Chapter Text
The rain was a gentle, steady whisper against the conservatory’s glass ceiling, a soothing sound that usually made Minho feel at peace. Tonight, it felt like the sky was holding its breath.
He sat by a small, ornate table, a book of old poetry lying forgotten next to his cooling cup of tea. His fingers, usually so steady, traced the delicate gold filigree on the china. In two weeks, the final contracts would be signed. In two weeks, he would become Seo Minho.
The thought wasn't thrilling, but it was… safe. It was the correct path. Seo Changbin was a good Alpha—respectful, kind, from a family of similar standing. He never raised his voice. He brought Minho gifts after his travels: a silk scarf, a rare translation of a foreign novel. He was a quiet, steady presence. A comfortable future. For two years, Minho had carefully, patiently, built a fondness for him brick by brick, like building a shelter for his heart. It wasn’t the sweeping romance from his books, but it was real. It was duty, and it was enough.
The sound of the glass door sliding open made him look up. Changbin stood there, his broad shoulders slightly damp, his usually calm scent—like aged paper and sandalwood—carried a sharp, bitter edge of anxiety.
“Changbin,” Minho said, a polite smile touching his lips as he gestured to the seat opposite. “You’re out late. Is everything alright?”
Changbin didn’t sit. He stood, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the rain-smeared glass rather than on Minho. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the patter of rain.
“Minho,” he began, his voice strained. “There is something I must say. Before… before it becomes an irreparable dishonor.”
A cold trickle, like the rain had found a way inside, traced down Minho’s spine. His Omega instincts, usually so well-suppressed, stirred with a quiet, gathering dread. “You may speak freely,” he said, his own voice unnaturally calm. The mask of the composed Omega settled over his features, a shield he had mastered long ago.
Changbin finally turned to look at him, and in his eyes, Minho didn’t see affection or even regret. He saw a desperate, painful resolve. “Our engagement,” Changbin said, the words coming out in a rush. “It was… it is a good match. A correct one. You are… you are everything a noble Omega should be.”
Every word felt like a stone being placed carefully on Minho’s chest. But .He could hear the unsaid word screaming in the air between them.
“But I cannot,” Changbin whispered, his voice breaking. “I have tried. For two years, I have tried to feel what an Alpha should feel for his intended. Respect, yes. Admiration, certainly. But… not love. Not the kind that… that binds a soul.”
Minho’s world tilted. The conservatory, with its lush ferns and fragrant orchids, seemed to blur at the edges. He focused on Changbin’s mouth, watching it form the words that would dismantle his carefully built future.
“My heart,” Changbin confessed, the agony in his voice now raw and unmistakable, “it does not beat for you. It… it has never been yours.”
He took a step forward, not toward Minho, but as if pleading with the universe itself. “It beats for Felix.”
The name hung in the humid air, delicate and devastating.
Felix.
His sunshine brother. His little Felix, with his bright laughter and easy charm. The brother he had spent a lifetime protecting, pampering, placing in the softest light.
“Every time I came to see you,” Changbin continued, his gaze distant, lost in a memory Minho was not part of, “it was his smile that warmed me. His voice that lingered in my mind. His spirit that… that feels like coming home. I tried to ignore it, to be the Alpha you deserved. But I am drowning in it. To marry you, knowing this… it would be a lie that would poison us all.”
Minho did not move. He did not cry out. He simply sat, the perfect, polished Omega, as his heart—the one that dreamed of charmant knights and loved too fiercely—shattered into silent, invisible pieces.
The rain continued to fall, a gentle mockery of the storm now raging inside him.
The silence after Changbin’s confession was a physical thing, dense and cold, wrapping around Minho’s throat. The words for Felix echoed in the hollowed-out chambers of his chest.
His first coherent thought was not of betrayal, but of Felix’s face—bright, innocent, oblivious. His second was a wave of searing, humiliating anger. Two years. Two years of his life, spent building a future on a foundation of someone else’s polite lies. He had been a placeholder, a convenient screen behind which Changbin could admire his true desire. The heat of that fury rose in his cheeks, a stark contrast to the ice spreading through his veins.
He lifted his gaze from the intricate pattern of the tablecloth to meet Changbin’s tormented eyes. When he spoke, his voice was not the shattered whisper Changbin might have expected. It was low, controlled, a perfectly modulated instrument of the noble house he represented.
“I see,” Minho said, the words crisp in the humid air. “So, for two years, your respect, your gifts, your conversations… they were not for the Omega you were engaged to. They were a toll you paid. A fee for entry into our home, to be near my brother.”
He saw Changbin flinch, and a dark, uncharitable part of Minho felt a sliver of satisfaction. Good. He should feel the sting.
“You speak of dishonor now,” Minho continued, standing slowly, his movements graceful and deliberate. He would not cower. “Yet you entertained it for two years. You let me believe in a future you knew was a fiction. You let my family believe it. What honor is there in that, Seo Changbin?”
Changbin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The Alpha stood diminished before him, his confession having drained him of all authority.
The anger was a shield, hot and bright. But beneath it, seeping through the cracks, came the cold, quiet poison. It whispered in the voice of every societal lesson, every sidelong glance he’d ever received for being the strong, bookish Omega instead of the soft, giggling one.
He never loved you.
Of course he didn't.
You are not like Felix. You are not easy to love.
You are correct. You are proper. You are a duty. You are not a desire.
The shield of anger began to splinter. The heat of it receded, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep chill. He felt the gaze of the world upon him—not as the dignified Lee Minho, but as an object found wanting. His beauty, which he had never much considered, suddenly felt like a painted facade. A pretty jar, empty inside. A beautiful, polished shell hiding a heart that was apparently not worth keeping.
The realization was a sucker punch to his soul. It wasn't just that Changbin loved Felix. It was that Changbin couldn't love him. Despite Minho’s best efforts, his quiet care, his unwavering loyalty, he had been… insufficient. Unlovable in the way that mattered most.
His breath hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible fracture in his composure. He turned away slightly, looking out at the blurred garden through the rain-streaked glass. He could not let Changbin see this—this raw, ugly wound of unworthiness.
“You are right,” Minho said, his voice now softer, drained of its fiery edge, leaving only a barren acceptance. “A marriage built on such a lie would be a prison for us both. And it would… it would hurt Felix. That, I cannot allow.”
He turned back, his expression a masterpiece of numb dignity. “The engagement is broken. You will leave now. You will speak to my father tomorrow with the formalities. You will cite… irreconcilable differences of temperament. You will not,” his voice gained a sliver of steel, “speak a word of this infatuation to anyone. Not to your family, and certainly not to Felix. To do so would ruin him alongside me. Do you understand?”
