CHAPTER 1

Chapter 1

In the North, late autumn carried a cold, slicing wind outside.

But inside the room, it was warm—soft enough to feel unreal, almost indulgent. The kind of warmth that made people forget how sharp the world could be.

So warm it felt wrong.

Like someone’s personality.

“Your schedule for today is as follows.”

A calm electronic female voice filled the quiet living room.

“It is 8:18 a.m., Yangcheng time, November 10th, 2022.

10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Solace Inhibitor commercial shoot.

5:00 p.m. to 6:30 p.m., Gulu Gulu platform interview.

8:00 p.m., themed salon dinner.

Once again—”

A white, slender hand reached out.

Click.

The robotic cat on the coffee table was lightly pressed on its head. The voice instantly stopped mid-loop, replaced by a soft mechanical silence.

Too loud.

Even that gentle reminder felt like noise today.

The owner of the hand stood up from the sofa.

He didn’t move immediately.

Just stayed there for two seconds.

As if waiting for something inside his head—the fog, the pressure, the dull ache behind his eyes—to settle down enough for him to function like a normal person.

It didn’t fully go away.

It never really did anymore.

He still stepped forward.

“Brother Che.”

A bright voice came from the kitchen.

“What are you taking? Why didn’t you call me again?”

Tong Che paused.

Slowly turned back.

Ruan Tang was inside the kitchen, struggling with three appliances at once—soy milk machine, bread maker, egg cooker—like she was fighting a small war alone.

Too noisy.

Too alive.

He looked at her for a second and felt something mild but familiar rise in his chest.

Not irritation.

Just exhaustion disguised as calm.

“What do you want me to call you for?” he said lightly. “So you can split into three versions of yourself and come running?”

Ruan Tang immediately dropped everything.

“I can! Just call me! Why are you still like this after a year and a half?”

She rushed out, wiping her hands.

Her voice was loud, warm, too close.

Tong Che didn’t answer immediately.

Because for a second—

A faint pressure spread behind his temples.

A headache.

Again.

He pressed his fingers lightly against his brow.

Not hard enough to show.

Just enough to survive it.

“I want painkillers,” he finally said. “If I ask you, will you get them for me?”

Ruan Tang froze.

Then her expression changed instantly.

“Brother Che… again?”

Her tone wasn’t anger.

It was worry trying very hard to sound like scolding.

“You’re eating them like candy. Do you even know how bad that is?”

Tong Che didn’t respond.

Because explaining would take energy.

And energy was something he didn’t have in abundance.

The pain behind his eyes pulsed again.

He inhaled slowly.

“I have work all day,” he said softly. “I might not be able to hold on without them.”

That word—hold on—slipped out too naturally.

Like it had lived in his vocabulary for years.

Ruan Tang stopped arguing.

She turned around, grabbed the medicine box, poured warm water, and placed everything in front of him.

Her movements were fast.

Too fast.

Like if she slowed down, she might see something she didn’t want to understand.

Tong Che took the pill.

Swallowed it.

Warm water followed it down his throat.

For a second, he closed his eyes.

Waiting for the edge of pain to dull.

It didn’t disappear.

Just softened.

Like everything in his life.

Never gone.

Only reduced.

He leaned back into the sofa.

The warm light in the room hit his skin, making him look softer than he actually felt.

Thin shoulders.

Pale face.

Lips slightly colorless.

A body that looked like it belonged in a display cabinet, not a working world.

Ruan Tang sighed.

“Brother Che… when your schedule clears, talk to Brother Lou. At least take a few days off.”

For a split second—

Something flickered across Tong Che’s eyes.

A reflex.

A refusal before thought.

Then it faded.

“I can still hold on,” he said.

Not because he believed it.

Because there was no alternative.

Ruan Tang didn’t push further.

“I know, I know. Being busy is good.”

She turned back to the kitchen.

But Tong Che didn’t move.

Because the truth wasn’t something he could say out loud.

It sat somewhere deeper.

Beneath the painkillers.

Beneath the exhaustion.

Beneath even his thoughts.

He wasn’t just tired.

He was controlled.

From the moment he differentiated as an Omega at thirteen, his life stopped belonging to him.

365 days.

Heat cycles that never stabilized.

A body that never stopped reacting.

A mind that never stopped being reminded.

Suppressants.

Always suppressants.

Even now, sitting here quietly, his body carried a low, constant unrest—like something under the skin trying to wake up.

He hated that part the most.

