Velvet Chains

by HoodedIronLady

Summary:

An Enigma’s obsession is dangerous.
An S-class Alpha’s pride is unyielding.
And once Hua Yong decides Shaoyou is his, no rejection will matter.

A violent Alpha’s temper is legendary.
An Omega’s secret is dangerous.
And once Wenlang discovers Gao Tu’s truth, nothing will stop him from claiming him, forever.

Notes:

I absolutely love ABO Desire and just had to write something for it! I’ve been craving a proper ABO representation in media for a while, and Desire scratched that itch perfectly (sorry Pit Babe — I still love you, but you know what you did lol).

This fic is going to focus on both couples equally — and it will be dark, obsessive, and not entirely consensual at all times — but let’s be real, consent is practically a hoax in most ABO universes. If you’re here, you probably know what you signed up for.

I hope you enjoy this fucked-up, messy journey as much as I’m enjoying writing it.

And to my IRL friends who I know are lurking: you don’t know me. Especially not after the filth that’s coming in future chapters. LMAO.

Chapter 1: The First Collision

The lecture hall hummed with quiet chatter — polished voices, clipped laughter, the faint rustle of designer jackets against leather seats. This was no ordinary university; it was the crown jewel of the nation, a breeding ground for power. Here, sons and daughters of dynasties sharpened themselves into weapons, legacies pressed into uniforms and ambition. Money and influence clung to the walls like perfume.

Hua Yong sat in his usual spot, sprawled like a king on his throne. One arm draped lazily across the back of his chair, chin tilted just enough to suggest boredom. His face revealed nothing, but the air around him did — orchid, velvet-rich and faintly spiced, curling outward in subtle warning. Beautiful. Intoxicating. Dangerous. Enough to make even the boldest hesitate before sliding into the empty chair beside him.

Behind him, Wenlang tapped a pen in steady rhythm, irritation radiating like static. Whether it was Hua Yong’s presence or something else entirely, no one dared ask. Two rows down, Gao Tu hunched over his notebook, shoulders drawn tight, glasses slipping low on his nose as he scribbled in silence. He pushed them back up with a shaky hand, the faint curl of sage buried beneath the suppressant patch at his neck. Head low, as always, as if even the glint of his lenses might draw unwanted notice.

Then—

The door opened.

A new scent sliced through the air like a blade.

Sharp. Bitter. Orange. 

It was clean, intoxicating, undeniable. Dominance so sharp it cleaved through every other note in the hall. Even Wenlang’s pen froze mid-tap as the atmosphere thickened.

Hua Yong’s head turned — sharply, instinctively.

The newcomer stepped inside.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. His clothes immaculate, pressed with military precision. Dark hair framed sharp brows, eyes scanning the room with the authority of someone used to obedience. He moved with restrained power, the kind that made people shift aside without realizing why.

S-class Alpha.

The knowledge struck primal, wordless. Betas sat straighter. Omegas breathed shallower. The air itself seemed to bend in deference.

But for Hua Yong, it was something else entirely.

His Enigma stirred. No — it roared awake.

The orchid burst free, velvet-thick and heady, laced with something dark, fevered, and dangerous. It slid across the hall like smoke, winding into throats and lungs until students shifted restlessly. Fingers pressed to the base of necks, as though the weight of his scent was too much to bear.

Mine.

The word seared through Hua Yong’s skull, vicious and absolute. His pulse thundered. Nothing had touched him in years — not wealth, not politics, not the endless line of admirers desperate for his glance. But this Alpha… with bitter-orange dominance wrapping his lungs like citrus fire — it was unbearable. Addictive.

Shaoyou’s gaze snapped to him the instant their scents collided. Dark eyes narrowed, jaw tightening in silent command: control yourself.

Hua Yong’s lips curved, slow and deliberate, as if the reprimand amused more than it warned. He leaned back with the ease of someone who had never bowed to anyone, orchid thickening in defiance with every unhurried breath.

Why should I? The thought burned hot and unrepentant. When you’re the first Alpha — first person — to ever make me want to lose control.

The hall shifted uneasily. Chairs scraped as bodies tried to put distance where none existed. A Beta near the front coughed harshly, struggling to breathe. An Omega pressed trembling fingers to her throat, pulse racing as instinct screamed at her to flee.

Whispers scattered like sparks:

“He’s releasing it here?”
“Of course he is — Hua Yong never holds back.”
“Orchid’s too much—”
“No one’s ever matched him before…”

Because everyone knew Hua Yong was an Enigma. He didn’t hide it; he wore it like a crown. His orchid was his birthright, his weapon, his pride. Normally, it crushed rooms into silence. Normally, no one dared resist.

But this time, bitter orange burned through velvet orchid, refusing to yield.

Wenlang’s pen snapped in his grip, irritation sharpened into a glare that flicked between Hua Yong and the newcomer, dangerously close to challenge.

Gao Tu, by contrast, flinched. His shoulders locked, body rigid as every nerve screamed to escape. But the suppressant patch forced stillness. His hands clenched his notebook until the paper crumpled. He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe too deep.

The air trembled, strung taut between two forces.

Shaoyou’s frown deepened, stare cutting sharp through the haze.

And Hua Yong only smirked wider — predatory, hungry — feeding on the hush, the racing heartbeats, the shock of a hall realizing that for the first time, Hua Yong’s orchid had not made someone bow.

The professor cleared his throat, voice cracking. He fumbled with his papers, plastering on a thin smile.

“Students, please welcome our new transfer,” he managed, though his tone wavered as if the air clawed at his lungs. “This is Sheng Shaoyou. He’ll be joining us for the remainder of the year.”

Shaoyou inclined his head with clipped politeness, bitter orange flaring sharp one last, deliberate time.

Hua Yong inhaled, slow and deep, orchid curling sharper in reply.

The lecture resumed — but no one heard a word. The hall sat suspended between two gravitational pulls, every eye darting nervously between the Enigma and the S-class Alpha who had refused to bend.

---

The professor’s voice droned on, diagrams flickering faintly across the projector screen, but Hua Yong didn’t bother to look. His gaze stayed fixed two rows ahead — on the new Alpha’s broad shoulders, the perfect, unyielding posture, as if carved from stone. A soldier among spoiled princes.

Bitter orange.

The scent tugged at Hua Yong’s senses, sharp and intoxicating, clashing violently with the orchid spilling uncontrolled around him. He leaned forward against his desk, chin propped in one hand. To the casual eye, his smirk was lazy. But his pupils were blown wide, fever-bright. Hunger threaded through every slow inhale.

A low whisper sliced the monotony.

“You’re staring holes in the back of his skull.”

Wenlang. Of course.

Hua Yong didn’t look away. His voice was a purr, languid but edged. “He can handle it.”

Wenlang huffed under his breath, iris scent curling sharper, threaded with faint amusement. “Handle it? Half the room can’t breathe with the way you’re leaking your pheromones. Push any harder and someone’s going to faint.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Two rows down, a Beta tugged at his collar, face paling with every breath. An Omega near the windows snapped her pen clean in half, ink blooming across her desk. Even Gao Tu, silent in the corner, pressed his palm flat against his notebook as though grounding himself, eyes locked downward behind the glare of his glasses. The lenses hid the panic in his gaze, but the tremor in his shoulders betrayed him as his suppressants fought a losing battle against instinct.

“I don’t care about them.” Hua Yong’s lips curved. The softness of his tone only made it more dangerous. “I only care about him.”

Wenlang shifted sideways, leaning closer, voice low but edged with sharp humor. “So that’s it? First day, first look, and you’ve already decided he’s yours? An S-class Alpha, no less.” His chuckle was harsh, devoid of warmth. “You’re insane.”

Finally, Hua Yong turned. His gaze gleamed, razor-sharp, unshakable. “No, Wenlang. I’m certain.”

