CHAPTER ONE
The abandoned warehouse smelled of rust, damp tobacco, and terrible life choices.
Beneath a flickering bulb, a knot of mafia thugs counted stolen cash. Standard background villains. The real crime was in the corner—a group of captive girls forced to endure mandatory introductory trauma beats.
"Listen up," a scarred Alpha sneered, clutching a girl’s hair. "You think you're refined? You're just here for our amusement. Look at me."
The girl’s face was tear-streaked, but her trembling stopped. Her fear vanished. A deadly, ice-cold smirk split her lips.
"We aren't just objects for you to use," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave. "We are human beings."
SWISH.
A throwing blade whistled through the violet shadows. Stamped with the letters HPF, it struck with surgical malice, instantly editing the lead thug out of the equation. He collapsed heavily.
Before anyone blinked, a shadow slipped a sleek handgun into the girl’s palm.
"Ambush! Defend the perimeter!" the Ringmaster shrieked, drawing his weapon.
Jade—undercover assassin Miya—caught the gun with practiced ease. "Late as usual, Velvet Trigger. Let’s teach these gentlemen how to behave with California ladies."
"Rule number one," a melodic voice called from the dark. "The exploitation ends now."
Felix—the Velvet Trigger—stepped into the light, swinging a specialized chain weapon with effortless entertainment.
"FIRE!"
Bullets chewed the iron pillars, but Jade and Felix executed the room with cold, corporate efficiency. Every gang member dropped. One survivor broke for the loading dock.
"I've got the runner, Jade," Felix called out. "Secure the others. BRB."
"OKAY," Jade yelled back, slicing the captives' bindings. "Don't have too much fun!"
The rescued girls trembled. "Thank you! We noticed you are an Alpha, but you still care for us."
"You are nothing close to filthy," Jade said firmly, ushering them toward a municipal bus waiting outside. "You're free. Live your life. Bye!"
Jade watched them go. "I love being an assassin."
Down a pitch-black Madrid alley, the runaway thug gasped for air, his boots splashing in filthy rainwater.
TAP. TAP.
He spun around, leveling a shaky gun at the fog. "Who's there?! Come out!"
A velvety chuckle floated from the dark. "The darkness..."
"Wh... o... are you?!"
Felix stepped into the moonlight, peeling off his tactical mask to reveal poreless, blinding perfection.
The thug sniffed the air frantically. Alpha? Beta? Nothing. Zero scent. Felix wore a custom burgundy silk blazer, a frame built on green juice, and casually twirled a silencer on his pinky.
"Blow my head off?" Felix pouted. "My hair took two hours, and this silk is dry-clean only. Besides, my perfume costs more than your life."
"What are you?!" the thug choked. "Why can't I smell your rank?!"
"Ding ding. Over-compensated independent contractor."
The thug fired wild. Felix tilted his head a millimeter, closed the distance, and delivered a brutal kick straight to the man's jaw.
The thug crashed down. Felix stepped on his chest with an Italian leather boot, reaching behind his ear to press down a fresh medical scent patch.
"Curiosity killed the cat, darling," Felix whispered. "And tonight, it kills you."
PFFT.
A muffled pop. Threat handled.
Felix smoothed his lapel, checking for blood splatters. "Immaculate." He tapped his earpiece. "Jade, clean-up crew is yours. Heading to the penthouse. My scent blockers wear off in an hour, and I refuse to turn into a walking bakery in front of local trash."
Scene 3: The Threat
The next morning, sunlight streamed into a high-tech briefing room overlooking the California coastline. A massive digital hologram floated in the center, displaying maps of Madrid and chemical formulas.
Felix sat cross-legged on a leather sofa in an oversized, pastel-pink designer sweater, sipping an iced matcha latte through a glass straw. He looked like a glamorous model on vacation.
Jade, now dressed as Miya in a sharp tailored blazer, stood by the hologram.
"The target is a ghost, but the threat is active," the Assassin Commander spoke from a dark corner. "A new synthetic drug called 'Elysium-9' is hitting Madrid's elite underground. It destroys neural scent glands, posing a fatal threat to Alphas, Betas, and Omegas alike."
Miya swiped the hologram to bring up fake IDs. "The distribution is happening in Madrid's highest social circles. To find the source, we need a cover. Spain is Felix's homeland, so we have a home-court advantage."
Felix looked up with a goofy pout. "Spain is beautiful, yes, but please do not expect me to know these high-society snobs. I don't care about their petty gossip. I just want to look immaculate."
"We don't need a social butterfly," Miya rolled her eyes. "We are going in as the 'Han' siblings. I am your older sister, a high-class artisan baker. I’ve secured a lease for a pastry boutique right in the wealthiest district."
"A high-class bakery?!" Felix’s doll-like eyes lit up. "The aesthetics! The cute aprons! Can I design the layout?"
"Focus! That’s my cover," Miya smirked triumphantly. "Your cover is the real infiltration. Because you look so ridiculously young, you are going to be a university student."
The screen flashed a fake enrollment card for the Universidad Complutense de Madrid.
Felix choked on his matcha latte, coughing dramatically. "A college student?! Me? A world-renowned specialist, listening to art history?"
"Exactly. You’re a rich, pampered international student relying on your older sister's business. It explains your luxury clothes and gives you a free pass into elite student circles where Elysium-9 is being passed around."
"Felix, remember your objective," the Commander interrupted coldly. "The Destianos dominate that scene, but they are not your targets. Stay invisible, find the distributor, and eliminate the threat."
Felix set his latte down. His goofy expression melted into the chilling gaze of the Velvet Trigger. He tapped the scent patch hidden behind his ear.