Changbin looked stricken, but he nodded, a jerky, ashamed motion. “Minho, I… I am so sorry. You deserve—”
“Do not,” Minho cut him off, the words sharp as glass. “Do not speak to me of what I deserve. Leave. Please”
He stood motionless, a statue in the lamplight, until the sound of the sliding door closing and Changbin’s retreating footsteps faded into the sound of the rain.
Only then did his shoulders sag. His hand, trembling slightly, reached out and found the back of the chair for support. The cold, ugly truth settled in the silence.
He had lost. Not just a fiancé, but the fragile belief that he, Lee Minho, could ever be enough for an Alpha. He was a good Omega, a beautiful one even. But it seemed he was not, and might never be, a loved one.
The rain on the glass looked like tears streaming down a face.
***********************************************
The news, of course, did not stay quiet for long. Whispers slithered through the noble houses like winter vines: The Lee eldest… engagement broken… so close to the signing… something must be wrong with him… perhaps he’s barren… or his temperament…
The Lee household was a tomb draped in silk. Servants moved on hushed feet. Their father’s face was carved from granite, his disappointment a cold, heavy presence in every room. Their mother wept quietly into her handkerchief, murmuring about ruined prospects and shame.
Minho moved through it all like a ghost in his own home. He had done what was expected: he had accepted the formal dissolution with a grace that was praised as "stoic" and "admirably dignified." Inside, he was a field after a frost—everything looked intact, but everything was dead and brittle underneath.
He was in the library, seeking solace in the scent of paper and dust, when the door creaked open. He didn't need to turn. He knew the hesitant footfall, the soft, sweet scent of vanilla and sunshine now tinged with the sourness of anxiety.
"Hyung?"
Felix's voice was a ragged whisper, tear-clogged. Minho closed the book he wasn't reading and set it aside, his back still to the door. He couldn't look at him. Not yet. The anger was still there, a low, smoldering coal. An irrational, fierce anger that said you took what was mine, even though you never meant to.
"I… I heard," Felix stammered. "They said… they said it's over. With Changbin."
Minho said nothing. The silence pressed in.
A choked sob broke it. "It's my fault. I'm so sorry, Hyung. I'm so, so sorry." The words tumbled out in a torrent of grief. "He… he would talk to me, sometimes, when he came to see you. He was so kind, and he listened, and… I tried, I swear I tried to push him away. I told him he belonged to you. Every time, I told him. But my heart… it wouldn't listen. Please, you have to believe me. I never wanted this. I would never hurt you. Please, forgive me, hyung. Please."
Minho finally turned.
His brother, his bright, shining Felix, was crumpled by the door, tears streaming down his beautiful face, his small frame shaking with the force of his guilt. He looked utterly shattered, and the sight was a knife twisting in Minho's already ravaged heart.
The anger flared—hot and protective of his own pain. You have him, a vicious inner voice hissed. You have his love, and now you come to me for forgiveness?
But as he watched Felix weep, truly believing he had committed an unforgivable crime by simply feeling, Minho's anger began to dissolve. It melted under the weight of a lifetime of habit, of being the shield, the protector. This was Felix, who followed him around like a duckling, who laughed at his driest jokes, who trusted him with every secret. Felix, who was crying as if his world had ended, too—not from joy, but from remorse.
Minho crossed the room in a few strides. He didn't hug him immediately. He stood before him, looking down at his tear-streaked face.
"Did you promise him anything?" Minho's voice was quiet, stripped bare.
Felix shook his head violently. "No! Never! I only ever… I only ever loved him in silence."
"Did you encourage him to break the engagement?"
"No! I told him it was wrong! I told him he had to love you!"
A long, slow breath left Minho's lungs. The last ember of his anger turned to ash and blew away. His brother was not a villain. He was just a boy who had fallen in love with the wrong Alpha—the Alpha fate and their parents had mistakenly placed at Minho's door.
"You have nothing to be forgiven for, Yongbok-ah," Minho said, his voice thick. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and wiped a tear from Felix's cheek with his thumb. "The heart is not a servant. It does not obey commands."
Felix looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief and hope. "But… but you… you're hurting because of me."
"I am hurting," Minho admitted, the truth a raw ache in his throat. "But not because of you. Because of a situation that was unfair to all of us. Changbin made his choice. A cruel and cowardly one in its execution, but his feelings… those were his own." He cupped Felix's face, forcing him to hold his gaze. "Listen to me. You are not to blame. You did not steal anything. You are allowed to love someone who loves you back."
Fresh tears welled in Felix's eyes, but they were of a different kind—a mixture of relief and overwhelming sorrow for his brother. "What about you? Your future… the scandal…"
"My future will be what it is," Minho said, and the words tasted like resignation, but he infused them with a strength he didn't feel. "But yours doesn't have to be shadowed by this. If… if Changbin's feelings are true, and if yours are… you should not deny them for my sake. That would make all this pain pointless."
He pulled Felix into a tight embrace, holding him as his brother sobbed into his shoulder. Minho stared over Felix's head at the shelves of books, the stories of grand passions and happy endings that now felt like they belonged to a different universe. He felt the ache of his own loss, sharp and profound. He felt the crushing weight of being the one left behind, the one deemed unlovable.
But beneath it all, stronger than anything, was the old, familiar current of love for his little brother. He would bear this ugliness, this scandal, this hollow future. So that Felix wouldn't have to.
He patted Felix's back, his voice a soft murmur. "It's alright, Bokkie. Don't cry for me. Follow your heart. Just… be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for you."
And in that moment, Lee Minho sealed his own fate, choosing his brother's happiness over the shattered pieces of his own. The scandal outside these walls meant nothing compared to the quiet tragedy within them.
****************************************
The scandal did not ripple—it crashed.
The broken engagement of the Lee eldest was juicy enough gossip. But when Seo Changbin, barely a fortnight later, presented himself formally to the Lee patriarch not with an apology, but with a new proposal—for the younger son—it ignited a social conflagration.
The whispers were no longer subtle. They were shouted behind fans, hissed over tea, printed in veiled terms in society bulletins.
"The Alpha rejected the elder for the younger… what does that tell you?"
"Was the first one deficient in some way? Perhaps not a true Omega at all."
"A calculated move by the Lees? Offering the flawed one first to snare the Alpha for the favorite?"
"Lee Minho must be utterly shamed. To be passed over in his own house."
In the Lee Mansion:
The atmosphere was no longer that of a tomb, but of a besieged fortress. Their father paced his study like a caged tiger, his scent—usually of firm oak—now sour with stress and spiced anger.
“It is an insult wrapped in an opportunity!” he boomed, slamming a hand on his desk. “He discards one son and demands the other as if picking fruit from a market stall!”
