The elevator ride down from the boardroom had been a sealed vault of heavy breath and electricity.
He Chen had pressed Chu Ci against the mirrored wall, his hand a branding iron on Chu Ci's waist, his lips tasting of dark victory and sandalwood. The 96% resonance wasn't just a stabilizer; it was a drug, amplifying He Chen's desire and Chu Ci's traitorous physical relief.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to the subterranean parking garage.
The air here was a violent contrast to the air-conditioned opulence above. It was vast, echoing, and saturated with the stale scents of cold concrete, heavy gasoline, and damp earth. A row of black armored SUVs stood waiting, their engines idling in a low, synchronized growl like a pack of loyal beasts.
"You're a terrifyingly sharp weapon, Chu Ci," He Chen whispered, his voice vibrating against the Omega's neck, his thumb tracing the jagged scar beneath his ear. "Where did a dock security guard learn how to read an offshore manifest like a forensic accountant?"
Chu Ci smirked, though his knees felt dangerously like water. "In the Third District, Director, if you don't learn how to track the money, you end up face-down in the canal. I didn't spend ten years just standing post. I spent ten years watching who paid the bribes and who took the cuts."
He Chen let out a low, satisfied chuckle, a sound of pure possession. He guided Chu Ci toward the central Maybach, his hand never leaving the Omega's body.
As they stepped away from the private elevator alcove, the hair on the back of Chu Ci's neck stood up.
It wasn't the resonance. This was a different kind of instinct—a cold, jagged spike of adrenaline he hadn't felt since he left the underground fighting pits of the "Iron Cage."
Clack-clack.
The sound of heavy, military-grade boots echoed from the shadows of the concrete pillars.
A group of seven men emerged. They weren't the polished, white-gloved security guards of the He Estate. These were mercenaries—men with dead eyes, scarred knuckles, and the faint, acrid scent of cheap Alpha suppressants and gunpowder. They wore tactical gear stripped of any identifying insignia.
At the center of the group stood a man who looked like he had been stitched together from nightmares. He was massive, his skin a roadmap of burn scars and jagged tattoos. He wore a long, tattered duster coat, and a heavy iron chain was wrapped around his right fist.
Long Yan. The "Butcher" of the Third District pits.
Chu Ci's body went rigid. His breath hitched in a gasp of pure, unadulterated PTSD. The metal brace on his left leg let out a sharp, discordant creak as he shifted his weight, his pupils constricting into needles. For a split second, the concrete garage vanished, replaced by the scent of sawdust, blood, and the roar of the "Iron Cage" crowd.
"Well, well," Long Yan's voice was a gravelly roar that seemed to bounce off the low ceiling. He uncoiled the heavy iron chain, letting it clank against the floor. "I heard a rumor that our best 'Iron Dog' had been adopted by a billionaire. I didn't believe it until I saw the silk leash with my own eyes."
He Chen's body went absolutely still.
The air in the garage turned into a physical weight. The black SUVs seemed to rattle on their tires as the Prime Alpha's dominance exploded. It was a suffocating, majestic power, but Long Yan didn't flinch. He merely spat on the ground, his own scent—a nauseating mix of rotted copper and stagnant swamp water—rising to meet He Chen's.
"He Chen, stay back," Chu Ci rasped, his voice trembling as he reached for the hidden holster at the back of his waist. He couldn't let He Chen fight this monster. This was his ghost.
"Stay back?" He Chen's voice was a terrifying whisper. He stepped in front of Chu Ci, his massive silhouette blocking the garage lights, casting a long, dark shadow over the mercenaries. "You are in my house, on my property, speaking to my spouse. Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my security team turn this garage into your morgue."
Long Yan laughed, a jagged, wet sound. "Your 'spouse'? Director, you might have bought his papers, but you don't own his soul. That Omega owes the Pits three million credits in 'broken contracts.' He ran away before the final match. The Boss wants his prize back. Dead or alive, the debt must be settled."
Long Yan's eyes drifted to the dark, fresh mark on Chu Ci's neck. His expression turned into a mask of pure, primal disgust.
"You let a high-society pig mark you, Chu Ci? After everything? After you swore you'd never belong to anyone?" Long Yan stepped forward, the iron chain on his fist rattling. "I'm going to carve that mark off your skin before I drag you back to the Cage."
The violence erupted in an instant.
