The rain poured heavily against the glass windows of Highton Academy, blurring the view of the school courtyard. Students passed through the halls in clusters, chattering, laughing, living their ordinary lives. But for Yuki, today wasn’t ordinary. He was late, wet, and clutching his transfer file to his chest like it was a shield.

His soft silver hair, damp from the drizzle, stuck to his pale skin. Omega. It wasn’t written on his forehead, but people always knew. They sensed it. The way he held his breath around alphas, the way his gaze dropped unconsciously, the way he tried to be small—unnoticed.

He hated it.

Yuki turned the corner too fast and slammed into something—or someone.

“Ah, sorry—!” he stumbled back, papers fluttering out of his file and onto the polished floor.

Silence.

He looked up and met eyes so dark they swallowed light. The boy in front of him wasn’t just tall—he was presence. Calm. Cold. Dangerous. His uniform fit perfectly, like it was designed just for him, and his raven hair framed his angular face like a painting that shouldn’t be touched.

Alpha.

Yuki’s omega instincts screamed it. His scent receptors were suddenly overrun—something musky, electric, like storm-charged air after lightning.

The alpha didn’t speak. Just crouched, picked up a paper, then held it out to him. Their fingers touched for a brief second. Something shifted. A spark, not kind or gentle—but sharp, almost painful.

Yuki’s heart thudded hard.

“I didn’t mean to—” Yuki’s voice trailed off.

The alpha tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re the new one.”

Yuki nodded slowly.

“You reek of nerves,” he said, voice low and flat.

Yuki flushed, immediately tucking the file under his arm and bowing slightly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the boy said, stepping closer. Too close. His scent wrapped around Yuki like a cage. “It’s... interesting.”

Before Yuki could ask what that meant, the alpha stepped past him and walked away.

He didn’t even ask for a name.

But Yuki would never forget that moment—or that scent.

It was only later in the classroom that Yuki learned his name.

“Kazuki Ren,” said a girl beside him, whispering as if afraid Ren could hear from across the room. “Third year. Alpha. His family owns half the city. Dangerous guy. Doesn’t talk to anyone.”

Yuki’s heart twisted. That name. That cold voice.

As if summoned by mention, Ren lifted his eyes and stared directly at Yuki.

Yuki froze.

Something burned behind those eyes—an intensity too raw to be casual. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He just watched.

And Yuki felt like prey.

Days passed, but the feeling didn’t fade. Ren was everywhere. Silent in the halls. Present in the cafeteria. Always near, but never speaking to him again. Still, Yuki could feel it—the weight of his gaze when his back was turned, the phantom brush of a glance across the classroom.

He pretended not to notice.

He had to.

Because every time he saw Ren, his scent struck him again—harder. Wilder. As if it knew something Yuki didn’t. And in the quiet moments, he found himself thinking about those eyes, that voice, the feeling of being seen.

It was ridiculous.

He barely knew him.

Still, Yuki’s heart betrayed him every single time Ren was near.

He kept it a secret. Of course he did.

Even from himself.

But Ren knew.

He always knew.

From the moment they touched, something ignited in his blood—something ancient, possessive. He didn’t need to mark the omega to know Yuki was his. That scent, that fragile vulnerability cloaked in courage... it fascinated him.

No. It consumed him.

He watched. He waited. He fed his obsession silently, letting it bloom in the shadows of his quiet world.

Yuki didn’t need to know.

Not yet.

Not until Ren could have him—not as a student, not as a child—but as something more.

Something permanent.

He smiled once, alone on the rooftop, watching the world pass beneath him.

Just a little longer, he thought.

And then he vanished.

Yuki never got a goodbye. Not a word. Not even a glance.

One day, Ren was there, watching him like always.

The next, he was gone.

Graduated early. Moved overseas, they said. Taking over the family empire. A genius, a prodigy.

Gone.

Yuki didn’t cry. Not in front of anyone.

But the silence left a hollow ache in his chest that no one noticed.

He told himself to forget.

And five years later...

He would meet him again.

Five years later…

Yuki adjusted his tie for the third time, palms damp with nerves. The reflection in the mirror showed a young man, no longer a boy—sharper jawline, slightly broader shoulders, and tired eyes that had seen too much too soon. But underneath the professional polish, he still carried the same quiet ache.

The ache of a name he hadn’t spoken aloud in years: Kazuki Ren.

But today wasn’t about the past. It was about survival. Rent was due. His part-time gigs weren’t cutting it. And somehow—miraculously—he’d passed the final round of interviews for a job as the personal assistant to the CEO of Kazuki Corporation, the biggest conglomerate in the city.