Minho’s mother, Lady Soojin, wrung her hands, her eyes permanently red-rimmed. “But Jaewon, think! The engagement is already broken. Minho’s prospects are… damaged. But Felix… Felix is still pure, still desirable. If we refuse Seo’s offer now, we insult them doubly. They could ruin us entirely. And who will take Felix then, tainted by this drama? Who will ever take Minho?”
Her gaze flickered to Minho, who stood by the window, a silent statue. He felt her look—not unkind, but brutally pragmatic. He was now a problem to be managed. Felix was the remaining asset.
Felix, for his part, was a storm of misery. When Changbin’s new intentions became clear, he had fled to his room, sobbing that he could not, would not, accept. That it would be dancing on his brother’s grave.
It was Minho who went to him. Again.
He found Felix curled on his bed, face swollen, all sunshine extinguished. “I won’t do it, Minho-hyung. It’s too cruel. To you… it’s monstrous.”
Minho sat on the edge of the bed, the weariness in his bones so deep he felt a century old. “Felix,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Listen to me. You love him.”
“It doesn’t matter!”
“It is the only thing that matters,” Minho insisted, taking his brother’s hand. It was cold. “You are not stealing from me. He was never mine to keep. This… this ugly mess is the reality we have been handed. My path is closed. Yours is still open. A rare, genuine love is offering for your hand. Do not refuse it out of a guilt I do not give you.”
“But the talk… what they say about you…”
“Let them talk,” Minho said, and he almost believed the steel in his own voice. “Their words mean nothing. Your happiness means everything. Do not set yourself on fire to keep me warm, Yongbok-ah. I am already cold.”
It took days. Days of Minho’s quiet persuasion, of their mother’s tearful pleas about family survival, of their father’s grim analysis of financial and social ruin. The relentless pressure bent Felix’s resolve.
Finally, pale and trembling, Felix stood before his father and whispered his agonized consent.
The deal was struck with brutal speed. A new contract was drawn. To quiet the worst of the gossip, to give the illusion of propriety, the wedding would be in two months. A rushed, but not indecent, interval. It would be a grand affair, the Seo family paying lavishly to smooth over the unpleasantness. The narrative was carefully crafted: a sad but amicable realization of mutual incompatibility between Changbin and Minho, leading to the discovery of a true, fated bond with Felix. A romantic tragedy turned into a love story.
The Lee family would be saved from disgrace, secured by a strong alliance. Felix would have his love.
And Minho?
He stood in the drawing room as the final details were settled. He watched Changbin, who could not meet his eyes, hold Felix’s hand with a tender reverence that was like salt in a wound that would never heal. He saw the relief on his parents’ faces, the desperate hope that this would all blow over.
He was the ghost at the feast. The sacrificed pawn. The beautiful, empty vase on the shelf, now considered cracked and too risky to display.
As the Seo family took their leave, Changbin finally dared a glance at him. Minho offered him nothing—not forgiveness, not hatred. Just a blank, polished stillness. Then he turned and walked away, the echo of his own footsteps sounding like a clock counting down the two months until he would have to watch his brother marry the man who had shattered him, and smile as if his heart wasn’t made of dust.
The wider world saw a family salvaging a situation. They did not see the older brother, alone in his room that night, pressing his face into the fur of his sleeping cat, his body wracked with silent, shuddering tears that were for no one’s eyes but his own. His duty was done. His future was a vast, echoing emptiness.
*******************************************
The carriage wheels crunched over the fine gravel of the Duke's estate, a familiar sound that now felt foreign to Bang Chan. Three years abroad—studying governance, economics, and the strange, alluring concepts of republics and personal choice—had stretched his mind like new canvas. The air here smelled of manicured greenery and old money, a stark contrast to the salt-tinged breeze of the port city he’d left behind, where ideas felt as free as the gulls.
He stepped out, stretching his legs, his Alpha senses immediately absorbing the familiar scent of home: pine, stone, and the crisp, clean linen of authority. His father’s domain.
The butler bowed deeply. “Welcome home, Young Master. His Grace awaits you in the solar.”
No rest, then. Chan nodded, his posture instinctively straightening into the heir’s carriage. The mint-and-winter scent he carried seemed to sharpen, bracing itself.
His father, Duke Bang Minseok, stood by the great fireplace, a formidable silhouette against the stone. He turned, and his gaze—sharp, assessing, devoid of sentimental warmth—swept over Chan. He was an Alpha of the old order: power was not felt in bursts, but in a constant, inexorable pressure, like the deep ocean.
“Christopher,” he greeted, using the foreign name Chan had chosen for his studies. A subtle reminder of the world he was expected to leave behind. “You look well. The sea air agreed with you.”
“Father,” Chan bowed respectfully. “It is good to be home.” The words were polite, automatic.
The Duke gestured to a chair. “Sit. We have matters to discuss that cannot wait. Your return is timely.”
Chan sat, the leather cool beneath him. He knew what was coming. The ‘matter’ was always the same: lineage, stability, succession.
“You are of age,” his father began, pouring two glasses of amber liquor, not looking at him. “Your education is complete. It is time you solidified your position. A strong alliance will quiet any… lingering questions about your modern ideas and secure the loyalty of the traditionalist families.”
Here it was. Chan took the offered glass but did not drink. “I am aware of my duties, Father.”
“Good.” The Duke finally fixed him with his stare. “I have found a suitable match. An excellent match, in fact. The Jeon family’s youngest Omega. Impeccable lineage, excellent health, educated in all the feminine arts. Her scent is said to be of spring lilies. She will make a beautiful, biddable Duchess and produce strong heirs.”
The description was like a list of asset specifications. Biddable. The word curdled in Chan’s stomach. He thought of the vibrant, debating societies abroad, of people who chose each other. He thought of his own quiet, steadfast belief that the bond between Alpha and Omega should be a cornerstone of strength, not a transaction of obedience.
He placed his untouched glass on the table with a soft, definitive click.
“I thank you for your diligence, Father,” Chan said, his voice calm but layered with the steel he’d learned to forge. “But I must decline.”
The silence in the solar became brittle. The fire crackled, too loud.
“Decline?” The Duke’s voice dropped, dangerously soft. “This is not a suggestion, Christopher. This is the future of our house.”
“And I am its future head,” Chan replied, meeting his father’s gaze squarely. The mint in his scent grew colder, more assertive. “With all due respect, I will not enter into a mating bond—the most profound bond an Alpha can form—with someone I have never met, chosen for me like a breedstock. I believe in compatibility of mind and spirit. I believe in… affection. I will marry, but I will choose my own mate.”
The Duke’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of incredulous anger sparked in his eyes. “Affection?” He uttered the word as if it were in a vulgar foreign tongue. “You have been poisoned by romantic novels and radical philosophies. Duty is affection! Affection for your bloodline, for your ancestors, for the thousands who depend on this family’s stability! Your personal… feelings are a luxury you cannot afford!”
