The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the top floor of HaleCorp—sleek marble, dark glass, and a silence so refined it felt like even sound had been fired for inefficiency.
Lian Veris stepped out, smoothing the crease on his white shirt.
He still wasn't used to walking through places like this.
Lian Veris, twenty-three.
Omega.
Graduate of architectural design.
Dreamer. Soft-hearted. Stubborn where it counted.
And currently the sole bargaining chip of the declining Veris family.
His lips pressed tightly together as he approached the meeting room.
An arranged marriage.
To a man he'd never met.
To an Alpha CEO with a reputation cold enough to freeze fire.
His hands trembled slightly, but he hid them behind his back.
He was here to be useful.
Not to be afraid.
When the door opened, the air shifted immediately.
Power.
Controlled.
Heavy.
An Alpha's presence clung to the room like frost on morning glass.
At the far end of the polished table sat Arion Vayne—the youngest CEO of VayneCorp, twenty-eight, infamous in business circles as the "Ice Alpha."
Tall and sharply built, with midnight-black hair brushed back neatly. Jaw cut like a blade. Eyes dark enough to swallow light.
Every line of him screamed control.
Rumor said Arion never lost his temper.
Never raised his voice.
Never let his scent slip—ever.
Today was no different. His pheromones were suppressed to near-zero, yet Lian could still feel them brushing against his skin like a cold wind.
Arion didn't look up as Lian entered.
"Come closer," he said, flipping a page in the file before him.
His voice was smooth—too smooth—like polished steel.
Lian approached, swallowing the knot in his throat.
But the closer he came, the more intense Arion's aura felt.
Like standing inches from a sleeping storm.
Finally, Arion lifted his eyes.
Their gazes collided.
Lian's breath stuttered.
Something warm flickered in his chest—an involuntary flare of his scent, soft and sweet like warm honey.
Arion's fingers froze mid-page.
His eyes sharpened, a quick flash of something primal before he masked it behind icy calm.
Lian flushed, mortified.
"I—I'm sorry. It slipped."
"You're wearing blockers?" Arion asked quietly.
"Yes. Your… presence just overwhelmed them for a moment."
Arion stood.
Lian hadn't realized he was this tall—his shadow stretched easily over Lian's smaller frame.
Arion approached with slow, measured steps, every movement precise.
Arion's eyes swept over him—not with desire, not with disgust, but with the cold calculation of a man assessing a business deal.
"You are Lian Veris."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Your family's financial situation is unstable."
As if the reminder didn't sting enough already.
Lian straightened his shoulders.
"I'm aware, Mr. Vayne."
Arion closed the folder, the click echoing harshly in the room.
Do you know why you're here?"
Lian held his gaze—even though his instincts screamed to look away.
"For a merger. Through marriage."
"Correct," Arion said. "I don't like complications."
His tone made Lian's stomach curl.
"So you agreed to marry me for… convenience."
Arion's expression didn't flicker.
"What other reason is suitable?"
Lian had expected this answer, but the bluntness made it feel like the floor dropped under him.
Arion moved closer again—too close—alpha pheromones brushing warmly now, no longer cold.
"You are an Omega," he said, voice lowered, almost analytical.
"And you are an Alpha who doesn't want an Omega."
Lian met his eyes, steady despite the tremor in his chest.
"I have no illusions about that."
Something flickered across Arion's face.
A shadow of emotion that vanished too quickly to name.
Then he held out a sleek black folder.
"A one-year marriage contract," he said. "No marking. No permanent bonding. No physical relationship unless mutually agreed."
Lian nodded slowly—relieved and disappointed in equal measure.
"And you'll move into the Hale penthouse today."
Lian blinked.
"So soon?"
"Engagement announcements escalate fast," Arion said. "Living apart would cause suspicion. I have no interest in scandals."
Lian looked down at the contract.
So this was it.
His future, decided on crisp white paper.
Arion watched him silently, eyes unreadable.
