The clock struck eleven. The Biomedical Research Building of Jingcheng University stood like a silent, obsidian monolith under the vast, midnight sky.
As Silas Shen stepped into the desolate corridor, the motion-sensor lights flickered to life one by one, casting a sterile, clinical glow that highlighted his razor-sharp silhouette against the white walls. Each light died quietly behind him as he moved, as if the darkness itself were chasing the hem of his coat. He pushed open the heavy laboratory door. Inside, the atmosphere was a perfect mirror of its owner—frigid, detached, and meticulously ordered. The air was thick with the sharp, clean sting of disinfectant, layered with the underlying, bitter fragrance of cold silver fir.
Silas shed his black trench coat, revealing a pristine white shirt buttoned with almost religious discipline to the very top, concealing every inch of skin up to his prominent Adam's apple. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, the metal cool against his skin. His long, slender fingers, looking like carved ivory, glided across the test tube rack with the lethal precision of a master pianist. He was just about to record the final set of observational data for the night, a task that required the absolute silence he so cherished.
BANG—!
The silence didn't just break; it was obliterated. The laboratory's heavy, explosion-proof door was violently kicked open, slamming against the reinforced wall with a thunderous resonance that made the glassware on the shelves rattle in protest.
Silas didn't even lift his head. A tiny, refined crease appeared between his brows—the only outward sign of his mounting annoyance. His voice cut through the vibrating air like shattered jade falling into a deep ice cellar. "I believe the department's safety manual states that violent movements are strictly prohibited in this facility. Tell me, Classmate Huo, has your sense of basic etiquette been held back for retake along with your failing credits?"
"Professor... huff... sorry, but I'm really... I'm about to explode."
The apology was meaningless, because, in an instant, an overbearing, almost predatory scent of sun-kissed oranges flooded the entire sterile sanctuary. It wasn't a gentle fragrance; it was a riotous, aggressive wave of pheromones that demanded submission. It was the smell of a scorching summer sun trapped in a single room, thick enough to be tasted on the back of Silas's tongue.
Silas's fingers, poised over the mechanical keyboard, seized up. For the first time that night, his rhythmic breathing faltered. He turned his head slowly, his cold gaze landing on the intruder.
Hunter Huo was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal. The star Alpha of the university's basketball team had clearly just sprinted directly from the court. His black tank top was drenched, clinging like a second skin to the heaving, powerful ridges of his chest and abdominal muscles. Droplets of sweat rolled down his neck, disappearing into the dark fabric. His damp, golden hair was plastered to his forehead in messy clumps, making him look like a sodden, oversized golden retriever just fished out of a storm.
But it was Hunter's eyes that sent a jolt of alarm through Silas's logical brain. They weren't their usual bright, mischievous amber; they were burning with a frantic, feverish crimson—the unmistakable, terrifying sign of a violent Rut.
"Stay away from me." Silas removed his glasses with a chilling finality, his eyes narrowing as he pointed toward the far window. "Your pheromones are too 'noisy.' The erratic surge of your hormones is severely interfering with the calibration of my high-precision experimental equipment. Leave. Now."
"Noisy?" Hunter let out a dry, raspy laugh, a sound that vibrated with suppressed hunger and a hint of delirium. Instead of retreating, he swayed forward, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Each step he took carried a wave of scorching, humid heat that turned the cold lab into a suffocating furnace.
He stopped directly in front of Silas, his towering, six-foot-three athletic frame casting a long, intimidating shadow over the slender professor. The height difference was enough that Silas had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat.
"Professor, I'm burning up so bad I'm turning into an idiot, and all you care about are your machines?" Hunter sniffled aggrievedly, his voice gravelly and raw. He leaned down, his presence like an encroaching wildfire, his shadow swallowing Silas whole. "Any other Omega on this campus would be weak in the knees just getting a whiff of me right now... so why are you the only one... who acts like I'm just some annoying background noise?"
Silas stared at him expressionlessly, his spine as straight as a steel rod as he leaned back an inch to preserve the last sliver of his personal space. "Because, unlike the rest of the campus, I have no interest in biologically inferior creatures who allow themselves to become slaves to their base hormonal urges. Master Huo, if your overdeveloped glands have finally begun to outpace your underdeveloped brain, I suggest you turn left at the gate and check into the neurosurgery department instead of throwing a tantrum in my laboratory."
Hunter was momentarily stunned by the biting, clinical insult. A normal person would have fled in shame, but Hunter wasn't normal—especially not during his Rut. A strange, predatory light flickered in his crimson eyes, as if he had just discovered a new, fascinating puzzle to solve. Without warning, he lunged forward, closing the gap until his nose was mere millimeters from the sensitive curve of Silas's neck, right where the cold fir scent was the strongest.
"Professor... you're lying," Hunter whispered, his voice vibrating against Silas's skin.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, savoring the air as if he were inhaling the soul of a saint. His hot, humid breath fanned against Silas's icy skin, creating a jarring contrast that made Silas's pupils dilate. "I can smell it... your silver fir scent isn't just cold. It's trembling. You tell me I'm noisy, but your pheromones... they are screaming. They are saying how much they actually crave this orange scent."
Silas's face flashed from a deathly, academic pale to a livid iron-grey. It was the sheer, unadulterated fury of a man whose most private sanctuary—his own biology—had been violated by such an intimate observation. He shoved Hunter's chest with all his might, his palms making contact with a wall of burning, solid muscle that felt like molten lead.
"Get out! This is your final warning!"
"I'm not leaving." Hunter seized Silas's wrist in a sudden, lightning-fast reflex. His grip was massive and unyielding, his fingers circling Silas's slender wrist like iron shackles. In a heartbeat, the "puppy" seemed to lose all the strength in his legs, his heavy, golden head thudding onto Silas's shoulder. The tone of his voice shifted instantly, turning soft, whimpering, and pathetic—yet his eyes remained locked on Silas's neck with a wolf-like, terrifying obsession.
"Professor, it hurts... my head feels like it's splitting open. My glands are on fire... Just rub the back of my neck, and I'll be good. I'll listen to everything you say. I'll even finish that extra credit assignment... Just once... please? Just touch me once..."
Silas froze, his back pinned against the cold edge of the lab bench. He could feel the golden, fuzzy head buried in his shoulder, radiating waves of chaotic, primal heat that began to seep through the fabric of his white shirt. His other hand had already reached for the emergency sedative hidden in his pocket, his fingers brushing against the cold glass of the vial.
But then, he felt it. The Alpha's massive, powerful frame gave a slight, desperate shiver against him—a tremor of genuine, agonizing pain. Silas's fingers hovered over the sedative, his logical mind battling a sudden, inexplicable surge of something far more primitive. For the first time in his calculated career, Silas Shen's hand stayed.