The air in the study was frozen, thick with silence.
Emma sat behind the desk, the cigarette between her fingers burned down to the filter. The sting of heat snapped her back to reality. She crushed the stub into the crystal ashtray, already filled with seven or eight others—like a small, gray graveyard burying the chaos in her mind.
Gu Liang's scent still lingered in the air. That delicate white tea and iris fragrance now felt like invisible chains around her throat. Her own cedar whiskey pheromones were volatile and murky, tangled with his, forming a suffocating mix that reeked of the violent loss of control hours ago.
She tried to recall the details of last night, but her memory was veiled in a crimson haze. Only fragments remained: the cold touch of Gu Liang's wrist as he struggled, his tearful pleas, and that final word—"Get out"—sharp and merciless, replaying in her mind like a curse.
Nausea and guilt surged in waves. She rushed to the study's private bathroom, retching over the toilet, but nothing came up. Only tears blurred her vision.
In the mirror, she saw a pale face, sunken eyes, and stubble on her chin. A stranger. A monster. An Alpha who couldn't control her rut, who had hurt the person she once loved.
She turned on the tap, splashing cold water over her face again and again, trying to clear the fog in her mind.
What now?
Apologize?
What a hollow word. After what she'd done, could "sorry" erase anything?
Or… break up?
The thought surfaced, only to be crushed instantly. To mark someone against their will and then walk away—that wasn't just cruel. That was vile. Even she couldn't stomach herself.
But staying? Continuing a relationship that now felt like a prison? Facing Gu Liang every day, reminded of the violence she inflicted?
Emma was trapped between guilt and instinct, unable to sit still.
Eventually, she decided to face it. At the very least, she needed to check on Gu Liang.
She took a deep breath, like walking to her own execution, and opened the study door.
The living room was still a mess. The fallen lamp, scattered books, and—most piercing of all—the bitter trace of an Omega's pheromones after trauma. That sorrowful scent stabbed straight into her chest.
She looked toward the bedroom door. Closed. Silent.
She gathered her courage and knocked gently.
"Gu Liang?" Her voice was dry and hoarse.
No response.
She knocked again, harder. "Gu Liang, we need to talk."
Still nothing.
A sense of dread gripped her. She hesitated, then turned the doorknob.
It wasn't locked.
She pushed the door open. The curtains were drawn, the room dim. Gu Liang was standing by the window, back straight but radiating loneliness. He wore a clean, high-necked loungewear set, hiding the marks on his neck. The room had been tidied, but the air was still thick with pheromones—and a cold, unwelcoming aura.
He didn't turn around. Didn't move. Like a statue.
Emma's throat tightened. The words she'd rehearsed dissolved into a weak whisper. "Last night… I'm sorry."
Gu Liang flinched, barely perceptible, but said nothing.
"I… I was in rut. I couldn't control myself…" She tried to explain, but even she didn't believe it. Losing control was never an excuse for hurting someone.
"I know," he said at last. His voice was eerily calm, like a frozen lake. "Alphas in rut… are all like that."
He turned around.
Emma met his eyes.
Those eyes—once full of warmth and starlight—were now drained of color, reduced to ash. No anger. No sadness. Just emptiness. The dark circles beneath them spoke of a sleepless night.
This version of Gu Liang terrified her more than tears or accusations ever could.
"Gu Liang, I…" She stepped forward.
"Don't come closer." His voice was still calm, but firm.
Emma froze.
"Breakfast's in the kitchen. Heat it up yourself." He looked away, speaking like to a stranger. "I'm taking the day off. Not going to the studio."
He walked past her, picked up his tablet from the sofa, and headed toward the guest room.
"Gu Liang!" Emma called after him. "We… we need to talk."
He paused at the door, but didn't turn around.
"Talk about what?" he said quietly, with a hint of bitter irony. "Your 'loss of control'? Or the breakup you've been planning for weeks?"
Emma's heart stopped. Her pupils contracted. He knows.
Gu Liang didn't wait for an answer. He entered the guest room and locked the door behind him.
That click echoed like a wall slamming shut.
Emma stood alone in the empty living room, staring at the closed door. For the first time, she realized—something had shattered last night. Irrevocably.
She was supposed to be the one in control, ready to walk away. Now, she was the one locked out, tormented by guilt and regret.
And Gu Liang, the seemingly fragile Omega, had built a wall she could no longer cross—with nothing but cold clarity and eyes that saw everything.
She'd lost the right to break up. She'd lost the right to approach him.
The rules of the game she thought she controlled… had already been rewritten.
Emma's shoulders slumped. The bitter scent of white tea lingered in the air, silently declaring her defeat.
She walked to the kitchen. On the counter sat breakfast—her favorite: bacon, eggs, toast, and fresh orange juice.
Everything looked normal. But nothing was.
This meal wasn't love. It was ritual. A final gesture of civility.
Emma stared at the plate, her stomach churning. No appetite.
She had lost Gu Liang.
Not when she planned the breakup. But when she let instinct destroy the last of his trust and love.
That realization cut deep. Like a dull blade, slow and merciless.
What she once called boredom and suffocation—now felt like fear. And pain.
—
In the guest room, Gu Liang sat against the cold door, slowly sliding to the floor.
He raised his wrist, staring at the bruises left by Emma's grip.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. Her violent pheromones had faded. Only his own bitter white tea remained.
He unlocked his phone. On the screen: a sent email. The recipient—an encrypted, anonymous address.
Subject: Phase One: Complete Body: Target confirmed unstable. Marking behavior intensified emotional rupture. Initiate Nirvana Protocol preliminary draft.
He deleted the record and gripped the phone tightly.
Tears fell again. Not from sorrow. From resolve.
Emma, you said you were tired of me.
Then let me show you what it feels like—
To lose me. To be destroyed by me.
The game begins now. And this time, I make the rules.