Content Note: non-graphic sexual assault

***RIAN VUE - FIVE YEARS AGO***

They thought he was an alpha when they poached him from Iron Pulse. They didn’t care to confirm. Strength mattered more than truth.

He looked like he could take a hit—broad-shouldered, fast, unafraid of pain. And he was young, which meant naive enough to believe he could outpace the consequences and ambitious enough to try. It wasn’t a lie. He was both.

The thing about legitimate professional circuits was that they didn’t just sort fighters by weight. They sorted them by secondary gender, too. When Rian was found out, the rules changed overnight. Omegas only. Contained. Controlled.

That didn’t cut it for him.

“You might be big, Rian,” Coach Daehyun had warned, “but you’re still an omega. All it takes is your pheromones slipping through those suppressants when you’re injured—or scared—”

Rian had laughed.

He’d only ever been scared of one man in his life, and he knew he’d never face him in the ring. And the idea that an alpha’s pheromones would make him submit—cower, lose focus, fall apart—was laughable. That wasn’t how it worked for him. He wasn’t sure why, only that alpha pheromones didn’t pull him under.

Not even Kaiseng’s.

Well—no. That wasn’t entirely true.

Kaiseng’s scent did something to him. Just not submission. Not fear.

Want.

“You need to stop turning the doctor away.”

Kaiseng’s voice cut through the locker room as he stepped inside, bag slung over his shoulder, expression already tight with concern.

“Just medicate me, Park,” Rian said easily, dropping onto the bench. His fingers worked at the soreness in his knee, rolling the joint like pain was just another inconvenience. “You worry too much.”

“I’m not even a nurse yet,” Kaiseng shot back. “The doctor knows better than either of us. He said you need a hiatus.”

“I don’t need a hiatus.” Rian tipped his head back, swallowing the pills Kaiseng handed him with a mouthful of water. “I’m on a lucky streak. If I disappear now, someone else takes my place.” He rolled his neck, heat prickling low in his spine—familiar, unwelcome. His cycle was close. He could feel it. “Were my suppressants in there?”

“Mhm,” Kaiseng said, already moving, packing the rest of the meds away without looking at him. “Good luck out there.”

“Hey.”

Rian stood, catching Kaiseng’s wrist before he could turn away. Gentle. Careful. “You aren’t going to scent me?” His gaze searched Kaiseng’s face. “Are you upset with me?”

“No,” Kaiseng said simply.

But Rian knew better. He’d always known how to read him—sometimes better than Kaiseng read himself.

“I’m sorry about the party last night,” Rian added. “Playing along keeps my sponsor happy.”

Kaiseng’s mouth pressed into something dangerously close to a pout.

Rian smiled despite himself, fingers sliding into the back of Kaiseng’s hair, drawing him in. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over his lips—soft, familiar, meant to smooth things over.

“I’ll see you out there,” Kaiseng said quietly, their mouths still a breath apart.

“Alright.”

The crowd was alive.

Not metaphorically—physically. A mass of bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, heat and noise and hunger packed tight beneath the warehouse lights. The air vibrated with sound, chants slamming into the concrete walls hard enough to rattle bone.

Rian.

Rian.

Rian.

His name rolled through the space like a promise.

Rian smiled as he stepped toward the ring.

This was the part they didn’t understand—why he stayed. Why he chose this instead of clean contracts and rulebooks and leagues that pretended fairness. None of that had ever felt like this. The rush. The immediacy. The way the crowd leaned forward when he moved, breath caught, waiting to see who would break first.

Money passed hands openly near the edges. Pills dissolved under tongues. Someone laughed too loudly, already drunk on what hadn’t happened yet. The lights overhead buzzed, harsh and unforgiving, casting everything in sharp angles and sweat-sheen.

Rian thrived in it.

His sponsor clapped a heavy hand against his shoulder as he passed. “Don’t make it boring tonight,” the man said, grinning. “People came to see you bleed—or make someone else do it.”

Rian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He rolled his shoulders once, testing the joint, ignoring the dull ache in his knee. Pain was background noise. Always had been. He’d learned how to fold it away, bury it under adrenaline and want.

And then—

He saw him.

Kaiseng stood near the ring, just beyond the barricade. Close enough that Rian could catch his scent beneath the rot and sweat of the crowd—steady, grounding, his. The sight of him sent a sharp thrill through Rian’s chest that had nothing to do with the fight.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second.

That was all it took.

Kaiseng’s expression was tight, unreadable, but Rian knew him well enough to catch the flicker beneath it—worry, calculation, something unspoken. He lifted his chin slightly in silent acknowledgment. I see you. I’m fine.

He believed it, too.

Rian turned his attention back to the ring as his opponent climbed in from the opposite side. The guy was big—built like a wall, scars crossing his shoulders, jaw already set in something grim and hungry. Alpha. Of course. 

Rian cracked his neck once, loose and confident.

This wasn’t fear thrumming under his skin—it was excitement. Anticipation. The way his blood sang when the odds leaned wrong and he still planned to win. 

I’ve got this, he thought.

The bell rang.

The noise surged.

And for a brief, perfect moment—before the first hit landed, before everything tilted—Rian felt unstoppable. 

They circled each other, boots scraping against concrete dusted slick with old sweat and blood. The crowd leaned in as one, sound cresting and falling with every feint. Rian stayed light on his feet, shoulders loose, hands high. He liked to strike first. Liked to set the rhythm.

A jab. A cross. His knuckles cracked against the other man’s guard, then skin. The alpha came back hard, swinging wide, overcommitting. Rian slipped it easily, countered with a sharp hook to the ribs that drew a grunt and a ripple of noise from the crowd.

