The recording for the "Secret Project" had finally wrapped, but there was no luxury of downtime. While the rest of AXIOM remained behind to polish the choreography, Vyn's schedule was already packed. He was headed straight to a new brand collaboration with Elio. It was a luxury perfume campaign—a calculated maneuver by the agency to reframe the recent rumors of their friction as nothing more than the intense, practiced chemistry of a new partnership.
Inside the SUV, the mood was tense. Without turning around, Joey tossed a thin manila folder onto the seat next to Vyn.
"I pulled this from the agency's restricted records," Joey said, his voice low.
Vyn opened the folder and frowned, his eyes scanning the chaotic lines that looked more like a seismic reading than a health report.
Patient: Elio Arden
Age: 24
Tier: S-Class
Classification: Omega
Diagnosis: Unverified Bio-Data
"Joey," Vyn said, his voice deep and raspy as he tapped the paper. "He's also a rare tier. Why does it say 'Unverified'? And look at the chart—something is definitely off." Vyn went quiet for a moment. "I think Onyx is up to something again."
Joey glanced at him in the rearview mirror, looking stressed. "I'm a manager, not a doctor, Vyn. If you want to know for sure, take it to your brother. But listen—if the agency finds out you've seen these files, I'm the one who's going to lose my job. This is highly confidential, so keep it buried."
Vyn stared at the papers, his jaw tight.
"And one more thing," Joey added. "When you get inside, you need to play the part. We need selfies to post on social media to show you've been close for months."
Vyn let out a sharp, scoffing laugh, his expression tightening with that usual arrogance. "Selfies? Come on, Joey. I'm here to work, not to play the doting boyfriend for the public. We're already collaborating—isn't that enough to keep the agency's pathetic little narrative going?"
Joey rolled his eyes, letting out a long, dramatic sigh that filled the small space. "Fine. If you're too 'above' the selfie game, I'll do it. I'll take some BTS footage on my own phone and post it. You can just hit repost—that's the bare minimum required to stop this PR nightmare."
Vyn leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he watched the city pass by. "Fine. Fine," he snapped, shoving the folder into his bag.
The SUV slowed to a smooth halt in front of the studio. Vyn stepped out into the cool air, his mask of professional indifference firmly in place, ready to play his part.
——
The studio was stifling, heavy with the scent of the luxury perfume they were promoting and the relentless hum of the industrial lights.
Vyn walked in, his expression a polished mask of professional indifference. He offered the crew a quick, casual nod, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice a deep, steady anchor in the busy studio.
The effect was instant; the air seemed to thin as he passed, leaving several staff members momentarily breathless, their gazes trailing him with a mix of awe and flushed nerves. Vyn didn't notice—or perhaps he simply didn't care—his focus had already zeroed in on the vanity area, his eyes cutting through the room to lock onto Elio.
Elio was in the makeup chair, a stylist just finishing up. But his focus seemed to be entirely on Yohan, who leaned against the vanity, talking a mile a minute. Elio was laughing—his trademark warmth radiating effortlessly, a bright, easy demeanor he showed to everyone. It was a stark contrast to the guarded, wall-up tension he usually maintained whenever Vyn was within a ten-foot radius.
Vyn's jaw tightened. He told himself it was just irritation, but the way Elio's eyes crinkled—the way his entire posture softened when Yohan cracked a joke—felt like a personal insult. It was a possessiveness that burned beneath his skin, far hotter than he was willing to admit.
Yohan looked up, his smile faltering the moment he caught sight of Vyn. He offered a polite, friendly nod to Joey, but his expression toward Vyn turned significantly more rigid. "Alright, I'm heading out," Yohan said, his tone clipped. He turned to Joey, his brow furrowed with concern. "Take care of him, yeah? Our manager is tied up with the other members at the event."
Joey offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "No worries, Leia already texted me... we've got it covered. Go on."
As Yohan left, Vyn moved past the assistants and dropped into the empty chair beside Elio.
Their usual makeup artist beamed at them, her hands trembling with excitement. "Oh, you two! My ultimate favorite pair. It's like the universe knew I needed a boost today," she gushed. Vyn offered her a faint, weary smile, while Elio just chuckled, his eyes crinkling in that way that still made Vyn's chest ache.
