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The night stank of cigarettes, Hungry alphas, and trouble.

Han Jae-min had no business strutting into Alpha territory at two in the damn morning, but there he was—silk shirt open to the third button, gold chain flashing under neon streetlights, sneakers squeaking on puddled pavement. He was bored. Bored of bodyguards, bored of luxury, bored of the way everyone in his father’s empire bowed when he walked past.

And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to get caught.

“Fucking boring-ass city,” he muttered in Korean, kicking a loose beer can into the gutter. “All these assholes talk about being an alpha and mafia boss like it’s hell itself. Where’s the fire? Where’s the devils?”

He lit a cigarette, dragged deep, and blew the smoke into the night like a dare.

That’s when he felt it: eyes on him. A prickle at the back of his neck, sharp enough to raise goosebumps. The air thickened, heavy, tinged with something primal—Alpha scent. Strong. Cold. Cutting through the street like iron and musk.

Jae-min froze, pulse spiking. Omegas were rare, precious, practically extinct. And he was one of them. His father kept it hidden, buried under drugs and suppressants. But tonight—without the meds humming through his veins—he felt it. Felt him.

A shadow detached itself from the alley.

Six-foot-four of danger. Black tailored suit, leather gloves, smoke curling from the cigar between his teeth. Tattoos glinted faint under the lamplight as he moved closer, like the night had carved itself into a man.

“Что за хуйня?” the man growled, Russian sharp and low. What the fuck is this?

Jae-min swallowed, lifted his chin. Smirked, even though his knees screamed at him to run. “Nice accent. You guys always this friendly to tourists?”

The Russian stopped in front of him. He was huge. Cold steel eyes raked him from messy hair to his expensive sneakers like a wolf assessing prey.

“You’re in Black Flag streets,” the man said, voice low and smooth, with an edge like broken glass. “And you stink of Omega. Dangerous place for a little prince to wander.”

Jae-min scoffed, blowing smoke toward his face. “Fuck you. I go where I want.”

Wrong move. The cigar hit the ground. A leather-gloved hand closed around his throat, slamming him against the wall before he even blinked.

The world narrowed to heat, strength, the press of calloused fingers on his windpipe.

Jae-min gasped, tried to laugh through it. “K-kind of dramatic, don’t you think? You don’t even know my name.”

The man leaned close, breath dark with smoke and vodka. “I don’t need your name. I know exactly what you are.”

His nose skimmed the side of Jae-min’s throat, inhaling. A deep, slow drag that made something inside Jae-min writhe. Fuck. Heat coiled low, traitorous and sharp.

The Russian smirked against his skin. “Rare little Omega. Pretty little brat. Your scent will start a war if the wrong man finds you.”

Jae-min shoved weakly at his chest. “I’m not your fucking problem.”

Steel eyes glinted. “No. You’re my solution.”

Before Jae-min could snarl back, headlights flashed down the street. Black cars. Armed men stepping out. Guns, suits, whispers of Boss, Boss, as they surrounded.

One of them eyed Jae-min with recognition, muttering in Russian. The wolf’s grip on his throat tightened just enough to remind him who was in charge.

Then, calm as a king, the man announced:

“Han Jae-min. Youngest son of the Korean Syndicate.”

Gasps rippled. Jae-min’s blood ran cold. Fuck. He knows.

The Russian leaned in again, lips brushing his ear. “Your father trespassed in my territory, so I’ll take his son. A collar for a collar.”

Jae-min’s eyes widened. “The fuck you will—”

But he was already being dragged into the black car, wrists pinned, throat burning with the phantom of that grip. The man’s name dropped like a guillotine as the doors slammed shut.

“Nikolai Vasiliev. Mafia. Your new husband.”

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Jae-min slammed his palms against the car window, wrists bruising under the iron grip of the man beside him.

“Do you fucking mind?!” he snapped, Korean sharp and fast. “You can’t just kidnap me because you’re bored or horny or whatever the fuck your problem is—”

A gloved hand caught his chin, forced his face forward. The man’s voice cut like gravel and vodka.

“Shut. Up.”

Two words, and the brat’s spine locked. Rage flared, but something else did too—something hotter, heavier, slinking through his blood. Fuck. Alpha voice.

The car glided through midnight streets, tinted windows hiding him from the world he thought he owned. Every turn was a nail in the coffin of his freedom. By the time they pulled into a sprawling estate of black stone and gold gates, Jae-min’s smirk had frayed into a twitch.

Dragged inside, he was thrown into a room that looked more like a cathedral than an office—velvet curtains, chandeliers dripping crystals, long oak table. Men in suits waited there, older, cold-eyed. Power hummed through the air like static.

And at the head of the table: the man. Cigar smoke curled from his fingers. Gray eyes bored into him.

“Sit.”

“I’m not your dog,” Jae-min spat.

The man’s brow arched. “Then stop whining like one.”

