The VIP lounge was nearly empty. The music faded, the low hum dissolving as if the club were exhaling the remnants of the night. Bartenders wiped down the counters, and security guards spoke to each other in tired voices.
Do-yun silently collected the glasses and expensive bottles. His fingers moved automatically, but inside, everything was constricting. He could feel it—something was waiting for him ahead, and there was no way to avoid it.
A leather object gleamed on the low table. A wallet.
He picked it up and opened the clasp. The first card that caught his eye was a photo ID.
"Yoon Seung-ho." A photo. An ID. It was real.
His world fell away. The alpha whose lips had kissed him so greedily, and the figure whose name had surfaced in the investigations into missing omegas, were one and the same person.
His fingers tightened around the leather wallet. A cold chill settled in his chest. But he closed the clasp again. Return it. Pretend he hadn't seen anything.
The manager handed him a card with a number.
Do-yun dialed the digits.
"Yes," the familiar low voice answered.
"Your wallet. It was left at the club."
A pause. Silence. Only breathing on the line.
"Don't. Someone will be there to pick you up soon."
A black sedan waited at the exit. The security guard silently opened the door. The interior smelled of leather and tobacco. The car glided over the wet asphalt. Outside the windows, neon signs trembled in the reflections of puddles, and the city shimmered like liquid metal.
Every turn made his heart heavier. His thoughts raced: run? scream? But a security guard sat next to him, and the silence in the car was stronger than any chains.
The penthouse greeted him with light. The panoramic windows offered a full view of Seoul: bridges, an endless stream of headlights, the glow of advertisements. The space was sterile, too clean—a display of power and loneliness.
Seung-ho sat in a chair with a glass of wine.
"Did you find it?" his voice was even.
Do-yun placed the wallet on the table. "You have it."
"Honestly," a corner of his lips twitched, "I thought curiosity would win."
Do-yun said nothing. But his gaze betrayed him: he had seen.
Seung-ho rose. Slowly, deliberately. Each step thickened the air.
"Now you know," he said quietly. "But you're still here."
His lips covered Do-yun's in an abrupt kiss. It was a dominant kiss, but it held a heat that made his body respond faster than his mind could resist.
Do-yun pressed his palms against his chest, but his fingers wavered, clutching at the fabric of the alpha's jacket. His back hit the cold glass. Behind him, the city glittered, but inside, the heat of Seung-ho's breath burned.
The alpha's hands slid over his body, and the buttons of his shirt gave way one by one. The cold of the window chilled his back, while the alpha's fingers left burning trails on his chest. The contrast was unbearable.
Seung-ho kissed him again, deeper, lingering longer than he should have. The taste of the kiss mingled with Do-yun's breathing. His lips slid lower, leaving hickeys on his neck and collarbone.
"You're trembling," he whispered, his lips almost touching his ear. "But not from fear."
Do-yun clenched his teeth, but his body betrayed him: a shiver ran down his skin, and slick appeared below.
"Your body can't lie," Seung-ho said, and his lips covered Do-yun's again.
He turned him to face the glass. The city panorama spread out in a blur of lights. His palms spread Do-yun's thighs. His cock entered slowly, deeply. Do-yun gasped sharply, his palms sliding on the glass, leaving wet marks.
The rhythm built. But between the thrusts, there were pauses—short, agonizing. In those moments, Seung-ho stroked his waist, ran his fingers along the line of his spine, touched his lips to his ear, and whispered:
"Look, the whole city is beneath us. And I'm only with you."
Every movement resonated with arousal, pulling him deeper. Do-yun's lips trembled, and moans escaped more and more often.
The cold of the glass merged with the heat of his skin. Sweat trickled down his temples. Their shoulders and hips collided in a rhythm, as if the city itself were pulsing in time with them.
Seung-ho pressed him closer, tilted him against the glass, leaving marks on his skin.
"Sing for me," he whispered.
And a sob broke free as the wave finally crashed over him. His body convulsed as semen spilled in hot surges.
The alpha didn't let go. His breath was ragged, but his fingers continued to stroke, as if holding him on the edge between tenderness and captivity.
Silence settled. Outside the windows, the city hummed, eternal and alien.
Do-yun remained, his head bowed, his heart pounding wildly. His reflection in the glass trembled like a shadow. Seung-ho leaned back in the chair, the glass of wine still untouched.
And all that was left between them were barriers that had finally collapsed.