The venom in his voice when he says omega makes my eyebrows rise. That’s some serious baggage right there. I file it away with all the other information I’ve been collecting—Suha has issues with omegas, probably because his omega father ditched him. Explains why he only hires alphas and betas for his inner circle, why all the omegas I’ve seen in this house are either cleaning staff or being escorted out after servicing one of his guards.
“Mine aren’t dead,” I say, because apparently I’ve decided today is a good day to bond over shitty parents. “But they might as well be. Haven’t seen them since I was sixteen. So I guess we have that in common.”
Suha looks down at me, his expression unreadable. His hand is still in my hair, fingers flexing slightly.
“Is that why you’re crazy?” he asks.
I snort. “You’re one to talk.”
Something flickers across his face—amusement, maybe, or at least the ghost of it. His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. Then he goes back to his contracts, but his hand stays in my hair, gentler now.
I count it as another win.
The semi-civil moments become more frequent after that. Not often, and never predictable, but they happen. Sometimes when we’re alone in the office late at night, him working and me sitting at his feet, he’ll ask me questions. Where I grew up. How I ended up fighting in underground rings. Why I’m such a masochistic idiot.
I answer honestly, mostly because lying seems pointless when we’re bonded and he can probably sense when I’m being evasive. I tell him about Busan, about my piece-of-shit alpha father who used his fists more than his words. About running away to Seoul with nothing but the clothes on my back and a chip on myshoulder. About discovering I liked pain more than I should, that I got off on being hurt by people stronger than me.
He listens, sometimes. Other times he tells me to shut up and fucks me over the desk, but even that feels less like punishment and more like... I don’t know. Communication, maybe. His way of reasserting control when the conversation gets too real.
I learn things about him too, in bits and pieces. That he took over Phantom Lotus when he was twenty-six, after his father died of a heart attack. That the transition wasn’t smooth—he had to put down three separate coup attempts in the first year, had to prove he was just as ruthless as his old man. That he doesn’t trust easily, doesn’t let people close, keeps everyone at arm’s length except for his second-in-command Baek Doyun who’s apparently been with him since they were teenagers.
“You have friends?” I ask one night when he’s mentioned Doyun for the third time in an hour.
“I have assets,” he corrects, not looking up from his phone.
“That’s sad.”
“That’s smart.” He sets the phone down and looks at me, his expression hard. “Friends are liabilities. They make you weak. They give your enemies leverage.”
“So what does that make me?”
His smile is sharp and humorless. “A different kind of liability. One I’m keeping close so I can control.”
I should probably be insulted, but honestly it’s the most honest thing he’s said to me. At least he’s not pretending this is anything other than what it is—ownership, possession, control. I’m not his boyfriend or his partner. I’m his bonded pet, kept naked and collared because he can, because the bond gives him that power over me.
The fucked up part is I don’t hate it as much as I should.
One evening, after I’ve been kept for who knows how long, I’m kneeling on the bedroom floor, naked except for the collarthat’s become as familiar as my own skin, when I hear the commotion outside. Heavy footsteps, raised voices, the kind of urgent energy that makes my spine straighten even though I’m supposed to stay put like a good pet.
The door slams open and Suha storms in, and my stomach drops.
Blood. There’s so much blood.
His suit jacket hangs torn and ruined off one shoulder, the expensive fabric shredded. His white shirt is soaked crimson on the left side, the stain spreading with each second. His face is twisted in fury, lips pulled back in a snarl that shows teeth, and there’s a wildness in his eyes I haven’t seen before.
I’m on my feet before I can think about it, the instinct to move overriding every lesson I’ve learned about staying still until given permission.
“What the fuck happened?”
Suha’s guards tense at their posts by the door, hands moving toward their weapons like they think I’m attacking. But Suha waves them off with a sharp gesture, still pacing, still bleeding.
“I was shot,” he snarls, the words coming out clipped and vicious. “Some bastard with a rifle from a building across the street. During a meeting with my lieutenants at the warehouse in Seongsu.”
My heart is hammering. I’ve seen Suha angry before, seen him violent, but this is different. This is rage mixed with what looks almost like vulnerability, even though I know he’d kill me for suggesting it.
“By who?” I ask, taking a step closer even though every survival instinct I have is screaming at me to back away from an injured, furious alpha.
“Probably someone my uncle hired.” He yanks off what’s left of his jacket and throws it across the room. The movement makes him wince, his hand pressing against his side where blood seepsthrough his fingers. “Kyungho. My father’s younger brother. The old bastard thinks he should be running Phantom Lotus instead of me.”