Joey followed closely behind, flashing a warm smile at the makeup artist. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it at a low, casual angle. He began recording—not just the makeup process, but the way Vyn's gaze lingered on Elio's profile with a possessive intensity he hadn't yet learned to mask.
Vyn shifted, his hand reaching out to rest on the back of Elio's chair, his fingers brushing near Elio's shoulder. It was a calculated, territorial touch—an "accidental" intimacy that made the nearby staff members swoon.
Elio froze for a split second before leaning back into Vyn's space, his expression shifting into a soft, private smile.
"Tired?" Vyn murmured, his voice low enough to be intimate, but carefully projected for the nearby staff to hear. He reached up, pretending to fix a loose hair near Elio's temple, his gaze lingering on Elio's face with practiced tenderness.
Elio tilted his head, playing along perfectly, his eyes soft. "Exhausted, honestly. Yohan and I had an event earlier, and I'm a bit sleepy." He looked up at Vyn, his gaze momentarily unguarded. "You?"
Vyn felt a flicker of surprise at the ease with which Elio dropped his walls, his heart giving an unbidden, traitorous skip that he expertly buried. It was a complete mind game. The person standing in front of him now was a perfect reflection of the industry's "Angel"—warm, gentle, and entirely soft at the edges. But Vyn had seen the other side—the one that was cold, sharp, and utterly unfazed by an Alpha's command. It was as if Elio lived behind a series of curated masks, and the ease with which he swapped them left Vyn wondering if anyone had ever seen what lay beneath.
"I've had a long day too," Vyn replied, his voice smoothing over the slight hitch in his pulse.
When they stepped onto the set, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The mood was dark and minimalist, with sharp lighting that carved out their features against the shadows.
Elio was leaned back deep in the leather chair, looking effortlessly handsome in the harsh glow of the studio lights. His dark shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off the sharp, clean line of his collarbone and the smooth length of his neck. The lighting caught the subtle hollows of his throat, emphasizing a raw, masculine beauty that felt both untouchable and deeply inviting. He held the perfume bottle with a look of total composure, his gaze steady and calm, radiating a kind of magnetic heat that made it hard to look away.
Right behind him, Vyn moved into the light with a sharp, heavy presence that seemed to anchor the entire room. His silver hair caught the low light, shimmering beneath the moody rafters in a sharp contrast against the crisp white fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. He was a study in clean lines and cold, edgy energy, radiating a raw intensity that made it impossible to look away.
He anchored himself, his hand sliding firmly around Elio's waist to pull him flush against his chest. They were two figures draped in dark fabric, pressed so closely together that their shadows seemed to merge into one under the dim studio lights. Vyn leaned in, his expression hooded and dangerously handsome, his stillness radiating a quiet, magnetic heat that perfectly matched Elio's composure.
As the camera shutter clicked, Vyn leaned in, his lips brushing against Elio's ear. He whispered a sharp, low command, his thumb trailing slowly over Elio's skin. It was a possessive touch, a silent way of saying 'mine.'
They were perfectly in sync, their bodies moving with an electric chemistry. The air between them felt heavy and heated, charged with a tension that was impossible to ignore.
The photographer stopped mid-shot, clearly impressed, and shouted, "Yes—hold that right there. Give me more of that."
The photographer finally stepped back from his monitor, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he gave a final, decisive nod. "And that's a wrap! Incredible work, everyone."
As the studio lights began to dim, the electric chemistry that had anchored the room felt like it was physically snapping. Vyn pulled back instantly, his possessive touch vanishing as he straightened his jacket. That heavy, heated tension was replaced by a cold, professional wall in a heartbeat. Elio just let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders slumping as a wave of pure exhaustion finally hit him.
Joey stepped onto the set, clapping his hands together with a bright, energetic beam. He was already busy checking the "candid" footage on his phone, looking like a man who had just won the lottery.
"Great work, seriously," Joey chirped, his eyes darting between his two stars. "Look, I'm starving—and I know you guys are wiped. How about we grab a late dinner? The three of us. My treat."
Vyn glanced at Elio, his expression unreadable, waiting to see if any of that warmth would linger now that the cameras were off. Elio didn't meet his gaze; he just gave a small, tired nod, his "safe zone" clearly being anywhere that involved food and a place to sit.