As if summoned, Shaoyou moved. A subtle flex of shoulders, a measured shift — then he looked back.

Their eyes locked.

Cold. Unamused. Warning honed to steel.

But beneath it, just for an instant, something flickered. Recognition. Reluctant, unwilling acknowledgment that Hua Yong’s orchid pressed against him differently than anything he’d faced before — too rich, too powerful, too close to dangerous.

The flicker vanished, buried beneath that cutting stare.

The bitter orange spiked, biting through orchid like citrus fire.

Hua Yong’s smirk deepened, predator savoring the flash of a rival who refused to bend.

Wenlang caught it instantly. His own smirk spread slow and wolfish, eyes flicking between them with relish. He leaned close, voice pitched low. “He doesn’t like you.”

“I don't care.” Hua Yong’s reply was calm, velvet-rich, orchid thickening with dangerous certainty.

At the front, the professor’s voice cracked sharp as he called for silence. A few students startled, heads ducking back toward their notes, pens scratching in hollow mimicry of focus.

But no one was really listening.

The room itself felt strung too tight, every breath caught in the clash.

Orchid chasing orange. Orange resisting orchid.

Two powers colliding, neither yielding.

And Wenlang, mocking though he was, only leaned further back in his chair, iris curling darker as his grin widened — a man settling in to watch the first flash of lightning before the storm broke.

---

The moment the lecture ended, the hall broke into motion. Chairs scraped, conversations reignited in nervous bursts, perfume and pheromones colliding as students surged toward the exits.

Shaoyou rose smoothly, stacking his notes with military precision. His bitter-orange scent remained steady but sharpened at the edges — a warning. He had noticed. Of course he had. Hua Yong’s orchid had stalked him all through class, brushing against him like invisible claws.

He was halfway to the door when a voice chimed at his side.

“Hi, I’m Lian. You are the transfer student, right? I can show you around campus.”

Shaoyou paused.

An Omega stood before him — delicate features, wide shining eyes, scent of sweet mangoes spilling into the air. His practiced smile was polite but eager, too obvious, his hand extended with tremor-bright hope. His gaze lingered far longer than courtesy allowed.

For a heartbeat, Shaoyou considered brushing him off with clipped civility. But before he could speak—

The air shattered.

Orchid slammed outward, thick and suffocating, sharpened into a weapon. Students gasped, spines bowing under the pressure. An Omega whimpered, instinctively clutching the collar of her blouse as if to shield her throat. Another pressed trembling fingers over her suppressant band, as though afraid it might snap beneath the weight. Even Betas flinched, eyes darting down, some turning their faces away as if instinct itself forbade them from witnessing what was unfolding.

Every head turned.

Hua Yong was on his feet. His smile curved lazy and wolfish as he strolled forward, Wenlang trailing with a low, incredulous laugh, and Gao Tu shrinking deeper into the shadows of the crowd.

“Careful little Omega,” Hua Yong drawled, velvet over steel. His gaze never flicked to Lian — it stayed locked, unyielding, on Shaoyou. “That one isn’t yours to touch.”

The Omega froze, hand suspended mid-air. Color drained from his face as the orchid pressed down, smothering, merciless.

Shaoyou’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering at his temple. His fingers twitched against his notes, as though he might curl them into a fist, before stilling with iron control. His bitter-orange spiked acrid and sharp, colliding with orchid in a violent, blinding clash.

“Back off.”

The crowd inhaled as one, wide-eyed and breathless. Omegas shrank into their seats, shielding their throats or turning away, desperate to disappear. Betas pressed palms flat to their desks, grounding themselves as if riding out a storm. Wenlang’s grin widened, relishing the spectacle. Gao Tu winced, retreating even further.

But Hua Yong only laughed — low, delighted — and stepped closer. Too close. Into Shaoyou’s space as if it already belonged to him. His voice dropped, smooth but pitched to carry across the entire hall:

“I don’t share, Shaoyou. You are mine.”

Ripples tore through the students, whispers breaking like sparks.

“He’s staking a claim?”
“The Enigma’s serious—”
“He’s never done this before…”

Shaoyou’s frown deepened, his clipped exhale sharper than any word. His hand crushed the edges of his notes, paper bending under the strain. Hold the line. Don’t yield. Not here. Not to anyone.

He was S-class Alpha. Trained, tempered, unshakable. Submission was not in his blood. To bow — even for an instant — would mean breaking everything he was.

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Yet,” Hua Yong corrected, smooth as silk. His orchid coiled tighter, winding around Shaoyou’s bitter-orange fire like smoke smothering flame. “But you will.”

Lian stumbled back, nearly tripping over a chair in his rush to flee, crushed by pheromones never meant for him. The others parted quickly, instinct forcing space between predator and prey. No one wanted to be caught between orchid and orange.

Shaoyou exhaled again, sharper, irritation burning through his composure. With deliberate force, he pushed past Hua Yong, the bitter sting of his scent trailing like a blade. He didn’t look back.

But Hua Yong…

Hua Yong’s smile lingered. Bright. Hungry. Obsession etched into every line of it.

He had staked his claim in front of everyone. Shameless. Irrevocable.

And nothing about Shaoyou’s defiance made him want to stop.

If anything, it made the hunt sweeter.

---

Shaoyou’s stride was clipped, precise, each boot striking the polished marble floor in a rhythm drilled into him since childhood. Precision. Order. Control. They lived in his marrow.

But his fists were curled tight at his sides, nails biting crescents into his palms.

The echo of orchid clung to him still. Thick. Sweet. Invasive.

No matter how sharply he burned bitter orange through his lungs, no matter how fiercely he tried to scour it out with his own dominance, the remnants lingered — coiling around his throat like an invisible collar.

Disgusting.

He had faced rivals before. He had stared down men twice his age on the training grounds, beaten back enemies who used politics as blades, silenced siblings who thought illegitimate blood gave them the right to challenge him. None of them had ever gotten under his skin like this. None had ever dared to be so brazen.

The audacity of that man.

Hua Yong.

An Enigma.

Even the word carried weight. Enigmas were myth and rumor, whispers in corners, lines in history books — not something one actually faced. Their presence was supposed to unravel people, bend them without meaning to. He had never believed it. A convenient excuse for weakness, he’d thought. A story for those too fragile to hold their ground.

And yet—

The memory burned.

The way Hua Yong had looked at him. Not like a stranger. Not like a rival. Like someone staring at what already belonged to him.

Possessive. Shameless. Certain.

Shaoyou’s blood boiled.

He pressed a palm flat to the cool wall of the corridor, forcing air past clenched teeth. Control yourself. Always control. He was S-class — the highest grade of Alpha, the pinnacle of discipline and dominance. Submission was not in his blood. It never had been, and it never would be.

He would not give that Enigma the satisfaction of seeing him ruffled.

And yet—

His jaw locked tight. He despised people who ignored limits, who stepped over boundaries as though they were nothing but lines in sand. Hua Yong wasn’t just going to cross lines. Shaoyou could feel it in his bones. He was going to erase them.

The bitter orange in his scent spiked sharp and stinging, enough that passing students flinched back, eyes flicking nervously before darting away. He ignored them, shoulders squared, stride unbroken.

No matter how Hua Yong’s orchid clawed at him, tangled with his instincts, tried to suffocate and provoke—

Shaoyou swore one thing with iron certainty:

He would never submit.

Not to Hua Yong.

Not to anyone.

---

The cafeteria buzzed with clattering trays and bursts of laughter. At a corner table, Wenlang sat hunched forward, stabbing half-heartedly at his food. Chopsticks clicked impatiently against his plate.

“Where the hell is he?” he muttered, eyes flicking to the far side of the room.

Gao Tu had excused himself nearly ten minutes ago with a quiet, I’ll be back, slipping toward the washrooms. Too long. Wenlang’s scowl deepened.

