Chapter Text
In a world built on mystery and schemes, no one could have imagined that for more than a decade, people were no longer measured by hard work or dreams, but by something called second gender. Alpha, Beta, Omega, and… Enigma. The first three were ordinary—everyone knew them. But Enigma? Most dismissed it as a fairytale, a whisper carried through generations, because there were too few to ever be proven real. Children usually discovered their second gender at fifteen. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later. Anyone who bloomed late was branded a late bloomer, and that too was a shameful mark.
Gao Tu still remembered his fifteenth birthday with perfect clarity. His body had burned from the inside out, and the slip of paper in his hand delivered its cold verdict: Omega. When he told his mother, she broke down, sobbing so hard her body shook as she begged him to hide it. To live instead as a Beta. At the time, Gao Tu didn’t understand, but he held her close, trembling as he listened to her voice crack through her tears: “My poor little baby, mama is so sorry. Sorry that you’re an Omega. Sorry you were given this curse. Sorry that the path to happiness, to a bright future, might never be yours.”
Now, Gao Tu was alone. His mother was gone. His younger sister had been in the hospital for over three years. His father only came around to take his money. He stared at the mirror in the bathroom: eyes dulled of light, lips that had long forgotten how to smile, and his mark. Or what was left of it.
Too many suppressants, too many pills—his mark, the bond meant to reveal his destined mate, had faded and faded until it was almost gone. He reached a hand down to his scent gland, where it should have burned with warmth, and found nothing but emptiness.
The shrill ring of his phone tore him from his haze. He hurried out of the bathroom and checked the screen. Shen Wenlang. Gao Tu stared at the name for a moment, already knowing what would come. “Gao Tu, why aren’t you here yet? Your clock at home isn’t broken, is it? Don’t tell me you don’t know you’re late?”
Exactly as he expected. Gao Tu drew in a breath before replying, “Sorry. I had something to take care of. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” A smart excuse. Of course, he couldn’t say he had been drowning in his own thoughts. Wenlang only gave a curt grunt before ending the call.
Twenty minutes later, Gao Tu walked into the office right on time. The atmosphere was the same as always, but something about today felt different. He couldn’t breathe, as though the walls pressed in from every side. He wanted to run. But he knew Shen Wenlang would tear him apart if he didn’t show up now.
So he went to the seventh floor, where Wenlang’s office was.
And froze.
The air was thick with pheromones—iris, sharp and suffocating with fury. Wenlang’s.
“You think flashing your pheromones will make me want you? You think that disgusting scent of yours will make me drag you into my office, make me worship you? Pathetic.” The words sliced through the air. Gao Tu’s chest tightened. They weren’t aimed at him, but he was an Omega all the same.
“Your scent makes me sick. Get out of my sight.”
The words echoed sharp in Gao Tu’s ears, and suddenly his own body betrayed him. A heat stirred low in his gland, his scent—sharp, clean, like sage—straining to rise, desperate to spill into the air. Gao Tu’s nails bit crescents into his palm as he forced it back down, lungs burning with the effort. Not now. Please, not now. He prayed Wenlang’s scorn had been for the other Omega, not for the faint sweetness threatening to escape him. If Wenlang caught even a trace, if he realized—it would all end here.
Silence stretched after Wenlang’s voice faded. His glare swept the room, chest heaving with restrained fury. Then his gaze landed on the figure standing near the door. Gao Tu. Unlike the others, Gao Tu didn’t flinch. His expression was too calm. But the faint tremor in his hands, the shadow in his eyes, betrayed the weight he carried.
“Gao Tu,” Wenlang said, his tone softer but no less commanding. “Come with me.”
Gao Tu nodded and followed, head lowered.
Inside, Wenlang sat behind his desk, the very picture of an S-Alpha—sharp jaw, piercing eyes, broad shoulders radiating dominance. The kind of Alpha people worshipped.
“Why are you so quiet?” he asked, noticing how Gao Tu carefully avoided his gaze. But then Gao Tu drew in a breath, steeling himself, and looked him straight in the eye. “Mr. Wenlang,” he said evenly, “I don’t think you needed to be that harsh with that Omega. I’m sure he didn’t mean to release his pheromones. And honestly… They weren’t disgusting. Not at all.”
Wenlang leaned back in his chair, long fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the table. His gaze cut into Gao Tu—lazy, almost bored, but with the kind of weight that pinned prey in place. “Why should I waste kindness on him? You should know by now, I’ll never let an Omega into my life. That one was a nuisance, whoever sent him here made a mistake.”
Gao Tu swallowed his words, lips pressed shut. His eyes stung, because even if Wenlang despised Omegas, Gao Tu had feelings for him. To hear the man he loved spit more venom toward his kind only made him shrink further into himself. If only he wasn’t an Omega. If only he’d been born an Alpha… Or even the impossible, an Enigma. Then maybe Wenlang’s words wouldn’t hurt this much.
“Enough,” Wenlang said flatly. “Don’t bring him up again. Take this file and work on it.”
He gripped the file until his knuckles turned white and forced his legs to move. Out of the office, down the hall—anywhere he could collapse unseen. The bathroom was the only place left to fall apart.
His reflection stared back at him—hollow. What was so wrong about being an Omega? Why had his mother begged him to live as a Beta? Why did Wenlang hate them? And why had he been born this way?
His hands shook as he reached for the painkillers and suppressants, swallowing them down. The bitterness scraped his tongue, burning like ash as he braced against the sink. His reflection looked back, empty. His voice broke out in a whisper. “Being an Omega… It’s nothing but a curse. Mama was right.”
A hollow laugh cracked in his throat, breaking into silence. His lips trembled. His eyes couldn’t turn away from the stranger in the glass. “But if I stop pretending… There’ll be nothing left of me.” The words sank into the silence, heavier than the ache in his gland.
And for the first time, Gao Tu feared his mark wasn’t the only thing that had already faded away.