hand lightly over her chest, adjusting the collar of her dress shirt with a low sigh, like the suit was suffocating her. Her ears were tinged pink, her jaw set just a little too tight.
I bet she’d bite me so hard with that jaw.
Okay. Now Orm really needed to stop.
Lingling left their shared fitting room, mumbling something about needing to talk to the director before their scene. Orm stayed behind, letting the makeup artist finish her look, trying her best to cool the fire crawling under her skin.
By the time she stepped onto set, face powdered, lips glossed, and emotions mostly in check, her thoughts had finally settled.
Well—mostly settled.
At the very least, she was no longer imagining getting pinned against the backdrop and rammed into by Thailand’s top alpha in a three-piece suit.
Progress.
“Okay, people! Ling and Orm are both ready. We’ll run the first scene in five!” the director called out, sending the crew into motion as everyone scrambled to get into position.
It was the first scene they’d be shooting together that day—one of a few. Their characters were still on good terms in this part of the story. Nothing intense yet. Just a simple moment: Orm’s character handing over a new case file to Lingling’s.
Simple.
Or at least, it should’ve been.
Orm, who knew how to stay professional and not actively think about ten different ways she wanted to make Lingling come, knocked on the office door with all the poise of a rising young associate.
She entered with a stack of folders in her arms, her skirt hugging her hips just right, five-inch heels clicking confidently across the wooden floor.
She crossed the room, placed the folders neatly on Lingling’s desk, and leaned down to point out a high-profile case—just as the script directed. Then she waited, heart steady, lips parted, ready for Lingling’s first line.
But it didn’t come.
There was a beat.
And then another.
Lingling’s eyes weren’t on the files.
They were fixed—clearly, deliberately—on Orm’s cleavage.
The costume team had styled her in a low-cut blouse with a hint of black lace showing underneath, perfectly on-brand for her character’s flirtatious edge. She had seen herself in the mirror. She knew it looked good.
But she hadn’t expected that Lingling would… look.
She squeezed her arms instinctively, pushing her breasts to be even more on display and she saw instantly how Lingling’s ears turned red in front of her eyes.
It had to be her imagination. There was no way Lingling would—
“Cut,” the director’s voice rang out before the line ever came.
Everyone paused.
Orm straightened quickly, stepping back from the desk, cheeks hot. She didn’t dare glance at Lingling.
Not yet.
“Ling, are you alright?” the director asked from behind the monitor. “You missed your cue.”
“I...” Lingling cleared her throat, her voice slightly rough. She gave a tiny shake of her head, eyes flicking briefly to Orm. “Sorry. Got distracted.”
Distracted?
Orm’s heart thudded.
Was she the distraction?
The rest of the scene passed in a blur. This time, Lingling delivered her lines perfectly—cool, composed, professional. When the director called cut, they both stepped off set for the makeup crew to touch up their faces.
Orm’s pulse was still racing, her body too warm under the studio lights, when a hand landed gently on her right shoulder.
Lingling’s.
“I’m sorry I wasted your time,” the alpha said softly.
She looked genuinely crestfallen, like she thought she had let Orm down.
But she could never.
The only way she’d ever let Orm down was by not trailing that hand lower—lower, over her back, her hips—grabbing, pinning, claiming—
The hand on her shoulder tightened, and Orm gasped, a sharp breath escaping before she could stop it. Heat shot straight from that single point of contact down to her core, and she felt the shift instantly—her panties going from damp to soaked in a second.
Thank god she was an actress—any normal person would’ve given themselves away by now.
“I—It’s okay,” she managed, voice trembling despite herself.
She needed to calm down, needed to shove every inappropriate thought far, far away before she accidentally whimpered something obscene.
But there was something about Lingling today.
Something in her dark eyes, which looked even darker up close. In her scent—usually soft and restrained, now sharp and heady. In the way she touched Orm, looked at her—like she wanted her.
No.
No, no, no—calm down, Orm. You’re imagining things. This isn’t real.
Their third scene was when things started to get interesting. This time, Orm had slipped behind Lingling’s back to talk to a client, and Lingling confronted her—eyes sharp, voice low—asking if Orm was trying to undermine her. It was supposed to be a battle of minds, a tense game of mental and emotional manipulation.
