This novel is a work of pure fiction, created solely for the entertainment and enjoyment of readers. Any resemblance to real events, people, or places is purely coincidental. The characters, plot, and setting are entirely original, and this book is not a copy or adaptation of any existing work, history, or fictional material.
The story takes place in America, with a blend of Korean characters and cultural influences. Please note that the author is neither Korean nor American, so kindly approach the portrayal of characters and themes with understanding and an open mind. Your support is greatly appreciated as I strive to bring this world to life through my writing.
Note: All phone calls in the dialogue will be written in []
Thank you for reading.
CHAPTER ONE
HEAVY HEART
The night stretched out before me, the cool air brushing against my skin as the sky above gleamed with a thousand stars. The moonlight bathed the empty road, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Finally, I had escaped the source of my pain. The road ahead was quiet, a dark stretch of emptiness, and I stumbled barefoot along it, each step sending a dull ache through my body. Blood soaked my shirt, the wound in my shoulder screaming with each movement.
The cold air cut through me, making my shivering worse. My clothes were torn, stained with blood, and I had nothing left but my underwear. I pressed one hand down, feeling the emptiness of the deserted street. No cars, no people, just the sound of my uneven breathing and the rhythm of my footsteps.
I paused, glancing up at the city ahead, its lights twinkling like distant stars. The view was breathtaking, a beautiful contrast to the emptiness of the road beneath me.
"Damn bastard," I muttered, my voice shaking with rage as I struggled to stay upright. Memories flooded my mind, each one more painful than the last.
"Vance…" I whispered, stopping in the middle of the silent road. A wave of sadness, pain, and anguish washed over me. Alone, I wiped the tears from my cheeks, trying to steady myself.
A few minutes later, as I gathered the strength to continue, the distant roar of a motorcycle reached my ears. My heart raced, fear and worry surging through me. Had they found me? My mind raced with possibilities.
The motorcycle drew closer, then pulled over nearby. I watched the rider dismount and start walking toward me. Panic gripped me. Did he manage to find me? No... Vance doesn't ride motorcycles.
I tried to hold my ground, but my legs wobbled, and my vision blurred. Darkness crept in, and I could no longer fight it.
"Are you alright?"
The man ran towards me asking.
"Pl...please help…" That was all I could say right before I blacked out holding on to him.
The next morning,
I wake up feeling like I've just escaped a nightmare. My breath comes in short gasps as I scan the unfamiliar room. Groaning in pain, I notice my wounds have been cleaned and bandaged, different sizes of gauze covering my injuries. The faint scent of antiseptic lingers in the air.
A sudden chill runs down my spine, making me shiver. Panic sets in as I throw off the blanket, half-expecting to find my wrists and ankles shackled. But there are no chains. I frown, trying to make sense of it. Did the man take me back to the boss for treatment?
Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I barely register the faint sound of a voice. When I finally look up, I notice someone else in the room. A man stands by the window, speaking softly into his phone. He's shirtless, wearing only sweatpants, and his body is covered in tattoos that stretch from his neck down to his back. His blonde mullet frames a face dusted with freckles, like stardust scattered across his cheeks and under his green eyes.
I find myself drawn to the intricate tattoos that mark him. An angel, wings spread wide, stretches across his back. The figure grips a spear, poised as if striking down something unseen, frozen in mid-action. On either side of his neck, two roses bloom, their petals curling delicately around the contours of his skin.
He looks like a gangster, but there's a calmness in his expression, a quiet relief that softens his features.
The room itself is large and luxurious, its comforting ambiance making me want to drift back to sleep. But when he notices I'm awake, he ends the call and approaches the bed, sitting down at the edge without speaking for a moment. Our eyes meet, and we stare at each other in silence.
"How do you feel?" he asks with a gentle smile, placing his phone on the bedside table. I open my mouth to respond but find myself too anxious to speak. He leans in slightly, and I tense, still wary.
"It's okay," he reassures me. "You're safe here. I brought you to my place last night. You're still receiving treatment.... Let me check your health."
He moves closer, but I instinctively shift away. He smiles again, this time with a quiet confidence, and gently holds my face. His hand rests on my forehead, checking my temperature.
"Much better," he says, exhaling with relief. He stands and retrieves a first aid kit from a nearby shelf, preparing to tend to my wounds.
"You're quite big for an omega, and a recessive one at that," he adds, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he holds up a syringe.
I blink in confusion. Did I hear that right? My mind struggles to process his words, unsure if my ears are playing tricks on me.
"W...what do you mean, an omega?" I ask, still in disbelief.
"…You have no idea what you are?" he questions, his gaze steady.
"I'm... I'm not an omega! I-I'm... beta—I don't even go into heat..." My voice falters, breaking up my words as I struggle to process what he's saying, refusing to believe it.
"Smells like flowers. Daphne, to be exact…" he cuts in, his voice calm as he explains further.
He sighs and moves closer, gently brushing my messy hair back. His hand moves carefully down the side of my neck, as if silently reassuring me not to be afraid.
"W...what—" I stammer, speechless.
"You're giving off a very faint scent… The doctor ran some tests. He was the one I was on the phone with," he explains with a slight scoff. "Haha... Thankfully, I'm a dominant alpha, so I caught on to it and saved your life when your hormones spiked to a dangerous level."
