The dressing room door shut with a soft, final click.
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. Elio had barely set his things down when he felt the sudden shift in the air—a heavy, static charge that signaled he wasn't alone. Before he could turn toward the mirror, he was struck by a physical force.
Vyn didn't just walk into the room; he dominated it. In a single, fluid stride—a burst of speed that felt almost supernatural—he crossed the space between them. Before Elio could react, Vyn spun him around with a grip that felt like an iron shackle, driving him backward until he hit the concrete wall.
The impact knocked the breath from Elio's lungs, but before he could protest, Vyn's broad, muscled frame was pressed flush against him, effectively locking him in place.
"…Why the hell do you have a shoot scheduled during your heat cycle?" Vyn's voice was a low, jagged growl, his composure completely shredded.
Elio's pulse hammered against his throat, but his expression remained a mask of cool, unyielding defiance. He knew exactly what a heat felt like—the fever, the haze, and all sense of control just melted away as your instincts took the wheel. He felt absolutely none of that.
"I'm not in heat," Elio replied. His voice was deep, steady, and dangerously calm.
Vyn didn't move. He couldn't.
At this proximity, the scent was an intoxicating, suffocating tide. It didn't claw at his senses; it settled into his blood like a slow-acting, addictive poison. Vyn's eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide until his gaze was a void of predatory black. His pulse was heavy—measured, yet dangerously fast.
"No…" Vyn breathed, a desperate, losing struggle against his own nature. The sharp, clinical chill of mint and frozen ozone was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep, dark musk that bled into the air—the scent of charred sandalwood and rain-drenched earth.
For Elio, the effect was a slow, creeping invasion. It didn't hit him with the violence of a blow; it settled into his pores, a heavy, static vibration that seemed to sync with his own heartbeat.
Vyn's head dipped, drawn by an invisible, magnetic tether. His nose brushed the side of Elio's neck—a ghost of contact that made Vyn's chest ache with a sudden, sharp hunger. He inhaled, deep and ragged.
The world collapsed. All that remained was the scent, flooding his senses completely.
Vyn's hands came up, bracing against the wall on either side of Elio's head, trapping him in a cage of muscle and heat. His breathing turned uneven and jagged. For a moment, his lips hovered over the exposed skin of Elio's neck, the pulse jumping beneath. The instinct to bite—to mark and claim—hit him with violent force.
Vyn froze. His jaw clenched hard enough to ache. "No—"
He pulled back just enough to stop, his hot, unsteady breath ghosting over Elio's skin. His gaze dropped, lingering heavily on Elio's lips; he stared for a heartbeat longer, his dark eyes tracing the curve of them with a raw, predatory intensity that made it clear he wanted to devour him whole. Then, slowly, he dragged his focus upward, locking onto Elio's eyes.
The mask of the composed, unreachable superstar had completely shattered; in its place was a hunter staring down his prize, his expression etched with a focused, deliberate hunger that stripped away every pretense.
Elio looked back, his eyes narrowing in a flicker of confusion, yet he remained strikingly steady. There was no haze of submission, no fear of the Alpha's looming shadow. He was a locked vault, staring back at Vyn with absolute, chilling clarity.
"What's your problem?" Elio snapped, his voice sharp. He wasn't panting. He wasn't flushed. He looked at Vyn with a terrifying, total composure.
Vyn's chest tightened. He was spiraling into a pre-rut triggered by a man who seemed entirely unaffected. It was a biological nightmare.
Elio didn't wait. He didn't offer a polite rebuttal; he drove his knee into Vyn's stomach with clinical precision. The impact was sudden and jarring, forcing Vyn to stagger back, his grip on the air breaking as he gasped for a breath he couldn't find.
The door burst open. Joey rushed in, taking in the dilated pupils and the thick, suffocating tension. He moved immediately, pulling out a bottle of suppressants.
"Vyn—take this. Now."
Vyn swallowed the medication dry. Joey turned toward Elio, his expression shifting from frantic to genuinely apologetic.
"Elio, hey—I am so incredibly sorry," Joey said, his voice sincere. "He's... he's really not feeling well. Please, tell me you're okay? I'd hate for your first big brand collab to be remembered for this."