“Is a strong, united pack not built on genuine bonds?” Chan countered, his own conviction rising. “How can I lead with integrity if the very foundation of my family is a lie of convenience?”
“Convenience?” His father gave a short, harsh laugh. He stood, turning his back to Chan, looking into the fire. “You speak of convenience while your willfulness threatens to unravel generations of work. The Jeon alliance is strategic. It mends the rift with the northern families. It is necessary.”
He turned back, his decision made, his tone final. “You have a month to come to your senses. The preliminary understanding with the Jeon family is already in place. Your courtship will begin at the Seo-Lee wedding in two months—a fitting public venue. You will attend, and you will pay attention to Jeon Soyeon. This is not a request.”
Chan’s jaw tightened. A public decree. A trap of social expectation. His father was forcing his hand, using the pressure of the entire noble society as a vise.
*****************************************
The Seo estate was drowning in white lilies and hollow congratulations. Bang Chan stood at the periphery, a glass of champagne warming in his hand. He had come for one reason: Seo Changbin was—or had been—his best friend. Seeing him now at the altar, holding the delicate hands of Lee Felix, Chan felt a profound disconnect. The mint and winter of his scent grew colder, sharper.
“Look who decided to grace us with his princely presence,” a familiar, lyrical voice drawled. Hwang Hyunjin slid beside him, smelling of ink and night-jasmine. Kim Seungmin joined them, his scent clean and analytical, like rain on dry earth. “We were taking bets on how long it would take for you to start drafting social reform policies in your head,” Seungmin said. “I guessed ten minutes.”
“You overestimated,” Chan replied, his eyes scanning the room, already restless. “It was five.”
Hyunjin laughed, but it was tense. “Welcome back to the gilded cage, my friend.”
They drifted to a quieter balcony. The night air was a relief from the cloying perfume inside.
“It’s good to see you, Chan,” Hyunjin said, his dramatic posture softening into something genuine. “Even if you look like you’re mentally renouncing your title.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Chan admitted. “But tell me about you two. What has society done to you while I was away?”
Hyunjin’s face lit up, then shadowed. “I’ve met someone. Yang Jeongin. The textile merchant’s middle son. An Omega.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s… sunshine given human form. Witty, bright, sees right through me. I’m completely gone.”
Seungmin raised a brow. “The Hwang heir and a merchant’s son. The odds are not in your favor.”
“I know,” Hyunjin groaned. “My family’s name is respectable, but it’s not powerful. Securing a match with a noble house is their one ambition. Getting In feels like trying to move a mountain with a spoon.”
Chan listened, then placed a firm hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Then you get a bigger spoon, Hyunjin. Or you build a path around the mountain. If he’s your sunshine, don’t choose to live in the shade to please people who won’t have to live your life.”
Encouraged, Seungmin, after a heavy silence, spoke. “My problem is… vertically integrated.” His voice was low. “Han Jisung. He’s… a servant. An Omega.” Saying it aloud seemed to pain him. “He’s brilliant. He sings when he thinks he’s alone. He has opinions on everything. And I can’t… I can’t even look at him for too long. If my father knew… Jisung would be dismissed, or transferred somewhere awful. For his ‘own good.’ I am suffering the proximity in silence.”
Chan’s gaze was steady. “Then you become the one who defines what is ‘good’ for him, Seungmin. You’re going to be a doctor. Build a clinic, a practice, a life that is yours. A life where you can offer him a position, a home, a future that isn’t at your father’s mercy. Your power doesn’t have to come from your family name. It can come from your own two hands.”
The words hung in the air—a pact of rebellion among three Alphas trapped in different ways.
As they re-entered the ballroom, Chan’s eyes, now attuned to the room’s injustices, found him immediately.
An Omega. Standing apart near a marble pillar, a statue in deep blue amidst the sea of wedding white. He was heartbreakingly beautiful, with a stillness that seemed to swallow the noise around him. His eyes were fixed on the happy couple, but his expression wasn’t one of bitterness. It was one of profound, weary sadness.
“Who is that?” Chan asked, his voice tight.
Hyunjin followed his gaze, and his playful mood evaporated. “That’s Lee Minho. The elder brother.”
Seungmin filled in the brutal details. “Engaged to Changbin for two years. Publicly discarded a month ago so Changbin could marry the brother he actually wanted: Felix. The social demolition was… efficient. Minho-ssi is now considered ‘compromised.’ His value is zero. He’s off every marriage list.”
Chan’s blood turned to ice, then boiled. “Changbin did that?” The betrayal was a physical blow. His best friend.
“He did,” Hyunjin confirmed quietly. “And it’s worse than it looks. Watch Felix.”
Chan watched. Felix, radiant but strained, kept glancing toward his brother. During a lull, Felix drifted from Changbin’s side, grabbed two glasses of champagne, and went to Minho. They saw Felix smile, tugging at Minho’s sleeve, trying to coax a smile. They saw Minho take the glass, pat Felix’s hand, and even offer a small, forced smile back. It was a gesture of pure love—Felix trying, in the middle of his own wedding, to cheer up his brother.
But as soon as Felix was pulled away by well-wishers, the mask fell. Minho’s shoulders didn’t slump in grief over a lost love. They stiffened, his gaze turning wary as a group of nearby nobles glanced at him and whispered behind their fans, their smirks cruel. An older Alpha passed too close, letting out a derisive sniff. This was the source of Minho’s sadness. Not his brother’s happiness, but the relentless, public bullying. The constant reminder that he was now society’s favorite punching bag.
“He’s not sad about the wedding,” Chan realized aloud, his voice thick with anger. “He’s being slowly crushed by the vultures in this room.”
Hyunjin and Seungmin nodded, their faces grim. “He comes to every event,” Seungmin observed. “He stands. He endures. It’s… punishment.”
Chan’s grip on his glass was white-knuckled. He looked at Changbin, laughing now with a group of guests, the architect of this entire cruel spectacle. The friendship he thought he had shattered in that moment.
Without a word, he set his glass down and cut through the crowd, his scent a rolling storm front.
He found Changbin in a quiet antechamber. “Chan! You came!” Changbin’s smile was genuine, until he saw Chan’s face.
“Two years,” Chan said, his voice lethally quiet. “You were his future for two years. And then you made him their entertainment.” He jerked his head toward the ballroom. “You didn’t just break an engagement, Changbin. You fed him to the wolves to get what you wanted. Where was the honor in that? Where was the loyalty?”
Changbin flinched. “I didn’t mean for—"
“You didn’t think!” Chan cut him off, the Alpha command vibrating in his tone. “You only thought of yourself and Felix. You made Minho the cost of your happiness, and you left him to pay it alone, every single day.” He took a step back, his disgust palpable. “You were my friend. I thought I knew you.”
He turned and walked away, leaving Changbin standing in the shadow of his own choices.