---

Gao Tu braced his palms against the porcelain sink, knuckles white. His breath came shallow, shaky. The suppressant patch on his neck was wearing thin — sage bleeding faint into the air despite his efforts.

With trembling fingers, he tore open a fresh patch, slapped it over his skin, and hissed at the sting.

Not here. Not now. Please.

He tugged his collar up high, shoulders rigid, and pushed open the door.

He didn’t make it two steps.

“Well, well. The scholarship mutt.”

Three boys blocked the corridor — legacies in pressed jackets, arrogance rolling sharper than their cologne. Their grins were cruel, their scents thick with entitlement.

“You really think you belong here?” one sneered, shoving Gao Tu hard against the wall. “This place is for legacies, not strays.”

Another yanked his bag, rifling through it with mocking laughter. “Secondhand books? Outdated phone? Pathetic.”

Heat rushed to Gao Tu’s face. His glasses slid crooked on his nose from the shove, frames pressing uncomfortably into his temple. Shame crawled low in his chest, acid-raw and familiar. His father’s rage had taught him the rules long ago: resistance only made things worse. So he pressed back against the wall, fumbling to straighten the frames with shaking fingers, lowering his head. Endure it. Don’t react. Don’t let them see you break.

Don’t let them smell you.

Not when one slip, one fracture in control, could bare the truth — that he wasn’t Beta at all. That the scholarship mutt was weaker still. An Omega.

If Wenlang ever found out—

If Wenlang realized Gao Tu had lied—

He’d hate him. 

And that thought burned worse than the fists slamming his shoulders.

A hand rose, ready to strike—

“Get your filthy hands off him.”

The voice cracked the corridor like thunder.

Wenlang.

He stalked forward, movements taut with violence, eyes blazing. Fury carved every line of his face. “I warned you before,” he growled, voice vibrating with Alpha dominance. “You didn’t understand.”

He seized the nearest boy by the collar and slammed him into the wall. The plaster splintered with the impact. The boy choked, scrambling, but Wenlang’s grip was merciless.

“Touch him again,” Wenlang snarled, voice rising, “and I’ll break more than your pride.”

His scent surged — sharp, brutal, iron-heavy — flooding the corridor like a storm tearing loose.

The bullies buckled instantly, knees slamming down under the crushing weight. One tried to stammer an apology, but Wenlang’s glare silenced him. He shoved the boy harder, the thud echoing through the hall.

On the opposite wall, Gao Tu flinched. The violent swell of Wenlang’s pheromones wrapped around him too, slicing through the fragile veil of sage. His pulse thundered, his body trembling despite his will.

Please… don’t. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him know.

But his instincts betrayed him. His skin prickled, lungs pulling Wenlang’s scent too deep, too fast. His body knew him. Wanted him.

And Gao Tu hated himself for it.

Not just fear. Not just shame. Something deeper curled in his chest — a dangerous pull, primal and undeniable.

If Wenlang noticed, if he put it together—

Gao Tu’s lie would shatter. Everything would.

But Wenlang didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. His rage burned too hot.

With a final snarl, he flung the boy aside. The three scrambled up and fled, stumbling over each other, their bravado in pieces.

Silence crashed down.

Wenlang turned, still bristling, eyes burning into Gao Tu. His voice came rough, too loud in the stillness.

“I told you before, Gao Tu. If anyone messes with you, you come to me. I’ll deal with them.”

Gao Tu’s throat tightened. He wanted to protest, to insist he didn’t need protecting, but the words caught — choked off by the weight of Wenlang’s dominance pressing against his skin. By the secret he carried like a noose.

Wenlang’s gaze softened just barely, but his tone stayed iron.

“You hear me? You belong to me. They’ll learn that one way or another.”

Then he turned and strode away, fury crackling in his wake.

Gao Tu stayed pressed against the wall, fingers gripping his bag strap until his knuckles ached. His breath came unsteady, chest tight.

Because Wenlang’s rage hadn’t only chased the bullies away.

It had left Gao Tu trembling. Not just with fear.

But with the terrifying spark of recognition his body refused to ignore. The kind that, if Wenlang ever saw through him, would ruin everything.

---

Back in the cafeteria, the air roared with noise — trays clattering, laughter echoing, the sharp tang of mingled scents hanging in the air. Privilege filled every corner, students sprawling across tables like they owned the world.

Hua Yong sat slouched at his own, as though the entire hall existed for his amusement. One long arm draped across the back of his chair, the other lazily spinning a glass of water between elegant fingers. Orchid curled faint and rich around him, velvet-laced even when restrained.

But his gaze wasn’t on the food.

It was on Shaoyou.

Across the room, the Alpha stood in line. His bitter-orange cut through the cafeteria’s haze like fire slicing smoke — sharp, disciplined, unmistakable. Even at a distance, his posture was precise, movements crisp, as if drilled into him until they became bone-deep habit. He spoke quietly to another student, a clipped nod all the acknowledgment he gave.

Hua Yong’s lips curved. His eyes darkened with hunger, with certainty. Shaoyou looked like a man no one could touch. And that made Hua Yong want him all the more.

A tray landed heavily on the table. Wenlang dropped into the seat beside him, chopsticks stabbing into his rice without appetite. His iris scent bled sharp and restless, violence still simmering like coals.

Trailing behind, Gao Tu slipped into the food line. Shoulders stiff, head bowed, he looked like he wanted to fold himself invisible.

Hua Yong flicked a glance sideways, smirking. “You look like you’ve bitten glass. What happened?”

Wenlang didn’t answer at first, jaw working tight. Finally, he muttered, “Idiots thought they could corner him.” His chopsticks stabbed again into rice, though his eyes never left Gao Tu across the room. “They won’t try again.”

“Oh?” Hua Yong’s voice was smooth, amused. “And what did our gentle prince do? Lecture them on good behavior?”

Wenlang’s glare cut sideways, sharp enough to wound.

Hua Yong only laughed, low and delighted. “Relax. I didn’t say it was wrong.” He leaned back, languid, gaze flicking between Wenlang’s locked stare on Gao Tu and his own fixation on Shaoyou. His smirk widened, feral. “I just wonder… when are you going to claim him?”

Wenlang’s hand tightened on his chopsticks until the wood creaked. His eyes stayed fixed on Gao Tu — on the way his shoulders hunched in line, the way his head never lifted. “I already told you,” Wenlang muttered, voice low, vibrating with possession. “He’s mine.”

“Ah.” Hua Yong drawled the word, savoring it like wine. His gaze slid back across the cafeteria, fastening on Shaoyou again, unblinking, hungry. “Then you’re behind schedule. Claims shouldn’t be delayed. Someone might think they’re still available.”

Wenlang didn’t answer, didn’t need to. His stare burned across the cafeteria like a brand pressed to Gao Tu’s skin.

And Hua Yong, shameless and amused, never looked away from Shaoyou.

Two obsessions. Two storms.

Side by side at the same table, already spiraling — two predators watching their chosen prey, while the cafeteria’s laughter and chatter rang hollow against the dangerous undercurrent rising beneath the surface.

Across the room, Gao Tu’s shoulders stiffened, his hand frozen on the tray. He didn’t have to look to know Wenlang’s eyes were on him — he felt it, scorching down his spine, branding him as surely as any touch. Shame crawled low in his chest, the desperate plea echoing in his mind: don’t see me, don’t want me, please not like this.

And Shaoyou — halfway down the line — shifted imperceptibly, his jaw tightening. The bitter-orange in his scent sharpened without warning, an instinctive reaction he could not mask. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge it, but he felt the weight of orchid pressing against his back, heavy as a hand already closing around his throat.

Neither looked.

Neither needed to.

They already knew.

And the game had only just begun.

---

 

Notes:

That’s it for Chapter 1! Hope you guys liked it and thank you for reading 🖤 Kudos and comments are welcome — I love hearing what you think!