Elio didn't respond immediately. He just adjusted his jacket, looking from the frantic Beta to the Alpha currently doubled over, clutching his midsection. Vyn was breathing hard, but not from the pain of the kick. It was the internal overload—a chaotic, desperate surge of instinct and pheromones—that felt like it was about to burst through his ribs.
"He should be more careful," Elio said, his voice cold and steady.
Joey gave a grim, lopsided smile. "I know. Get some rest, Elio. Your team is already at the van."
Elio walked out without a second glance. Joey turned back to Vyn with a look that was half-pity and half-fury.
"You're lucky he's a professional," Joey muttered, his hand resting on Vyn's shoulder to steady him.
"Because if he weren't, we'd be finished."
Vyn had always hated Omega scents. To any other Alpha, those pheromones were a prize; to Vyn, they were a toxin. Because of his disorder, his system violently rejected them.
But this—this lingering, heavy pull from Elio—was different. For the first time, his system wasn't screaming in pain. Instead, his lungs were opening, drinking in the scent as if it were the only cure for a fever he hadn't known he was carrying.
The fact that his body was finally choosing to accept an Omega—and this specific, defiant Omega—was the first time he truly felt the urge to give in... and that terrified him more than anything else.
——
The city was bathed in a heavy, golden amber as the sun began to dip. Inside the tinted sanctuary of the luxury SUV, the air was cool, but the tension radiating from the passenger seat was enough to make the leather crack.
Joey kept his eyes on the road. "You okay?" he asked softly.
Vyn didn't open his eyes. He just let out a long, exhausted breath. "I'm fine. My system is just… adjusting."
"Adjusting is a nice word for 'almost biting a rookie in a public building,'" Joey countered. He saw Vyn's jaw tighten. "Look, Vyn, if you're going to have a biological meltdown, could you at least wait until we're home? I'm already running out of creative excuses for your 'sudden health emergencies.' Next time, I'm just going to tell them you've been possessed."
A rare, dry sound escaped Vyn—a ghost of a laugh that vanished as quickly as it came.
"He didn't smell like an Omega, Joey," Vyn whispered, his voice dropping into a low, haunted register. "My system didn't try to kill me. It didn't reject him; it tried to reach for him—like I was starving and didn't know it."
Joey gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He knew that for Vyn, a violent rejection was his only safety—but "reaching"? That was a total system collapse.
Vyn turned away, his eyes clouded with confusion. "And the kick… I'm an S-Class. My instincts should have blocked it or, at the very least, made him flinch before his knee even made contact. How does an Omega move with that kind of precision against an Alpha who isn't even restrained?"
Joey's gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, searching Vyn's face. "You're an apex predator, Vyn. If your instincts didn't even register the threat, why do you think that is?" He paused, his expression shifting from anxiety to a mix of awe and terror. "Vyn... what if he's not just a fluke? What if he's the match you've been waiting for?"
Vyn's eyes snapped open, his gaze icy and sharp in the dim light of the car. "Don't be ridiculous, Joey."
"I'm serious! Your system didn't just reject him, it responded to him. You haven't reacted like that to an Omega in years—maybe ever."
"It was a fluke," Vyn snapped, his voice tight, though his hand subconsciously brushed his chest where the phantom ache still lingered. "A glitch in the system. Nothing more."
Joey sighed, his voice dropping to a low, warning tone. "Even if it is just a 'glitch,' it's a dangerous one. Elio is the most popular face in the country. You draw that kind of attention to him—to yourself—and you're going to bring down a storm you aren't ready for. Especially with… well, you know how your father feels about anyone who isn't on your level."
Vyn stared out the darkened window, the city lights blurring into long, jagged streaks. After a long, heavy silence, he finally spoke, his voice dangerously low. "Get your hands on his medical records. I want to know exactly what he is."
Joey threw a sharp, frustrated look into the rearview mirror. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Vyn! We already know he's an Omega. What, you think looking at his records is going to explain why your composure went out the window the second he was near you?"
"I don't need your commentary, Joey. I need to know if there's something... unusual about him. Something that explains this reaction."
"You need to stop spiraling, is what you need!" Joey snapped, his voice tight with nagging concern. "You're an idol, not a forensic scientist. Digging into his medical history isn't going to fix anything. You're just inviting a level of attention that could ruin both of you."
