Chapter 1

The air inside the abandoned warehouse tasted of rust, stale tobacco, and cheap whiskey. Shadows stretched heavily across the cavernous room, painted in a moody, suffocating palette of toxic green and dim violet ambient light. Beneath a flickering overhead bulb, a gang of muscular mafia thugs sat around a crude wooden table, their laughter echoing coarsely off the corrugated iron walls as they aggressively counted stacks of stolen cash, drank, and smoked.

But the worst part of the room wasn't the stolen money. It was the corner, where they were heartlessly harassing a group of trafficked young girls.

"Listen up," a heavily scarred Alpha thug sneered, his fingers wrapping callously into the hair of one of the young girls, dragging her closer to suck his dick. His expression was filled with malice. "You little... I know how you Omegas work. You think you're so refined, but you're just here for our amusement. Look at me."

The girl was bruised, her clothes torn, and tears of physical pain streaked down her cheeks as he loomed over her. Yet, her trembling posture suddenly froze. The tears remained, but the terror completely vanished.

A sharp, chilling, and utterly deadly smirk sliced across her lips. Her eyes flashed with the unmistakable glare of a seasoned predator.

"Omegas aren't just tools for your entertainment," she whispered, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register that made the thug's spine violently twitch. Her gaze locked directly into his. "We are living beings."

SWISH.

Before the thug could even process the sudden shift in energy, a metallic streak cut through the violet shadows. A beautifully crafted, razor-sharp throwing blade sliced through the air with a deafening whistle, the letters HPF deeply encrusted into the gleaming steel. It struck with lethal precision, cutting off the man's dick before he could react.

A loud cry echoed through the warehouse as he collapsed. The man fell heavily backward onto the concrete, incapacitated instantly.

Before anyone could process what was going on, a mysterious entity moved through the shadows, passing a sleek handgun directly into the girl's waiting palm.

Jade—the undercover Alpha assassin known to her handler as Miya—caught the weapon with a practiced flick of her wrist.

"Take out your weapons everyone!" the Ringmaster bellowed, his voice cracking in absolute panic as he drew his firearm. "We have company! FIRE!!!"

The warehouse erupted into a chaotic crossfire. Sparks flew as bullets bit into the iron pillars, but the two assassins showed flawless teamwork, neutralizing each gang member with calculated precision.

As the gunfire cleared, one remaining gang member bolted toward the back exit, trying to escape.

"Don't worry, I will catch him, Jade," a melodic, playful voice called out. "Free these girls first. BRB."

"OKAY," Jade yelled back, waving at his retreating figure until he was completely out of sight. "Don't have too much fun!"

Jade quickly bent down, using her blade to open the bindings of the weeping captives. "Hey, you guys are free."

The rescued girls trembled, helping each other up as Jade guided them toward the exit. "Thank you so much. We noticed you are an Alpha, but you still care for us. Thank you..."

"You are not beneath anyone," Jade said firmly, a genuine, proud smile breaking across her face. "You are free now. Live your life to the fullest. There's a bus waiting to take you to a community house where you will be taken care of until you can be independent. So, bye!"

She watched silently as they boarded the bus, managing to smile despite their ordeal. As the tail lights disappeared into the night, Jade muttered happily to herself, "I love this job."

Meanwhile, the runaway gang member sprinted into a pitch-black alleyway, his breath rattling in his chest. The damp brick walls closed in around him.

TAP. TAP.

He froze, hearing soft, rhythmic footsteps echoing against the wet asphalt. He spun around, aiming his shaky gun into the darkness. "Who is there?! Come out!"

From the deep shadows, a soft, melodic chuckle echoed. It sounded angelic, yet entirely terrifying.

"The darkness..." a mysterious, velvety voice whispered.

"Wh... o... are you??" the thug stammered, his teeth chattering in pure terror.

Step by step, Velvet Trigger—Felix—walked into the dim moonlight. He smoothly removed his tactical mask, revealing a face of absolute visual perfection.