Orm delivered her first few lines, expecting Lingling to snap back. What she didn’t expect was Lingling’s hand suddenly closing around her wrist, pinning her against the wall with the weight of her body.
What—
Lingling leaned in, her breath warm, face just inches from Orm’s.
“So, Sasi,” she murmured, voice low and husky, her character’s name rolling off her tongue like a secret, “Are you trying to get under my skin?”
Yes , Orm thought, I’ve been trying to get under you since the moment I saw you again .
Of course, she couldn’t say that aloud. Her mind raced, searching for the best next move—something besides tilting her head and offering her neck for the alpha to claim. This wasn’t in the script, but what was Orm if not adaptable?
She met Lingling’s gaze, a sly smile curving her lips.
“Does it work, Partner ?”
Lingling’s grip on her wrist tightened. Not painfully—just enough to make Orm feel owned. Her scent spiked, rich and heady, curling around Orm like smoke. It hit her like a drug, making her eyes flutter half-shut.
Orm bit her bottom lip, suppressing the soft sound that threatened to escape— Don’t purr, don’t purr, gods, don’t purr.
Lingling leaned in closer, her voice a velvet whisper that rasped low between them.
“You don’t know half the things I could do to destroy you.”
Orm’s breath caught. Her legs nearly buckled. Her mind short-circuited with the image of being ruined by this woman in every way possible.
“I’d like to see you try,” she shot back, voice husky and thick with want.
For a split second, Orm swore she saw it—Lingling’s eyes darkening, flashing like a predator moments before the pounce. Hungry. Possessive. Unmistakably alpha.
Please. Please, right here. Against the wall. Destroy me. Knot me. Fill me. Make sure everyone hears how loud I scream for you—
“Cut! Bravo!” the director shouted, voice full of praise. “Good job, both of you! I love the improvisation—very intense!”
And just like that, they sprang apart.
The heat snapped, the tension fractured. Lingling stumbled back half a step, her face flushed—furiously red. The confident, composed alpha from moments ago was gone, replaced by a woman who looked like she was about to combust. Orm had no doubt she didn’t look any calmer.
But honestly, she couldn’t care less about her face right now. Not when her real problem was between her legs.
Because—gods—she could feel it.
The heat. The ache. The unbearable, soaked mess in her panties. It was slick, embarrassingly so. Every movement of her thighs made her flinch, a subtle squelch making her heart drop in panic.
“I—I need a minute,” she blurted.
And then she bolted.
Orm didn’t wait for anyone’s response. She didn’t look at Lingling. She just got the hell out before her knees buckled and she dropped in front of Thailand’s most powerful alpha like some shameless, desperate omega begging to be mounted.
She barely made it to her dressing room. Slammed the door shut. Locked it. Pressed her back against the wood like it could stop her body from igniting.
Her breaths came in fast, ragged bursts.
What the fuck was wrong with her?
Suppressants. It had to be that. All these years of pressing everything down, of controlling every instinct, of pretending she didn’t want—and now, one look, one breath, one line from Lingling, and she was ready to explode.
She slid down the door, burying her face in her hands.
Gods, she was so fucking wet.
She hadn’t even touched Lingling, and still—
Orm groaned into her palms.
This couldn’t happen again. It couldn’t.
A knock on the door startled her upright.
“Orm, are you in there?”
Her mom’s voice.
Orm dragged in a breath, long and shaking, and counted under it—one, two, three. She could do this. She could stand up, walk out of this room, get back to the scene and pretend she didn’t want Lingling to plunge her cock deep—
“Yes!”
She flinched. The word came out breathy, high, and pitched far too close to a moan. Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
Thank god it was her mom behind the door and not Lingling. She might’ve died if it was her.
“They cancelled the rest of the scenes,” her mom called gently through the door. “Something about camera issues. We’ll pick it up again next week. Do you want to change and head home?”
Relief slammed into her like a wave.
Orm let her head fall back against the dressing room door with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as the relief poured through her like a second exhale.
She didn’t have to face Lingling again today. Didn’t have to stand that close, breathe in that scent, feel the heat rolling off the alpha like a furnace built just for her. She didn’t have to pretend her legs weren’t trembling or that her body wasn’t soaked with wanting. Not today.
