Her face was a horrific map of purple swelling and dark bruises, her expensive designer glasses lying crushed and forgotten in a corner. 

The room was deathly silent, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the heavy, oppressive scent of an Alpha’s mounting fury. Kit didn't feel better; he just felt empty, his body shaking so hard he could barely keep his balance.

He didn't even bother looking at Maksim. He ignored the man’s presence entirely, as if the white-haired Alpha didn't even exist. 

Kit limped over to the table, his breath hitching in a pained hiss as he grabbed his battered bag and the shattered remains of his phone.

Just as he turned to leave, a large, iron-like hand clamped around his wrist, halting him in his tracks. The heat from Maksim’s palm was a stark contrast to the cold room, but Kit didn't flinch. He didn't turn around. He just stared at the reinforced steel door, his voice coming out as a cold, hollow whisper.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Sokolov. Please let go of my hand."

Maksim didn't respond immediately. His grip was firm, almost desperate, but Kit didn't give him an inch of emotion. With a sudden, sharp jerk, Kit pushed his arm away, breaking the contact. He didn't look back as he walked out of the security wing, his limp heavy and pronounced, his silhouette disappearing into the long, golden hallway of the hotel.

Back in the room, the silence was suffocating. The receptionist, groaning in pain, tried to lift herself up. She reached out a trembling, blood-stained hand toward the hem of Maksim’s fur coat. "Boss... please," she wheezed, her voice a wet, broken sound. "I didn't know... I thought I was protecting... I didn't know he was yours..."

Maksim stood perfectly still, looking down at her broken form. His gaze was unreadable—not angry, not vengeful, just completely and utterly void of humanity. 

He didn't even seem to reach for it; no one in the room even saw the gun until it was already there.

A custom-made, matte black barrel with 'SK' etched in gold caught the sterile light for a fraction of a second.

Bang.

The sound was deafening in the small room. He shot her in the head, a single, clinical strike that ended her mid-sentence. She slumped back onto the marble, her hand falling limp. Maksim didn't blink. 

He didn't even look at the blood splatter on his expensive boots.

"Take care of this trash," Maksim rumbled, his voice cold and flat as he addressed the paralyzed guards. "And make sure the floor is spotless before the next shift."

Without another word, he tucked the weapon back into his coat and turned on his heel. He stepped out of the room, his long strides echoing in the hallway as he went after the only thing that mattered—the angry, broken Omega who was currently trying to escape his reach.

.............

The heavy door of the apartment groaned on its hinges as Kit leaned his weight against it, finally home. 

The silence of the hallway was a stark contrast to the violence he’d left behind at the hotel, but the metallic tang of the security wing still seemed to cling to his skin. He hadn't taken a single ruble from Maksim. He had walked away with nothing but the expensive clothes on his back and a body that felt like it had been through a war zone.

He looked around their small, shared space. It was humble—a cramped living room, a tiny dining area, and the single bedroom he shared with Ji hoon his best friend, Co Worker and Roommate. 

Usually, the place was a mess of Jihoon's discarded club outfits, but today it was suspiciously clean. Kit limped toward the bedroom, desperate to peel off the Sokolov-branded luxury, but he didn't even make it three steps before a pair of eyes snapped open from the sofa.

The Interrogation

Jihoon didn’t just wake up; he launched himself into a sitting position like a spring-loaded trap. His hair was a bleached disaster, and his eyes were wide with a mix of caffeine and pure, unadulterated gossip.

"Finally!" Jihoon’s voice cut through the air. "Mr. Kit Holloway decides to grace us with his presence! Tell me, Your Majesty, how did it go with your very wealthy client?"

Jihoon scrambled off the sofa, his eyes immediately locking onto the high-end cashmere Kit was wearing. 

He grabbed Kit’s hands, half-leading, half-dragging him to sit on the cushions.

"You are going to tell me every single detail since you disappeared three days ago," Jihoon demanded, leaning in close. "I need the tea. My baby actually slept with a Sokolov. The Maksim Sokolov. The man who owns the very system that decides who we're allowed to love in this country!"

Kit blinked, his head spinning. "How did you even know? I never told you his name."

Jihoon smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Please. You and I are Anton’s favorites; he couldn't keep a secret like that from me. Besides..." Jihoon giggled, "The man himself called two days ago to say you’d be staying longer. He dropped 10,000,000 rubles into the club's account just to keep you for a few extra days, Kit! Anton nearly had a heart attack looking at the balance."