Back on the balcony, Hyunjin and Seungmin were waiting. They didn’t need to ask.
“He’s a casualty,” Chan said, staring at Minho, who was now once again perfectly isolated, a single figure of dignity in a cruel sea. “A warning of what this world does to people it decides are inconvenient.”
Hyunjin sighed. “And there’s nothing we can do. No Alpha will go near him now. It’s social suicide.”
Chan watched as Minho closed his eyes for a brief second, a flicker of unbearable fatigue crossing his beautiful features before the mask of calm resealed itself. The sight carved something out of Chan’s chest.
He might not be able to fix it. He might not be able to offer anything. But as he watched Lee Minho withstand the silent, endless barrage, Chan made a silent vow.
He would not be part of the cruelty. And if he ever had the chance, he would be part of the shelter.
The wedding of his best friend ended that night. And a new, fierce resolve was born in Bang Chan.
*******************
The Seo family’s summer villa by the sea was a world of blue water and whispering pines, a paradise meant for new beginnings. Yet, from the moment they arrived, Felix had been quiet. His usual sunshine was muted, peeking through clouds of preoccupation.
On their third evening, Changbin found him standing on the wide veranda, wrapped in a silken robe, watching the sunset paint the waves in hues of gold and violet. He wasn't smiling. He was just… watching.
"Yongbok-ah," Changbin called softly, coming to stand behind him. He wrapped his arms around Felix's slender waist, nuzzling into the sweet, vanilla scent of his Omega. His Omega. The thought still sent a thrill through him, followed immediately by the now-familiar, cold trickle of shame. "You've been quiet. Is the sea not to your liking? We can go to the mountains tomorrow. Anywhere you want. Just name it."
Felix leaned back into the embrace, a small, grateful sigh escaping him. "It's not the place, Binnie. It's… perfect. It's beautiful." He paused, his fingers tracing patterns on Changbin's arms. "It's just… too quiet. My thoughts are too loud."
Changbin’s heart constricted. He knew. He’d heard the same thoughts, echoed by Chan’s furious, betrayed voice. You fed him to the wolves.
"I keep thinking about him," Felix whispered, the confession tearing from him. "Alone in that big house. With Mother and Father walking on eggshells. With everyone talking. And he’s just… there. Reading. Taking care of his cats. Being strong for everyone when no one is strong for him." A tear escaped, tracing a glittering path down his cheek. "And I’m here. In paradise. With you. Because of… because of what we did to him."
Changbin turned Felix gently in his arms, cupping his tear-stained face. Seeing Felix’s pain, the guilt that mirrored his own, was a fresh kind of agony. "Don't," he pleaded, his own voice rough. "Don't say it like that. Don't you dare take this blame onto your shoulders. This was my choice. My cowardice. My sin."
He brushed Felix’s tears away with his thumbs. "I love you, Felix. I loved you from the moment I saw you laughing in the garden, covered in pollen, looking like a disheveled angel. And I was a coward. I was engaged to Minho, and I thought… I thought I could be the Alpha I was supposed to be. I thought I could mold my heart to fit my duty."
He rested his forehead against Felix's, closing his eyes, the memory of those two years a heavy weight. "But every time I was with him, all I could see was you. Your smile, your light. The way you made everything feel alive. Minho was… perfect. He was everything society says an Omega should be. Strong, composed, intelligent. And I respected him. I truly did. But my heart… it only beat for you."
He pulled back, his eyes searching Felix’s. "So I made the most selfish, cruel decision of my life. I broke him to have you. I told myself it was ‘gentle,’ that it was ‘for the best.’ I lied to myself so I could live with it." His voice broke. "And then Chan… he looked at me at our wedding, and he saw right through every lie I’d told myself. He called me dishonorable. And he was right."
Felix was crying openly now, but he was listening, his hands gripping Changbin’s wrists. "I love you too," he sobbed. "So much it hurts. And I wanted this. I wanted you. But I never wanted his broken heart to be the price. Every time I see him try to smile for me, it feels like I'm stealing the air from his lungs."
Changbin pulled him into a fierce, desperate hug. "I know, my love. I know. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying to make it up to him. I will protect him. I will use every resource, every bit of influence I have to shield him from the worst of it. I will make sure he wants for nothing." It was a feeble, pathetic balm for the wound he’d inflicted, but it was all he had.
"He doesn't want things, Binnie," Felix murmured into his chest, his voice muffled. "He just wanted to be loved. For himself."
And that was the cruelest truth of all. The one thing Changbin could never give him, because he had given that love entirely to the man in his arms.
They stood there, wrapped in each other, as the sun fully dipped below the horizon, leaving them in twilight. Their love was real, a blazing, beautiful thing. But it cast a long, dark shadow, and in that shadow stood Lee Minho.
"We'll be happy," Changbin whispered, a vow and a plea. "We have to be. Because if we're not… then what was all this pain for?"
Felix nodded, clinging to him. They would love each other fiercely, gratefully. They would build a life. But their happiness would forever be a bittersweet wine, drunk from a cup they had shattered to obtain.
The honeymoon was in paradise, but their conscience had its own weather. And as the stars came out, Changbin knew Chan’s words would haunt him forever, a ghost in the halls of his happiness, reminding him of the good man he'd failed to be, and the good Omega he'd left behind in the cold.
******************************************
The Bang estate was ablaze with light and music for the heir’s long-awaited welcome gala. For the Lee family, the invitation had been a shock. For Lee Minho, whose parents had been called away on sudden, unavoidable business, it was a quietly terrifying obligation. Attending alone was unthinkable, but failing to appear after accepting would be an even greater slight.
He arrived like a shadow slipping through the light, a vision in muted silver-grey silk. In his hands, he carried the traditional gift of fine silk and imported tea. His scent was locked down—lavender and linen, sealed tight—a fortress against the impending scrutiny.
His first trial came immediately. He was ushered to the receiving line to greet the Duke. Bang Minseok stood like a carved monument, his Alpha presence a wall of old power and older tradition. As Minho bowed and presented the gift with a soft, “Our house thanks you for the honor of your invitation, Your Grace,” he felt the Duke’s gaze like a physical weight. It was not openly hostile, but it was cold, assessing, and profoundly disapproving. The Duke accepted the gift with a nod so slight it was almost an insult.
“The Lee family’s… presence is noted,” the Duke said, his voice devoid of warmth. The dismissal was clear.
A flush of humiliated heat crept up Minho’s neck. He was about to melt back into the crowd, to find the darkest corner to inhabit, when a voice, bright and sure, cut through the tension.
“Father, I see you’ve met one of the few guests I was actually looking forward to.”