“Yeah,” she called back, voice steadier this time. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
Her mom’s footsteps padded away down the corridor, and Orm finally allowed herself to sag. One hand went to her chest, pressing flat over her racing heart, the other clenched tight into her skirt.
She’d barely survived two scenes—and already, her body was betraying her at every turn. It wasn’t just the slick dampening her underwear—though that alone was mortifying. It was the way her scent had started to shift, subtle but undeniable, tinged with want. Her pulse was erratic, her thoughts scattered. Her instincts clawed at the surface of her skin, restless, aching, desperate to be noticed. To be taken.
“Fuck.”
She cursed under her breath as she peeled off her skirt and caught sight of her panties—utterly soaked. She winced, grabbed a handful of tissues from the vanity, and dabbed herself dry, heat flaring in her cheeks as if someone could see her shame through the locked door. When she yanked her jeans back on, the denim rubbed cruelly against her still-sensitive core, making her hiss and clench her thighs together.
“Pull it together, Orm,” she muttered to herself, tossing the tissues in the bin. “You’re a professional.”
She grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped out of the dressing room, eyes scanning the hallway for her mom.
Before she could spot her, a familiar voice caught her attention.
“Hey, Orm! I didn’t see you this morning.”
It was Kate—bubbly, sharp-witted Kate—another actress in the same drama. She played one of the firm’s most cunning investigators, and off-camera, she was the kind of person who always knew the best gossip and where to get the best cocktails.
“You heading out?” Kate asked, her lips quirking into a mischievous smile. “Want to grab a drink with us tonight?”
Orm hesitated.
Maybe she should go. Let loose a little. Blow off steam, get lost in the music, drown the ache in loud bass and dim lights. Hell, maybe she’d even find an alpha for the night—someone who could take the edge off, remind her that there were others out there who could satisfy her body’s growing demands.
She almost laughed at herself.
Who was she kidding?
Her instincts didn’t want just any alpha.
They wanted—
“I’ll go.”
The voice cut through the hallway like a blade.
Orm stiffened.
She turned—too quickly—and found herself locking eyes with Lingling, who had appeared as if summoned by her thoughts.
The alpha stood there, still in her suit—buttoned, clean, infuriatingly composed—but her gaze was sharp—piercing—like she could read every single inappropriate thought running through Orm’s head.
Kate blinked between them, a little thrown off. “Oh! P’Ling, I didn’t know you were joining.”
“I am now,” Lingling replied without even glancing her way.
Her gaze didn’t waver. Not for a second.
Orm swallowed.
“Awesome! Then I’ll send you both the location. I’ll see you two at 9 p.m.?” Kate beamed, already pulling out her phone as she spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall, probably on her way to gather more cast members for the impromptu night out.
That left them—just the two of them—in the thick silence Lingling always carried with her.
Orm shifted her weight, still very aware of the returning dampness between her legs and the thrum beneath her skin that had never quite settled.
“P’Ling, I thought…” Orm cleared her throat. “I thought you don’t drink.”
Lingling didn’t flinch. “I don’t.”
Orm frowned, brows pinching. “Then… why are you going?”
A beat.
Lingling’s expression didn’t change, but something in her scent did. A sharp, almost bitter edge flared at the corners—controlled, masked, but unmistakable to any omega in arm’s reach. It prickled at Orm’s skin like static, raising goosebumps along her arms.
“I just want to hang out with the crew,” Lingling said finally, voice flat. Measured.
They stared at each other.
Orm wasn’t sure what she saw in Lingling’s eyes—something unreadable, taut beneath the surface. The alpha didn’t look angry. But she didn’t look calm either. Her brows were ever so slightly furrowed, her jaw tense, like there was something she wanted to say.
She looked… off.
Orm’s heart dropped. Oh no.
Was it her?
Had Lingling—smelled her?
She wasn’t even in heat. She was on suppressants. But maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe the friction of the scene, the proximity, the touch, the wall—maybe all of it had overridden her self-control. Maybe her slick had seeped into the air, maybe Lingling knew, maybe she sensed it.
Was that why she looked so—
“Orm, there you are!”
Her mom’s voice snapped her out of the downward spiral, appearing like a guardian angel between her and the looming embarrassment. Orm turned so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet.