Then—unexpectedly—his scent shifted.
Sharp winter air softened, turning warmer, deeper.
As if reacting to Lian's presence.
Arion stiffened, jaw tightening.
"Control your scent," he murmured.
"I'm—trying," Lian whispered, cheeks burning. "You're too close."
Arion froze.
The space between them hummed with silent, fragile electricity.
Then Arion stepped back, mask falling back into place.
"We will hold the engagement press meeting this weekend."
Lian nodded.
Arion walked past him, stopping at the doorway.
He didn't touch Lian.
But he spoke softly, his voice dropping its icy edge for the first time.
"I don't intend to hurt you," he said. "But don't expect affection from me."
The words sank into Lian's chest like stones.
"I understand… Arion," Lian whispered.
Arion paused.
Just one heartbeat.
Then he left—
and the room felt colder without him,
while Lian's heart beat far too fast for a marriage built on everything except love.
**********************************
⭐ BONUS SCENE — Arion's POV
The moment Arion stepped out of the meeting room, he exhaled—slow, controlled, but heavier than he intended.
He hadn't expected this.
He never expected this.
His assistant glanced at him from across the hallway, about to speak, but Arion raised a hand.
"Cancel my next meeting," he said quietly.
"Sir? But—"
"Cancel it."
The assistant swallowed and nodded.
Arion walked past him without another word, heading straight to his private office. The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Silence.
But his scent was not silent.
It was unsettled—uncharacteristically uneven.
His pheromones never slipped.
Never shifted.
Not since he was eighteen and learned the cost of losing control.
But today…
Arion loosened his tie, jaw clenched.
All he could smell was the faint trace Lian accidentally released.
Warm. Soft.
A quiet, gentle sweetness undercut by something rarer—
something calming, grounding… yet dangerously enticing.
A rare Omega.
And one who didn't even seem to realize how rare.
Arion sat behind his desk, fingers steepled.
His pulse was still too fast.
His instincts too loud.
Unacceptable.
He never reacted to scents.
No Omega had ever triggered him, even during their heats.
Even during the most heated business negotiations, he stayed cold, unaffected.
But one brief whiff of Lian's scent—barely a few seconds—
and Arion's Alpha instincts had surged violently, like a beast rattling its cage.
His hands tightened, nails digging into his palms.
This cannot happen.
He wasn't marrying Lian for compatibility.
He was marrying him for business.
For the merger.
For VayneCorp's future.
Nothing else.
Nothing emotional.
Definitely nothing instinctual.
Yet…
when Lian whispered, "You're too close,"
Arion's control nearly cracked.
Too close.
He'd almost laughed.
Because every cell in his Alpha body had screamed that they weren't close enough.
Arion leaned back in his chair, eyes closing briefly.
He remembered the way Lian held his ground despite trembling.
The way he spoke politely but with quiet defiance.
The way his eyes—warm amber with a hint of gold—looked back at Arion without cowering.
Not a weak Omega.
Not a spoiled socialite.
Not a manipulative partner looking for a powerful Alpha to cling to.
Lian Veris was…
unexpected.
Soft, yes.
But strong where it mattered.
Strong enough to irritate him.
Strong enough to crack the ice he wore like armor.
Arion opened his eyes and stared out at the skyline.
"This is going to be a problem."
He hated problems.
Especially ones with warm honey-scented skin and stubborn golden eyes.
His phone buzzed.
A message from the Board:
"Engagement announcement scheduled. Media brief to follow."
Arion typed back:
"Proceed."
He put the phone down, forcing his breathing steady.
One year.
Just one year.
A simple contract, a simple marriage.
He would not let an Omega—any Omega—shake him.
Especially not one with a scent that still lingered faintly in his lungs.
But as he closed his eyes again, that scent ghosted through his mind—warm, gentle, painfully sweet—
—and Arion knew, with a sinking certainty:
This was going to be anything except simple.