Chapter 2: Chains Unseen

Notes:

This chapter ended up being longer than I planned lol. But when I started writing I couldn’t find a good place to stop because I really wanted to show all four of our main characters and what’s going on in their minds. Hope you guys like it!

The lecture hall buzzed with low voices as students filed in, the air thick with expensive colognes and faint pheromones. Laughter clipped, heels clicked against marble, the rustle of silk and fine wool brushing against polished desks.

Shaoyou was already seated. His posture straight, his notes aligned with military precision across the desk. His bitter-orange scent held steady — sharp, disciplined, enough to warn off anyone who thought about crowding too close. He had carved out his space, and no one dared trespass.

Then the room shifted.

Hua Yong entered.

Not with haste. Not with arrogance. But with the unhurried stride of someone who never doubted the world bent around him. Orchid followed, rich and heavy, curling through the air like smoke that smothered lungs and quickened hearts. In his hand, he carried a small lacquered box — black wood polished to a mirror finish, inlaid with delicate gold threads that shimmered beneath the overhead lights.

Students whispered instantly.

“What’s he holding?”
“Is it…?”
“No way—”

Hua Yong ignored them. His gaze locked onto Shaoyou as if no one else existed. Without hesitation, he crossed the rows until he stood before him.

The room stilled.

“Good morning, Shaoyou,” Hua Yong said, his voice smooth silk. He placed the box gently on the desk, directly over Shaoyou’s perfectly aligned notes. “A small gift. To mark the beginning of our… acquaintance.”

Murmurs flared, sharp and frantic. The box alone screamed wealth — the kind reserved for heirlooms and collectors’ vaults. Heads craned, breaths held.

Shaoyou’s frown cut deep. He didn’t reach for it. He didn’t move at all. “What is this?”

Hua Yong flicked the clasp open with languid ease. The lid lifted like an unveiling.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, lay a fountain pen. Not ordinary. An antique Montblanc Meisterstück, platinum trim catching the light, nib engraved with a rare crest. Priceless. Unattainable. A weapon, yes — but one meant for discipline, intellect, precision.

And Hua Yong had chosen it deliberately. Not jewelry. Not perfume. A soldier’s tool. A scholar’s weapon. Shaoyou’s language. 

He leaned down slightly, orchid brushing deliberately against bitter orange. His lips curved, voice dropping lower, softer, meant for Shaoyou but heard by everyone.

“A courting gift. Unique. Like you.”

The whispers surged like wildfire.

“He’s courting him—?”
“An Enigma offering a gift… to an Alpha?”
“That’s not possible—”
“He’s serious. He’s this serious…”

Shaoyou’s blood boiled. His face burned with humiliation. Courting was tradition. Alphas pursued. Omegas — sometimes Betas — accepted. Never the reverse. For an Alpha — worse, an S-class Alpha — to be courted?

It wasn’t just improper.

It was unthinkable.

His jaw clenched. With a sharp movement, he shoved the box back across the desk, the scrape loud in the silence. The antique pen rattled against its velvet bed.

“I don’t need your gifts,” Shaoyou said coldly, bitter orange flaring sharp and stinging. “And I don’t accept what isn’t mine to begin with.”

Gasps broke open the silence. Some students ducked their heads, unwilling to watch. Others stared, wide-eyed, as though waiting for the world itself to crack.

For Shaoyou, this meant war.

But Hua Yong only smiled. Unbothered. Certain. Straightening, he folded his hands neatly behind his back, orchid curling thicker, more possessive, claiming space as naturally as breathing.

“Mm. Aggression suits you.” His tone was amused, indulgent, not the least bit wounded. “But you’ll accept it one day that you're mine. And when you do…” His eyes glinted. “You’ll keep everything I give you. Forever.”

Shaoyou’s glare could have cut glass, fury radiating from every line of his posture. But Hua Yong didn’t retreat. Didn’t falter. To him, there was no battle to win. Only inevitability.

He simply left the box there — no longer a gift, but a mark. A brand. A promise.

The professor entered then, fumbling a greeting to break the tension, but no one missed it:

Hua Yong’s orchid, curling dark and possessive around the abandoned box.

Shaoyou’s bitter orange, burning sharp, humiliated and furious.

For Shaoyou, it was a declaration of war.

For Hua Yong, the winner was already decided.

And the rest of the world? They could only watch.

---

The corridor outside the lecture hall was thick with whispers — a hive of gasps, hushed speculation, and nervous laughter. Too many ears. Too many eyes.

Shaoyou stopped just beyond the threshold, his stride clipped to a halt. Bitter orange spiked through the air, sharp and acrid, cutting like smoke through the orchid that still clung to him from the classroom. He pivoted, posture unyielding, gaze cutting straight to Hua Yong.

“You disgust me.”

The words landed like a blade across glass.

Students froze mid-step. Conversations died mid-breath. Someone gasped aloud, the sound ricocheting down the corridor like a dropped plate. No one — no one — spoke that way to Hua Yong. Not faculty, not legacies, not the heirs of empires who valued their place in this kingdom of wealth and power.

But Shaoyou did. Without hesitation. Without fear.

“Did he just—?”
“He can’t—”
“Oh my god…”

Wenlang barked out a laugh from where he leaned against the wall, shoulders shaking with sharp-edged amusement. “Well, this is new,” he drawled, voice cutting through the stunned silence. Even Gao Tu’s eyes widened, his grip tightening around the books hugged to his chest, knuckles blanching.

For one taut moment, the hall held its breath. They expected it — Hua Yong snapping, flooding the corridor with the full, merciless weight of his Enigma pheromones. They expected Shaoyou to choke on those words, forced to his knees like anyone else would be.

But instead—

Hua Yong laughed.

Low. Deep. Delighted. The sound rolled through the corridor like velvet dragged over skin, vibrating down spines until gooseflesh prickled. His orchid unfurled darker, richer, suffocating in its weight until every throat in range felt it coil.

“Oh,” Hua Yong purred, eyes glinting with heat that sent a shiver through the onlookers. He stepped closer, unhurried, unbothered, his smile sharp enough to bleed. “Say it again. Louder, if you like. I’ll still want you.”

Gasps rippled, students whispering frantically:

“He’s not angry—?”
“He wants this—”
“Is he insane?”

Shaoyou’s glare sharpened, fury burning under the steel of his control. He raised his voice, making sure every student in the corridor heard him.

“Keep your gaudy gifts to yourself,” he spat. “I don’t need them. I don’t need you. And I will never lower myself to accept scraps from someone who thinks people can be bought.”

The corridor broke into shocked murmurs. Heads turned. Eyes widened. For a legacy to defy Hua Yong was unheard of. For an S-class Alpha to declare it aloud, in front of dozens of witnesses—

It was heresy.

Something in Hua Yong’s gaze shifted — not retreat, not hurt. Fondness. Maddening, indulgent fondness. The kind a predator might turn on prey already caught. “Mm. You’ve already said never.” His smile widened, amused and predatory all at once. “That means you’ve at least thought about the possibility.”

The crowd stirred, scandal and awe sparking like fire across dry grass.

Shaoyou’s teeth clenched, his bitter-orange scent spiking sharp and defiant, warning every soul within reach to stay back. The students nearest to him flinched, instinctively retreating. But Hua Yong only leaned in close, close enough that his words slid silk against Shaoyou’s ear — low, intimate, meant for him alone.

“You don’t have to believe it yet,” Hua Yong murmured, his voice velvet steel. “But you’re mine, Shaoyou."

Shaoyou shoved past him, shoulders squared, stride military-sharp. The bitter sting of citrus trailed down the corridor, uncompromising, untamed. He didn’t look back.

Hua Yong didn’t follow. He only watched, orchid rolling thick and languid through the hall, lips curved in that insufferably satisfied smile.

Rejection meant nothing.

Insults meant less.

To Hua Yong, it was all foreplay.

Because in his mind, Shaoyou already belonged to him.