"Fine," Vyn muttered, his voice dropping back into that nonchalant, low tone. "But somewhere quiet."
Half an hour later, they were tucked away in a quiet corner of a dimly lit restaurant. The place was mostly empty, with only a few other people scattered at distant tables.
While they waited for their food, Joey tossed his phone onto the table. "Just posted a story and tagged both of you. It's already picking up reactions," he said, casually scrolling through the notifications. "Make sure you repost it on your stories, okay? For the fans".
Vyn didn't offer a word of agreement. He just stared at Joey with a sharp, heavy silence, his hand anchored to his phone as he scrolled through his own feed with a flick of his thumb.
"I'll do it," Elio murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness. He didn't look up from his own device, his shoulders slumping as the long day finally caught up with him. With a few slow, tired taps, he shared the story. "Followed you both. It's done".
Joey's face lit up with a dramatic, playful relief. "See? This is why you're my favorite, Elio!" he chirped, giving a quick thumbs-up before leaning in closer to Vyn. His voice dropped to an urgent hiss as he noticed few people nearby recognizing them. "Look, stop looking so indifferent. At least act a little sweet—people are watching".
Vyn didn't move a muscle, his jaw locked in a hard line. He finally glanced up, his eyes cold as he spoke in a nonchalant, low voice meant only for their ears.
"How much sweetness do you need, Joey?" Vyn asked, his tone dripping with quiet, jagged sarcasm. "Should I feed him?"
Before Joey could snap back, Elio took the initiative. He shifted in his seat, closing the gap until his shoulder was nearly touching Vyn's. Propping his elbow on the table, he rested his chin in his hand and tilted his head back to look Vyn straight in the eye.
The way he looked up was effortless but intense—his features looked sharp and clean in the dim light, and his gaze was so steady it felt like it had actual weight to it. He looked striking, possessed of a quiet, cool confidence that seemed to pull all the energy in the room toward him.
"So," Elio asked softly, his gaze locked onto Vyn's. "How was my performance so far?"
For a fleeting second, the wall of Vyn's indifference shattered. He looked almost mesmerized—the sharp edge of his presence finally wavering as he was caught in the pull of that unwavering look.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the moment was cut short by the sharp vibration of a phone on the table.
Elio pulled back, the spell breaking instantly. As he reached for the vibrating device, Vyn's eyes tracked the movement with a sharp, uninvited focus. Before Elio could tilt the screen away, Vyn caught the name glowing against the glass: Aris.
A tight, bitter knot of irritation flared in Vyn's chest. For a brief second, the shadow of a scowl flickered across his features, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He looked away abruptly, his thumb hovering over his screen as he began to scroll through a meaningless feed.
Elio offered a quick, polite nod to both Joey and Vyn—a silent request for permission—and answered the call.
"Hello?" he said, followed by a few quiet nods as he listened. His expression was unreadable, and he kept his tone low. "Okay… I'll text you later."
He ended the call, leaving a strange, lingering silence at the table as a few people nearby continued to whisper, convinced they were witnessing a genuine, intimate moment.
Within minutes, social media was an absolute frenzy. The video Joey had posted—highlighting Vyn's lingering look and the soft, domestic touch to Elio's hair—was being shared, clipped, and analyzed on every platform. Hashtags regarding their "real-life chemistry" surged to the top of the trending topics, with fans dissecting every frame as definitive proof of a blossoming romance.
The internet was eating it up, totally buying the narrative they'd just sold. Of course, a few skeptics weren't having it. While the masses were swooning over the "chemistry," the trolls were busy mocking the whole thing as fake, flooding the threads with comments about how forced and staged the entire vibe felt. The conversation turned darker as critics began calling out Empire Onyx for their blatant exploitation. They accused the agency of only protecting their Alphas' interests while serving their own Omega star to the beast on a silver platter.
——
The car was quiet, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminating the cabin. Joey had been anxious about leaving them alone—his eyes had darted between them with blatant worry as he'd handed over the keys, clearly fearing a repeat of their past encounters—but Elio had simply waved him off with a tired, dismissive smile, insisting he'd be fine.
Now, the silence was heavy, but a different kind of heavy than the tension at the studio. Vyn kept his hands on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He had insisted on driving Elio home because he needed to discuss something.