"It smells wonderful…" His tone drops lower, softer, as he gently places his hand on my lips. His fingers are warm, his expression tender. I close my eyes for a moment, enduring the sensation as he brushes back my hair, his touch careful because of the long lengths I've kept it. I can tell he's trying to be gentle, but out of reflex, I panic again and whisk his hand away with force.
"Please don't touch me!" I plead, terror evident on my face. His smile vanishes instantly, and guilt flickers across his features, making him feel bad.
"I'm not like that person," he whispers, his voice barely audible. Without saying more, he begins preparing to change my bandages. The room grows colder, filled with an uneasy silence. Worry gnaws at me—I must have offended him.
"I'm sorry I had to take off your clothes," he says, his tone softening. "The doctor insisted I share some of my pheromones to control your fever. You were giving off very little pheromones."
I glance down, my face heating up in embarrassment. How did I not think about it earlier?
I'M COMPLETELY NAKED.
"I swear I did nothing wrong," he pleads, sincerity clear in his voice. "I only attended to your wounds. You lost a lot of blood."
His words make me feel even more embarrassed, and I turn away, watching quietly as he unwraps the old bandages to replace them. He smiles faintly, setting the soiled bandages aside, and I wonder why he speaks to me so comfortably.
"Th...thank you..." I stutter, finally mustering the courage to meet his gaze.
"If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. I'm indebted to you."
He nods, his expression dull yet appreciative, releasing a sigh of relief as though he's glad I don't hate him. He smirks slightly, holding up a fresh roll of bandages as he finishes with mine, simultaneously preparing a syringe and pulling out some medical wipes to clean the small mess on my shoulder, ensuring it doesn't get infected.
"You should get more rest, eat well, and avoid overusing your shoulder. The doctor will come by again soon to check on you," he explains, replacing the IV drip with practiced ease.
"Your tattoo...?" I begin, but a sharp groan escapes me as the syringe sinks into my vein, and he injects me with careful precision.
"Only gang leaders flaunt a label like that," I add, hoping I haven't provoked him.
"Hydrangea... That's what we're called," he says with a playful tone, his behavior suddenly light and childlike, as though he mentioned it in jest.
"Christian Miller...that is my name." He says his name with a soft smile on his cheeks to cheer me up as he rounded up my new dressing and medications.
"Kyle... Jeong Kyle.." I say in return, turning away so he doesn't catch onto my pitiful look.
"I know, you're a member of the Black Serpents organization."
The words hit me like a sharp sting. Suddenly, a cold wave of realization crashes over me. The name of the organization I had once heard about, one known for its ruthless reputation, clung to my thoughts like a vice. I froze, the blood in my veins turning ice-cold.
The tattoo on his skin—it felt strangely familiar, something I had seen in passing or in whispers in the dark corners of the underground world. My heart skipped a beat, and a wave of panic began to tighten around my chest.
Have I walked straight into a trap?
I became alert, subtly pulling away from Christian, suddenly more aware of my surroundings. This could have all been some kind of manipulation. I needed to keep my guard up.
Christian laughed softly as he ran his fingers through his hair, sensing the shift in my mood.
"Take it easy, alright? If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be sittin' here so comfortably, would you? Besides, I've got no beef with you." Christian smiled, raising his hands as if to show he meant no harm.
To be honest, a feeling of uncertainty began to tighten in my gut. I couldn't trust anyone—not now.
Who was this man, really?
I tried to push the thoughts aside. After all, all he had done was treat my wounds and offer me a place to heal. He had even stitched me up. Maybe I was overthinking things. But then again, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Was I just being naive, or had I just walked straight into a web I didn't understand?
After gathering my scattered thoughts, I exhaled sharply to calm myself.
"....Vance and I are nothing but enemies.." I said, my voice shaky but firm, now that I had fully realized the danger of my situation.
He grew silent, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he finally sighed and turned to look at me.
"These scars... Was this done by Vance..?" Christian asked.
I couldn't answer, and the room fell into a quiet, cold stillness, only filled with the gentle wind coming through the window. I turned my head down, but my silence gave him the answer he needed. His hands covered his face, as though hiding whatever expression he might have had.
His mood shifted, and he let out a few pheromones. The air, once filled with the fresh scent of the room, now carried a heavy masculine fragrance. How was I able to smell it? I had never picked up an Alpha's scent before. Was this what it was like to experience pheromones? Or was it just because he was dominant?
I broke the silence, unable to tolerate the discomfort, and squeezed his wrist firmly to snap him back to reality.
"Huh... Are you alright?" he asked, noticing what had just happened.
"Control it…" I pleaded, flustered and overwhelmed by the sensation.
"M...my body feels different... Y...your pheromones..." I shivered, feeling strange, as though my senses were overwhelmed.
"I'm sorry!" Christian immediately restrained his pheromones, his scent dissipating as he rubbed his eyelids, trying to ease his stress.
"I was caught up in the moment. I'm sorry!" Christian apologized and began to take steps away from me. But, without thinking, I drew him back by the wrist, my aching heart afraid of the loneliness creeping in.
How could I tell him I didn't want to be alone?
He stroked my hair gently, his touch soothing, and I didn't want him to stop. The silence had become unbearable, and I didn't want him to leave. So, I held onto his waist with my left hand, the one not bruised.
"Stay like this for a bit, please," I asked softly, my voice breaking apart as all the emotions I had bottled up rushed out. Tears I hadn't known I'd been holding back began to pour, and I felt horrible, helpless in my vulnerability.