A soft sound escaped him, nothing more than a hum, but filled with hunger.
The bathwater rippled gently with his movements, ripples breaking against porcelain. His body tensed under the waves, and the flicker of control in his eyes began to fade—replaced with something else. He was lost in the moment.
Lust.
That was all he felt.
He imagined it again.
Zixuan.
Being breathless and trembling beneath him.
His red dazed face.
A low groan slipped from Haoran's lips before he could stop it.
He gritted his teeth, hips shifting subtly under the water with each passing second. The pressure built slowly, coiling deep in his abdomen, heat licking through him like fire trapped in his skin.
The image wouldn't leave.
Arching zixuan beneath him.
The way he gasped his name in pleasure.
Zixuan, dripping with sweat and begging in that breathless voice.
His body jolted once. A sharp breath dragged through his chest as the tension snapped.
His hand stilled under the water.
And then—
Release.
Silence followed. For a few moments, all he heard was the soft sound of water rippling and his own heartbeat slowing in his chest.
His breathing evened out. His chest rose and fell steadily as he leaned further back into the tub, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He licked his lips slowly.
Then removed the plug from the tub, letting the water drain.
It was time for a proper bath.
Haoran couldn't stand bathing in his own release. He refilled the tub, sank in again with a soft sigh, and finished quickly this time. The pleasure had already passed.
He stepped out as he grabbed a towel, and strolled out of the bathroom—refreshed, satisfied, and smug.
---
"Ahhhhhhh!"
A sudden shout echoed through the silent halls of the Fu mansion.
"Haoran, you dog!"
Zixuan couldn't believe what he was seeing.
The moment his assistant dropped him at his house, he'd stormed upstairs, desperate to scrub off the sticky, shameful feeling still clinging to his skin.
He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, stripped off his shirt—then froze in front of the mirror.
There were marks. A lot of them.
Dark bruises, Light scratches, Red mark across his hips.
But one stood out the most.
Right on his neck.
He leaned closer, squinting at the shape. His stomach dropped.
At first, he thought it was a hickey. Just another reminder of the chaos that was last night. But as he traced his fingers over it, inspecting the depth, the shape, the way it pulsed faintly under his skin…
No.
No way.
This wasn't a hickey.
It was an alpha mark.
A claim.
Zixuan stumbled back a little, eyes wide.
"That three-legged bastard marked me," he whispered.
No wonder his assistant had been giving him side glances the whole ride home. The smell must've changed. The bond .
Zixuan groaned in frustration and raked a hand through his hair before angrily turning the water heater on.
He filled the tub with scalding water, then stepped in, wincing as the heat clashed with the soreness in his body. He reached for a sponge, scrubbing hard—too hard—desperate to wash away the proof.
The marks refused to fade. The more he scrubbed, the redder his skin turned, but they remained. Bold.
The mark on his neck throbbed faintly, as if mocking him.
He let out a broken laugh, somewhere between disbelief and humiliation.
How was he—Zixuan—supposed to live with this?
Marked, claimed by an alpha.
It was unthinkable. And worse—shameful..
Would people notice?
Of course they would.
The mark wasn't just physical—an Alpha's pheromones lived inside it. Other Alphas would sense it instantly. The scent... and most importantly, Omegas.
But what could he do other than accept it? Remove it with surgery?
Or could he?
Zixuan quickly took his bath, deep in thought. As he came out of the bathroom, having decided he wasn't going anywhere today, he threw on his sleepwear and jumped on the bed.
He was so tired.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
Time kept passing, but he couldn't sleep.
Why?
His body was tired—his limbs drooped heavily. But the moment he closed his eyes...
That three-legged man appeared again.
His voice, his body, and his scent—so intoxicating.
Zixuan turned to the other side, pulling the bedsheet over his head in embarrassment.
"Stupid Alpha," he cursed.
Grrrrrrrrr—
Zixuan's stomach grumbled in hunger. He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to sleep.
But no.
Hunger: Don't deny me of my right, human.
Zixuan reluctantly dropped his legs to the floor and lazily stood up from the bed. He walked downstairs toward the kitchen.
But there was a problem—none of the maids were around.
And he couldn't call his assistant again. He might not be the kindest boss, but he didn't like disturbing his subordinates.
Zixuan entered the kitchen, searching for something he could make.
The worst part? He didn't even know how to cook.
He grabbed a packet of rice from the upper cabinet and some vegetables. Then he picked up his phone and searched:
"Tutorial on how to boil rice and veggies."
Following the instructions, he was asked to rinse the rice properly under a running tap and soak it for some minutes, then drain the adequate amount of water.
Rice cooker?
He was instructed to cook it with a rice cooker. With a look of confusion, he managed to find the storage in the kitchen used for keeping all electrical cooking equipment.
Sighting the rice cooker, he picked it up and brought it to the kitchen tab to connect it to the plug.
He poured the rice into the cooker and added water, glancing at the instructions on how to operate the cooker. After a few clicks of the button, it worked.
Still immersed in the video, a notification slid down, interrupting his watch. He reached to slide it away casually, but paused when his eyes caught his name.
What was his name doing there?
Was it another article about him being a popular playboy that all omegas were dying for?
They didn't need to praise him that much—it's not by power but by his skill.
He swiped the notification down to see it clearly.
Enemies in daily life, lovers in secret: Master Zixuan was caught coming out of a private room, booked by Mr. Li, tattered and in a mess.
An image was attached. Blurry, but unmistakably him.
Zixuan's hand stiffened.
For a second, he didn't breathe.
His brain paused—just a fraction of a second—but it was enough to make his stomach twist.
He could feel the warmth drain from his face as his eyes locked onto the picture. His hair was disheveled. His clothes were slightly crumpled. The image was embarrassing.
They knew.
Without thinking, he flung the phone across the counter. It landed with a loud clatter, sliding slightly from the force.
His jaw clenched.
He stood there, staring at nothing.
How the hell did they get that photo?
.