Yuki had laughed bitterly when he saw the company name. Coincidence. It had to be. The Kazuki family was enormous—Ren could be anywhere in the world.

This wouldn’t mean anything.

Right?

---

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the thirty-seventh floor—sleek, silver, and suffocatingly silent.

“Mr. Kazuki is expecting you,” the receptionist said with a polite nod. “Go ahead.”

Yuki swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He stepped in.

The CEO’s office was massive, dimly lit by the cloudy skyline stretching behind floor-to-ceiling windows. A desk sat at the far end, all glass and cold steel. The chair behind it was turned away, facing the view.

Yuki bowed formally. “I’m Yuki Hanabira, reporting as instructed—”

The chair turned slowly.

Yuki’s breath caught.

Time stopped.

It was him.

Older. Sharper. Beautiful in a dangerous, haunting way. Black hair combed back, jaw strong, expression unreadable—but those eyes were the same. Piercing, endless, cruel in their stillness.

“Sit,” Ren said, voice deeper now. Commanding.

Yuki sat automatically, legs trembling under the table.

For a full minute, Ren said nothing. Just looked at him—like he was dissecting him, memorizing every inch, every change.

“You’ve changed,” Ren said finally.

Yuki tried to keep his voice steady. “So have you.”

Another pause. “Why did you apply here?”

Yuki blinked. “I didn’t know… it was you.”

Ren leaned forward slightly. “Would you have still applied, if you did?”

“I—” Yuki hesitated. He didn’t know the answer. “Probably not.”

Ren’s lips twitched—almost a smile, but too dark to be called one. “Pity. I had you marked from the start.”

Yuki froze.

“What?”

Ren stood up, slowly. His tall frame cast a long shadow across the desk as he walked toward Yuki, every step deliberate, calculated.

“I watched you for years,” Ren murmured, circling him like a predator. “In school. Quiet. Observant. Sweet scent… even when you were scared.”

Yuki’s breath hitched. “You… you remember that?”

“I remember everything,” he said, now standing behind Yuki’s chair, voice dangerously close to his ear. “Your scent still lingers in my head. It never faded.”

Yuki stood abruptly and stepped away, putting distance between them. “Why didn’t you ever say anything then? Why leave without a word?”

Ren tilted his head. “You were too young. And I wasn’t ready. But I never lost track of you.”

The words felt like an invisible chain wrapping around Yuki’s chest. “You... followed me?”

“I invested in the companies you worked at,” Ren said, voice calm, like it was normal. “Had your records flagged. When I saw you applied here, I cleared your background check myself.”

Yuki’s stomach twisted. “That’s insane.”

“It’s fate.”

“No. It’s control,” Yuki said, stepping back again.

But Ren just watched him with those bottomless eyes. “And yet you’re here.”

Yuki’s hands clenched. “Because I needed the job. Not you.”

“Then quit,” Ren said simply. “Walk out that door.”

Silence.

Yuki didn’t move.

Ren stepped closer. “That’s what I thought.”

---

The rest of the day blurred. Tasks. Emails. Endless tension. Ren gave no further comment—just commands. Cold. Formal. Yet Yuki could feel his eyes burning into him all the time.

By the time the sun set, Yuki’s nerves were unraveling.

He stood by the window, trying to breathe.

“I scared you,” came the voice behind him.

Yuki turned. Ren was closer than he should’ve been.

“I’m not the boy you knew anymore,” Yuki said softly.

“I don’t want the boy,” Ren replied. “I want the man you became.”

The words hung heavy.

“Why now?” Yuki whispered. “After five years?”

Ren took one step forward. Then another.

“Because now I can touch you,” he murmured. “And no one can stop me.”

Yuki’s heart raced, torn between fear and something else. Something worse. Desire.

Ren reached out, brushing a hand against Yuki’s cheek. “You don’t have to pretend. Your scent gives you away.”

Yuki jerked back. “Don’t.”

“I’ve waited too long,” Ren said, voice low and rough. “I’m not letting go again.”

Yuki’s breathing quickened. “You don’t get to own me.”

“I already do,” Ren whispered, stepping close enough to trap him against the window. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

Their faces were inches apart.

And then—

Ren leaned in, lips brushing against Yuki’s ear.

“I missed your scent every single night.”

Yuki’s knees nearly gave out.

---

He didn’t sleep that night.

He couldn’t.

Ren was back—and he wasn’t hiding anymore.

Behind those eyes was obsession.

And it had Yuki locked in its grip.

