The apartment greeted them with a heavy silence after the recent confrontation. The rain had stopped, but the air remained saturated with anxiety and Seung-ho's pheromones—cold, protective.
Do-yun walked over to the closet to change. His hand, still trembling from the ordeal, knocked against a shelf, and a packet of suppressants for omegas scattered across the floor. Several pills rolled away, shining in the dim light.
Seung-ho, who was standing behind him, bent down to collect them. His movement was slow, deliberate.
— You forgot to take them, — he said. His voice was low, devoid of question, merely a statement of fact.
— I didn't have time, — Do-yun tried to snatch the packet, but Seung-ho intercepted his wrist.
Their gazes met. Do-yun's eyes were tired, full of fear, and Seung-ho's glowed with conscious determination. He tossed the packet aside.
— You're lying. You haven't taken them for two days. I can feel it, Do-yun.
Do-yun froze. He knew that pheromones couldn't lie. The Omega's scent, which he had tried so hard to hide, was now softer, warmer, with notes that instinctively drew the Alpha.
Seung-ho slowly, almost reverently, ran his thumb along the inside of his wrist, where his pulse beat fast and nervously.
— They know. He said it in the alley. They knew you were my weakness.
Do-yun closed his eyes, realizing his body had betrayed him.
— So what now?
Seung-ho pulled him closer by the waist. Their bodies touched. The Alpha's pheromones enveloped Do-yun like a possessive blanket—hot, demanding submission.
— Now, — Seung-ho whispered, pressing his lips to his ear. — Now I will no longer pretend that you don't need protection.
His hands slid under the T-shirt, embracing his torso. His fingers squeezed his sides, hard but gentle, and Do-yun gasped at the sudden surge of desire, which was now stronger than usual—a side effect of quitting the suppressants. He arched in his arms, seeking more contact.
Seung-ho took his time. The kiss was deep, dominant, full of unspoken promise. His hand slid down, beneath the waistband of his pants, and his fingers rested affectionately on the back of his thigh, then moved to the base of Do-yun's sex, which was already throbbing in response.
Do-yun groaned, pressing against him. His fingers clawed into the fabric of Seung-ho's shirt.
— I need it… — he breathed out. — Please.
Seung-ho smiled—a predatory but tender smile. He understood that physical intimacy now was the only way to appease the Omega's anxiety and instinct.
He ran his hand along the inside of his thigh, feeling the hot dampness that was already secreted. Seung-ho gently stroked his sex, and Do-yun made a hoarse, uncontrolled sound, his hips jerking sharply towards him. The rhythm was fast, precise, and each thrust brought a wave of pleasure and pacification.
— Don't think. Just accept, — Seung-ho whispered.
Do-yun squeezed his eyes shut, feeling how his body, freed from chemical control, fiercely responded to the Alpha's touch. The climax came unexpectedly, abruptly, in a wave that knocked the air from his lungs. He cried out, pressing his forehead against Seung-ho's shoulder.
Seung-ho held him tight, allowing the trembling to subside. His pheromones soothed, sealing the moment. Only then did he pull back to look into his glazed, peaceful eyes.
***
The next day, while Do-yun was at home, Seung-ho met with two of his most trusted but influential directors to discuss the incidents. The discussion took place in a concrete, cold office, away from prying ears.
— The disappearance of the waiter, the death of Park, the attack in the alley, — one of the directors, the elderly Mr. Kim, summarized. — Everything points to them not just wanting to ruin us. They want to discredit us.
The second director, Oh-hwa, sat with her hands folded. Her gaze was sharp.
— The attacker in the alley didn't just leave. He left a message: "Yoon forgot who he belongs to."
Seung-ho stood by the window. He possessed absolute power, but his shoulders were tense.
— They are not hunting me. They are hunting Do-yun.
— Precisely, — Kim nodded. — Rumors are circulating, Mr. Yoon. Rumors about your Omega. About his health.
Seung-ho turned around. His eyes narrowed.
— What rumors?
— That he stopped taking suppressants. That his condition has changed recently, — Oh-hwa spoke directly. — They think he is expecting a child.
An icy silence hung in the office.
— And so what? — Seung-ho's voice was dangerous.
— If it's true, — Kim spread his hands, — then it's a weakness. Yoon-ssi, the pregnancy of an Omega who manages a key sector, and in the conditions of such a war… This is a point of vulnerability they will use for blackmail. They won't be able to attack you directly, but they will strike at what you want to protect most.
Seung-ho clenched his jaw. In his mind, his personal life and the war became irrevocably intertwined. The threat he had kept outside the door for so long had penetrated inside his home, his body, his bond.
— That must not happen, — he said, his voice cold as steel. — No one will use my family.
— Then you need to act, — Oh-hwa said, looking him in the eyes. — You need to confirm or deny the rumors. And if it's true—protect him, isolate him.
Seung-ho nodded. The investigation was no longer his only goal. Now it was a means of protection.
***
The apartment was transparent in the early morning, bathed in pale light. Do-yun was sleeping, covered by a blanket, his breathing even and quiet.
Seung-ho sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Yesterday's passion left behind fatigue and determination.
His hand slowly settled on Do-yun's abdomen. Nothing was visible yet, but Seung-ho instinctively knew: the Omega's body had rewired itself, becoming different. The rumors in the office—they weren't just rumors; they were the enemy's precise knowledge.
Do-yun opened his eyes, sleepy but calm. He looked at Seung-ho's hand, pressed against his stomach, and did not pull away.
— I know, — Do-yun said quietly. — I felt it. Even at the club. I just didn't want to accept it.
Seung-ho wasn't surprised. Omegas know their bodies better than anyone.
— You won't be taking suppressants anymore, — Seung-ho said. Not a question.
— I know, — Do-yun repeated. — It's too dangerous.
Seung-ho leaned in, kissing his forehead, and then—the place where his hand rested. It was a gesture of acceptance, a vow, and absolute responsibility.
— We're going to the doctor, — Seung-ho said. His voice was firm, but a softness slipped through. — Now.
Do-yun didn't argue again. He looked at Seung-ho, at his decisive, calm face. For the first time in a long time, he felt the burden of responsibility fall from his shoulders.
— Good, — he whispered, and it was the first word of submission spoken with absolute trust.