---

Further down the corridor, beyond the crowd’s reach, Shaoyou slowed just enough to press a hand against the wall, knuckles white against polished stone. His breath dragged tight through his teeth, measured but ragged at the edges.

The image of the pen seared at the back of his mind — platinum, engraved, deliberate. Not random. Not careless. It was too precise, too perfectly chosen. 

An insult wrapped as thoughtfulness.

A trap disguised as a gift.

His stomach twisted. His jaw locked until the ache spread down the side of his face.

Control yourself. The command repeated like a mantra, drilled into him since boyhood. He was S-class. Trained. Tempered. Unyielding. Alphas made others bend — never the other way around. To falter, to give ground, would mean unraveling everything he was.

He would not submit.

Not to Hua Yong.

Not to anyone.

And yet—

The words still echoed, low and insidious.

But you’re mine, Shaoyou.

They threaded into his pulse, into the memory of orchid wrapping tight around his lungs. They rang with a certainty that unsettled him more than threats ever could.

His fists clenched harder until his nails bit half-moons into his palms, fury at himself rising sharp as his own citrus burn. That Hua Yong’s words had registered at all. That they had reached him, lingered in him, when they should have been nothing.

That was the true humiliation.

The bitter-orange in his scent spiked uncontrolled for a moment, sharp and acrid, scattering a pair of passing Betas back with startled glances. Shaoyou forced it down, choking on restraint, until the hall was clear again.

He straightened, shoulders squared, every line of his body once more the image of control.

Inside, though, the echo gnawed.

And he hated himself for hearing it still.

---

The cafeteria was louder than usual. Not from the ordinary chorus of clattering trays and laughter, but from gossip — sharp whispers traded from table to table, the whole hall buzzing like static.

Hua Yong and the gift.
The rejection.
An Enigma courting an S-class Alpha.

Unthinkable. Unforgettable.

At the far end of one table, Gao Tu sat curled in on himself, chopsticks suspended above his food. His glasses caught the cafeteria’s harsh light, reflecting it like a shield, though behind the lenses his eyes were dull and strained. He hadn’t eaten more than a bite. His shoulders were tense, every line of his body drawn tight, as if each laugh, each whisper, pressed directly against his skin.

Wenlang noticed immediately.

He stabbed a piece of meat from his tray, chewed once, then dropped his chopsticks with a sharp clack that sliced through the noise around them. His iris scent flared — sharp, clean, biting. Heads turned. Students glanced over nervously before looking away, chatter faltering.

“You’re not eating,” Wenlang said flatly.

Gao Tu startled, eyes flicking up in surprise. “I’m not hungry.” His voice was quiet, dismissive — but his hand trembled as he set the chopsticks down.

Wenlang’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding. Without hesitation, he reached across the table, dragged Gao Tu’s tray toward himself with one hand, and shoved his own plate forward — still half-full.

“Then eat mine.”

Gao Tu frowned, panic sparking behind his eyes. “I told you—”

“Eat.”

The word cracked like a command. Wenlang’s stare was unyielding, sharp enough to pin him in place.

The room shifted. Conversations slowed again. Students leaned closer, whispering behind hands, unable to ignore it — Wenlang, infamous for his temper and for never letting anyone close, leaning forward and practically ordering Gao Tu to eat as if it were law.

Heat crawled up Gao Tu’s neck. He ducked his head, voice tight. “You’re making a scene—”

“I don’t care.” Wenlang’s tone was low, fierce, vibrating with iron certainty. His iris scent spiked again, deliberate, pressing into the space between them until Gao Tu’s shoulders trembled faintly. Wenlang’s eyes narrowed, words steel and fire. “If you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

Gasps whispered across nearby tables.

“Wenlang—? With him?”
“He never lets anyone near—”
“Why’s he so protective of the Beta?”

The whispers carried too loudly. Wenlang’s head snapped toward the nearest offenders, his glare slicing across the table like a blade. “Do you have something to say?” His voice cracked like a whip, dominance flooding the space.

The two students blanched. One stammered, “N-no, nothing—” before both ducked their heads, shoving food into their mouths to silence themselves.

Wenlang turned back to Gao Tu without missing a beat, as though the interruption hadn’t mattered. But the message was clear. The entire hall had heard it: anyone who so much as whispered about Gao Tu would face him directly.

Gao Tu’s chest burned. Shame scorched hot as every stare dug into him. He hated being singled out, hated the way their whispers branded him like a scarlet mark. He had worked so hard to stay invisible, to slip beneath the notice of people like them. And yet Wenlang… Wenlang had dragged him straight into the light.

Reluctantly, Gao Tu picked up the chopsticks again. His hand shook, but he forced himself to take a bite.

The food was heavy on his tongue, sticking in his throat. He told himself the trembling in his fingers was humiliation, the heat in his chest nothing but shame. Anything but what it really was — the dangerous way his body responded to Wenlang’s dominance, not recoiling but leaning in.

And that terrified him.

Because Wenlang was infamous for one thing as much as his temper: he hated Omegas. He sneered at them in class, dismissed them with cutting words, refused to let them hover near him.

And Gao Tu… Gao Tu wasn’t the Beta he pretended to be. The suppressant only dulled the truth.

If Wenlang ever found out what he really was — that he’d lied from the start — he wouldn’t just hate him. He’d cast him aside. Maybe worse.

So Gao Tu lowered his head further, swallowing hard against the food that stuck like stone in his throat.

Only then did Wenlang lean back, satisfaction flickering across his face, though his gaze never left Gao Tu. His voice was low, meant for Gao Tu alone — but loud enough for the eavesdropping ears to catch.

“Good. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The cafeteria roared again, gossip sharper than ever.

First Hua Yong with Shaoyou.

Now Wenlang with Gao Tu.

Two of the university’s most dangerous heirs — both breaking rules in ways no one expected. One chasing an Alpha. The other obsessed with a Beta.

Gao Tu kept his head lowered, forcing himself to chew. Each bite was weighted, not with food, but with the heat of Wenlang’s stare pressing against him.

And in that moment, he understood a terrible truth: Wenlang wasn’t going to let him disappear quietly.

And worse still — if Wenlang ever saw past the lie of his Beta patch, Gao Tu would not just lose him — he would lose everything.

---

The courtyard behind the lecture halls was quieter than the rest of campus, shaded by tall plane trees whose branches swayed lazily in the morning breeze. Birds sang faintly, drowned beneath the faint hum of conversation drifting from the windows above.

On a stone bench beneath the trees, Hua Yong lounged like a king without a crown. Long legs stretched out, arms draped in practiced ease, his posture radiating indolence. Orchid drifted lazily around him, velvet-rich and heavy, daring anyone to come too close.

Beside him, Wenlang sat rigid. His back straight, shoulders tight, thumbs jabbing furiously at his phone screen. His iris scent bled sharp with irritation, slicing the calm like glass underfoot.

“You’re still sulking,” Hua Yong remarked lazily, his voice threaded with amusement. He tilted his head, studying Wenlang as if his temper were nothing more than entertainment. “I already told you — your yesterday’s little display was fun.”

Wenlang’s jaw flexed, his glare fixed on his tray of untouched food. “They touched him.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I told them not to. They’ll remember next time.” He paused, fingers tightening around his phone. “And now every idiot in the cafeteria thinks they can whisper his name like it’s theirs to use. If I hear one more word—”

“—you’ll tear their throats out?” Hua Yong finished smoothly, laughter curling velvet-rich in his tone. His lips curved slow and mocking. “Oh, Wenlang. You do make this place entertaining. Bullies, whispers, trembling little Beta… and you, rabid and loyal.”

Wenlang’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t reduce him to that.”

Hua Yong’s lips curved sharper. “Reduce? I only called him a Beta. If that bothers you so much…” He let the words linger, rich with implication, orchid curling heavier in the air. “…then perhaps he isn’t just a Beta to you.”