“Hi, Mae!” she blurted, voice way too bright.
Lingling immediately stepped back and offered her mother a polite bow, hands clasped properly in front of her. “Sawadee ka, Mae Koy.”
Orm watched, stunned, as the alpha’s posture softened instantly—like she’d flipped a switch from guarded predator to respectful star in front of the woman who raised her co-star.
Her mom smiled back warmly. “P’Ling! It’s so good to see you again. You were wonderful in the scenes today.”
“Oh,” Lingling said with a quiet, polite smile. “Thank you. It’s an honor working with Orm.”
Small talk. They were making small talk.
And Orm stood between them, heart still racing, thighs clenched, and panties damp like she’d just survived a fever dream. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. The scent. The tension.
She needed cold water. A tranquilizer. Or possibly divine intervention.
Anything to erase the memory of being pinned to the wall by the very same alpha now smiling oh-so-politely at her mother.
Anything but this.
Mercifully, her mom wrapped an arm around her shoulders and started steering her away with a casual, “Come on, Orm. Traffic’s going to be hell if we wait too long.” Orm nodded numbly, barely managing to mumble some kind of farewell.
She still felt Lingling’s gaze on her back all the way down the hallway.
In the car, she said nothing. Just stared out the window while her mom ranted about Bangkok’s roads and motorcycle taxis and how no one used their turn signal anymore.
But Orm wasn’t listening.
Her mind was still stuck in that moment. That scene. That impossible closeness.
And worse—she was actually considering going to that drink with her friends.
With Lingling.
Which was basically social suicide by way of lust-addled omega brain.
She was one wrong look away from trying to crawl into the alpha’s lap and purr. And yet, even as every rational part of her screamed don’t go, some wild, unhinged voice deep in her gut whispered:
You’re going. And you want her to look.
Gods, help her.
***
She blamed her mom for being too progressive.
What kind of mother let her twenty-three-year-old omega daughter go clubbing past 9 p.m.? Unsupervised? In Bangkok? In that dress?
Apparently, hers did.
“Call me when you’re done!” her mom shouted cheerfully before speeding off down the club driveway like she hadn’t just abandoned her heat-suppressed daughter in a den of alphas and neon sin.
Orm stood there blinking, clutching her tiny purse, questioning every life decision that had led her to this exact moment.
She was going to die. Or worse—humiliate herself in front of Lingling.
But all she could do was take a deep breath, square her shoulders, and walk into the club like she didn’t want to immediately evaporate from the planet.
Her five-inch white heels clicked against the pavement with every step, a little too loud, a little too confident for how nervous she felt. Her dress—gods, her dress—was pink, soft satin that hugged her curves like second skin. It clung to her chest, held up by nothing but a delicate halter string around her neck, leaving her entire back bare, the hem stopping just at her knees. One wrong move and it’d slip.
The moment she stepped past the bouncers and into the pulsing glow of lights and bass, Orm was swallowed by music, scent, and heat. The club was alive—bodies pressed together on the dance floor, sweat-slicked skin brushing in rhythm, the air thick with pheromones and possibility.
And in the middle of it all, like she was born from shadow and spotlight—
Lingling.
She stood by the VIP section, framed in low neon and gold trim, dressed in a black sheer shirt—no jacket tonight. The collar was unbuttoned just enough to tease a glimpse of toned collarbone, a sliver of chest. Her dark slacks clung perfectly to her hips and thighs, legs crossed at the ankle as she leaned one side of her body against the velvet railing.
Her long black hair was loose, falling in silky waves down her back, catching the light every time she moved. Her jaw looked sharper than sin, and her arms were folded effortlessly across her chest as she listened to something Kate said beside her.
And Orm…
Orm forgot how to breathe.
Because Lingling didn’t look like an actress off duty. She didn’t even look like someone unwinding after a long shoot.
She looked like a goddamn temptation incarnate. Every inch of her screamed alpha. Every movement was lazy, deliberate, lethal.
And Orm—suddenly hyperaware of her dress, of the sweat already starting to bead under her neck—felt entirely too bare. Too seen. Too close to unraveling.
She ducked her head and made her way through the crowd before her thoughts betrayed her again. Before her scent did. Before her knees gave out.
