The Weight of a Lie

The evening after their shared lunch, Lin Yicheng sat alone in his office at YY Group.

The city outside glittered, but in the reflection of his wide window, he saw only himself—sitting upright, mask in place, pen still in hand though the ink had long dried on the page before him.

He had survived the meeting. He had survived Chengyao’s questions.

But he had not survived unscathed.

Every word from Chengyao replayed in his mind—the Alpha’s measured tone, his searching eyes, his teasing remark that Omegas like Yicheng shone brighter than most.

If only you knew the truth.

Yicheng closed his eyes, pressing fingers to his temple. His entire act depended on one thing: never letting Chengyao suspect. That meant showing not strength, but weakness.

And tonight, fate tested him again.

The event was a formal networking dinner arranged by several conglomerates. YY Group and CC Corporation were both sponsors, and attendance was mandatory.

By the time Yicheng arrived, escorted by assistants, the grand ballroom of the five-star hotel was already glowing with crystal chandeliers and polished marble. Guests mingled in clusters, laughter and refined conversation filling the air.

He entered quietly, his mask immaculate, his suit perfectly tailored. His presence drew eyes regardless, but Yicheng carried himself with the quiet reserve expected of an Omega—distant yet polite, elegant yet fragile.

Then he saw him.

Across the room, Gu Chengyao stood surrounded by industry leaders. His tall frame commanded the space, posture relaxed yet unmistakably dominant. When his eyes lifted and met Yicheng’s, the Alpha excused himself without hesitation.

Yicheng’s heart stuttered.

“Director Lin,” Chengyao greeted, voice warm yet carrying that subtle authority only an Alpha possessed. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“President Gu,” Yicheng inclined his head, voice soft. “Our companies’ partnership requires both of us, does it not?”

“Still,” Chengyao’s lips curved faintly. “I’m pleased.”

For a while, they exchanged polite words as other businessmen drifted around them. But as the evening stretched on, Yicheng found himself caught by something small—an accident, but one that nearly unraveled his carefully crafted façade.

As a waiter passed with a tray of wine, the crowded floor caused a stumble. The glass tilted, crimson liquid sloshing dangerously close to Yicheng’s white sleeve.

Instinctively, he moved—swift and controlled, an Alpha’s reflexes honed from years of training. His hand shot out, steadying both the tray and the waiter before disaster struck.

It was only a second, but it was too sharp, too steady—nothing like a fragile Omega’s reaction.

Chengyao’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Yicheng froze, realizing too late. Slowly, he let his fingers tremble as he withdrew them, lowering his gaze. “F-forgive me,” he murmured, adding a faint quiver to his voice. “That startled me… I nearly spilled.”

The waiter stammered apologies, bowing repeatedly before scurrying off.

Chengyao, however, did not move. His gaze lingered on Yicheng, unreadable.

“Your hands,” he said quietly, “were steady.”

Yicheng’s heart clenched. “Were they?” He forced a small laugh, soft and self-deprecating. “Perhaps adrenaline… Even Omegas can surprise themselves, once in a while.”

Chengyao studied him for a long moment before finally smiling, though it did not reach his eyes. “Perhaps.”

Later, when they sat side by side at the dining table, Yicheng deliberately lowered his guard further. He let his hands rest delicately on the tablecloth, allowed his shoulders to slope ever so slightly, and when the champagne was served, he claimed a weaker tolerance.

It worked—because Chengyao’s Alpha instincts responded instantly.

When Yicheng coughed faintly after the first sip, Chengyao reached for his glass without hesitation.

“Enough,” he said firmly. “The alcohol here is strong. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m fine—”

Chengyao’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping just enough for only Yicheng to hear. “Do not test your limits in front of me. You don’t need to.”

Yicheng’s breath caught. The words, the tone—command and protection entwined. It was everything his younger self had once longed for. And yet now, it was a chain forged by his deception.

“I… understand,” he murmured, lowering his eyes obediently.

A satisfied hum left Chengyao’s throat as he set the glass aside for him.

The evening dragged, filled with speeches and toasts. Yicheng kept his posture demure, his voice soft, his smile faint but never reaching his eyes.

But Chengyao noticed. He always noticed.

When a younger Alpha from another company leaned too close during conversation, Chengyao’s gaze sharpened. His hand found the back of Yicheng’s chair, a silent yet undeniable claim. The other Alpha retreated almost instantly under the weight of that silent dominance.

“President Gu,” Yicheng whispered when they were alone again, his voice a careful tremor, “was that necessary?”

“Yes,” Chengyao replied without hesitation. His hand remained, warm through the fabric of Yicheng’s suit. “An Omega should not be bothered by strangers. Not when I am here.”

The words left Yicheng’s chest tight, his mask suffocating. Not when I am here.

If only Chengyao knew who stood before him—not an Omega needing protection, but the heir of YY Group, an Alpha strong enough to rival him.

And yet, Yicheng lowered his gaze, shoulders curling just slightly as though conceding weakness. “…Thank you.”

When the dinner finally ended, Chengyao insisted on escorting him to the car once again.

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn. Streetlights cast long shadows, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.

“Director Lin,” Chengyao said, his voice softer than it had been all night.

Yicheng turned, his mask catching the pale glow of the lamps. “…Yes?”

“You should be more careful,” Chengyao murmured, eyes intent. “You pretend to be stronger than you are. But I see it—you’re not as resilient as you want the world to believe.”

The irony nearly broke him.

Inside, Yicheng wanted to laugh, to scream, to rip the mask away and demand: Do you truly see me? Or only the illusion I’ve forced you to believe?

Instead, he lowered his eyes, allowing his lashes to shadow the truth. “Perhaps… you are right.”

Chengyao stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his Alpha scent curling around them like invisible chains. His hand lifted, hovering for a moment before brushing Yicheng’s sleeve—not intimate, not yet, but heavy with promise.

“I’ll protect you,” he said quietly, each word deliberate. “Until you learn to stop pretending, let me be the one who stands between you and the world.”

Yicheng’s throat closed. His chest burned, and though he willed himself to respond, no sound emerged.

All he could do was nod faintly, the perfect image of a fragile Omega yielding to the Alpha’s vow.

And as Chengyao’s gaze lingered, dark with intent, Yicheng knew he had bound himself deeper into the lie than ever before.

That night, alone in his room, Yicheng pulled the mask from his face and let it fall to the floor.

His reflection in the mirror looked nothing like the delicate, fragile Omega Chengyao saw. His eyes were sharp, his jaw tight, his frame strong beneath the fine layers of his suit.

Yet his hands trembled.

I wanted him to notice me. I wanted him to love me. But what he sees… is not me at all.

His reflection stared back, silent, accusing.

And for the first time, Yicheng wondered—how much longer could he bear the weight of this lie?

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