Wenlang’s fists clenched, knuckles whitening. “He’s mine. That’s all that matters.”

Hua Yong laughed low, velvet-dark. “Ah. Possession. Now that sounds more like you.”

“He’s not like the others,” Wenlang muttered. His grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked. His eyes never left Gao Tu’s hunched shoulders.

“Not like the others,” Hua Yong echoed softly, orchid thickening with a darker undertone. His voice was silk over steel. “That’s one way to put it.”

Something in his tone made Wenlang’s head snap toward him. His eyes narrowed, suspicion blazing. “What do you mean?”

Hua Yong leaned back further, arms stretching lazily across the bench as though boredom had overtaken him. A low laugh curled from his throat — velvet, mocking, meant to provoke. “Figure it out yourself. You’ll enjoy the discovery.”

“Don’t play games with me,” Wenlang growled. His scent flared, sharp and biting, warning in the air. “If you know something—”

“If?” Hua Yong interrupted smoothly, tilting his head, a predator’s amusement glittering in his eyes. “Wenlang. I know everything.”

Wenlang’s fists tightened at his sides, fury simmering. He hated riddles. Hated being toyed with. Most of all, he hated Hua Yong’s smugness — proof that he knew something Wenlang didn’t. Something about Gao Tu. The not-knowing burned worse than the mockery.

Hua Yong’s gaze flicked back to Gao Tu again, lingering too long, his smile sharpening with unmistakable meaning. His voice dropped, low and deliberate, every word a knife:

“You should pay closer attention to what he’s hiding, Wenlang. Patches don’t last forever.”

The words landed like a spark in dry tinder.

Wenlang stiffened, his iris scent flaring sharp in the air. Fury coiled through him, suspicion burning hotter with each passing second. But Hua Yong only chuckled low, satisfied with the bite of his tease.

“Whatever it is,” Wenlang ground out through clenched teeth, “he’s mine.”

“Mm.” Hua Yong’s hum was dark, dismissive and entertained all at once. “Certainty. I do admire that.”

But even as he spoke, his gaze shifted, sliding past Gao Tu, past Wenlang’s simmering rage.

Across the courtyard, Shaoyou emerged from the lecture hall, posture strict, bitter-orange cutting through the air like fire and command. Hua Yong’s body sharpened instantly, his indolence burning away to focus. His smirk turned feral, hungry, as if the world itself had narrowed to a single point.

Beside him, Wenlang’s stare still burned on Gao Tu, his possessiveness raw and consuming.

Two predators sat side by side, obsessions burning parallel.

One shameless, one simmering.

Neither willing to let go.

---

The apartment smelled of damp plaster and stale cigarette smoke, the kind of scent that clung to the walls no matter how many times Gao Tu scrubbed until his hands bled. Water stains crept like veins across the ceiling. The single bulb above the table flickered weakly, shadows stretching long across peeling paint, mocking the smallness of the space.

He dropped his worn satchel onto a chair and sank down heavily, exhaustion pressing through every bone. His glasses slid slightly down the bridge of his nose; he pushed them back up with a trembling hand, the gesture automatic, brittle. His shoulders slumped, spine curving as though even gravity had grown heavier. One hand rose instinctively to his neck. The suppressant patch burned faintly against his skin, adhesive biting as if to remind him what it cost to keep breathing unnoticed.

Reaching for the drawer, he slid it open.

The small plastic box inside made his heart sink instantly.

Two patches.

Three pills — blister packs bent and wrinkled from being carried too often in his bag.

That was it.

Barely enough to get him through tomorrow. After that—

His chest constricted.

He picked one patch up between trembling fingers, the edge curling slightly where the glue had begun to dry. He held it as if it were fragile glass, then set it back down carefully, like even touching it too long would make it vanish.

He had been stretching them for weeks — cutting doses, spacing them longer, praying no one noticed. Keeping his head down. Pretending to be what the world let him be: a quiet Beta, invisible and harmless.

But Wenlang…

The memory of the cafeteria seared hot through his chest. Wenlang’s voice — sharp, commanding — ordering him to eat. Wenlang’s iris scent, like steel and storm, pressing down on him until his knees nearly gave. Wenlang’s eyes, burning like a brand, staring at him as though Gao Tu already belonged to him.

It wasn’t love. Gao Tu knew that. It wasn’t even kindness.

It was possession. Dangerous. Relentless.

And the more Wenlang stared, the more Gao Tu feared the truth would spill out. That the faint curl of sage beneath the suppressant would slip free. That someone — Wenlang most of all — would catch it.

If Wenlang discovered what he really was, it would all be over.

Wenlang, who spat at Omegas. Who had nothing but contempt for them. Who once laughed, cold and cruel, when a trembling Omega confessed to him. Gao Tu remembered the sneer, the disdain. The words: pathetic.

Would Wenlang turn his back in disgust if he knew? Or worse — would that brand of possessiveness twist into something Gao Tu couldn’t fight, couldn’t escape? A cage wrapped in steel, not protection but ownership.

He shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut, teeth clenched, breath shuddering through his nose.

Tomorrow. After university. I’ll find a pharmacy. I’ll buy more.

Even if it meant pawning his phone. Even if it meant skipping meals for a week. He had to. He couldn’t let anyone know.

Because if Wenlang discovered the truth — if anyone did — the chains of his father’s debts and the crushing weight of his sister’s surgery would come crashing back down, heavier than ever.

And Gao Tu wasn’t sure Wenlang’s fury would save him.

It might just destroy him.

---

Across the city, another apartment breathed a different kind of air. No flickering bulbs. No peeling plaster. Instead: crystal chandeliers dripping light across marble floors, glass walls reflecting Bangkok’s skyline like a jewel box. Every corner gleamed, curated, deliberate — a palace in miniature, made for indulgence.

Hua Yong lounged barefoot across a velvet sofa, silk shirt half-unbuttoned, a glass of wine balanced carelessly in one hand. The stem tilted dangerously with each lazy swirl, droplets of crimson clinging to the rim. Orchid clung to the air even here, curling rich and heavy, saturating the walls as though the space itself bent to him.

On the low glass table beside him sat another box. Long and narrow, lacquered black with platinum hinges that caught the chandelier’s light. Inside, on a bed of pale satin, lay a tie — silk, midnight-blue, hand-stitched, imported from Milan. Its sheen whispered luxury. Restraint. Possession.

His next courting gift.

For Shaoyou.

Hua Yong’s smile curled slow and feral as his finger traced along the lid. The memory of Shaoyou’s glare burned hot in his mind: bitter-orange sharp, defiant, rejection cold as steel.

It hadn’t deterred him.

If anything, it had sweetened the pursuit.

Rejection was just another kind of foreplay.

His gaze lingered on the silk tie as his mind painted the ending he already believed inevitable. Shaoyou’s hands bound behind his back, the midnight-blue silk biting into his wrists. Bitter-orange scent clashing helplessly against the suffocating velvet of orchid. Shaoyou’s eyes — still defiant, still burning — until they finally broke beneath him. Until Hua Yong’s possession was carved into every inch, every breath, until there was no escape.

The image was vivid, intoxicating. He didn’t need to close his eyes to see it.

Hua Yong raised his glass, wine catching the light like spilled blood. His eyes glinted with certainty as he drank deep, the taste dark and rich on his tongue.

Shaoyou could fight.

He could glare.

He could spit refusals sharp as knives.

None of it mattered.

Because Hua Yong always got what he wanted.

And this time, what he wanted was Shaoyou.

He set the glass down, leaned back into velvet, and whispered into the empty room — voice soft, intimate, absolute:

“You’re mine already, Shaoyou. You just need to accept it.”

---

 

Notes:

I had way too much fun writing this!