Lingling noticed her before she’d even started crossing the room.
Orm could feel it—like the heat of a spotlight, the weight of a gaze pressed between her shoulder blades. She tried to ignore it, lowering her eyes, fixing her attention on anything else. But her mind was occupied so much that she didn’t even notice the person crossing her path until she walked right into them.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, reeling back with a startled sway. Her heel caught unevenly beneath her, and for a moment, she felt her balance give.
Then—warmth. A firm grip caught her by the elbow.
“Careful.”
Her head snapped up.
Lingling.
Of course it was Lingling.
How the hell had she crossed the room that fast? Orm had no idea. She’d been halfway across the club just seconds ago, but now she was here—close. Too close. Her hand steady and strong on Orm’s bare arm. Her voice low and smooth and just a little bit tight.
“I'm fine,” Orm said, though her breath hitched, betraying her.
Lingling turned to the person Orm had bumped into with a small nod of apology and a practiced, polite smile. A second later, she was guiding Orm away, her hand never once leaving her arm.
And Orm let her.
She let herself be pulled, like her body had already decided that wherever Lingling went, she’d follow.
They reached the booth tucked against the back wall—low lighting, cushioned seats, a tray of drinks on the table. It wasn’t overly crowded, but there were a few familiar faces—Kate, Gina, and a couple of the production staff. Orm vaguely registered their greetings as she slid in beside Lingling, heart pounding so hard she was sure it echoed.
Lingling sat beside her—at a polite distance, but still right next to her. Close enough that Orm could feel the faint heat radiating off her skin. Close enough to touch.
And gods, Orm couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way Lingling’s hand had lingered on her arm. The subtle shift in her scent when she caught her. The way her voice had dipped, low and gentle, when she said, Careful .
She needed a distraction. Fast.
She raised her hand and ordered three shots of tequila in one swift motion. The table erupted with cheers. Kate let out a wolf whistle. Lingling simply arched a brow, lips pressed into a tight line—but she didn’t say a word.
Kate launched into a story about something ridiculous that happened on set, sending everyone into laughter. Orm was just starting to relax when a new voice cut in:
“Hey, everyone.”
Heads turned. The noise shifted instantly from playful to stunned.
It was Cherry.
A veteran omega actress—a legend. The star of more Channel 3 lakorns than Orm could ever count. Stunning, magnetic, with a razor-sharp wit capable of cutting down any ego with a single line. The kind of actress every young performer revered. The one Orm had idolized since she was a girl.
But when Cherry’s thigh brushed against Lingling’s as she settled beside her, Orm’s admiration twisted into something darker—like how Orm suddenly wanted to strangle her instead.
"Cherry! What are you doing here?” someone asked.
“Checking on my girls,” Cherry replied smoothly, her eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned in toward Lingling. “Thought I’d see how the next generation of troublemakers are doing.”
Troublemakers. Right. Orm tried not to let her face show anything.
But her omega? Her omega wasn’t having it.
Lingling and Cherry looked close. Too close. They slipped easily into conversation, the kind that felt practiced, familiar. Lingling’s eyes crinkled as she spoke about her latest project, and she beamed—actually beamed—when Cherry complimented her performance.
Something sharp twisted in Orm’s chest.
At least now, maybe, she’d stop being delusional.
Orm forced herself to smile, to nod along as Gina teased her about some on-set mishap she barely remembered. Her laughter was thin, automatic, barely a breath.
Then the server placed three tequila shots on the table in front of her.
Perfect.
Without hesitation, Orm grabbed one and knocked it back in a single go, the burn sharp and immediate down her throat.
“Whoa, girl, slow down,” Gina laughed, catching Orm’s wrist before she could reach for the second. Beside her, Lingling had stopped mid-sentence—her attention pulled, her eyes watching Orm closely.
“Let me drink,” Orm muttered, pulling her wrist free from Gina’s grip before slamming back the second shot. Her eyes fluttered shut at the burn, and for one blessed second, it drowned everything else out.
She reached for the third.
A gentle touch stopped her—a light tap on the arm. Firm but not forceful.
“I think that’s enough, N’Orm.”
Lingling’s voice was soft, low, careful. But her face wasn’t calm. Not really. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes darkened. The concern in them was tinged with something… else.