Long Yan lunged, swinging the heavy iron chain.
He Chen didn't wait for a command. He moved with a speed that defied his heavy frame, a blur of motion that slammed into Long Yan like a freight train. The sound of their collision was a sickening thud—the sound of two S-grade Alphas trying to shatter each other's bones.
"Security! Take the others!" He Chen roared.
The garage turned into a battlefield. Black-clad Xingji guards clashed with the Third District mercenaries. Gunshots echoed, the flashes of muzzles illuminating the gloom like strobe lights. Bullets ricocheted off the concrete, kicking up dust and sparks.
Chu Ci didn't stand by. He couldn't.
He lunged toward a mercenary who was trying to flank He Chen. His left leg dragged, the metal brace clucking and grinding with every desperate step, but his upper body was a whirlwind of practiced, lethal strikes. He didn't use a gun. He pulled a short, serrated combat knife from his boot.
Slash. Pivot. Strike.
He was a ghost in the shadows, a "stray dog" who knew exactly where the femoral artery hid. He felt a sickening rush of familiar adrenaline, the bond with He Chen amplifying his senses, making him faster, stronger, despite the pain.
But then, the disaster hit.
Long Yan, who was being beaten back by He Chen, suddenly whipped the iron chain around. He didn't aim for He Chen; he aimed for Chu Ci.
The heavy chain slammed into the mechanical hinge of Chu Ci's left leg brace.
The metal shrieked as it seized. Chu Ci's left leg gave way entirely, and he crashed onto the cold concrete, the impact sending a white-hot flare of agony through his hip. He let out a strangled scream, his vision going dark.
"Chu Ci!" He Chen's voice was a scream of pure, unadulterated terror.
He Chen abandoned his fight with Long Yan, ignoring a heavy blow from the iron chain that tore through his suit jacket and drew blood on his shoulder. He lunged toward Chu Ci, shielding the Omega with his own body as two mercenaries closed in with combat knives.
He Chen knelt on the ground, his hands trembling as they gripped Chu Ci's face. The Prime Alpha was sobbing—not from pain, but from the sudden, agonizing feedback of the bond. Through the 96% resonance, He Chen wasn't just seeing Chu Ci's pain; he was living it. Every spark of agony in Chu Ci's ruined leg was a lightning strike in He Chen's own brain.
"I've got you... I've got you..." He Chen whispered, his pheromones turning into a protective, impenetrable dome of pure aggression.
Long Yan stood over them, his chain dripping with He Chen's blood. He raised his fist for the killing blow. "Look at you. A king groveling in the dirt for a broken toy. End of the line, Director."
Chu Ci looked up, his vision blurring, his fingers clutching He Chen's bloodied shirt. The pain was unbearable, but his rage was stronger.
"He Chen... look at me," Chu Ci gasped, his voice a thread of steel cutting through the chaos. "He thinks he can win because I'm broken. Show him... show him why you're the one who owns the city."
He Chen's eyes shifted. The gold turned into a blinding, incandescent white.
The air in the garage didn't just vibrate; it shattered. Every window in the waiting SUVs exploded simultaneously. The mercenaries fell to their knees, blood leaking from their ears as He Chen's S-grade pheromones turned into a sonic weapon of pure Alpha dominance.
It wasn't a fight anymore. It was an execution.
He Chen stood up, his hand still holding Chu Ci's, his presence so massive it seemed to swallow the light. He looked at Long Yan—the "Butcher" who was now gasping for air on the ground, his own Alpha core collapsing under the weight of He Chen's wrath.
"You wanted to settle a debt?" He Chen's voice was the sound of a mountain crumbling. "I've decided the price. Your life for his silence."
He Chen didn't look back as his security team moved in to "clean up." He simply picked Chu Ci up in his arms—brace, scars, and all—and carried him toward the armored car.
Chu Ci buried his face in He Chen's chest, the smell of blood and sandalwood filling his senses. He was exhausted, broken, and terrified. But as he felt He Chen's heart beating against his ear—steady, furious, and utterly devoted—he realized the "cage" wasn't just to keep him in.
It was to keep the rest of the world out.
"The three million..." Chu Ci whispered, his consciousness fading. "You're... adding that to my tab."
"I'll pay the world, Chu Ci," He Chen murmured, kissing the top of his head as the Maybach pulled out of the bloody garage. "Just stay alive to spend it."