Vyn's gaze remained fixed on the glass, his jaw hardening. "Just do it."
Joey let out a long, long-suffering exhale, his shoulders slumped with irritation. "Fine. I'll get the files. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
Vyn didn't say another word. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he wondered why the iron-clad control he had spent his entire life building was now dissolving into nothing more than smoke in his lungs.
——
The clinic was on a busy corner. Inside, it was quiet, smelling of strong cleaners and humming with air purifiers.
Dr. Aris adjusted the IV drip with practiced efficiency, though his movements were stiff. He watched Elio with a protective, brotherly gaze, his usual clinical detachment slipping into undisguised worry.
"The maintenance should have kept you stable," Dr. Aris muttered. "If you didn't feel a Heat coming on, there's no biological reason for an Alpha to react that way. Unless your spikes are becoming more frequent."
Elio looked at the sterile white wall. "What's the danger, Aris?"
"Normally, an Alpha's command forces a physical response—your heart should have synced with his, and your body should have felt an instinct to surrender. But you stayed completely 'cold' and detached."
Elio frowned, a sudden, uneasy thought surfacing. "Aris… could I be leaking a scent I'm not aware of? Like a pre-rut trigger for him? Because the way he looked at me… it wasn't just aggression. It felt like he was struggling to breathe."
Dr. Aris paused, his eyes narrowing as he re-read the data on the screen. "That would explain the intensity of his reaction," Dr. Aris muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the monitor. "If your body is subconsciously emitting pheromones of a pre-heat spike—one your own brain hasn't registered yet—it's acting like an aphrodisiac for him. You aren't just triggering his interest; you're triggering his rut. You're broadcasting a biological signal that he's physically unable to ignore, even if you have no idea you're doing it."
Elio looked at the needle, then back at the only man he trusted. "Do whatever tests you need. I just want to make sure my body doesn't betray me again."
Dr. Aris softened his gaze, his voice dropping to a low, urgent warning. "Be extremely careful, Elio."
——
The music for Axiom's new album was deafening. In the center, Vyn moved with terrifying precision. Suddenly, the audio cut out with a sharp, electronic pop.
Joey stood by the console, his face ashen. He was staring at his phone as if it were a live grenade.
"Vyn," Joey's voice was thin. "Stop. Look at this."
Vyn straightened, his expression one of cold arrogance. "If this is about the jewelry brand's raw cuts, tell them I'm not re-shooting."
"It's not about the shoot, Vyn," Joey snapped. "It's about what you did in the dressing room. Someone filmed it."
Joey turned the tablet around. Vyn's eyes narrowed, then locked onto the screen. The video was grainy, but the angle was damning. It caught the moment he had crossed the room in a single, blurring stride, the violent shove that pinned Elio against the concrete, and the way he had loomed over him—a cage of muscle and raw, suffocating intensity. The audio captured the heavy, jagged rhythm of his breathing as he dipped his head, his nose pressing into the side of Elio's neck. To anyone watching, it was the unmistakable, terrifying look of an Alpha marking his claim, teeth bared, neck exposed, a predator caught in the act of possession.
"Wait, this is garbage," Reon snapped. "Vyn wouldn't lose his head like that. That's gotta be AI-generated."
"The public doesn't care about what we 'know'!" Lee shouted, scrolling frantically through live forums. "The comments are a bloodbath. #VynStarvingWolf and #SaveElio are trending. They're calling it a public assault—or worse, an attempted forced marking."
Vyn stared at the screen, his expression a mask of frozen, lethal calm. He watched the grainy playback of himself—the way he had trapped Elio against the wall, the way his jaw had clenched in that agonizing, desperate hunger. It looked every bit like he was forcing himself onto the other man.
"I didn't mark him," Vyn said, his voice terrifyingly flat.
Joey's phone began to vibrate violently. He looked at the caller ID, and his face went ghostly white.
"It's the CEO," Joey whispered.
The room fell into a deathly silence. Joey hit the receiver, his voice barely a breath.
"Yes, ma'am... Yes, the whole group is here."
Vyn stared at the phone, his jaw tightening slightly.