Possessiveness?
No. That was wishful thinking.
Orm smiled, sweet but sharp, her tone just a little too bright.
“Aren’t we here to drink?”
A flicker crossed Lingling’s face—like she didn’t know whether to scold her or kiss her.
And gods, Orm wished it were the latter.
The tequila buzzed in her bloodstream, warm and sharp, loosening her limbs and scattering her thoughts. She reached again for the third shot—but before she could touch it, a different glass was slipped into her hand.
Water.
She blinked at it. Then looked up.
“At least drink this before you have more,” Lingling said softly, her voice so careful it made something ache. “Please?”
It was too gentle. Too kind for the way Orm had been acting—like a brat desperate for attention.
And maybe she was.
But it was exactly that gentleness that ruined her. The quiet patience in Lingling’s voice, the concern in her eyes—not because Orm was anyone special. Just because she cared. Like she always had.
It had never been the beauty, or the fame, or the elegance that drew her in.
It was the head pat on a day she felt invisible, when she was just a nobody.
It was that smile during their first table read, when she nervously confessed how long she’d dreamed of working with her.
It was every rehearsal, every retake, every late-night line reading where Lingling never looked down on her—even when she messed up. Even when she wasn’t worth the time.
And maybe that’s what made it unbearable now.
Because that kindness? That soft sincerity?
It made Orm fall for her.
And it hurt more than anything else in the world.
“I—I need to go to the restroom.”
Her voice cracked halfway through, and she cursed herself for it. She stood too quickly, chair scraping against the floor, barely catching the tremble in her knees as she turned away from the table.
She didn’t look back. Couldn’t.
She pushed through the crowd, heart pounding, throat tight, the music thumping in time with the ache in her chest. The neon lights blurred at the edges of her vision.
Get it together. Just get it together.
She wasn’t going to cry in a club bathroom like some cliché.
Except she just might.
The room spun slightly as she gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, her reflection blurred by the sting of unshed tears. Her stomach churned from the tequila, from the jealousy, from the aching, spiraling chaos she couldn’t shut down.
She never drank this much. Not this fast. Her body wasn’t used to it—her heart even less so.
She swayed, blinking hard, and that’s when she noticed someone hovering behind her in the mirror.
“Are you okay?” a voice asked—low, calm, careful.
An alpha. Dressed simply in a white T-shirt and jeans. Her scent wasn’t pushy or sour, just faintly earthy and clean, a respectful distance kept between them. Her posture was polite, her expression more concerned than anything else. No leer. No threat.
Just another stranger in a bathroom asking the bare minimum.
Orm opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Her head pounded too hard. Her mouth felt too dry. She tried to nod—
“Do you need—”
“Don’t touch her.”
The voice that cut in wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the air like a blade.
Low. Measured. Dangerous.
Lingling.
Orm blinked at the mirror, catching the reflection just as Lingling stepped fully into view. Her expression was calm—too calm. The kind of calm that came before a storm. Her dark eyes were unreadable, but her scent hit the room like a wave—strong, grounding, possessive in a way that made the air feel suddenly heavier.
The alpha behind her—the one in the white T-shirt—immediately raised both hands.
“I wasn’t— I just asked if she was okay.”
“She’s fine,” Lingling said, not looking at the stranger, her focus fixed entirely on Orm. “You can leave now.”
The other alpha hesitated, then wisely stepped away and disappeared out the bathroom door.
Silence fell.
The club’s bass thudded faintly through the walls, muffled. Orm stared at the mirror, then at Lingling’s reflection beside her. Her throat was dry. Her body was still burning from alcohol, jealousy, and that unbearable ache deep in her gut.
“I’m okay,” she said, though her voice was barely a whisper. “You didn’t have to…”
“I did,” Lingling said. Her tone softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. She took a step forward—still giving Orm space, but closer now. Close enough that her scent brushed across Orm’s skin like a hand. “You’re drunk.”
“I am not,” Orm said, though she wobbled slightly.
“You are,” Lingling replied, unbothered by the protest. “And I’m taking you home.”
“No, I still can—”
“I already called your mum,” Lingling interrupted gently, but firmly. “She’s expecting you back soon.”
Tattler.
Orm could’ve snapped that back, but it died somewhere behind her lips.