Minho turned. Bang Chan was striding toward them, cutting through the nobles with an easy confidence. He was resplendent in his formal wear, but it was his smile—genuine, wide, and directed entirely at Minho—that stole the air from the room. He came to a stop beside them, his mint-and-winter scent a crisp, refreshing wave.
“Lee Minho-ssi,” Chan said, his voice infused with a warmth that felt like a shelter. “You made it. Thank you for coming.” He turned the full force of his attention and gratitude on Minho, subtly but completely shifting the power dynamic. The Duke’s lips thinned almost imperceptibly.
“I merely wished to express our family’s gratitude for the invitation, Bang Chan-ssi,” Minho murmured, his eyes downcast, awaiting the other shoe to drop. The public kindness that would soon twist into mockery.
“The gratitude is mine,” Chan said firmly, his gaze steady and sincere. “My father’s events can be… overwhelming. I value a guest who understands the meaning of quiet respect.” It was a clever, diplomatic line—a compliment to Minho that also subtly defended his choice to his father. He then glanced at the Duke. “Father, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to ensure Lee Minho-ssi isn’t abandoned to the wolves. I see some friends who would appreciate an introduction.”
It was a polite fiction, and everyone knew it. The Duke gave a curt nod, his displeasure now a silent thundercloud as he turned to greet the next guest. Chan had effectively extracted him.
The moment they were a few steps away, Minho’s composure cracked into urgent, quiet panic. “Bang Chan-ssi, you are too kind. Please, do not trouble yourself on my account. I have presented my respects. I should—”
“You should stay,” Chan interrupted gently, but with an Alpha’s firm certainty that made Minho freeze. He braced for the cruelty, the setup.
But Chan’s next words were soft, meant only for his ears. “Because it would be a poor host who let a guest bearing such thoughtful gifts face this circus alone. And because I would genuinely like your opinion on the jasmine in the east garden. I’m told it’s exceptional, but I find most people here only know how to comment on its cost, not its scent.”
The reason was so practical, so oddly specific and devoid of the pity or grandiosity Minho had feared, that it disarmed him completely. The harsh defense he’d prepared withered. He could only give a small, bewildered nod.
Chan didn’t press. He simply guided him, not toward the intimidating ballroom, but to a sheltered alcove where two figures waited. “These are my brothers in all but blood,” Chan announced. “Hwang Hyunjin, and Kim Seungmin. Gentlemen, this is Lee Minho-ssi.”
It was their first meeting. Hyunjin, draped in artful layers of silk, offered a flourished, graceful bow, his ink-and-jasmine scent curious and assessing. “A pleasure. Anyone who can survive the Duke’s receiving line without wilting has my immediate respect.”
Seungmin’s bow was precise, his sharp gaze scanning Minho with an intelligence that felt like being gently cataloged. “Lee Minho-ssi. Chan has mentioned your family’ support for the free clinics. A commendable endeavor.”
The easy, direct acceptance in their greetings, free of the usual sycophancy or hidden barbs, left Minho flustered. He returned the bows perfectly, but his words came out in a soft, hurried rush. “Oh—thank you. It’s an honor to meet you both. Hyunjin-ssi, Seungmin-ssi. Your reputations… precede you.” He realized how that sounded and his eyes went wide. “I mean—good reputations! Talents! Not—not gossip. I didn’t mean gossip.” He pressed his lips together, a faint, flustered pink blooming on his cheeks.
Hyunjin’s eyebrows rose, a delighted smile playing on his lips. Seungmin merely blinked, his head tilting slightly as if Minho were a fascinating new equation.
Before the conversation could stutter further, a whirlwind of sunny, citrus scent burst into their circle. “Hyunjin-ah! I’ve been looking—oh!”
Yang Jeongin skidded to a halt, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in the group. He flushed, realizing he’d interrupted. Hyunjin’s entire being softened, pulling In close with a tender arm. “In-ah, perfect timing. This is Lee Minho-ssi.”
Jeongin’s nervousness evaporated into sheer, artless awe as he looked at Minho. He bowed so deeply he almost overbalanced. “You’re… you’re the one from the wedding,” he breathed, voice hushed. “You wore the blue hanbok with the silver thread. You looked like… like moonlight had decided to take human form.” He clapped a hand over his mouth, his own cheeks turning scarlet. “I’m sorry! That was so forward! I just… I’ve never seen anyone so… so *ethereal*. I’m an Omega too, but I’m always tripping or spilling tea. But you… you seem so calm. So perfect. Like a porcelain statue.”
The flood of pure, unfiltered admiration was the final, critical blow to Minho’s defenses. The “perfect Omega” facade, the ice-prince persona he’d worn as armor, completely shattered under the weight of such sincere, overwhelming praise from another Omega.
A soft, distressed sound escaped him, like a squeak. His hands flew up to cover his burning cheeks. “No, no, no, please,” he mumbled, his voice muffled behind his hands. He peeked through his fingers, his eyes wide and panicked. “I’m not… I’m really not like that at all. I’m the opposite of porcelain! Porcelain doesn’t get nervous and count the tiles on the floor to avoid eye contact. Porcelain doesn’t… I’m much more like a…” He flailed for a metaphor, his composure utterly gone. “A… a *pudding*! Yes! I’m just a wobbly pudding trying very hard not to spill!”
The confession hung in the air.
For a second, there was stunned silence. Then, Hyunjin let out a choked, delighted laugh, quickly turning it into a cough. Seungmin’s lips twitched into an unmistakable smile, his analytical gaze now utterly fond. Jeongin beamed as if Minho had just given him the keys to a secret, wonderful club.
And Chan… Chan felt his heart do something dangerous and permanent in his chest. He stood there, utterly captivated, a forgotten glass in his hand. He had seen the elegant, distant beauty. He had respected the quiet strength. But this—this flustered, adorable, *honest* creature who compared his own noble composure to a trembling dessert… this was entirely new. This was real. The way Minho’s ears had gone red, the way he hid behind his hands, the utterly ridiculous and perfect metaphor—it was the most enchanting, human thing Chan had ever witnessed.
The shy Omega had not just entered the party. He had, without even trying, disarmed Chan’s closest friends and completely rewritten the script of the evening. Chan’s welcome home gala faded into insignificance. The only thing that mattered now was the wobbly, beautiful pudding standing before him, who had just become the most interesting person in the entire world..
**************************************
The warmth of the conversation, the feeling of being seen not as a scandal but as a person, had begun to thaw the permanent frost around Minho’s heart. He was actually enjoying himself, the shy smiles coming more easily. When he excused himself to find the restroom, he even felt a flicker of lightness in his step.
On his way back, through a less crowded hallway, the sound of harsh, frantic whispering stopped him cold.
“—disgrace! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“Eomma, please, lower your voice—”
“Lower my voice? You were fraternizing with him! The Lee reject! Do you want the Yang name to be spat upon next?”
