Chapter 13

However gently Yi-jae framed the violation, he was physically overwhelming. Jinseong’s biology recognized the Alpha before his mind could mount a defense. The contradiction—terror in his thoughts, autonomic sensitivity in his nerves—was perversely easier to endure than pure revulsion.

Then, cold panic seized him. The tattoo.

Inked between his inner thighs was the ownership seal, marking him as reserved property for a syndicate buyer whose face he had never seen. Cheol-joon alone knew the exact design. Jinseong’s pupils trembled.

Pushing the discarded trousers aside, Yi-jae froze. His dark eyes turned cold. “I recall you agreeing this morning that you were coming under me. Did I misunderstand?” He looked genuinely offended that a captive under his boot had dared to hesitate.

Jinseong instantly regretted letting his alarm show. “You’re right,” he whispered, ducking his head.

The immediate submission smoothed the edge from Yi-jae’s expression, the easy smile returning. “Then don’t make me ask twice.”

“…”

Yi-jae’s hand slid lower while he rested his chin against the hollow of Jinseong’s throat, breathing him in. Though there should have been no scent, Jinseong’s shoulders seized. When Yi-jae’s broad palm cupped his bare groin, the skin-to-skin contact sent a violent shudder through his spine. He stepped back.

“Jinseong.” Yi-jae tilted his head. He had spoken only the name, yet goosebumps erupted across Jinseong’s flesh. Hooking an arm around the youth’s waist, Yi-jae pulled him into a languid, unyielding embrace. “Your master has changed,” he whispered against his ear.

His voice remained calm while his touch turned deliberate. Yi-jae’s long fingers closed around Jinseong’s length, stroking upward with measured slowness. Jinseong choked on a breath, his hips locking rigid. His traitorous body reacted despite his frantic attempts at detachment. Yi-jae watched the erection harden, smearing the clear bead of pre-ejaculate across the tip with his thumb. Jinseong’s lower abdomen clenched violently.

The interest in Yi-jae’s gaze turned predatory. “Sensitive, too.”

“…”

“And your face is even better.” Yi-jae lifted a hand to Jinseong’s jaw, turning his face. He exerted minimal force, yet Jinseong complied instantly. The docility made Yi-jae wonder what kind of master had beaten that submission into him. A gentle nudge beneath the chin was enough to make Jinseong part his lips. Yi-jae examined his mouth with leisurely fascination. “As for your mouth…” He had already verified that.

Jinseong’s tongue trembled even as he kept his expression blank. He seemed unsure what to do with his own lips, confirming Yi-jae’s suspicion: whatever horrors this boy had endured, sexual experience was not among them. When Yi-jae tilted his chin higher, Jinseong’s eyes dropped. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing; when their gazes intersected again, Jinseong was the first to look away.

“…”

“…”

Yi-jae traced his fingertips slowly down the groove of Jinseong’s spine. The reaction was electric: Jinseong’s brow pinched, and his thighs began to tremble. “Found a spot,” Yi-jae murmured, flattening his palm against the small of the boy’s back.

Jinseong folded inward—head dropping, shoulders caving, knees trembling—desperately trying to avoid touching the man breaking him down. Yi-jae stepped closer, trapping him against his own chest.

Jinseong flinched at every stroke, yet clamped his jaw shut against making a sound. Yi-jae savored the stubborn defiance; passive obedience was boring, but this desperate, terrified self-control made him eager to see where the fracture line lay. Slipping his palm over the curve of Jinseong’s hip, his fingers slid toward the cleft of his buttocks.

“N-not there…!” Jinseong gasped, reacting on pure reflex as both fists flew up to shove at Yi-jae’s chest.

Yi-jae stared down at the hands braced against his shirt, momentarily surprised.

Right then, his smartphone rang.

Jinseong jumped at the chime, nearly sagging in relief as the hands released him. He dragged a trembling arm across his chest, finally pulling in air. Yi-jae looked furious at the interruption, reaching into his tailored jacket with an icy scowl. Pulling the device out, his brow tightened further as he registered the caller ID: the main estate. He answered without removing his other hand from Jinseong’s chest, feeling the boy’s pulse galloping like a cornered hare’s.

—[I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, sir.]

“If you’re sorry, why did you dial? Do you want to die?” Yi-jae’s voice turned into razor wire.

—[Chairman Baek[1] has summoned you.]

Yi-jae traced small circles over Jinseong’s collarbone with his thumb. Jinseong caught his wrist with a strangled whimper, his eyes pleading for release.

“When isn’t that old bastard losing his mind?” Yi-jae snarled.

Jinseong shrank back from the fury in his voice, even knowing it was aimed at someone else. Yi-jae absently massaged the back of Jinseong’s neck, feeling the delicate tendons quiver beneath his palm. His irritation flared; after tracking Jinseong all day, he had finally cornered him, only for the family patriarch to pull the leash.

—[The vehicle is waiting in the basement, sir.]

Clicking his tongue, Yi-jae ended the call. His gaze lingered on Jinseong with heavy reluctance. “Go wash up. And keep weight off that foot.”

“…”

The instant Yi-jae turned, Jinseong snatched the pajama shirt from the floor, his knees knocking as he scrambled into the bathroom.

* * *

Bracing both hands against the marble sink, Jinseong let out the breath he had been holding in a series of ragged gasps. Get a grip, Lee Jinseong. The skin at the nape of his neck burned—an unmistakable warning sign. He struck his own cheeks with flat palms. He had fought to remain detached, yet his physiology had surrendered at the first touch.