Yuki sat in the café across the street from the Kazuki Corporation building, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The air outside was brisk, the streets busy, but inside, his world had shrunk into the echo of Ren’s words from the day before:

“I already do. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

He hadn't told anyone. Who would believe him? That the CEO of the city’s most powerful conglomerate had watched him for years, manipulated his job applications, and now claimed him like some long-lost possession? Even Yuki barely believed it himself. And yet—he’d seen it in Ren’s eyes.

It wasn’t love.

It was obsession. Beautiful and terrifying.

And deep down, a part of Yuki felt drawn to it.

He hated that part.

---

Back in the office, Yuki was a ghost. He moved through tasks, kept his head down, and avoided Ren’s gaze. But it didn’t help. Because Ren wasn’t the kind of man you could hide from.

“You didn’t eat lunch.”

Yuki flinched at the sound of Ren’s voice behind him. He didn’t even hear him approach.

“I wasn’t hungry,” Yuki replied, not looking up.

Ren walked around his desk, placing a bento box beside the keyboard.

“I had it made for you.”

Yuki stared at the box. Carefully wrapped, sleek, expensive. His name was printed on the tag in calligraphy.

He looked up slowly. “Why are you doing this?”

Ren tilted his head. “Because you’re mine.”

“You can’t just say that like it means something,” Yuki said, frustration slipping through his voice.

“I don’t need words. I have instincts.”

Yuki stood up abruptly, knocking the chair back. “You keep saying that, but I’m not an object. I’m not yours. You left me.”

Ren’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “And now I’ve come back.”

“As what? Some twisted alpha with a god complex?” Yuki snapped. “You had years to talk to me, but you stalked me instead. You didn’t love me—you just watched.”

The room fell silent.

Then, Ren stepped closer, his aura shifting, darker. “You’re wrong.”

Yuki’s heart pounded.

“You think I didn’t feel anything?” Ren asked quietly. “Every time you smiled in the classroom, every time you flinched when someone got too close, every time your scent spiked when I passed by—I felt all of it. I burned with it.”

Yuki’s breath caught.

“I didn’t speak back then because I would’ve ruined you,” Ren murmured, gaze unwavering. “But I never stopped wanting you.”

The air grew heavy. Dense with scent—his. That same overwhelming alpha pheromone that made Yuki’s knees weaken.

Yuki turned away quickly, struggling to breathe.

“I don’t want this,” he said softly.

“Liar.”

Yuki spun around. “I’m not—!”

But Ren was already close again, eyes burning.

“You think I don’t know what your scent does when I touch you?” he whispered. “You can lie with words, but not with instincts.”

Yuki backed up until he hit the edge of the desk.

Ren leaned in, placing a hand beside his head. “You’re in heat soon, aren’t you?”

Yuki’s body stiffened. “Don’t—”

“You’ve been masking it,” Ren said, voice dark and low, “but it’s seeping through. That sweetness… I remember it.”

Yuki’s face burned with shame. “I said don’t.”

But Ren didn’t move. He stared at Yuki like he could peel away every layer.

“You think you fell for me back then, don’t you?”

Yuki’s eyes widened. “What—”

Ren smiled, cruel and soft. “I saw it in your eyes. You used to look at me like I was your secret.”

Yuki’s heart cracked.

“I—never—” he whispered.

“You loved me quietly,” Ren said. “But I loved you like a storm.”

---

That night, Yuki walked home alone under the streetlights, every step echoing louder in his mind than on the pavement. He kept hearing Ren’s voice. “You used to look at me like I was your secret.”

Because it was true.

He remembered those late nights in the dorm, heart aching, wondering what it would be like if Ren ever looked at him the way he looked at the stars outside. He remembered the ache of seeing him in the hallway, the secret smiles he gave when no one watched.

It had bloomed so quietly.

A love he thought he buried.

And now—Ren had unearthed it.

But what bloomed between them wasn’t soft anymore.

It was dangerous.

---

Later that week, Yuki entered the office to find a sealed envelope on his desk. No note, no markings.

Inside was a photo.

A candid shot—of Yuki from five years ago, sitting on the rooftop of their old school, sketchbook in hand, wind ruffling his hair.

His breath hitched.

He flipped the photo over. One line was written on the back in Ren’s handwriting.

“I never forgot.”

Yuki sat down slowly, heart pounding.

What was this?

Affection?

Control?

Both?

And why… why did it hurt so much to feel remembered?

His hand trembled slightly as he placed the photo back into the envelope, tucking it into his drawer like it was a secret. Again.

---

In the hallway, Ren watched through the tinted glass wall, unreadable as ever.

But in his mind, he whispered words he wouldn’t say out loud yet:

“I won’t let you forget me again. Even if I have to break you first.”