Because… going home actually sounded nice.
Her head throbbed. Her limbs felt heavy. The club lights were too bright, the bass too loud, and her heart was still pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol.
She needed quiet. Air. A reset.
She needed to go home and sleep off the fantasy she’d been drowning in all day—because that’s all it was. A fantasy. The lingering looks, the tension, the scent… none of it could mean what she hoped.
But that was the problem.
Going back to her parents’ house meant facing all of that with her walls down. It meant her mom noticing the smallest shift in her voice, her dad worrying, her little brother asking if she was sick. And she didn’t have the energy to pretend she was okay.
“I’m not going home,” Orm said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
“Orm—” Lingling began, concern threading through her tone.
“Just drop me at my condo, okay?” Orm interrupted, trying to keep the edge of frustration out of her voice.
“But I told your mom—”
Orm’s mind raced, already picturing taking an Uber instead, craving distance, needing space to collect herself away from Lingling. Maybe that would be better.
Lingling’s voice dropped to a low murmur, barely above a breath, as if speaking more to herself than Orm. “I’m not letting you take an Uber in this state.”
Orm blinked, startled. It was as if Lingling had known exactly what she was about to say before she even said it.
What the hell—
“Come on.”
And just like that, Lingling was guiding her out of the club.
Did she just imagine that? Or did her drunk self actually say it aloud?
She shoved the thought aside as the night air hit her skin—cool and sobering, though not enough. Lingling pulled out her phone and calmly called Orm’s mom, explaining that she’d be dropping Orm at her condo instead. She promised to see her off safely. Orm’s phone didn’t ring after that—her mom must’ve agreed. Lingling had spent enough time with them during shoots, dinners, wrap parties. Enough time to be trusted.
Lingling opened the car door for her, and Orm slid inside, her limbs heavy with exhaustion and liquor. The moment she sat down, it all caught up with her—the dizziness, the ache behind her eyes, the crushing weight of everything she’d been holding in. She barely registered Lingling asking for directions, but managed to mumble something out before her eyes slipped shut.
The next thing she knew, she was floating.
No, not floating—held.
Strong arms cradled her, one behind her knees, the other around her back. There was motion. Steps. A shift in the air as they moved from the cool of the car park into the elevator. Orm’s head lolled lightly against a firm shoulder, and everything smelled like Lingling—warm, clean, steady. Her scent was soothing, threaded with something possessive beneath the surface, something Orm wanted to drown in.
It blurred like a dream—too soft around the edges, too warm to be real. But if this was a dream, it was the best one she’d ever had. To be held like this. Carried like she mattered. Surrounded by Lingling’s scent, safe in Lingling’s arms.
She didn’t want to wake up.
So when something wet dabbed gently at her cheek, Orm let out a quiet, groggy protest, nuzzling away from it like a sleepy cat.
A soft chuckle answered her.
“Sorry, baobao,” Lingling murmured, voice low and warm beside her ear. “But let me clean your makeup, alright?”
Orm’s lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes. She just let herself melt deeper into the softness beneath her—her bed, probably. But she knew it was somewhere safe. Somewhere close to her.
Lingling’s touch was careful, reverent, as the cool cloth swept over her skin. Her thumb grazed her cheekbone before following the curve of her jaw.
Orm wanted to say something. Anything.
Ask her to stay.
Tell her that she didn’t want to fall asleep alone tonight. That her chest still ached, and she needed to know Lingling wasn’t going to disappear the second she closed her eyes.
But the words caught in her throat.
They always did.
“Go to sleep,” Lingling said quietly, almost like a sigh against Orm’s temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The words landed exactly where Orm needed them most.
Like Lingling knew.
She always knew. Knew what Orm wanted before she could form it. What she needed before she understood it herself. And Orm chalked it up to intuition, to experience, to kindness—but sometimes, like now, it felt eerie. Precise. Like Lingling had somehow heard the words before they were spoken.
But Orm didn’t have the energy to question it.
She just breathed. Softly. Let her fingers curl into the fabric by her side.
The ache behind her eyes eased.
The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding let go.
She didn’t know if Lingling climbed in beside her, only that the world quieted, and her body finally, finally, stopped bracing.
She was safe.
Her alpha was here.
***