Baek Yi-jae had overwhelmed him without exerting an ounce of real force. Had the man released pheromones? No, that was impossible for a Beta to perceive. Jinseong shook his head violently, yet Yi-jae’s dark gaze and hot touch remained branded into his nerves.

“Damn it…”

Dominant Alpha or not, something about the man had slipped past all Jinseong’s mental defenses. Why was his core still burning? The ghost of that induced heat flared in his memory, sharp with panic. His erection had not subsided, his pulse was erratic, and his thoughts were fracturing. Cold water… no, the suppressants first.

Jinseong tucked his mother’s photograph deep into the cabinet and retrieved the toilet paper bundle containing the two tablets. His hands shook violently. Hurry.

The latch clicked. The door swung wide without warning.

Jinseong jerked in terror, the bundle slipping through his numb fingers and falling straight into the toilet bowl. He watched in frozen horror as the thin paper dissolved, the precious tablets disintegrating into the water. A bundle of fresh laundry landed against his chest.

“Wash up and put these on,” Yi-jae instructed, tossing the clean bundle into Jinseong’s arms. “I’ve got to go out. Get some sleep.”

When Jinseong merely stared in stunned silence, Yi-jae added, “They’ll bring dinner up in twenty minutes. Don’t panic.”

Jinseong nodded numbly. Two out of seventeen. Gone. Shit.

Yi-jae, oblivious to the catastrophe, let his gaze drop to Jinseong’s bare thighs before looking up. “Touch yourself while I’m gone, and you’ll answer for it when I get back.” He still looked thoroughly displeased as he pulled the door shut.

The instant the latch clicked, Jinseong plunged his hands into the toilet bowl, heedless of the filth. He tore through the soggy paper fibers, but the chalky tablets had completely liquefied.

“Haa…” A shattered sigh broke from his lips. Every single dose was a day of survival.

He stood, washed his hands thoroughly, opened the medicine cabinet, and swallowed another suppressant from the bottle without water. One tablet daily was his maintenance dose; today, he took a second because the heat in his groin refused to subside, and the terror of a spontaneous cycle was no longer theoretical. He would endure anything to avoid another induced heat: that bottomless, animal longing, his own body weaponized against his will. To be exposed as an Omega in this den of killers meant immediate execution. Jinseong cupped water from the faucet, drinking until the chemical bitterness faded from his tongue.

He stood beneath an icy shower until violent chills overtook him, then warmed the water just enough to stop shaking. In the vanity mirror, exhaustion hollowed his cheekbones.

The clean clothes proved to be an oversized white crewneck and crimson boxer briefs. It was an improvement over the pajama shirt, yet still lacked trousers. Jinseong stared at them in utter disbelief. What the hell is his problem with trousers? The ensemble looked as humiliating as he feared. The wide collar slid off his shoulder, and the boxers left his legs entirely bare. Tugging the hem down in vain, Jinseong gave up. Baek Yi-jae was definitely a pervert.

Two unfamiliar suited men were stationed outside the bathroom. One gestured toward the glass dining table, where a gourmet hamburger had been unpacked on porcelain. Half a day without sustenance rendered pride meaningless. Jinseong limped over and took a seat, tugging the oversized shirt between his thighs for modesty. Neither guard spared him a glance. Normal people, he realized. Which means Yi-jae is the only lunatic here.

The burger was too thick to bite cleanly. A steak knife lay beside the plate, but hunger eclipsed etiquette. Jinseong opened wide and took a massive bite, causing one guard’s eyes to widen slightly. Jinseong ignored him, cleaning the plate to the last crumb before slumping back against the chair.

One guard stepped forward with heavy plastic cable ties. Without waiting for the command, Jinseong brought his wrists together, eager to demonstrate cooperation so they wouldn’t bind his ankles.

“Try anything funny, and we zip your legs together too,” the guard warned. Jinseong nodded submissively.

The drone of the wall-mounted television eventually pulled him into sleep. Hours later, bone-deep cold woke him. Jinseong rubbed his knees with his bound hands, shivering as the draft seeped into his skin. Dawn was bleeding around the edges of the blackout drapes. He hauled himself up, limping to the sink to drink tap water. A stainless steel refrigerator stood nearby, but unsure whether he was allowed to touch it, he retreated to the sofa.

Curling onto his side, he tucked his bound fists between his thighs and folded inward against the chill. It was miserable, yet exhaustion dragged him back under.

“Are you an idiot?” The sharp voice barely penetrated his slumber. His brows twitched, but his eyelids remained heavy. A dream, he decided, sinking deeper.

“So you’re a clever little idiot after all.”

Warm, broad hands moved over his bare skin, cupping his icy neck, his forearms, and even his bare toes, warming each in turn. The shivering gradually subsided. Jinseong let out a faint, contented sigh. Floating in semi-consciousness, strong arms lifted him effortlessly. A familiar fragrance of ozone and dark cedar drifted past his face. Unconsciously seeking the warmth, Jinseong nuzzled his cheek against the bare chest carrying him.

“Aha,” Yi-jae murmured softly. “So you really can catch my scent.”

The words held no meaning for Jinseong in his twilight state; he only knew the cold was gone. A plush mattress received him, followed by the weight of a heavy down duvet. Somewhere above him, a low chuckle rumbled. Jinseong’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and he slipped into deep sleep.