Worried Brother

The first rays of the January sun cut through the heavy velvet curtains of Suite like a blade.

Seth stirred, his mind foggy and thick with the remnants of the "Flash Heat." As his consciousness returned, so did the sensory memory of the night—the scent of ozone, the weight of a body, and the shattering of his own carefully built walls.

He turned his head slowly. Caesar Silva Yale lay beside him, the picture of devastating, relaxed power. The dark-haired Alpha was sleeping deeply, his breathing heavy and rhythmic. But it was Caesar’s back that made Seth’s breath hitch—it was a map of Seth's own desperation, marked with long, angry red scratches where Seth had clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a shifting world.

Seth looked down at himself. His skin, usually pale and porcelain-perfect, was a canvas of "red paint dots"—vivid love bites and bruises that blossomed across his collarbone, his chest, and his hips.

What have I done?

The panic hit him like a physical blow. He scrambled out of bed, his legs feeling like lead. He gathered his clothes, which were scattered across the room like casualties of war. As he reached for his card on the nightstand, he froze.

Suite 906.

The key card Lu Han had given him was for 909. In his heat-blinded haze, he had stumbled into the wrong room—the one room in the entire hotel he should have avoided at all costs.

The Flight

He didn't wait. He dressed with trembling hands, his movements frantic and lacking any of his usual grace. He slipped out of the room, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

The drive to his private villa was a blur of neon lights and New Year's Day fog. He didn't remember parking the car. He only remembered the scalding heat of the shower as he tried to scrub the scent of "thunder and bourbon" from his skin. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, the marks remained—angry, red reminders of his total surrender.

He moved through the house like a ghost. He disconnected the landline. He switched his cell phone to silent and threw it into a drawer. Then, he crawled into bed and stayed there.

For three days, the "Scholar-Prince" of the Li Vicus family hid. He didn't eat; he didn't check the news. He only stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sky to fall.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, the silence was shattered.

The heavy oak front doors of the villa didn't just open; they were conquered. Seth heard the familiar, confident stride of someone who had never been told "no" in his entire life.

"Seth! If you’re dead, I’m claiming your library!"

Sam Vivian Li Vicus burst into the bedroom. At twenty-four, Seth’s younger brother was a stark contrast to him. While Seth was the silent scholar, Sam was the golden boy—a charismatic Alpha CEO who ran the family’s corporate empire with a grin and a ruthless streak.

Seth pulled the duvet up to his chin, his face pale. "Go away, Sam. I’m ill."

"You’re not ill. You’re hiding," Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning against the bedpost. He narrowed his eyes, his "Alpha intuition" twitching. He sniffed the air, his expression shifting from annoyance to predatory curiosity. "Wait. The air in here is... different."

"It's just incense," Seth lied, his voice trembling.

"Liar." Sam lunged forward, faster than a cat, and yanked the duvet down before Seth could stop him.

The high collar of Seth’s silk pajamas had shifted, exposing a dark, unmistakable purple mark right on the side of his neck. Sam froze. His jaw dropped, and then a slow, mischievous, and incredibly childish grin spread across his face.

"Oh. My. God," Sam whispered, jumping onto the edge of the bed like they were ten years old again. "The untouchable Professor got caught in a storm! Seth, you look like you were tackled by a bear!"

"Sam, leave. Now," Seth hissed, pulling his collar up, his face burning with a mix of shame and terror.

"Not a chance! Who was it?" Sam leaned in closer, poking Seth’s shoulder playfully. "Was it that French Duke? Or that archaeologist you’re always arguing with? No, wait... this scent... it’s heavy. It’s powerful."

Sam’s eyes suddenly widened as he put the pieces together—the gala, the disappearance, the sheer intensity of the "marks" on his brother.

"Who was it, Sethie?" Sam teased, his voice singsong and relentless. "Who’s the lucky Alpha who broke the Li Vicus ice? Come on, tell your favorite brother! I won't tell Dad... much."

How do I tell this idiot, I slept with his business/family rival and got marked by him. It will be the End of Me. Puzzled Seth covered himself with the blanket and sat there on the bed looking at his golden retriever brother.

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