Kit’s expression darkened. He reached out and gave Jihoon a sharp slap to the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being 'sick'!" Kit hissed. "I had to take that job because you 'couldn't work.' I had to perform— no had sex with a man who turns out to be the most dangerous Alpha in Russia because Anton only trusts the two of us. Do you have any idea what I went through? I had to have sex with a trillionaire who I wish Anton had told me was actually the Alpha who owns the fucking Compatibility System!"

Jihoon rubbed his head, pouting. "I really was sick, Kit! Okay, maybe I was just... unusually horny for some reason and needed a day off, but I wasn't with any Alpha, I swear! I stayed right here." He leaned in, kissing Kit’s cheek affectionately. "Now, stop being a grouch and spill it. Everything."

.........

Kit talked for over an hour. He told him about the penthouse, the intensity of the Alpha’s rut, and finally, the horrific scene in the security wing. By the time he finished, he was slumped back against the sofa, his spine protesting every movement.

Jihoon sat in stunned silence, his jaw practically on the floor. Without a word, he reached forward and began to help Kit out of the heavy cashmere coat. 

Kit didn't resist. Next came the turtleneck. As the fabric fell away, Jihoon let out a sharp, strangled shriek.

Kit’s pale skin was a map of violence and possession. From his collarbones down to his chest, he was covered in deep purple bruises and unmistakable, jagged bite marks obviously except for his neck. It wasn't just sex; it was a branding.

Maksim Sokolov branded Kit Holloway.

"Baby... oh my god," Jihoon whispered, his eyes tracing the marks. "Maksim Sokolov... he did this? You survived thirty rounds with a Sokolov in his rut?"

Kit expected Jihoon to be horrified—to offer pity or suggest a doctor. Instead, Jihoon looked at him with something bordering on awe.

"Kit, you don't understand," Jihoon said, his voice breathless. "From my experience with the many Alphas I've had sex with... this isn't just 'work.' This is a claim. An Alpha like that only marks someone like this when he’s saying 'No one else can have you.' If he doesn't come looking for you within 24 hours, I'll eat my favourite heels!"

"Amd secondly, five stars for teaching that bitch a lesson. If I was there, I would have strangled her to death myself."

Jihoon shook his head, a wild grin returning to his face. "But Kit... did you seriously leave the Alpha like that? From what you told me, I don't think he wasn't treating you like property. He was just worried. When he left a note saying you should wait and you left, he should have been upset, but instead, he let you beat that bitch almost to death."

Jihoon’s face suddenly fell as the reality of their situation hit him. "And you seriously refused his pay? You didn't take any money for the thirty rounds? Haaa... God, Kit, did the sex confuse your little head, because he popped your cherry? You do know that we still haven't paid the rent, right? The landlord was here yesterday. I had to switch off all the lights to make him think I was at work!"

Kit sighed, a sound of pure, bone-deep exhaustion as he leaned his head back against the sofa. "Calm down, Hoon. I refused the money because I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m not his charity case."

He gestured vaguely to the expensive cashmere discarded on the floor. "He has sex with me—freaking hardcore—for thirty rounds, and then I wake up three days later? Clean, tucked into his bed like a doll, with a letter telling me to 'stay put' and clothes so expensive that bitch at the desk thought I’d robbed the place? It’s too much. It felt like... like he was buying a pet."

Jihoon didn't just look at him; he leaned in, his palm flat against Kit’s forehead before moving to check the pulse at his neck. His expression was one of genuine concern, mixed with the look of a man who was watching a slow-motion train wreck.

"Kit Holloway... are you sick? Are you actually deluded?" Jihoon’s voice was low, dropping the theatrics for a moment of cold reality. "Let’s do a bit of a reality check, eh?"

He began ticking points off on his fingers, right in Kit’s face.

"Firstly: You are broke as hell. We are literally hiding from the landlord in the dark amd Secondly You’re a scentless, infertile Omega. In this city, that usually means you're invisible to Alphas like him.

"And thirdly, This isn't just 'any' Alpha. This is Maksim Sokolov. He is an Elite Alpha—the one percent of the one percent. Men like him don't do 'romantic' things. They don't leave notes. They don't make sure you're clean and tucked in. They usually just throw a stack of rubles at you and have security kick you out the back door."