The gang member blinked, completely disoriented. He sniffed the air frantically, expecting the heavy, suffocating scent of an Alpha executioner—but there was nothing. No pheromones. No scent at all. Felix's skin was a beautiful, pale porcelain, and his shoulder-length, silky black hair caught the wind flawlessly. His signature rosy, pink eyes looked wide and doll-like, glittering with amusement. He wore a glamorous, custom-made burgundy silk blazer over his slightly lean but muscular frame, twirling a silencer pistol on his finger.

"Blow my head off?" Felix pouted playfully, his rosy lips curling into an amused smile. "Oh, please don't. My hair took two hours to style tonight, and this silk blazer is custom-made. A true professional never gives away his signature scent, sweetie. It ruins the mystique. Besides, my perfume costs more than your life."

"You... the Velvet Trigger... What the hell are you?!" the gang member gasped, panicking as he realized he couldn't smell a single trace of Felix's rank. "An Alpha? A Beta?! Why can't I smell you?!"

"Ding ding ding! Correct! Though I prefer the term 'highly paid specialist,'" Felix smiled brightly, showing pearly teeth.

The gang member completely panicked and fired three wild, blind shots.

With blinding speed, Felix tilted his head and twisted his frame. The bullets missed by millimeters, grazing only the air. In a flash, Felix closed the distance, the chains on his wrist rattling musically as he delivered a flawless kick straight to the man's jaw.

The thug crashed heavily against the brick wall, dropping his gun. Felix stepped closer, his expensive designer boot pressing firmly onto the man’s chest. He leaned down, reaching into his pocket to firmly press down a fresh, high-grade medical scent patch behind his left ear—keeping his Omega nature hidden from the world.

"Curiosity is a dangerous thing, darling," Felix whispered darkly, a deadly smirk on his rosy lips. "And tonight, it ends here."

PFFT.

A single, suppressed gunshot echoed through the alley. The threat was neutralized.

Felix immediately stepped back, checking his clothes for any marks and smoothing down his pristine burgundy blazer. "Perfect. Still immaculate."

His earpiece bleeped. Jade’s voice cracked through the static.

“Velvet, package delivered. The bus is gone. Clean-up crew is on the way. You done playing with your food?”

"Total party pooper, Jade!" Felix tapped his earpiece, instantly switching back to his cheerful voice. "I was just making a new friend. Meet you at the penthouse. I need a bath ASAP. My scent blockers are wearing off soon, and I refuse to have my true nature exposed to the local trash."

The atmosphere shifted drastically across the globe, from the gritty underworld to peak luxury.

Inside the VIP lounge of the Passion Through the Soul (PTTS) Industry, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and soft jazz music played. A massive wall was covered in glittering golden trophies: "5-TIME OLYMPIC DANCE CHAMPION."

LUKE DESTIANO stood by the desk. At 6'2, with a muscular frame and broad shoulders, he was dressed in a pristine tuxedo. His blonde hair was perfectly slicked back, highlighting his sharp features and a cold demeanor. Yet, beneath that unapproachable corporate mask, his crystal blue eyes held a deep layer of focus.

An overwhelming, dominant Alpha aura radiated from him as he stared at a tablet displaying financial reports. His secretary, an anxious Beta male, approached cautiously.

"Mr. Destiano, the audit for the Madrid dance academy is complete," the secretary murmured. "Also... your father called again. He wants to know when you are finally going to settle down with a proper mate."

Luke didn't even look up from his tablet, but a flicker of warmth crossed his expression when his eyes brushed past a picture of his young dance students on the desk.

"Tell my father that my only focus right now is my choreography," Luke's voice was deep and commanding. "I don't have time for arranged political matches."

"But sir, the media—"

"The media can print whatever they like," Luke set the tablet down with a soft clack, standing up and moving with the fluid grace of a professional dancer. He walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window, looking out over the glittering city skyline. "I run the biggest talent industry in the world. I don't need a marriage contract to secure my legacy. Besides... I don't want a submissive partner. I want someone who can actually keep up with my tempo."

Unbeknownst to Luke, a red laser dot briefly flashed across a rooftop a mile away—the exact direction of Felix's penthouse.

THE END OF ACT ONE / CHAPTER 1