Hope you guys liked it too. 🤗🖤

Chapter 3: Fault Lines

Notes:

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Unfortunately, I'm unable to reply to comments but please know I read and value them all. 🖤🩶✨️

The lecture hall buzzed even before class began. Whispers flitted like birds from row to row — about yesterday’s extravagant pen, about Hua Yong’s brazen audacity, about Shaoyou’s rejection that had left the entire university reeling.

And then the air shifted.

Hua Yong entered. Not hurried, not subtle. His stride was the same unhurried glide as always, as though the world moved around him, not the other way. Orchid spilled after him in slow waves that tugged at lungs, curling rich and heavy until heads turned without meaning to.

In his hand this time, he carried another box. Long. Narrow. Black lacquer, platinum hinges glinting beneath the fluorescent lights.

The whispers surged.

He brought another one.
He’s not stopping?
What’s inside this time—

Shaoyou sat in his usual place, posture exact, notes already aligned like soldiers across his desk. His bitter-orange scent lashed sharp through the air, staking his ground. His eyes narrowed the moment Hua Yong turned down his row.

And once again, Hua Yong didn’t hesitate. He stopped directly before him, smiled like the world belonged to him, and set the box gently on top of Shaoyou’s notes.

“Good morning, Shaoyou,” Hua Yong said smoothly, his voice low silk. “I thought you might prefer something more… personal this time.”

The clasp clicked open with a soft snap.

Inside lay a tie — deep midnight blue, the silk shimmering faintly with each shift of the light. Imported, hand-stitched, the kind of fabric only a Milan atelier could produce. A gift of elegance, but also of restraint. A line of silk that could choke as easily as it adorned.

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

“He’s really courting him.”
“Another gift?”
“An Enigma binding an Alpha — this is madness.”

Shaoyou’s jaw locked. His fingers twitched once above the desk before curling into a fist. His voice came out cold, clipped, sharp enough to slice.

“Do you think this is funny?”

Hua Yong leaned down, close enough for orchid to deliberately curl over bitter orange, swallowing it whole. His smile widened, just shy of feral.

“I think it suits you,” he murmured. His gaze lingered on the tie, then rose, dark and glinting. “And one day, I’ll tie it around your wrists myself.”

The words weren’t shouted, but they carried. Students inhaled sharply, stunned into silence.

Shaoyou shoved the box back across the desk, the scrape loud in the charged air. His citrus flared bitter-sharp, stinging at throats, warning every instinct in the room.

“I told you before. I don’t accept your gifts. And I don’t accept you.”

The declaration rang through the hall, bold and unyielding. His glare was steady, his voice cutting — but inside, beneath the steel, his chest felt too tight. His breath dragged harder than he wanted.

Because he had realized something yesterday, something his pride refused to name aloud: he couldn’t win. Not here. Not against Hua Yong, not against the suffocating pull of an Enigma’s power. Even though his will was iron. His training flawless. But his body knew. His instincts knew.

And that terrified him.

Still, he didn’t show it. Couldn’t show it. He was an S-class Alpha. His body belonged to him, not instinct.

Hua Yong only laughed, soft and delighted, as though Shaoyou’s fury was his favorite form of affection. He straightened, leaving the box shamelessly on the desk, his orchid still curling possessively around it.

“Mm. You’ll fight me every day,” Hua Yong murmured, amused, certain. His eyes lingered, heat sparking beneath velvet. “And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

The professor entered then, papers tucked under one arm, clearing his throat in a weak attempt at command. But no one was listening.

Because the only thing anyone remembered was the image burned into the room:

Shaoyou, citrus-sharp and furious, spine straight with defiance.

Hua Yong, smiling shamelessly, orchid heavy around the silk tie left on the desk.

Another public spectacle. Another line crossed.

And deep inside, though Shaoyou refused to show it — a sliver of fear coiled tight, that Hua Yong might already be right.

---

The afternoon dragged heavy, heat clinging to the university’s stone corridors. Students streamed between classes, laughter echoing faintly off the walls.

Gao Tu kept his head down, clutching his books to his chest. His glasses slid lower on his nose; he pushed them back up with a trembling hand. The suppressant patch at his neck had been due for replacement hours ago, but he hadn’t dared to change it on campus. The adhesive peeled at the edges, and he’d pressed it flat three times that day.

It wasn’t working anymore.

The faintest curl of sage slipped into the air — delicate, but undeniable. His stomach twisted when a passing Omega’s eyes flicked toward him, startled, before darting quickly away.

Not now. Please. Not here.

He turned sharply into a quieter corridor, praying to lose himself in the emptier stretch of hall.

But the footsteps behind him didn’t fade. Heavy. Certain.

“Gao Tu.”

His chest tightened. He didn’t need to turn to know.

Wenlang.

The Alpha’s iris scent sharpened in the air, clean and cutting, coiling like a blade testing for weakness.

Gao Tu swallowed, forcing his shoulders straighter. “What is it?” His voice came out neutral, quiet — but his grip on his books trembled, the edges of the covers biting into his palms.

Wenlang strode up beside him, gaze sharp. His nostrils flared once, as if tasting the air. His eyes narrowed. “You smell… different.”

Panic clawed at Gao Tu’s throat. He shifted the books higher against his chest, like their weight could smother the truth leaking through his skin. “It’s nothing. Forgot cologne this morning.”

The lie was flimsy. Sage threaded faint but raw through the air, betrayed by the weakening patch. Barely there — but enough for an S-class Alpha.

Wenlang’s stare sharpened. His jaw flexed, iris scent flaring harder, pressing down like a storm front. Gao Tu felt it crush against his ribs. His body wanted to fold, Omega instincts screaming, but he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing himself still.

Wenlang leaned closer, his voice low, dangerous. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sage betrayed him again, curling soft in the air. Gao Tu’s breath hitched.

Wenlang’s pupils contracted, focus locking in like a predator on prey. His voice was flat, merciless. “Betas don’t have scents.” A beat of silence, heavy as iron. “But you do.”

Gao Tu froze. His nails dug into the strap of his bag, the nylon biting deep. “You’re imagining things.”

Wenlang’s scent surged sharper, suffocating. His words dropped to a growl, rough with conviction. “I don’t imagine.”

Panic knotted tight in Gao Tu’s chest. If Wenlang confirmed it — if anyone did — everything would collapse. His father would smell profit and chain him with it. The world would brand him weak. And Wenlang…

The thought sliced sharper than anything.

Wenlang, who spat at Omegas, who dismissed them with contempt, who treated them like nuisances. If Wenlang discovered the truth, he wouldn’t protect him — he would hate him. Disgust him. Cast him aside. Leave him.

And somehow, that possibility burned worse than the fear of anyone else finding out.

He tried to step past. Wenlang moved instantly, blocking his path.

“Don’t lie to me,” Wenlang said again, low and lethal. His hand slammed against the wall beside Gao Tu’s head. Not touching — not yet — but close enough that the heat of it brushed his skin. Gao Tu’s glasses fogged faintly with his own shallow breath. His body betrayed him, trembling under the weight of Wenlang’s pheromones.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Wenlang pressed, eyes burning. “Look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”

Gao Tu squeezed his eyes shut, pressing flat to the wall. If he spoke, his voice would shake. If he breathed too deep, Wenlang would catch the truth bleeding through his failing patch.

Wenlang’s scent flared harsher, violent steel saturating the corridor. “You think you can hide from me?” His growl sank into Gao Tu’s bones. “You can’t.”

Gao Tu’s heart pounded so loud it drowned everything. For one breathless moment, he thought Wenlang would rip the patch from his neck right there.

Then footsteps echoed at the far end of the corridor. Two students turned the corner, chatting idly — freezing when their eyes caught the scene: Wenlang caging Gao Tu against the wall, hand braced above his head, dominance spilling heavy in the air.

Their conversation stuttered into silence.

Wenlang clicked his tongue, low and sharp. He stepped back, though his glare never wavered. “This isn’t finished.” His words cracked like a promise.

