The sky over Star City was always sliced into cold geometric shapes by the glass façades of its skyscrapers. At this moment, the leaden clouds hung low, heavy and oppressive, while distant rumbles of thunder rolled across the skyline, heralding another downpour.
The air was thick and suffocating, a mixture of exhaust fumes, caffeine, and the scents of countless Alphas, Betas, and Omegas—some bold, some restrained—a subtle, invisible social marker that reminded everyone, constantly, of their place in this ABO world.
Isabella White shrank into her cheap blazer, moving through the bustling crowd like a fish trying to blend into murky waters. She kept her head down, deliberately suppressing anything that might draw attention to her—visually or, more perilously, from the biological signals that could betray her.
She was an Omega.An Omega who had to hide her true identity.
At twenty-two, she possessed a beauty that could make many Alphas fall head over heels. Yet at this moment, most of her radiance was obscured by a pair of outdated black-rimmed glasses. Her chestnut hair was neatly tied back, revealing a smooth, slightly pale forehead. Her once-bright, sparkling blue eyes were now filled with exhaustion and an almost instinctive wariness—quickly scanning her surroundings before dropping back down, avoiding any direct eye contact, especially with powerful Alphas. Her lips were pressed tight, as though in silent resistance.
She exuded the scent of the cheapest, most mundane Beta-neutral pheromone spray available—a deliberately artificial blend of grassy, smoky ash—to perfectly mask the dangerous secret beneath.
Inside the hidden compartment of her backpack were triple-strength suppressants, far exceeding normal doses, and a vial of potent neutralizer, kept for emergencies. This was her armor, her shield—the only way she could survive in a city that devoured the unwary, living under the guise of a Beta.
The tear-stained, desperate face of her mother haunted her dreams. Her mother, beautiful yet trapped her entire life by the manipulations of the White family, ultimately abandoned and scorned by her marked Alpha, had wasted away in despair. That tragedy was etched into Isabella's soul like a brand. She would never follow the same path. Escaping the suffocating grip of the White family, living under a new name, surviving on her modest salary—no matter how difficult—was the only freedom she could grasp.
She now worked as a clerk in a small trading company, handling the most trivial paperwork for the lowest wages. Yet today, she had been assigned an extra urgent task: deliver a rush contract to the heart of the city's financial district by five p.m.—to the Kane Group headquarters, a building like a black sword piercing the clouds.
Isabella's heart sank. That was a gathering ground for top-tier Alphas, especially the legendary man—Alexander Kane. His pheromones were rumored to be so powerful that even low-tier Alphas could go weak at the knees. For an Omega desperately concealing her identity, entering that building was nothing short of walking into a lion's den.
But her boss's orders were not negotiable. She needed this job.
Raindrops began to fall in heavy sheets, and pedestrians scattered, seeking shelter.Isabella clutched the waterproof folder containing the documents and broke into a brisk jog.
The icy rain soaked her hair and shoulders, sending a shiver down her spine. Worse, the damp air seemed to affect the stability of her suppressants. A faint fluttering of her heartbeat rose, and a subtle heat flickered at the base of her neck.
"Stay calm, Isabella. Stay calm," she murmured to herself, quickening her pace. She had to deliver this and get out immediately.
The lobby of Kane Group headquarters gleamed with cold, polished marble. Expensive fragrances hung in the air, mixed with a faint, almost tangible pressure that only top-tier Alphas exuded. Even without their presence, ordinary people felt the weight of it pressing down.
A Beta receptionist, impeccably dressed and expressionless, checked her appointment and ID. Her icy gaze lingered for a brief moment on Isabella's cheap blazer before gesturing for her to wait, indicating that someone would come down to collect the documents.
Isabella tried to shrink herself into the corner, eyes fixed on the reflections in the polished floor. She could feel the glances cast in her direction—curious, assessing, but mostly indifferent. Several Alphas in custom-tailored suits strolled past, laughing and chatting. Their powerful pheromones churned her stomach. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to stand straight, to show no sign of disturbance. Suppressants… they had to hold.
Minutes dragged by, and no one came to collect the documents. Outside, the rain fell harder, its rhythmic pounding even penetrating the thick glass walls. Anxiety crept in, and the heat from her glands seemed stronger. She discreetly pulled a small bottle of suppressant from the side pocket of her bag and, using the bag as cover, sprayed it quickly on the inner wrist. The artificial grassy-ash scent thickened slightly, momentarily suppressing the frantic pulse of fear.
Then, a commotion stirred at the lobby entrance. The previously noisy hall fell silent, all eyes drawn involuntarily toward the revolving doors.
