CHAPTER 1
The whispers followed Ray like a physical weight, sticking to the fabric of his corporate suit. Every step he took through the gala felt like wading through thick, suffocating mud.
"An omega without an alpha," one voice hissed, barely hushed.
"How can he even show his face here alone?" another chimed in, followed by a cruel, rhythmic clicking of champagne flutes.
"I thought he married Drake Sinclair… Oh, I see. A political arrangement. Clearly, there isn't a drop of love in that union."
Ray stood tucked into a shadowed corner, his fingers white-knuckled around the stem of a wine glass. He felt the heat of shame rising up his neck, staining his skin a tell-tale crimson. He didn't want to be here.
He wanted to be anywhere else—buried under his covers, perhaps—but the corporate wolves were already circling his position. If he didn't "bite the bullet" and show his face, his scheming colleagues would have his desk cleared out by Monday morning.
His body began to tremble, a fine, uncontrollable shiver born of suppressed emotion. His thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, resting on a name that felt too heavy to even think about, let alone call. Drake. The name was a silent thunderclap in his mind.
He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to dispel the thoughts spiraling through his head. He found himself questioning everything in the silence of his own mind.
Was his husband even interested in men? He remembered the rumors of Drake's first love—a woman. The thought felt like a cold stone in his stomach.
Flustered and desperate for a distraction, his fingers fumbled with the device. He meant to turn the phone off, to sever his connection to a world that didn't want him, but his clumsy grip betrayed him. The screen flickered, and the phone began dialing Drake's number.
Ray froze. He held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. A tiny, treacherous part of him was hopeful. Maybe he'll answer. Maybe this once, the knight will appear.
The seconds ticked by in agonizing silence. Then, the notification popped up: No Response.
Ray released his breath in a long, jagged sigh. The hope died as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. He turned the phone off completely this time and retreated toward a secluded seating area, hoping to disappear until the event ended. He sat down, crossing his legs, his brown corporate suit clinging to a frame that—despite his best efforts to appear professional—screamed omega to anyone with a nose.
"Senior Ray? Does your pheromone smell like... peach?"
The voice startled him. He hadn't noticed the female intern approaching. Ray's eyes widened, a flash of pure panic darting through his mind. Was he in heat? Or had his control simply slipped so far that he was leaking pheromones unconsciously?
"I—I have to go," he managed, offering a forced, pained smile before hurrying away. Whether it was a full-blown heat or just a hormonal spike, he knew he wasn't safe here. He needed a room.
The cool night air at the hall's entrance did little to soothe the rising fire in his blood. He tried to turn his phone back on to call the chauffeur, but the device remained stubbornly dark—dead battery.
Stumbling slightly, Ray made his way toward the hotel's front desk. He needed an exclusive suite, somewhere secluded and designed for an omega in distress. As he walked, his hand dived into his bag, frantically searching for the emergency kit he always carried. His fingers brushed against glass.
"Thank goodness," he whispered, his voice cracking.
He ducked into a quiet corridor, pulling out a vial of suppressants and a syringe. With shaking hands, he drew the liquid and injected it straight into his system. He just needed to numb the edge until he got behind a locked door.
But something was wrong.
The moment the chemicals hit his bloodstream, the world tilted. Instead of the cooling relief he expected, a violent, searing heat exploded from his core. His skin felt like it was bubbling; his vision blurred into a hazy wash of colors.
"Shit," he groaned, leaning against the wall for support.
It hit him then—a terrifying realization. What he had been feeling earlier wasn't a natural heat; it was a hormonal imbalance triggered by his chronic abuse of painkillers and suppressants. By injecting more, he hadn't stopped the fire; he had poured gasoline on it. He had triggered a forced, chemical heat.
"No... no, no," he whimpered, his sanity beginning to fray at the edges.
He scrambled back to the reception desk, his grip tightening on the counter until his knuckles were white. "A room... please. Fast."
He was sweating through his suit now, his scent—thick, sweet, and desperate—beginning to billow out despite his attempts to suppress it. He reached for his company phone to try and call Drake one last time, but then he remembered: he had never even saved Drake's personal number. That "knight in shining armor" was a fairy tale he'd told himself to survive a lonely marriage.
The waitress handed him a key card and a slip of paper. He didn't even look at them properly, his brain only registering a blurred sequence of numbers.
"Room 669," he muttered to himself, stumbling toward the elevator. "Just get to 669."
From the shadows of the lobby, a man watched Ray's retreating back. His blazer simmered under the chandelier light, and a dark, victorious smirk played on his lips. He had been tracking Ray since the moment he arrived.
He followed at a distance, watching as Ray reached the upper floors. He stood back, hidden from the sweep of the CCTV cameras, and watched as Ray struggled with a door.
The room number on the door was 996.
The man leaned against the opposite wall, pulling out a cigarette and taking a long, slow drag. He had deliberately tampered with the electronic locks of both 669 and 996, ensuring the cards would be interchangeable but the doors would behave... unpredictably.
He didn't want to barge in. Where was the fun in that? He wanted Ray to reach the peak of his distress, to be so broken by the heat that he would beg for help. Then, with the evidence of Ray throwing himself at another man, he could finally dismantle Drake's reputation and manipulate his brother's life.
"Twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty," he counted under his breath.
He crushed the cigarette into a nearby bin and smoothed his jacket. He walked toward room 996 and pushed the door open.
He had underestimated one thing: the sheer, intoxicating power of an omega in a triggered heat.
The moment he stepped inside, the air hit him like a physical blow. The scent of peaches was no longer a delicate fragrance; it was a heavy, cloying fog of pure, unadulterated need. It was a siren song that bypassed the brain and went straight to the blood.
The man's eyes darkened. His own biology betrayed him instantly. A dangerous, predatory rut—one he hadn't expected—was triggered by the sheer density of Ray's pheromones. He turned to leave, to regain his senses, but the door clicked shut. He pulled the handle. It was jammed.
He was trapped in his own snare.
"Fuck!" he growled, the walls of the room feeling like they were closing in.
He hadn't planned to actually take Ray. He was his brother's wife, for god's sake. But as the lock groaned and the scent of peach wrapped around his throat, his control shattered.
Suddenly, a weight hit his chest. Ray had lunged at him, his body a furnace of heat. The omega buried his face in the man's neck, breathing in the scent of an alpha he was too far gone to identify.
"Hubby..." Ray whispered into the crook of his neck, his voice a broken, needy plea.
The man froze. He had suppressed his own dark attraction to Ray for years, hiding behind a mask of indifference while his twin brother, Drake, possessed the one thing he secretly craved. Now, with Ray's hazy mind causing him to kiss the sensitive skin of his nape, the last vestiges of reason fled.
Lust took the wheel. He slammed Ray against the wall, his hands gripping the omega's waist with a possessive, obsessed strength. He didn't care about the plan anymore. He didn't care about the consequences.
He tilted Ray's head back, capturing those soft, sweet lips in a kiss that was less of a greeting and more of a claim. Ray let out a small, broken moan—a sound that stunned the alpha and pushed him over the edge.
He pulled back just an inch, looking into Ray's flushed face and watery, seductive eyes. His voice was a low, dangerous hiss.
"You're going to regret this big time."
But as Ray tugged at his clothes, whimpering for more, the man threw his conscience to the wind.
He began to devour the partner his brother had never truly cherished, greedy and shameless in the dark of Room 996.