Then he turned and walked away, iris scent slicing the air long after his steps faded.

Gao Tu stayed pressed against the wall, shaking, sage leaking helplessly from under the useless patch. His books trembled in his grip, glasses sliding low until he pushed them up with a shaking hand.

He knows.

And next time, there wouldn’t be anyone to interrupt.

But worse than being exposed, worse than the danger of his secret spilling into the open, was the terror clawing inside his chest:

That when Wenlang finally knew the truth, he wouldn’t want him anymore.

That all Wenlang’s possessiveness would turn into fury and disgust.

And Gao Tu wasn’t sure which outcome he feared more.

---

Wenlang’s strides were sharp, echoing down the corridor as students parted instinctively before him. His fists flexed, still restless, as though Gao Tu’s ghost lingered against his knuckles, against the wall where he’d caged him.

His iris scent burned harsh and cutting, scattering weaker pheromones in his wake. Betas ducked their heads. Omegas clutched books tighter, skirting the edges of the hall. To them, it was fury. To him, it felt like something messier.

Because he had smelled sage.

Faint. Fragile. Curling soft under the failing patch.

Impossible.

“Betas don’t have scents,” he muttered under his breath, voice raw with conviction. His hand curled tighter into a fist. “So why did he?”

He told himself it was a mistake. His senses playing tricks. Maybe Gao Tu had brushed against someone else’s pheromones. Maybe he’d borrowed cologne that mimicked something it shouldn’t.

Because the alternative—

No.

Wenlang’s chest tightened, pulse pounding hot and furious.

The alternative meant Gao Tu wasn’t a Beta.

He was an Omega.

And that couldn’t be true.

Wenlang hated Omegas. Always had. Their cloying sweetness, their weakness, the way they bared their throats and begged for chains. He had never tolerated them near him. He had spat their attention back in their faces, sneered at their dependency, their fragility.

So how — how — could Gao Tu, who made his blood burn, who made his possessiveness rise like a tide he couldn’t stop, be one of them?

He can’t be. He isn’t.

The thought roared in Wenlang’s skull, denial so fierce it nearly blinded him.

Because if Gao Tu was an Omega, then everything Wenlang felt — the anger when others touched him, the satisfaction when he obeyed, the obsession gnawing every time Gao Tu lowered his head — all of it would mean Wenlang wasn’t just breaking his own rules.

It would mean his instincts wanted what he despised most.

His fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. His stride grew harsher, cutting sharp corners as if motion alone could burn out the confusion coiling in his veins. His shoulders ached from the tension; his teeth ground so hard his jaw throbbed.

And then — Hua Yong’s smirk flickered through his mind. That sly glint in his eyes, his drawl heavy with amusement: Patches don’t last forever.

The memory made Wenlang’s fury spike hotter, violent. Hua Yong knew. The bastard had known all along.

Which meant the truth wasn’t just looming — it was circling, waiting to strike.

“No.” Wenlang’s jaw locked, the word scraping out like a growl. His iris scent lashed sharp in the empty hall, violent steel saturating the air. He’s mine.

Beta. Omega. Whatever. Gao Tu belonged to him.

And if anyone else tried to say otherwise, Wenlang swore he’d tear them apart before he ever let them speak it aloud.

---

The penthouse was silent, perched high above the city like a glass fortress. Floor-to-ceiling windows spilled the Bangkok skyline into the room, neon lights flickering against polished marble and designer furniture that looked as if no one had ever truly lived on it.

Shaoyou dropped his briefcase onto the low table, the sound sharp in the hush. He tugged his tie loose with one hand, the other braced against the cool pane of glass. His reflection stared back at him: perfect posture, perfect composure, bitter orange clinging faint in the air like a shield.

But inside — his chest burned.

The tie Hua Yong had given him still flashed in his mind. Midnight silk, shimmering under the lecture hall lights. Hua Yong’s voice echoing, rich with shameless certainty: “One day, I’ll tie it around your wrists myself.”

Shaoyou’s jaw clenched. Rage knifed through him, tangled with something heavier: the unwelcome truth he could no longer ignore.

He couldn’t win. Not in the long run. Not against an Enigma.

His will was iron, his training unmatched, his Alpha instincts honed sharp as any blade. But Hua Yong’s dark orchid had already proven it could claw at him in ways no rival ever had. His discipline fractured when it pressed against him. His breath caught when their scents collided. And that terrified him more than he’d ever admit.

“Control yourself,” he muttered, pressing his fists into the windowsill until his knuckles blanched. Bitter orange flared through the penthouse air, sharp and acrid, his last defense against the suffocating ghost of orchid that lingered in his lungs.

He straightened, turned from the glass, and picked up his phone from the table. His thumb hovered over his contacts, jaw set like steel.

If Hua Yong thought he could corner him, claim him like property, then Shaoyou would prove him wrong.

He would date someone. Publicly. Deliberately.

A nice Omega from a respectable family — someone polite, polished, with the right kind of connections. Someone whose presence at his side would be noticed. It didn’t matter if he didn’t feel anything. This wasn’t about desire.

It was about control. About pride. About showing Hua Yong that he could not be claimed.

His hand tightened around the phone until the edges dug into his palm. Deep down, he knew the truth. Hua Yong wouldn’t see it as rejection. He’d see it as a challenge. As provocation. And the Enigma would answer in kind.

It would only make things worse.

But surrender was worse still.

Shaoyou set the phone back down with deliberate care. Pressed a palm hard over his mouth, dragging in a breath that shook despite him. Behind him, the skyline glittered like a thousand unblinking eyes, witnesses to the battle already brewing.

“If Hua Yong wants a war, Shaoyou thought grimly, then I’ll give him one.”

---

The private club glittered with low light and quiet wealth. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter spilled like smoke, and polished suits moved through the haze of aged whiskey and imported cigars. The city’s power gathered here — dynasty heirs, CEOs in waiting, the kind of people who thought themselves untouchable.

Hua Yong sat at the center of it, as he always did, rich orchid drifting through the air. A glass of Bordeaux rested in his hand, untouched, because he liked the way the ruby light caught against the crystal.

“Is it true?” one man asked, leaning in with a conspirator’s grin. “They say you’ve been parading gifts in front of the whole university. For Sheng Fang’s son, no less.”

A ripple of murmurs moved around the table. Someone laughed, low and incredulous. Another shook their head, muttering, “An Enigma courting an Alpha. I’ve never heard of such madness.”

Hua Yong only smiled, slow and certain. He tilted the wine glass, watching the light fracture. “Madness,” he echoed, amused. “Is that what they’re calling it?”

“You don’t deny it?” another pressed, scandal bright in his eyes. “Half the city’s heard by now. Sheng Fang must be furious.”

The name landed like a dropped coin. Sheng Fang. His son. The dynasty of biotech wealth and power, their influence stretching through hospitals, universities, boardrooms.

Shaoyou’s name hung sharp in the air.

Hua Yong let the silence stretch, let every eye turn toward him. Then he set the glass down gently, orchid thickening in the room until throats tightened and spines stiffened. His smile sharpened, feral in the dim light.

“Why would I deny it?” His voice was velvet over steel. “Shaoyou belongs to me.”

Gasps flickered. A few laughed in disbelief. One older executive coughed into his drink, choking. But Hua Yong leaned back in his chair as if nothing were more natural, orchid pressing heavier until no one dared challenge him aloud.

Let them whisper. Let them drag Shaoyou’s name across every table, every boardroom, every headline. Hua Yong wanted them to. The more the world spoke of it, the more inevitable it became.

Claiming Shaoyou wasn’t just private anymore. It was public. Political. A declaration no one could ignore.

And Hua Yong relished every scandalous second.

---

 

Notes:

I am absolutely loving writing this fic! I want to ensure that both couples get equal attention in this fic. I hope you guys like it! 🖤