The apartment greeted him with silence.
Not the kind of silence that meant emptiness, but a heavy, muffled silence - as if the walls themselves rose up to keep him apart from the rest of the world.
Everything here obeyed order. A narrow window facing the gray facade of the neighboring building. A small table with a pack of suppressants and a half-empty bottle of water. A hard bed that looked more like an army cot. No unnecessary objects. No signs of life, except his own breath.
Park Do-yun rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt in front of the mirror. His movements were slow but precise, measured. It wasn't just getting dressed - it was a ritual. He was putting on not clothes, but a mask. White shirt, dark jeans, vest - a uniform meant to dissolve into the crowd.
The reflection showed a man with sharp cheekbones and a cold gaze. Too composed for a waiter. Too observant for someone who only carried drinks. But that was exactly the point: no one could be allowed to see the truth behind the mask.
On the table - suppressants. He shook one pill into his hand, placed it on his tongue, and swallowed it down with water. The bitterness spread instantly, leaving a metallic aftertaste. A reminder that his body could betray him at any moment. And he had no right to let it.
The old watch on his wrist clicked as he fastened the strap. The scratched face, the worn leather - a memory he refused to take off. Clean sneakers - a habit he never abandoned.
One last look in the mirror.
There was a waiter staring back at him.
But behind that reflection hid a detective. An omega who had learned too well how to conceal what he was.
"It's time," he whispered to himself, and stepped out.
***
The club greeted him with noise.
The music pounded at his temples like a second heartbeat. Neon lights tore through the dark, flashing across faces and fragments of the crowd. The smell of alcohol, tobacco, and perfume clung thick to the air, and over it all hovered pheromones - foreign, intrusive, sticky.
Do-yun moved calmly through the sea of people. A tray in his hands - light, but the way he carried it was too precise, too practiced. He looked like part of the chaos, but his eyes told a different story.
He saw everything.
The security guard at the entrance - fingers tensed against his radio. The girl in the short red dress - too sharp a glance to the side, as if waiting for a signal. The bartender - a quick movement as he slid a bottle out of sight. Every detail was captured instantly, piecing together into a larger scheme.
Someone bumped his shoulder.
"Hey, watch it!" a man shouted, but Do-yun didn't even look. The tray in his hands didn't so much as tremble.
The bartender waved him over.
"VIP room. Now."
Do-yun approached. On the tray already stood a bottle of champagne wrapped in gold foil and a small dish of food.
"Immediately," the bartender added, turning back to his customers.
Do-yun nodded.
***
The corridor was another world.
The music faded into a dull echo. The light softened, the air was drier. Every step rang too clearly against the floor. This was the threshold. Beyond the door he was approaching, a different rhythm began - not dance and alcohol, but deals and power.
He pushed the door open.
***
The smell struck him instantly.
Pheromones. So dense the air seemed viscous, like oil spilled across the floor. Each breath weighed heavy in his chest, as though he were filling his lungs with fire instead of air.
Do-yun froze at the doorway for half a heartbeat. His gaze swept the room - and landed on a scene that made his body tense against his will.
The room glowed in golden light. On the low sofa, two figures intertwined in a picture too intimate for any outsider's eyes. The alpha moved with steady, commanding rhythm, his body pressed close over another's, every thrust setting a beat louder than the music below. The omega beneath him moaned low, almost plaintive, but every sound cut the silence like a blade.
Sweat shone against skin. The alpha's hands held his partner firm, leaving no choice, forcing his body to arch in the storm of motion. His lips slid down the curve of a throat - bruises bloomed like roses, quickly followed by the bite marks of a wolf's teeth.
Do-yun forced his eyes away.
"This isn't yours. Just set down the tray."
But the scents were merciless. The sweet, heavy pull of arousal, the sight of rising need, the salt of sweat - they clung to his skin, slipped beneath his guard, cracked the familiar wall of control. The suppressants dulled the response, but not entirely. He could feel his own body strain toward it - and he cut the reaction off, standing rigid, motionless.
The tray quivered faintly in his hands. The metal chilled his palms, and he gripped it tighter, as if it were a shield. Step. Another step. His shoes sank soundlessly into the carpet.
He reached the side table, carefully set down the champagne and food. The gesture was smooth, rehearsed. Nothing extra. Nothing out of place.
Behind him, the alpha's pace grew sharper. The other's voice broke higher, a sound mixing pain, pleasure, surrender. The air thickened even more, as if the walls themselves were closing in.
Do-yun straightened. His face remained cold, impassive. No tremor in his lips, no glance to the side. Only breath, held steady by force of will.
He stepped back.
Another step.
No sound.
No hesitation.
He closed the door.
***
The corridor met him with silence. But his heartbeat thudded so violently it felt as though the walls themselves would soon echo it back. A metallic taste lingered at the back of his throat, stronger than after any suppressant.
Do-yun walked with a steady stride, back straight, as though nothing had happened. But inside, he was tearing apart.
"You got too close. Far too close."
And yet he knew: this encounter would not be the last.