They traded like that for a while—clean hits, glancing blows. Even enough that the crowd stayed hungry. Rian could feel it in them, that restless anticipation, the sense that something was coming. His breath came fast but steady, heat humming low beneath his skin, controlled. Contained.

Then—

Pain detonated white-hot through his leg.

The kick came in low and brutal, slamming directly into his bad knee. There was no warning. No setup. Just impact.

His leg buckled.

The world lurched as he went down hard, shoulder slamming into the mat, air ripping from his lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp. Noise exploded around him—cheers, shouts, the metallic ring of excitement turning feral.

Fuck.

Instinct flared. He twisted, scrambling, trying to regain footing—but the alpha was already on him, weight crushing down, pinning his hips. A limb drove back into the same spot on his knee, deliberate this time.

Rian sucked in a breath and searched the crowd. His gaze cut through faces, lights, movement—panic spiking when he didn’t find him where Kaiseng had been. He scanned again, faster this time.

Nothing. No familiar scent. No steady presence anchoring him.

The fight didn’t pause.

A forearm pressed across his throat, cutting off air just long enough to make his chest seize. The alpha leaned in close, breath hot against Rian’s ear. He inhaled deeply.

Rian felt it the second it happened—his pheromones surging, heat spiking sharp and uncontrolled as fear finally broke through the suppressants’ thin hold.

The alpha smiled. “Omega,” he murmured, voice low and pleased. “Thought so.” His grip tightened. “Maybe I should make this interesting. Give them a real show.”

A fist drove into his gut, hard enough to fold him in on himself. Pain rippled outward, blurring his vision at the edges. He gagged, breath stuttering, body betraying him as panic and heat tangled together, feeding the worst instincts at exactly the wrong moment.

Another blow followed. Then another.

The crowd roared.

“Come on,” the alpha said, voice distant now, warped by ringing in Rian’s ears. “Thought there’d be more fight in you. This won’t do.”

Rian tried to focus. Tried to move. His body felt wrong—too heavy, too slow, knee screaming every time he shifted. His vision swam, lights smearing into color and shadow.

Kai—

He searched again, desperate now, gaze skimming the edges of the ring, the barricades, the blur of bodies.

Still nothing.

A final hit landed—harder than the rest. The sound cut out. The crowd dissolved. And Rian slipped into darkness with Kaiseng’s absence burning brighter than the pain.

Rian came back to himself in pieces.

Darkness first. Then light—flickering, intermittent, bleeding through his eyelids in dull pulses. Streetlights. Passing too fast. His head throbbed with every jolt, pain blooming behind his eyes like pressure trapped beneath bone.

His mouth tasted like metal.

He swallowed and winced, a broken sound slipping from his throat as his knee screamed in protest. The pain there was different—wrong. Deep. Structural. Like something had torn that wasn’t meant to tear.

He shifted instinctively and immediately regretted it.

A low chuckle cut through the haze.

“You awake?”

The voice scraped at something in his memory. Familiar, but warped. Rian cracked one eye open, vision swimming. Shapes bled together—the dark interior of a car, leather, shadows. He tried to focus.

Then the words landed.

“Should’ve told me you were an omega.”

His stomach turned.

The speaker leaned closer. Rian could feel it without seeing—heat, presence, the heavy press of dominance filling the space. “Could’ve made a different kind of night out of you,” the man continued mildly. “People pay good money for that.”

Recognition slammed into him, sharp and sickening.

His sponsor.

Rian dragged in a breath and spat blood onto the floor. “Fuck off,” he slurred.

His body refused to follow the command his mind screamed next. His limbs felt distant, disconnected—like they belonged to someone else. His vision slid out of focus again.

Hands settled on his thighs.

“Under all that attitude,” the man said quietly, almost fond, “you’re kind of pretty.” He inhaled deeply, deliberately. “And your pheromones…” A pause. A smile in the voice. “They’re saying all sorts of interesting things… Like how sweet you taste.”

Rian jerked, tried to swing—his arm barely lifted before gravity dragged it back down. His fingers scraped uselessly against air.

“Easy,” the man warned, tone sharpening. “You owe me for that match. Lost me a lot of money.” A breath, hot and close. “This is the least you can do.”

The scent hit him then—thick, invasive, unmistakably alpha. It was wrong. Acrid. Too sharp.

Rian clung to that thought as his consciousness began to slip again, focused on the revulsion, on the wrongness of it. Alpha pheromones were supposed to do something to him—supposed to break him, soften him, make him pliant like any other omega.

They didn’t.

They only made him feel sick.

Warm breath brushed the side of his neck—too near, too intimate—followed by the drag of fingers tracing along his skin, unhurried, claiming space that didn’t belong to them. Rian’s body tensed on instinct, but the effort to move felt distant, like shouting underwater.

His mind went elsewhere.

He reached for something familiar. Something safe.

Kaiseng.

The memory came easily—too easily. The clean weight of his scent. The steadiness of his presence. Strong hands that had held him without taking, without asking for anything he hadn’t offered first. Rian let himself sink into it, clinging to the echo of that warmth like a lifeline.

He breathed it in.

Let it blur the edges.

Let it carry him somewhere quieter.

The car slowed.

Stopped.

Cold bit into him next. Gravel tore into his skin as his body hit the ground, pain blooming everywhere at once. He gasped, breath fogging in the night air. The world spun above him—headlights flaring briefly, then vanishing.

Footsteps retreated.

An engine started.

And then he was alone.