CHAPTER 1: "WORTHY MEETS UNWORTHY"

--------

The night stank of cigarettes, Hungry alphas, and trouble.

Han Jae-min had no business strutting into Alpha territory at two in the damn morning, but there he was—silk shirt open to the third button, gold chain flashing under neon streetlights, sneakers squeaking on puddled pavement. He was bored. Bored of bodyguards, bored of luxury, bored of the way everyone in his father’s empire bowed when he walked past.

And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to get caught.

“Fucking boring-ass city,” he muttered in Korean, kicking a loose beer can into the gutter. “All these assholes talk about being an alpha and mafia boss like it’s hell itself. Where’s the fire? Where’s the devils?”

He lit a cigarette, dragged deep, and blew the smoke into the night like a dare.

That’s when he felt it: eyes on him. A prickle at the back of his neck, sharp enough to raise goosebumps. The air thickened, heavy, tinged with something primal—Alpha scent. Strong. Cold. Cutting through the street like iron and musk.

Jae-min froze, pulse spiking. Omegas were rare, precious, practically extinct. And he was one of them. His father kept it hidden, buried under drugs and suppressants. But tonight—without the meds humming through his veins—he felt it. Felt him.

A shadow detached itself from the alley.

Six-foot-four of danger. Black tailored suit, leather gloves, smoke curling from the cigar between his teeth. Tattoos glinted faint under the lamplight as he moved closer, like the night had carved itself into a man.

“Что за хуйня?” the man growled, Russian sharp and low. What the fuck is this?

Jae-min swallowed, lifted his chin. Smirked, even though his knees screamed at him to run. “Nice accent. You guys always this friendly to tourists?”

The Russian stopped in front of him. He was huge. Cold steel eyes raked him from messy hair to his expensive sneakers like a wolf assessing prey.

“You’re in Black Flag streets,” the man said, voice low and smooth, with an edge like broken glass. “And you stink of Omega. Dangerous place for a little prince to wander.”

Jae-min scoffed, blowing smoke toward his face. “Fuck you. I go where I want.”

Wrong move. The cigar hit the ground. A leather-gloved hand closed around his throat, slamming him against the wall before he even blinked.

The world narrowed to heat, strength, the press of calloused fingers on his windpipe.

Jae-min gasped, tried to laugh through it. “K-kind of dramatic, don’t you think? You don’t even know my name.”

The man leaned close, breath dark with smoke and vodka. “I don’t need your name. I know exactly what you are.”

His nose skimmed the side of Jae-min’s throat, inhaling. A deep, slow drag that made something inside Jae-min writhe. Fuck. Heat coiled low, traitorous and sharp.

The Russian smirked against his skin. “Rare little Omega. Pretty little brat. Your scent will start a war if the wrong man finds you.”

Jae-min shoved weakly at his chest. “I’m not your fucking problem.”

Steel eyes glinted. “No. You’re my solution.”

Before Jae-min could snarl back, headlights flashed down the street. Black cars. Armed men stepping out. Guns, suits, whispers of Boss, Boss, as they surrounded.

One of them eyed Jae-min with recognition, muttering in Russian. The wolf’s grip on his throat tightened just enough to remind him who was in charge.

Then, calm as a king, the man announced:

“Han Jae-min. Youngest son of the Korean Syndicate.”

Gasps rippled. Jae-min’s blood ran cold. Fuck. He knows.

The Russian leaned in again, lips brushing his ear. “Your father trespassed in my territory, so I’ll take his son. A collar for a collar.”

Jae-min’s eyes widened. “The fuck you will—”

But he was already being dragged into the black car, wrists pinned, throat burning with the phantom of that grip. The man’s name dropped like a guillotine as the doors slammed shut.

“Nikolai Vasiliev. Mafia. Your new husband.”

---

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***