"A scentless, harmless student," Felix whispered darkly. "The Madrid elite won't even know what hit them. When do we pack our bags?"
Across the globe, a massive HD screen in a Spanish TV studio flashed: "THE ROYALTY OF DANCE RETURNS."
"Good morning, Spain!" the female Alpha host beamed. "He is officially back on Spanish soil!"
"That's right!" the male Beta host grinned. "After sweeping five consecutive Olympic titles, the second son of the legendary Destiano family has just touched down in Madrid!"
At the private terminal, a matte-black jet bearing the golden PTTS crest taxied across the tarmac. Outside the security gates, thousands of fans screamed, holding LED banners. Gorgeous, high-society Omegas pushed against the railings, waving silk handkerchiefs scented with jasmine pheromones to catch his attention.
Inside the soundproof cabin, the noise was a dull hum.
Luke Destiano stood near the exit, broad shoulders filling the frame. His flawless blonde hair was slicked back, and his sharp, icy features looked untouched by jet lag. He smoothly fastened his cufflinks. His phone buzzed with a text from his older brother, Richard: Welcome back, little brother. Don't cause too much of a scene at the airport. Father expects you at the gala tonight.
Luke stared at the screen with piercing, crystal-blue eyes. He tossed the phone onto a leather seat, a sharp smirk playing on his lips.
"Too much of a scene?" Luke muttered to himself. "They brought news choppers, brother."
The jet door hissed open. Luke stepped onto the stairs. The moment his tailored leather boot hit the top step, the crowd went absolutely feral. Flashbulbs ignited like lightning.
Without breaking stride, Luke walked down with the fluid, dangerous grace of a predator. He ignored the desperate scents in the air. None of it had that "fire" he was looking for. He slipped into the back of a waiting armored limousine, the door slamming shut to block out the world.
The armored limousine glided through the towering iron gates of the Destiano Estate—an ultra-modern fortress of white marble and glass in Madrid’s most exclusive gated community. Tailored security guards bowed in unison as Luke stepped out, completely unfazed by the wealth.
Inside, the family was gathered around a massive mahogany dining table piled high with a lavish Spanish feast. The room buzzed with pure, chaotic energy.
Derick, the twenty-two-year-old third brother and Spain’s star football player, was balanced on the back of an expensive leather chair, juggling a premium football. "Look who finally decided to grace Spain with his presence! The global dance god himself!"
Diana, the twenty-year-old fourth born, supermodel, and head of the Destiano Fashion Group, sipped champagne while a stylist tweaked her platinum hair at the table. "Careful, Derick. Don't scuff the floors. Welcome back, Luke. I could have gotten you a much better custom jacket for the press walk."
Emily, the eighteen-year-old youngest sister, sat at a glossy black grand piano, playing a dramatic classical welcome-back melody. "Ignore them, Luke! You have to come to campus this week—the music department is throwing a gala, and everyone wants a PTTS scout!"
Sitting at the head of the table, entirely detached from the noise, was Richard. Twenty-eight, the firstborn, a world-famous business tycoon, and the heir to the empire. He looked like an older, sharper, infinitely colder version of Luke, wrapped in a dark three-piece suit.
Richard set his crystal glass down with a slow, deliberate click. His icy gaze shifted to Luke, and his dominant Alpha aura instantly commanded the room to fall silent. The atmosphere grew heavy and tense.
"Cut the noise, all of you," Richard said, his voice deep and calculating. "Luke is here for business, not a family reunion."
The visual framing screamed cold, ruthless corporate dynamic—until Luke stepped closer.
Suddenly, Richard’s sharp expression completely crumbled. His icy posture dropped, and his eyes turned meltingly soft. He stood up, pouting dramatically, his voice turning incredibly whiny.
"...Which is exactly what I would say if I wasn't dying of loneliness! Lukey! My favorite little brother! You were gone for so long! Come here and give your big brother a hug right now!"
Luke sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as his own dominant aura evaporated. "Richard, please. Not in front of the staff."
"I don't care about the staff!" Richard stepped over, wrapping his arms around Luke's massive broad shoulders, begging for a cheek kiss. "Look at you, you've gotten leaner. Are you eating? Let me hug my baby brother!"
"Gross, Richard, let him breathe!" Derick groaned, throwing a bread roll at Richard. "You treated him like a toddler before he left, too!"
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the dining hall swung open. Two imposing figures stepped into the room. The chatter stopped instantly.
Mr. Destiano, the ruthless patriarch of the empire, walked in with a stern, terrifying gaze that could freeze a volcano. Beside him was Mrs. Destiano, a majestic Omega matriarch whose sharp eyes scanned the room like a hawk. The entire room held its breath.
Mr. Destiano cleared his throat, a deep, booming sound. "What is all this childish racket in my dining hall?"
He stopped right in front of his wife. Then, without warning, his terrifying expression melted into a goofy, heart-eyed grin. He spun around, scooping Mrs. Destiano up by her waist and pressing a passionate, lovey-dovey kiss right onto her lips.
"Right, my beautiful darling?" Mr. Destiano cooed happily. "Our children are so chaotic, but you look absolutely breathtaking tonight, my queen."
Mrs. Destiano giggled softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh, honey, stop it, you're embarrassing me in front of Luke! But yes, you are entirely right, my handsome alpha."
The five siblings let out a synchronized, collective groan, completely used to their parents' wildly deceptive, overly affectionate behavior.
Luke sat down at the table, a genuine, warm smile finally breaking through his cold exterior. "Good to see some things never change in Spain."
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