A row of black luxury cars slid to a stop at the curb. Well-trained bodyguards jumped out first, opening massive black umbrellas and forming a corridor that cut off the rain. A man emerged from the lead car.
Even from a distance, Isabella could instantly feel the near-tangible force radiating from him.
Alexander Kane.
He stood nearly six foot three, his perfectly tailored black suit accentuating a tall, powerful frame, coiled like a predator ready to spring. Broad shoulders, long legs, each step exuding absolute control and authority. His face was sharply handsome, almost severe—the jawline firm, the nose high, lips pressed thin, radiating an icy, merciless presence. But the most unnerving were his eyes—deep gray-blue, like a frozen lake, sharp enough to pierce through souls. As they casually swept over the lobby, the air itself seemed to drop a few degrees.
Even restrained, his pheromones spread like a physical force—a dangerously complex scent, a cold flame burning over polar ice, mingled with smoke and rare woody incense at the top notes, fading into a bone-deep, overpowering strength with a hint of destruction. Several Betas paled and instinctively stepped back. Lower-tier Alphas immediately bowed their heads, unable to meet his gaze.
This was Star City's uncrowned king, a man whose presence alone altered the atmosphere around him.
Isabella's heart constricted violently, as if gripped by an invisible hand. Instinctively, she lowered her head, holding her breath, wishing she could shrink into the marble walls. Fear surged through her like ice water. His pheromones were so potent that even at this distance, her glands throbbed, and the fragile barrier of her potent suppressants felt ready to crumble.
Alexander seemed to have just emerged from a critical meeting or negotiation, a faint edge of lingering tension in his brows. He didn't notice the inconspicuous "Beta" clerk tucked in the corner. Flanked by bodyguards and executives, he strode confidently toward the exclusive top-floor elevator.
Isabella exhaled silently, praying he would leave quickly.
Yet accidents always happened at the most unexpected moments.
Perhaps it was the slippery rain, or perhaps it was the overwhelming presence of Kane that had intimidated the courier. A man carrying a tall stack of boxes stumbled backward in panic and collided with Isabella, who had been trying to adjust her position to avoid the Alpha pheromones.
"Ah!"
Caught completely off guard, Isabella staggered. The waterproof folder slipped from her grasp and flew across the marble floor. She herself lost her balance, teetering dangerously, and instinctively reached out for something—anything—to hold onto. Her hand landed, purely by chance, on the arm of the man who had just passed by, the moving iceberg himself: Alexander Kane.
Her fingertips brushed against the cold, expensive fabric of his suit.
"Move!"
A voice, icy and void of any emotion, exploded above her head. Kane, almost reflexively, jerked his arm away. The force sent Isabella completely off balance. She let out a startled cry and collapsed onto the cold, damp marble floor, her elbows and knees aching sharply.
The courier froze, terrified, boxes tumbling everywhere. He muttered frantic apologies before scrambling away, vanishing almost immediately.
The lobby fell into a heavy, oppressive silence. Every gaze fixed on Isabella sprawled on the floor and on the unflinching figure of Kane. His bodyguards stepped forward, forming an instant barrier, alert and ready.
Pain, embarrassment, and fear all surged through Isabella at once. Her cheeks burned crimson. She fumbled to stand, only to realize that her ankle had twisted painfully. Worse still—her panic spiked even higher when she noticed something terrifying: the violent jolt, combined with her emotional surge and the damp environment, had partially loosened the patch of her potent suppressant on the back of her neck.
A thread of scent, faint yet utterly distinct, seeped stubbornly from the loosened edge.
It was crisp, ethereal, dew-like, tinged with an indescribable, intoxicating sweetness. Like a night-blooming cereus quietly unfurling in a forgotten corner, it released breathtaking beauty and temptation in perfect silence.
This aroma was unlike any artificial or natural pheromone in the lobby. Pure, rare, fragile… and lethally alluring.
Alexander Kane, who had been striding forward, abruptly halted in his tracks.
His towering frame tensed instantly, like a predator catching the scent of prey. His icy blue eyes constricted, a flash of disbelief—and something almost frenzied, a desperate searching—passing through them.
He turned, deliberately, agonizingly slowly. Ignoring the scattered folders and the disheveled Isabella on the floor, his gaze locked on her—more precisely, on the spot at the nape of her neck.
That fleeting, night-blooming cereus scent, faint as it was, acted like the sharpest key, prying open the frozen barriers of his mind. His years-long affliction—an overwhelming disgust and even rage triggered by nearly all Omega pheromones—did something unprecedented in response to this single delicate aroma. Not calm, no… something far more intense: a profound, soul-deep resonance, a desire that clawed through his very being.
It was like a wanderer in a desert, parched and weary, suddenly finding the sweet waters of an oasis. Like eternal ice, tasting the first warmth of the sun.
