The moment Avery stepped into the shower, icy water crashed down on his skin like a storm. At first, he thought it might help. The chill bit into him, goosebumps erupting along his arms, but the relief didn't come. His skin was freezing, yet the fire inside him only roared louder, a cruel contradiction that left him panting against the tiled wall.
His rut had never been like this before. It was supposed to be controlled, measured, at least somewhat manageable with suppressants. But now, it was as if his own body mocked him, as though every cell screamed for something he didn't dare seek. He clenched his jaw, strands of wet hair sticking to his forehead as he muttered under his breath.
"Is it because of Noël…?" The thought made him stiffen. The bond. The way his Omega's scent lingered in his memory. It had changed him. Made him sharper, needier, raw in ways he had never experienced. His body wasn't just in rut anymore. It was hunting.
Meanwhile, outside, a staff member arrived with a meal cart. Knocking once, he called out softly, "Sir?" When no answer came, he pushed the door open a little, expecting to find Avery at his desk. The penthouse looked empty. He frowned, not noticing the faint sound of running water in the bathroom. Being a Beta, it was difficult for him to tell if Avery was still there.
Miss Reed's instructions still echoed in his head: Don't let Mr. Cheng leave his room. Not even for a moment. Concerned, he stepped into the hall, peering both ways, trying to spot any sign of Avery nearby. In his rush, he forgot one thing—the door. It swung gently on its hinges, unlocked and unattended, the food cart abandoned at the entrance.
By the time Avery stormed out of the bathroom, water dripping from his skin, his patience was gone. The cold had numbed his skin to the point of discomfort, but it hadn't touched the blaze clawing through his insides. His muscles trembled, not from chill but from the unbearable pressure of lust curling in his veins.
He yanked on a thin shirt and loose pants, his chest still bare, damp hair clinging to his neck. His body felt heavy yet desperate, a paradox of exhaustion and hunger. He wanted—no, needed to release again, but the thought of doing so in that suffocating room filled him with disgust.
That was when he saw it. The open door. The cart with his meal waiting just outside. The thin crack of freedom.
He froze, fists clenching at his sides. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. Miss Reed's warnings, the doctor's advice, his own sense of discipline. All of it screamed at him to turn away. But his body betrayed him, his feet moving before his mind caught up.
The hoodie he grabbed shielded most of his face, his sharp features buried in shadow. To the staff lingering in the lobby, he was just another tenant, another wealthy figure who lived in one of the penthouses. No one stopped him as he slipped through the building's front, his stride restless, almost feverish.
Thirty minutes later, his car slowed in front of the gates of his personal estate. He parked haphazardly, heart pounding, the desperation in his body making every second unbearable. Usually he would have found another Omega by now but he could only think of Noël while driving.
Just the thought of Noël's scent pulled him forward. He told himself it would be enough. Just a breath. Just one inhalation of that sweet vanilla and peach, and his body would find peace.
It worked briefly. The faint remnants of Noël's presence outside the house that Avery could somehow smell filled his lungs, tugging a groan from deep within his throat. His body released once, trembling with the fleeting satisfaction. But it wasn't enough. The scent was muddled, scattered, faint compared to what his rut demanded.
"Calm down," he hissed at himself, his hand shaking as he dug into his pocket. Another suppressant pill pressed against his palm. He swallowed it dry, leaning against the car sit, chest heaving. He knew he was already pushing past the limit of what was safe. The doctor had warned him: One more dose and you're courting overdose.
But what choice did he have? Each suppressant only lasted minutes now, dulling the fire without putting it out. His body screamed for more—more scent, more touch, more of the Omega who wasn't here.
And yet, Avery stood there, caught between reason and instinct, his body burning itself alive.
He thought the suppressant would at least make him more conscious but he found himself inside the house. His chest rose and fell heavily as he forced himself to stay seated on the sofa. The suppressant obviously wasn't working anymore. His rut pulsed through his veins like wildfire, demanding release, demanding his mate. He pressed his palms hard against his knees, fingernails biting into his skin, trying to focus on the small reprieve of Noël's scent that lingered in the air. It was stronger here, thicker, almost as if the walls themselves had been saturated with it. He breathed deeply, shuddering, every inhale coating his lungs with sweetness.
He told himself this was enough. Just sit here. Just breathe. Just… don't go further. But the more he sat, the more his restraint frayed. His body was desperate, aching in places he couldn't calm. The relief from the suppressant was had started thinning, giving way to a deep, gnawing hunger. He clutched his head, whispering harshly to himself, "Stay still. Don't move. You'll hurt him if you—" His words broke off into a ragged groan as another wave of fever surged.
Meanwhile, Noël stirred in his room, restless under his blanket. He had been fine only minutes ago reading quietly, distracting himself but suddenly, a suffocating heat washed over him. His throat dried, his body burned from the inside out, and a dizzy spell made him clutch at the sheets. Confusion carved into his features. His heat wasn't due yet, not for at least another three weeks. Why now? Why so sudden?
He sat up slowly, willing his legs to carry him toward the door, intent on getting water to ease the dryness in his throat. But the moment he opened the door to the hallway, he froze. The air was thick. Heavy. His heart skipped, then pounded wildly against his ribs as a familiar scent crashed into him like a tidal wave—wine, rich and intoxicating, laced with something sweet that made his knees weaken.
Avery.
Noël clutched the doorframe, panting, his body betraying him with every second. His vision blurred, and the steady dizziness worsened. His thighs trembled, his breath caught in uneven bursts. This was no ordinary flare-up. This was the onset of heat, abrupt and merciless. And he hadn't even felt the usual signs, the dull ache or the creeping warmth that warned him days before. This had struck fast, unrelenting, leaving him no chance to prepare.
He didn't yet understand. He couldn't know that Avery's rut, uncontrolled and burning through suppressants, had reached out like a chain and yanked him into its orbit. Bonded pairs were fragile to each other's states. One flare could trigger the other. And Avery, drowning in rut, had unknowingly dragged Noël into a sudden, violent heat.
Noël staggered a step into the hallway, his lips parting, trying to call Avery's name, but his voice broke into a strangled gasp. His body felt unbearably sensitive, his skin prickling under the weight of pheromones saturating the air. He pressed his hand against his chest, as though to steady the erratic thump of his heart.
Down in the living room, Avery's head snapped up. He felt it. Noël's scent had sharpened—warmer, richer, alive in a way that stabbed directly into his gut. His pupils dilated. His restraint shattered another inch.
And without even realizing it, Noël had been pulled into Avery's spiral.