One look at Neville and Grayson knew—he was drugged. And a pretty strong one at that.
How unlucky can one person be to experience all of this in a single day… It's absurd. His jaw clenched.
Grayson pulled out his light brain, ready to call in his private medical team—the ones who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut.
But Bryan was faster.
From nowhere, he produced a compact medical kit, snapping it open with practiced ease. He held up a capped syringe. "Omega inhibitor, sir. Military-grade."
Grayson's steps faltered, silver eyes narrowing—surprise, maybe even approval, flickering there for a split second.
Suppressants like that weren't common anymore. Not unless it was an emergency situation. The side effects were notoriously harsh: temporary gland paralysis, potential fertility risks, and, in the worst cases, a total pheromone shutdown that left omegas disconnected from their own bodies for days.
Bryan's dark eyes met Grayson's, a silent question in them. Are you sure?
"Do it," Grayson ordered, lowering Neville onto the sofa with deliberate care. His hands lingered just a moment too long, fingers brushing against the inflamed skin of Neville's neck where his glands were visibly swollen.
His voice dropped, sharper than intended. "Bryan. The inhibitor."
Bryan snapped out of his hesitation and moved quickly. He knelt, uncapped the syringe, and administered the shot directly into the gland on Neville's neck. The cold press of metal touched Neville's overheated skin.
The effect was immediate and violent—like ice flooded his veins. Neville's back arched, a broken whimper slipping past his lips as his body resisted the sudden chill.
[That looked painful, host,] Shelly muttered, her cartoon eyes squinting in sympathy. [Seriously—how are you even still conscious?]
Neville wasn't sure he was. His thoughts were blank, only registering the brutal change from scorching heat to a deep, bone-chilling cold. The pain was like an echo compared to the exhaustion that was filling him.
"I've contacted Dr. Zhao," Bryan said crisply, fingers flying over his light brain. "She's on her way up. ETA three minutes."
Grayson gave a short nod, though his eyes never left Neville. He watched every shallow breath, every flicker of exhaustion, like the world had narrowed to this fragile body on his sofa.
…
The doctor from the infirmary arrived earlier than expected—an elderly omega woman with sharp eyes and a steady presence. One glance at Neville and she was already pulling out her scanner.
Her hands were fast but gentle as she checked his pulse, examined swollen glands, and ran diagnostics on her light brain.
"Symptoms?" she asked, running a scanner over Neville's pheromone gland.
"Sudden onset heat," Bryan answered. "Discovered in the bathroom approximately 15 minutes ago. Administered emergency inhibitor immediately upon bringing him here."
The doctor nodded and continued her examination. She drew blood, checked vital signs, and ran three different types of scans. Finally, she leaned back with a frown.
"Well?" Grayson said in a low voice.
"Well… this is interesting." She adjusted her old-fashioned spectacles, squinting at the readings. She even ran the scan twice before responding. "No traces of heat-inducing drugs. No chemical triggers at all."
"That's impossible." Grayson's voice dropped a note lower, rough with restrained force. "You saw the state he was in."
"Yes. Which is why it's interesting." She glanced at him over the rim of her glasses, which somehow made her look more trustworthy. "Mr. Hope must be experiencing what we call an onset susceptible period."
The room went still.
"A what?" Bryan asked, breaking the silence.
"An onset susceptible period," The doctor's tone turned slightly disapproving. "Rare, but not unheard of. It can happen to omegas under extreme stress, or those who've suppressed their cycles too long. The body forces a reset—an intense heat that normal meds can't suppress. Has he been using suppressants regularly?"
"I don't know about that," Iris admitted. "But I've seen him switch patches two, sometimes three times a day."
"Are you sure he's a recessive?" Dr. Zhao's brow furrowed as she looked at the chart. "That frequency is expensive to maintain. Not to mention, highly unusual for a recessive."
"We don't know for sure," Iris said. "But he was under severe stress this morning, then sent back to file reports by midday."
Dr. Zhao gave a small nod, understanding the circumstances.
"Treatment?" Grayson asked, his expression flat. But Bryan noticed the way his hands clenched slightly at his sides.
"Rest," Dr. Zhao said simply. "Three days, uninterrupted if possible. If that isn't an option, keep an inhibitor ready and make sure he gets eight full hours of sleep. Don't move him until he wakes naturally. Call me if the symptoms worsen. Otherwise, he'll be fine by morning."
She packed her equipment, leaving a small kit behind.
When she left, silence lingered. Bryan stood for a moment, an unreadable smile playing at his mouth.
"Shall I clear your afternoon schedule, sir?"
"That won't be necessary," Grayson said automatically, but then he paused.
His eyes drifted to Neville's unconscious figure on the sofa. Conducting business as usual with him lying there seemed impossible.
"…Actually. Push the M Corp meeting to tomorrow. Handle everything else remotely."
"Of course, sir." Bryan's smile widened by the smallest degree. "I'll see to it you're not disturbed."