What… is this?
He brushed aside his bodyguards almost roughly, each step deliberate, and approached Isabella, small, trembling, pale as marble on the floor.
Each step pressed like a weight upon her heart. Terror seized her, and her mind went blank, leaving only instinct. She fumbled desperately to press the suppressant patch against her neck, trying to seal the leak of her secret, while frantically spraying her cheap Beta pheromone mist to mask the fatal scent.
It was useless.
For an Alpha like Alexander Kane, once he detected it, even the slightest trace was etched into his instincts.
He crouched before her.
The immense shadow of him enveloped tiny Isabella completely. The cold, fire-like pheromones radiating from him surged with even greater intensity, driven by his emotional spike, pressing down on her until her lungs felt constricted, her glands warning frantically, her body frozen in place.
He reached out, long, knuckled fingers moving with a near-cruel elegance, completely ignoring her trembling and fear, and slowly touched the nape of her neck.
Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, long lashes fluttering like a wounded butterfly in the wind. It was over—she could already see the future: dragged back to her family, sold like cargo to some powerful Alpha.
His cold fingertips brushed her warm skin, sending a shiver tearing through her. His touch landed precisely on the edge of the slightly lifted suppressant patch.
He paused.
He could feel the softness and warmth of her skin beneath his fingers, and the frantic, pulsing life of her Omega glands. And the faint, soul-stirring scent—the one that made him shiver to his core—was emanating from here.
His gaze deepened, rolling with a storm of emotions: shock, confusion, curiosity—and a rapidly kindling, dark, and possessive hunger.
He didn't immediately tear away the obstruction of the patch, even though the temptation was overwhelming.
Instead, he used his fingertip to trace the edge of the patch—lightly, almost teasingly, with a strange, lingering intent. The gesture, far subtler than violence, sent shivers crawling down Isabella's spine.
Then, he withdrew his hand.
Isabella cautiously opened her eyes, meeting his fathomless gray-blue gaze. The momentary frenzy had vanished, replaced by a chilling, scrutinizing frost—but beneath that surface, darker currents roiled more violently than ever.
"Name."
His voice was low, husky, commanding, hitting her ears like a hammer she couldn't resist.
Isabella's teeth chattered; her voice caught in her throat. Her mind raced: should she tell the truth, or a false name? But under a gaze like his, deception seemed not only pointless but perilously dangerous.
"I… I'm Isabella White." Her voice was thin as a whisper, trembling with the edge of tears.
"Company."
"…Excellence… Excellence Trading." She answered mechanically, almost robotically.
Kane's gaze lingered for a second on her pale, delicate face and those comical glasses, as if memorizing every detail. Then he straightened, towering over her, looking down as though she were an insect under a god's scrutiny.
He said nothing further, didn't even glance back, as though the earlier lapse had never occurred.
But as he turned, he cast a cold instruction over his shoulder to his chief assistant, a command that sent an icy chill through Isabella's spine:
"Find everything. All records. And… bring her to my office. Now."
"Yes, Mr. Kane." The assistant replied expressionlessly, eyes briefly flicking to Isabella with professional indifference.
Kane's figure vanished behind the exclusive elevator doors. The suffocating weight of his pheromones eased slightly, but Isabella felt colder than ever, chilled to her bones.
Two bodyguards in black suits flanked her—one on each side. They didn't touch her, but their posture spoke volumes: escape was impossible.
"Miss Isabella, please come with us." The assistant's voice was polite, yet left no room for refusal.
Isabella glanced at the rain-soaked contracts scattered on the floor, then up at the two elevators requiring special access to reach the penthouse—a gateway that seemed to lead directly into the abyss.
She struggled to stand, but her ankle ached, refusing her command. In the end, under the pretense of support but in reality under escort, she staggered toward the elevator that symbolized absolute power and an unknown fate.
The elevator doors were smooth as glass, reflecting her disheveled, terrified face. She pressed the suppressant patch firmly against the back of her neck, yet that damned night-blooming cereus scent lingered, a reminder that the carefully hidden part of her world had already been shattered.
The elevator rose silently and swiftly. With every flickering number, Isabella's heart sank further.
She had no idea what awaited her. That man—Alexander Kane—looked cold, ruthless, and utterly uncompromising. Had he discovered her secret? What would he do?
A frigid wave of fear seeped into her bones, curling through every limb. She clutched the hem of her cheap suit so tightly her fingernails bit into her palms.
Her mother's desperate face flashed before her eyes again.
No. She could not surrender.
No matter what lay ahead, she had to find a way to escape. She pressed her lips together, and her expression hardened further, determination flickering through her fear.