Gasps, a few muffled chuckles from the men in the room. Jae-min flushed crimson, hissing curses in Korean under his breath.

The man slid a folder across the table. Papers. Stamped, signed, inked in both Korean and Russian.

A marriage contract.

Jae-min blinked. Then laughed—sharp, too loud, borderline hysterical. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

No one else laughed.

The man leaned forward, voice steady, deliberate. “Your father agreed. His son trespassed. His son belongs to me now. This marriage binds our families. Ends the blood war before it starts.”

“My father agreed?!” Jae-min’s voice cracked into fury. “What am I, some fucking—fucking pawn you can shove across a chessboard?!”

“You’re an Omega,” the man said simply. “And the last one either of us can afford to waste.”

Jae-min froze. His chest tightened, breath shallow. They knew. No more hiding, no more suppressants. The secret that made him vulnerable was out, and in this room full of predators, it was lethal.

The man’s gloved fingers tapped the table once, sharp. “Sign it.”

Jae-min shoved the papers back. “Fuck you. I’m not marrying some—some old Russian bastard with control issues!”

The man rose, slow, towering. He circled the table like a wolf circling meat. Jae-min’s heart pounded harder with every step until the man stood behind him, hand gripping his shoulder, pressing him down into the chair.

“You will sign,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Or I’ll take you without the contract. At least this way, you get velvet with the chains.”

Jae-min shuddered. Hated himself for it. “You’re insane.”

“No,” the man said softly. “I’m patient. And I always get what’s mine.”

A gold pen slid in front of him.

The room was silent, thick with power and threat.

Jae-min stared at the paper, hands shaking with fury. Every cell screamed don’t do it. But every instinct whispered what his pride refused to admit: Omegas didn’t get to say no to Alphas like him.

He grabbed the pen. Signed with a slash of ink so violent it nearly tore the paper.

When it was done, the man’s hand smoothed over the back of his neck—warm, firm, claiming.

“Good boy.”

Jae-min’s teeth bared in a snarl. “Fuck you.”

But the worst part?

The heat in his stomach didn’t feel like hate at all.

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The pen clattered to the table. Jae-min sat rigid, fists clenched, every muscle screaming rebellion. His name bled across the marriage contract like a death sentence.

Kolai didn’t look at the papers. He didn’t need to. He already owned him.

“Stand,” the Alpha ordered.

Jae-min’s jaw locked. “Make me.”

The room went silent. The guards tensed.

Kolai chuckled—a low, dangerous sound that made the brat’s stomach twist. He reached down, fingers wrapping Jae-min’s chin, forcing his head up until gray eyes pierced his.

“I’ll make you kneel, мальчик,” he whispered. Boy.

Heat slammed through Jae-min’s body so violently he nearly staggered. Fuck. No. He wasn’t giving this bastard the satisfaction.

Kolai let go, straightened, and began to circle him again. Calm, deliberate, every step echoing off the velvet-draped walls.

“You’ve signed. You are mine now. That means you will follow rules.”

Jae-min barked out a laugh. “What am I, a fucking dog?”

Kolai’s smile was ice. “If you behave like one, yes.”

He stopped in front of him, gloved hands resting on the table, voice sinking low, measured:

Rule One. “You wear the ring. Always. If you take it off, I will chain it to your neck instead.”

Rule Two. “When I call, you come. Whether you’re across the room or across the world, you answer. Immediately. No exceptions.”

Jae-min scoffed. “What if I’m busy?”

Kolai leaned close, lips brushing the brat’s ear. “You’ll never be too busy to crawl to me.”

A shiver betrayed him. Jae-min masked it with a glare.

Rule Three. “You will not leave this house without my permission. If you run, I will drag you back by the collar in front of every man who serves me.”

Jae-min’s chest heaved. “You can’t fucking—”

“Try me,” Kolai cut in, voice sharp.

Rule Four. “In public, you are my husband. You sit beside me, you smile, you play the pretty Omega prince they expect. If you embarrass me—” His hand closed around Jae-min’s throat, squeezing just enough to remind him. “I will teach you manners in private.”

A flush crept over Jae-min’s skin, fury and something hotter tangled tight. He hated how his body reacted to that grip. Hated it.

Rule Five. Kolai’s thumb brushed the ring of Jae-min’s throat, soft, cruel. “You belong to me. Every word, every breath, every inch of you. Whether you fight or surrender doesn’t matter. The end is the same—you are mine.”

The room was silent, every guard pretending not to stare.

Jae-min’s lips parted, trembling between rage and denial. “You think you can break me?”

Kolai smiled, slow and cold. “No, brat. I’m going to train you until you beg me not to stop.”

Jae-min swore, every filthy curse he knew in Korean pouring out in a furious stream. The Alphas in the room laughed under their breath. Kolai? He just leaned back, cigar between his teeth again, watching his brat burn.

“Rules start tonight,” he said. “And I’m a generous husband—I’ll even let you choose your collar.”

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