The car pulled into a spot in the front parking area near the condo's main entrance and went quiet as the engine cut out. Vyn didn't move. He sat motionless, his gaze drifting to the passenger seat.
Elio was still fast asleep, his head resting against the glass. Without his usual guarded expression, he looked impossibly soft—striking in a way that made Vyn's chest tighten.
Vyn stared, his jaw set in a hard line. "He looks completely exhausted," he told himself, trying to ignore the way his heart betrayed him by skipping a beat. Even with his eyes closed and his defenses down, Elio possessed an effortless, sharp-edged beauty that made the air in the car feel thin. It was infuriating how captivating he found the sight.
He leaned in closer, his gaze tracing the relaxed line of Elio's features. A raw, hungry craving clawed at him, a desperate need to bury his face against the side of Elio's neck and drown in that intoxicating, hidden scent. He wanted it so badly it made his hands ache. He leaned in until their faces were inches apart, his breath ghosting over Elio's lips, the proximity a torturous pull he barely managed to fight. His thumb twitched, hovering in the small space between them, aching to brush a stray lock of hair from Elio's forehead.
Suddenly, Elio's eyes fluttered open. He blinked, startled to find Vyn's face inches from his own in the dim light. He pulled back quickly, rubbing his eyes.
"Sorry," Elio murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "I must have dozed off. What was it you wanted to talk about?"
Vyn pulled back instantly. He cleared his throat, his gaze turning cold and sharp.
"I wanted to ask about the archive wing," Vyn said, his voice low and pointed. "What exactly were you doing in there?"
Elio blinked, the grogginess of sleep vanishing, replaced instantly by icy detachment. He sat up, his movements slow and deliberate, and turned to face him.
"I don't recall our relationship being anywhere near intimate enough for me to explain my personal business to you," Elio said, his voice clipped and chillingly detached. "Stay out of my affairs, Vyn. It's not your concern."
The air in the car turned sharp, heavy with the suffocating weight of their mutual hostility. Vyn leaned into Elio's space, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous warning that vibrated through the small cabin.
"You have no idea what you're inviting into your life by digging into those archives," Vyn breathed, his eyes narrowed with lethal intensity. "Don't do anything foolish."
Elio didn't flinch. He just held Vyn's gaze, his expression a wall of pure, unbothered ice. "Is that all?"
The silence that followed was absolute, filled only by the sound of their ragged, synchronized breathing. Vyn didn't move, his dark, searing look anchoring Elio to the seat, while Elio refused to look away, the tension between them snapping like a live wire.
Finally, Elio broke the connection, reaching for the door handle with a sigh. "Anyway, thanks for the lift," he said, his tone indifferent, as if they hadn't just been tearing each other apart. "See you around."
He pushed the door open, letting the cool air of the parking area flood the cabin and shatter the suffocating intimacy of the space. Without waiting for a response, he stepped out and walked toward the entrance, his pace steady and composed.
Vyn watched him through the windshield, his hands finally loosening their white-knuckled grip on the wheel. He didn't drive yet; a flicker of curiosity made him stay, wondering why Elio was still standing there.
After a few minutes, a sedan pulled into the spot right next to him. An unfamiliar man stepped out and headed toward Elio—Vyn assumed it must be Aris, the one who had called earlier. He watched as Elio's face lit up with a smile, and the two of them walked into the condo together. Vyn's jaw set and his gaze hardened as they disappeared behind the heavy glass doors. Without a word, he shifted the car into gear and drove off into the night.
——
The world was nothing but sterile, blinding white. It smelled of ozone and antiseptic—a scent that had been the only constant in his life for as long as he could remember.
Six-year-old Vyn was strapped into a chair that felt too large, his small frame trembling as the high-pitched whine of machinery filled the room. Around him, the walls were lined with towering racks of monitors, their red lights pulsing like the heartbeat of something cruel. He was a specimen, a high-potential asset being pushed to his biological limits—the subject of a desperate, classified attempt to see how much more his body could be forced to endure before the inevitable moment of presentation.
A nurse stood beside him, silently adjusting the IV drip connected to a port in his arm. As the pale fluid began to flow into his veins, Vyn gasped; it felt less like medicine and more like liquid fire. He gripped the cold metal armrests until his knuckles turned white, his breath hitching as the fluid burned, pulsing through his bloodstream in a heavy, painful rush, forcing his young body to fight against the strain.
