The day after the park, Jeon Minho’s office felt different. The air, usually sterile and dominated by the crisp scent of ink and ambition, now carried a phantom whisper of sandalwood and cotton. It was a ghost that followed him from the conference room to his desk, a constant, tantalizing reminder of a hand held and a back touched.

He was trying to focus on a production report, but his mind kept drifting to the feel of Kim Siwoo leaning into his touch, the way his scent had sweetened in response to Minho’s own. A low, possessive thrill ran through him every time he replayed the moment.

A sharp, familiar cedarwood scent cut through his reverie. Choi Daehyun stood in the doorway, a knowing look in his eyes.
"You're distracted. And you smell… agitated."

"I'm fine," Minho clipped out, his voice tighter than intended.

"You're not," Daehyun stated, walking in and dropping into a chair. "It's the Omega. His scent is all over you, and it's putting your own Alpha instincts on high alert. You're practically broadcasting a claim you haven't officially made."

Minho’s head snapped up. "I'm not—"

"You are," Daehyun interrupted, his voice flat. "And it's making you sloppy. You snapped at Lee Taejoon for a minor filing error this morning. That's not you."
He leaned forward.
"You need to get a grip, Minho. This isn't just about you and your feelings anymore. Junho is in the middle of this. If you're going to pursue it, do it properly. If not, cut it off now before someone gets hurt."

The words were a bucket of cold water. Daehyun was right. The carefully controlled world Minho had built was tilting on its axis, and his Alpha was reacting with a primal intensity he hadn't felt in years. He was possessive, territorial, on edge. He needed to regain control.

Across the city, Kim Siwoo was facing his own turmoil. He was at a final fitting for the "Celestial" gala looks, but his focus was shot.

"You're fidgeting," Park Jaeho chided, standing on a pedestal as a tailor pinned the hem of his trousers. "And your scent is… different. It's sweeter. Warmer. Did you finally present him with a mating bite and forget to tell me?"

Siwoo blushed, swatting at Jaeho’s leg. "Stop it! Nothing happened."

"Something is happening," Jaeho insisted, hopping down. "Your Omega is preening. I can smell it. You're happy. It's about time."

That was the problem. He was happy. The memory of Minho’s large, warm hand on his back, the protective growl, the way he'd said his name… it sent a thrill through him.
But alongside the happiness was a coil of anxiety.
This was moving fast, too fast, and it was built on a foundation of business and a child's innocent attachment.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: This is Minho. I need to see you. Tonight. To discuss the gala. My driver will pick you up at 8.

Siwoo’s heart leaped into his throat. It was so formal, so commanding. So entirely Alpha. The simple message sent another ripple of his scent through the room, this time laced with a nervous, excited spice.

Jaeho sniffed the air and grinned.
"There it is again. You're doomed, Kim Siwoo. Completely and utterly doomed."

At 8 p.m. sharp, a sleek black car pulled up in front of Siwoo’s apartment. He slid into the backseat, his stomach a nest of butterflies.
He expected to be taken to a restaurant, or perhaps back to Minho’s office.

He was not expecting the car to wind its way up to a secluded viewpoint overlooking the glittering Han River and the Seoul skyline.

Jeon Minho was already there, leaning against the hood of his car, his silhouette stark against the city lights. He turned as Siwoo approached, and the air between them crackled. His spiced amber scent was strong, a deliberate, potent wave that washed over Siwoo, making his knees feel weak.

"Minho-ssi," Siwoo said, his voice barely a whisper. "The gala—"

"Forget the gala."
Minho’s voice was low, rough with unchecked emotion.
He pushed off the car, closing the distance in two long strides. His eyes were dark, intense, burning with a fire Siwoo had only seen glimpses of.

"I brought you here because I can't think. I can't focus. Your scent is everywhere, Siwoo. In my office, in my car, in my mind."

He was so close now that Siwoo could feel the heat of his body.
This wasn't the careful, vulnerable man from the conference room.
This was the Alpha, fully unleashed, driven to the brink by desire.

"My Alpha…" Minho breathed, his gaze dropping to Siwoo’s lips,
"…it's going insane for you."

Siwoo’s own Omega responded in a dizzying rush, his sandalwood scent blooming, rich and inviting, an open acceptance of the Alpha’s claim.
He couldn’t speak.
He could only look up at him, eyes wide, breath catching.

This was no longer a ripple.
It was a tidal wave.

And Kim Siwoo was ready to be swept away.

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