Not the pain.

Not the side effects.

But the lack of control.

Ten years.

And he still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Brother Che, breakfast is ready!”

Ruan Tang’s voice pulled him back.

He stood up.

Walked to the table.

Simple food waited.

Whole wheat bread. Unsweetened soy milk. A boiled egg.

Control disguised as nutrition.

Ruan Tang, on the other hand, ate something completely different—rich, warm, alive.

She noticed his gaze.

“Doesn’t it feel boring?” she asked.

Tong Che took a bite.

“It’s fine.”

Of course it was fine.

He had learned long ago:

Boring is safe.

Safe is necessary.

Anything else came with consequences.

His gaze drifted briefly to Ruan Tang’s cup of hot chocolate.

For a fraction of a second—

Something sharp moved inside him.

Not desire exactly.

More like instinct.

A body remembering something it was never allowed to ask for.

He lowered his eyes immediately.

Ate his bread.

Quietly.

After dressing, Ruan Tang helped him into his coat.

He looked too clean.

Too perfect.

Like something carefully edited out of chaos.

“You look like a prince,” she said proudly.

Tong Che sighed.

“That’s just an internet joke.”

But he still put on the Omega pheromone collar.

Habit.

Not trust.

Never trust.

Because even with suppressants, his body could betray him at the worst possible time.

And he couldn’t afford that.

Not in this industry.

Not in this world.

Not ever.

In the car, his manager called.

Busy. Distracted. Barely present.

“Deal with it yourself,” Lou Gui said quickly.

Tong Che didn’t react.

Of course.

He hung up.

Looked out the window.

Trees blurred past.

And then—

The thought came.

Solace.

If this commercial went well, he could secure something stable.

Something that would reduce his dependence on suppressants.

Even a little.

Even temporarily.

That alone was worth enduring today.

The studio was bright, expensive, flawless.

Everything looked designed to sell perfection.

And Tong Che became part of that design.

Ice-toned makeup.

Cold lighting.

Frosted costume.

A “clean Omega.”

A “perfect spokesperson.”

A “safe image.”

He moved through poses like muscle memory.

Smile slightly.

Turn head.

Lower gaze.

Lift hand.

Even the suppressants in his pocket felt like part of the performance.

Sometimes in his mouth.

Sometimes in his fingers.

Always present.

Always controlled.

Five hours later, the shoot ended.

“Brother Che, you were amazing!”

Ruan Tang’s voice sounded distant.

He was already tired.

Too tired.

Painkillers dulled the edges, but not the weight inside his skull.

Not the emptiness.

Not the quiet pressure of his own body constantly reminding him:

You are not normal.

In the car, he closed his eyes.

Sleep came fast.

Too fast.

And with it—

The dream.

Blue sea.

Endless.

A faceless man standing far away on the shore.

No voice.

No name.

Only presence.

Like something waiting.

Something he couldn’t reach.

“Brother Che, wake up.”

He opened his eyes.

Time had passed.

Lunch forgotten.

Body slightly heavier.

They were already at Gulu Gulu Live.

He ate quickly.

Went upstairs.

Interview began.

Everything was smooth.

Until—

“One last question.”

The host smiled.

“Who is your idol?”

A pause.

Too small.

Too dangerous.

His mind flickered.

A face.

A frame from a movie.

A body that shouldn’t exist in his thoughts this clearly.

Heat—no.

Not heat.

Just awareness.

Sharp. Sudden. Uncontrolled.

“Mu—”

He stopped.

Too late.

The sound still escaped.

And everything changed.

Later, in the car, his phone exploded with notifications.

Hot search rising.

Ruan Tang talking nonstop.

He didn’t listen.

Because his mind wasn’t there.

It was still stuck on that moment.

That split second of loss of control.

He hated it.

Not because of Mu Hanfeng.

But because he had lost precision.

And in his life—

Losing precision meant danger.

At the company building.

A corridor.

A shadow.

A man standing still, leaning slightly against the wall.

Black shirt.

Half-open collar.

Cold face.

Thin glasses.

Alpha presence so heavy it changed the air around him.

Ruan Tang stopped breathing mid-step.

Tong Che looked up.

And for the first time that day—

His carefully controlled world cracked slightly at the edge.

Because Mu Hanfeng was looking at him.

And Tong Che realized something with uncomfortable clarity:

This wasn’t just a coincidence.

This was going to become a problem.

Mu Hanfeng

Alpha

Tong Che

Omgea

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