"Please," he sobbed, his voice thin and broken, sounding small against the hum of the apparatus. "I don't want to do it anymore. Please, stop."
A figure in a white lab coat moved into his peripheral vision, carrying a metal tray that clattered sharply. Vyn flinched, curling into himself, but the straps held him fast. He was sobbing, his face slick with tears and snot smearing across his cheeks, his small chest heaving as he gasped for air. He looked utterly broken, desperately searching the shadows of the room for the one person who could end it.
"Daddy, please!" the boy screamed, his voice raw. "Make them stop! Please, just make them stop!"
Suddenly, the blinding white shattered.
Vyn bolted upright, his lungs gasping for air as if he'd been dragged out of deep water. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm, and he realized he was drenched in cold sweat, his clothes clinging to his skin.
He wasn't in the lab. He was on the sprawling, charcoal-colored sofa in his penthouse living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city's skyline at night, but the cold, artificial glow of the urban sprawl offered no comfort. His phone lay face-down on the rug where it had slipped from his hand, a testament to the call he'd made before exhaustion had finally dragged him under.
"Vyn. Hey, look at me."
A hand pressed firmly onto his shoulder, grounding him. Vyn blinked, his vision slowly sharpening to reveal Kael sitting on the edge of the sofa, his expression etched with that familiar, weary concern.
Vyn pulled a shaking hand through his hair, rubbing at the grit in his eyes, his breath still coming in ragged hitches. He stared down at his own hands, the phantom pressure of the restraints still burning against his skin.
Kael sighed, tossing him a clean towel from the coffee table. He didn't offer pity—they both knew Vyn wouldn't take it—but his voice was quiet. "Still having nightmares?"
Vyn caught the towel, his grip tight. He looked toward the panoramic window, his reflection in the glass looking ghostly against the city lights. "Most nights," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel. "It never changes. But it doesn't matter. I'm not that child anymore."
He took a deep breath, his muscles coiling as he forced his body to obey his will. He stood up, the movement fluid and controlled, and walked toward the window, putting distance between himself and the phantom weight of the restraints. He gripped the back of an armchair until the tremor in his hands finally stilled.
Kael stood, pouring a glass of water from the carafe on the sideboard. He held it out without a word. Vyn took it, his fingers brushing Kael's—a brief, grounding point of contact—before he drained the glass in one long, steady swallow. The cool liquid washed away the last of the dream's bitterness.
Vyn turned back to the coffee table. He pulled the manila folder from his bag and dropped it onto the glass surface with a sharp thud.
"I need you to look at this, Kael," Vyn said, his voice steady. "Check this file. It's marked S-Class Omega, but the chart is… erratic. I need to know if there is something more here, something beneath the surface."
Kael leaned forward and flipped open the folder. His gaze fell on the high-resolution headshot of Elio. Kael froze; his breath hitched and his brow furrowed, a flicker of haunted recognition crossing his face before he forced his eyes to the data.
"Who is this?" Kael asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"A new idol the Empire has signed," Vyn replied shortly.
Kael turned his attention to the biological charts. He traced the jagged, inconsistent lines with a focused frown. "I need to study his data further, but the volatility suggests something beyond his base tier. He is an anomaly—his data defies the established sequence of any Omega I've seen."
He paused, tapping the page. "Onyx Biomedical is clearly monitoring these fluctuations. They're tracking him precisely because he's an S-Class; they don't observe a specimen of this caliber without an agenda."
"Is this related to your condition?" Kael asked, looking up from the charts. "Why are you so interested in him?"
Vyn stared at the flickering city lights reflected in the window, his expression unreadable. "He's different from any other Omega I've encountered," Vyn said, his voice quiet. "When he's near, the aggression—that constant, suffocating pressure—is just gone. He makes me feel normal."
Kael closed the folder slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he met Vyn's gaze. "If Onyx has their eye on him, he's in grave danger."
Vyn's expression shifted, the vulnerability of the earlier nightmare completely incinerated by a sudden, jagged surge of pure hatred. His jaw locked, and a dark, dangerous heat flared in his eyes, radiating a hostility so raw it turned the air in the room cold. He stood perfectly still, but his hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists, trembling not with fear, but with a lethal, suppressed Alpha rage.