The office tower gleamed under a pale autumn sun, but Kang Jisoo's world was collapsing from the inside.
For days now, he had felt it building—warmth curling low in his stomach, restlessness pricking at his skin, the faint sweetness of his own scent slipping into the air no matter how tightly he tried to contain it. The suppressants—tainted, diluted, whatever Minjae had done to them—no longer held the line.
And today, he felt it cresting.
The boardroom blurred. Voices echoed without meaning, words tumbling over one another as directors droned on about projections and quarterly earnings. Jisoo sat at the head of the table, posture perfect, but his hand tightened so hard around his pen it threatened to snap.
The heat was subtle at first. A slow thrum beneath his skin, a pulse that didn't match the beat of his heart. Then sharper. Hotter. Crawling up his spine until his breath caught in his throat.
He reached for his water, but even that simple motion faltered. The glass trembled in his grip.
"Chairman Kang?" one of the directors asked cautiously.
Jisoo forced his expression smooth. "Continue."
But the man hesitated, glancing at Minjae.
Minjae, who leaned casually against the wall, tablet in hand. Minjae, who had been watching him like a hawk all morning. Minjae, who was now smirking—small, knowing, merciless.
By the end of the meeting, Jisoo could barely stand. He dismissed the directors curtly, his voice clipped, before retreating to his office. He closed the door with more force than necessary and pressed his back against it, his breath shallow.
The ache was spreading. His skin felt too tight, his body humming with an energy he couldn't suppress. He staggered to the desk, gripping its edge like a lifeline.
He didn't hear Minjae enter until the soft click of the door lock broke the silence.
"You're slipping," Minjae said calmly.
Jisoo's head shot up, eyes narrowing. "Get out."
Minjae tilted his head, stepping closer. "Your scent is everywhere, Jisoo-ssi. Sweet. Heavy. Do you really think anyone else won't notice soon?"
"Leave," Jisoo growled, though his voice cracked, betraying the tremor in his chest.
Minjae only smirked, crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps. "No. I think it's time we stopped pretending."
He stopped just before Jisoo, close enough that Jisoo could feel the heat radiating from him. The air was thick now, Jisoo's scent curling in fragile tendrils, clashing against the false musk of Alpha that the suppressants had once forced.
Jisoo's fists clenched. "You don't know what you're doing."
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing." Minjae leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm reminding you who you are. Not the mask. Not the throne. You."
Jisoo tried to push him back, but his strength faltered. His palm pressed against Minjae's chest, but instead of forcing him away, it lingered, trembling against the steady rise and fall of his breath.
Minjae's hand shot up, catching Jisoo's wrist with ease. He pinned it gently but firmly against the desk, eyes gleaming.
"Look at you," he whispered. "The great Kang Jisoo, trembling like this. Do you know how long I've waited to see the real you?"
Jisoo's chest heaved. His pride screamed at him to resist, but his body betrayed him, leaning into the heat, into the dominance radiating from Minjae like a tide.
"Stop," Jisoo rasped.
"Why?" Minjae's lips curved. "Because you're afraid? Or because you're afraid of how much you want this?"
The words struck like lightning. Jisoo's eyes widened, his mask shattering piece by piece.
The scent thickened, filling the office like a storm. Sweet, rich, undeniably Omega. The truth he had buried for so long, now spilling into the open.
Minjae inhaled deeply, savoring it. "There it is," he murmured. "The real Kang Jisoo. Not the Alpha the world bows to. The Omega hiding underneath."
Jisoo's knees buckled faintly. He gripped the desk with his free hand, head lowering as shame and need warred inside him.
"Don't…" His voice was hoarse. "Don't say it."
Minjae leaned closer, his lips near Jisoo's ear. "Say what? That you're mine?"
Jisoo shuddered, his body betraying him with a sharp, involuntary gasp.
The moment stretched, thick with heat and silence. Then Minjae pulled back just slightly, his hand still firm on Jisoo's wrist, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"This is only the beginning," he said softly. "Every time you fight me, I'll push harder. Every time you hide, I'll drag you back into the light. Until you stop pretending."
Jisoo's head snapped up, fury burning in his eyes. But beneath it, Minjae saw the truth—fear, vulnerability, need.
And he knew he had won this round.
That night, long after Minjae had left, Jisoo sat in the dark of his penthouse. The city glittered outside, endless and cold, but inside he could still feel the phantom heat of Minjae's hand, the echo of his words.
He pressed a trembling hand to his abdomen, his chest tight. His reflection in the glass no longer looked like a king.
It looked like a man on the edge of surrender.