Jihoon grabbed Kit’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. "He told you to wait for him, Kit! He treated you like a person he actually wanted to see again, not a service he was finished with. You think that's a red flag? Baby, that’s a goddamn miracle! Most Alphas would have left you in the mess they made of you, but he made sure you were taken care of. And you walked out? Without the money? My God, the thirty rounds really did scramble your brain."

Kit opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. He thought about the way Maksim had looked at him before he left only to hear a gunshot before he even reached the lobby.

"Hey he really is a red flag, wvy the hell should he clean me and buy me clothes! Who asked him to, he shouldn't have treated me like A... Like a demsil in distress doll, if he treated me like the alpha's at the club then I would have taken the money—"

Jihoon looked at kit with questioning eyes but rolled his eyes "okay okay Mr Kit Holloway, for now I'll shut my yap but when he does come back for you, you definitely owe me, cause I know he'll come looking for you!" 

"And who told you he will come?" Kit asked as he gave a weary smirk, "Forget about that Alpha, do you have any sweet cakes I'm hungry" he pouted looking at jihoon.

Jihoon chuckled, the sound light but tinged with the exhaustion they both shared. "Always hungry, eh? Thirty rounds and all you can think about is sugar. You’re a marvel, Kit, truly."

He glanced down at his watch, his playful expression shifting into a hurried smile. "Ah! Look at the time. I have to get moving. I’ve got work."

Kit frowned, shifting slightly on the cushion as his bruised muscles protested. "Work? What work? Since when did you start pulling extra shifts on a Sunday?"

"Anton called," Jihoon said, already half-way to the bedroom to grab his bag. "He needed help with something at the club—prep work or some VIP nonsense, you know how he is. Besides," he popped his head back out with a wink, "he told me you’re officially on a three-day leave. A 'reward,' cough cough, for your service to the Russian economy."

"He’s ridiculous," Kit muttered, though the idea of three days in bed was the only thing keeping him upright. "And the cakes? You really didn't buy any?"

Jihoon was already at the door, stepping into his platform boots and tugging the laces tight. "I’m sorry! I was too busy keeping the lights off so the landlord wouldn't kill me. Look, there’s about 5,000 rubles in the drawer in the bedroom. Order yourself the biggest box of sweet cakes you can find. Treat yourself, baby."

Kit watched him, a sudden wave of loneliness hitting him as the adrenaline finally began to fade. "What kind of brother are you? You’re just going to leave your poor, battered baby here all alone after I survived an Alpha in rut? I can barely walk, Hoon!"

Jihoon softened, stepping back over to press a lingering, affectionate kiss to Kit’s cheek. He smelled like cheap perfume and home—a sharp contrast to the expensive, cedar-and-blood scent of Maksim Sokolov.

"I’ll be back late, so don't wait up, okay? I’ll pick up extra sweet cakes on my way home—the ones with the pink frosting you like. Lock the door behind me, Kit. Seriously. Lock it."

With a final wave and a flash of his bleached hair, Jihoon disappeared into the hallway, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Kit sat in the silence for a long moment, the quiet of the apartment feeling heavier than it ever had before. 

He looked at the discarded cashmere on the floor. He looked at his bruised, branded reflection in the darkened TV screen. He felt like he was waiting for something, though he told himself he was just waiting for the delivery man.

He brought his bag closer to him and started ramaging thorough, finally finding his phone and it hits him.

"Shit that fucking bitch, god I forgot to ask him if he can take it to a repair store, now how the Fuvk do I live with a blank broken phone Fucking bullshit!" He shouted as he threw the phone back in the bag.

The effort of standing up from the sofa felt like trying to move a mountain. Kit gritted his teeth, his knees buckling slightly as he forced himself toward the bathroom. He needed the scent of that hotel, the scent of him, off his skin.

The shower was a miserable affair. The water pressure in their building was a joke, and the lukewarm stream did nothing to soothe the deep, throbbing ache in his bones. 

As the steam rose, Kit looked down at his reflection in the mirror. The marks were even darker now—blooms of deep indigo and crimson that looked like a violent painting across his chest and shoulders.

"Bastard," Kit whispered, touching a bite mark on his collarbone. 

He carefully hung the Sokolov cashmere on a plastic rack, eyeing the expensive fabric with a mix of resentment and calculation. "If he doesn't come back for these, I'm selling them to the first pone shop I see. That’s a new phone and at least three months of rent right there.”