Minho peeked around a marble column. There, partially hidden by a potted fern, was Yang Jeongin, his face pale and tear-streaked, being gripped tightly by the arm by a stern, finely dressed woman—his mother.
“He was kind, eomma! He’s Chan-ssi’s guest! He’s not—”
“He is damaged goods!” she hissed, her voice like a whip. “His scent is failure. His presence is a curse. Every Alpha and Omega who associates with him is tainted by association. Do you think the park heir will look twice at you if you’re seen as a friend to the scandalous Omega of the Lee family? You will ruin everything I have worked for!”
Each word was a nail hammered directly into Minho’s soul. The brief illusion of normalcy shattered into a million glittering, cruel shards. Damaged goods. A curse. Tainted.
He saw In’s desperate, apologetic eyes dart past his mother and meet his own from across the hall. The shame and panic in them were a mirror of his own horror.
Minho didn’t wait to hear more. He turned on his heel, his vision blurring. He couldn’t breathe. The lavender-and-linen scent he’d so carefully controlled now spiked with the acrid, unmistakable tang of distress and crushing humiliation. He walked, then hurried, back toward the alcove, his only thought to get out, to vanish.
Chan saw him first. One moment, Minho had been a softly glowing presence. The next, he was a storm cloud returning, his beautiful face pale, his eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, his scent screaming a silent scream of pain.
“Minho-ssi?” Chan was on his feet instantly, his own scent sharpening with concern. “Are you unwell?”
“I must go,” Minho choked out, the words tight and rushed. He offered a jerky, shallow bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, Bang Chan-ssi. Please excuse me.”
“What happened?” Hyunjin asked, his playful demeanor gone, Seungmin already looking past Minho toward the hallway with a detective’s gaze.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m just… tired. Thank you.” He was backing away, a beautiful, broken doll trying to maintain its porcelain smile. But the smile was a grimace, and the sadness radiating from him was a physical chill.
“Minho, wait—” Chan reached out, his instinct to protect, to fix, overwhelming all else.
But the gentle touch on his arm was the final trigger. The dam broke. Minho flinched back as if burned, a sob catching in his throat. The false composure shattered. “Just leave me alone!” The words burst out, louder than he intended, edged with a raw, desperate anger that wasn’t really for Chan, but for the entire world. He hugged his arms around himself, shrinking in on himself.
The brief, shocked silence that followed was worse than the outburst. Chan’s hand fell to his side, his heart clenching as if physically wounded. He’d caused this. His invitation, his attention, had somehow led to this pain.
Before Chan could find words, Minho’s expression crumpled. The anger melted into pure, agonized regret. A single tear finally escaped, tracing a silver path down his cheek. He looked directly at Chan, his eyes begging for understanding.
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the apology a broken thing. “Forgive me.”
And then he was gone, fleeing through the grand foyer toward the entrance, a streak of silver-grey and sorrow.
Chan stood frozen for only a second before the Alpha in him roared to life. “Minho!” He took off after him, Hyunjin and Seungmin exchanging a grim look before following.
He reached the grand front steps just in time to see Minho almost throw himself into the waiting Lee family carriage. The coachman, startled, shut the door.
“Minho, wait!” Chan called, sprinting down the steps. He reached the carriage just as the driver clicked the reins. He grabbed the door handle. “Stop! Please!”
Through the window, in the fleeting second before the carriage pulled away, he saw Minho’s face pressed against the glass. No more masks. No more defenses. Just a beautiful, devastating landscape of tears, silent sobs shaking his shoulders, his eyes clenched shut against a world that wouldn’t let him have one single, good night.
The carriage rolled into the darkness, taking the scent of distressed lavender and heartbreak with it.
Chan stood in the gravel drive, chest heaving, the cold night air doing nothing to cool the fire of helpless fury and aching sympathy in his chest. He had wanted to give him shelter. Instead, he’d somehow delivered him straight into the storm.
Behind him, Hyunjin placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find out what happened.”
Seungmin’s voice was grim. “I have a hypothesis involving a certain citrus-scented Omega and societal venom.”
But Chan barely heard them. All he could see was that last, tear-streaked image in the window. And he knew, with a certainty that shook him to his core, that this wasn’t just empathy anymore.
This was personal.
******************************************
The Lee manor was abuzz with a nervous, celebratory energy. Felix and Changbin had returned from their honeymoon, and the family had gathered for a lavish welcome dinner. Felix glowed with a newfound, settled happiness, his scent of citrus blossoms now intertwined with the steadfast, paper-and-sandalwood scent of his Alpha.
Lady Lee, their mother, could not stop. She fluttered around Felix, adjusting his already-perfect collar, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder, her voice a constant, praising murmur.
“My beautiful Felix. A Seo now. Can you believe it? Such a prestigious family. Such a strong, handsome Alpha.” She beamed, ignoring the quiet figure of her eldest son pouring tea at the side table. “You have brought such honor to our house. Everyone is talking about your wedding. The splendor! You’ve secured our standing for a generation.”
Each word was a delicate, poisonous needle, carefully aimed at Minho’s invisible wounds. Honor. Prestige. Secured. Everything he had failed to provide. He kept his eyes on the steaming tea, his lavender scent locked down, but his heart squeezed tight. He would end up alone in this house, a permanent shadow to his brother’s brilliant success, a living reminder of a failure his mother would never let him—or anyone else—forget.
Felix’s smile had grown increasingly strained. He watched Minho’s bowed head, the careful, too-precise movements of his hands. The happiness he felt with Changbin was suddenly ringed with thorns of guilt. Finally, when their mother sighed, “You were always the one who knew how to shine, my precious boy. The one who understood what was important,” Felix had had enough.
“Eomma, stop it.”
The room fell silent. Their father looked up from his papers, startled. Their mother blinked, her smile frozen. “Yongbok-ah?”
“I said stop,” Felix repeated, his voice low but quivering with emotion. He stood up, his chair scraping back. “Every word you say to lift me up is meant to push him down. Can’t you see what you’re doing? Or do you just not care that you’re hurting your own son?”
“I am not—” their mother began, flustered.
“You are!” Felix’s voice rose, tears of frustration springing to his eyes. He gestured wildly toward Minho, who had gone perfectly still. “Look at him! Really look! He is beautiful. He’s the most beautiful Omega in this city, and you act like he’s something to be hidden away. He’s brilliant—he reads treatises on economics and botany for fun, while I was out shopping for ribbons! He runs this household with more grace and intelligence than any of us, and he does it quietly, without asking for praise!”
He took a step toward his mother, his small frame trembling with protective fury. “He is strong, and kind, and he has a heart so pure it hurts. He took care of me my whole life. He protected me. He loved me enough to let me have my happiness even when it cost him his own!” Felix was shouting now, all his bottled-up guilt and love pouring out. “And you stand here and talk about prestige and standing as if that’s all that matters? Minho-hyung doesn’t need a family name to make him worthy. He is worthy. He deserves the best Alpha in this town—no, the best Alpha in the kingdom—someone who will see how incredible he is and cherish him! Not someone who sees him as a… a political stepping stone!”
The dining room was utterly silent, ringing with Felix’s impassioned words. Lady Lee stood speechless, her face pale. Their father had lowered his papers completely, a complex look of shame and dawning realization on his face.
Minho stared at Felix, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears. He had never, in his entire life, heard anyone defend him like that. Let alone his little brother.
Felix, breathing heavily, didn’t wait for a response. He marched around the table, his earlier anger softening into determination. He gently took Minho’s limp hand and pulled him to his feet. “We’re going for a walk. Excuse us.”
He didn’t wait for permission, leading a stunned, emotionally overwhelmed Minho out of the stifling dining room and into the quiet, forgiving darkness of the garden.
The cool night air of the garden was a balm after the heated, suffocating atmosphere of the dining room. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth washed over them, a quiet contrast to the turmoil inside. Felix led Minho to a stone bench tucked beneath a wisteria arbor, its purple blooms like a curtain of quiet in the moonlight.
For a moment, they just sat in silence, the only sound the distant chirp of crickets and the frantic beat of Minho’s own heart, still echoing with Felix’s fierce, unexpected defense.
Felix was the first to break the silence, his voice now small and vulnerable, all the fire gone. “Hyung… I meant every word.”
Minho let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling in his lap. He looked at his brother—his sweet, sunshine brother who had just roared like a lion for him. “I know you did, Yongbok-ah. I… no one has ever said anything like that about me.” His voice cracked. “Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t have to be thanked for me saying the truth,” Felix mumbled, scooting closer until their shoulders touched. He reached for Minho’s hand, holding it tightly. “She’s wrong. So wrong. You’re not a… a problem to be managed. You’re the best person I know.”
Minho squeezed his hand back, the simple contact a lifeline. “She’s not entirely wrong, Bokkie. She’s just… pragmatic. In her world, I failed. I didn’t secure the alliance. I became the scandal. You… you did what was needed.”
“Stop,” Felix pleaded, turning to face him. Moonlight caught the tears on his own lashes. “Don’t talk about yourself like you’re a failed business deal. This is your life. Your heart. And I… I took your chance at happiness. I didn’t mean to, but I did.” The guilt he’d carried since the engagement broke finally spilled over. “Do you… do you still blame me? Even a little? Please be honest.”
Minho looked into Felix’s wide, earnest eyes, the eyes that had always looked at him with trust and love, never with judgment. The last remnants of any hidden resentment melted away. How could he blame this heart?
He pulled Felix into a tight hug, the scent of citrus blossoms and his own lavender mingling. “Never,” he whispered fiercely into his brother’s hair. “I never blamed you, Felix. Not once. You fell in love. That’s not a crime. The way it was handled… that wasn’t your fault. It was his. And mine, for not being… enough.” The old wound ached, but saying it aloud to Felix felt different. Less like a failure, and more like a shared tragedy.
Felix clung to him. “You were enough. You are enough. He was just… blind. And stupid.” He pulled back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, a determined set to his jaw. “And he knows it now. He’s… he’s trying to be better. For me, but… I think for you, too. He feels awful, hyung.”
Minho gave a small, watery smile, touched by Felix’s need to fix things. “I’m glad he’s good to you, Bokkie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Truly. Is he… is he making you happy?”
The change in Felix was instantaneous. His whole face softened, lit from within by a pure, radiant joy. “He is. He really is. He listens to all my silly stories. He remembers little things I like. He… he sees me. Not just as an Omega, but as me. And he’s kind. So kind.” He looked down, playing with Minho’s fingers. “He loves me so much it scares me sometimes. He says he’d do anything for me.” He glanced up, his expression serious. “And I believe he’d do anything to make up for hurting you, too.”
Minho nodded, the information settling. It was a complicated solace. “I’m glad. You deserve that kind of love.” He meant it. Seeing Felix happy was the one clear light in this whole mess.
He looked back toward the softly glowing windows of the manor. “Did he come in with you? I didn’t see him at dinner.”
“Oh,” Felix said, perking up. “No, he went straight to see Bang Chan-ssi. You know, the Duke’s heir? Changbin’s best friend since they were pups. He practically owns half the east.” Felix’s tone held a note of awe. “Binnie said he had something important to discuss with him. Man stuff, probably. Politics or land or something boring.”
The name landed in Minho’s stomach like a lead weight.
Bang Chan.
The memory of the gala rushed back—the mint-and-winter scent, the intense gaze, the protective circle, the shattered exit. The kindest Alpha he’d ever met.
And he was Changbin’s best friend.
The fragile, budding warmth he’d cautiously associated with Chan suddenly frosted over, crystallizing into a sharp, cold suspicion. The pieces clicked together with a devastating logic.
Of course. Why would the powerful, elusive heir pay him any mind? Why would he go out of his way to be kind to the social pariah?
It was a favor. A guilt-driven request from his best friend.
‘Changbin, I’m so miserable seeing Minho-hyung like this.’
‘Don’t worry, my love. I’ll talk to Chan. He’ll look out for him. He’ll be nice to him at his party. It’s the least we can do.’
The conversation, the introductions to his inner circle, the apparent concern… it wasn’t genuine interest. It was a meticulously performed act of charity. The most elegant pity he’d ever been subjected to. He’d been a project. A pathetic omega their friendship circle had taken on as a penance.
The realization was a physical nausea. The memory of his own heart fluttering at Chan’s attention now filled him with shame. How pathetic he must have looked, lapping up the crumbs of kindness meant to soothe his ex-fiancé’s conscience.
“Hyung?” Felix’s voice cut through the spiraling dread. “You’ve gone completely white. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
Minho blinked, forcing himself back to the present, to his worried brother. He manufactured a smile, thin and brittle. “No, no. I’m fine. Just… a chill. And tired.” He stood up, needing to escape, to be alone with this new, humiliating truth. “You should go back in. Don’t let Mother’s dramatics ruin your first night back.”
Felix stood too, searching his face. “You’re sure? We can stay out here longer.”
“I’m sure,” Minho said, pulling him into one last, quick hug. “Go to your Alpha. Be happy.”
He watched as Felix, still looking concerned, walked back toward the lit house. Once the door closed, Minho wrapped his arms tightly around himself, as if holding the broken pieces together.
The stars above were cold and distant. The kindest encounter of his recent life had just been revealed as a lie, a well-intentioned deception that cut deeper than any open scorn.
Bang Chan hadn’t seen him. He’d seen Changbin’s mistake. And Minho vowed, right then, to never be fooled by kindness again.