“Let go!”
“Withdraw your pheromones! Do you have a death wish?” Shen Yanzhou’s voice was quieter than the click of a lighter.
To his credit, the man was obedient. He released his grip and stepped back two paces. The S-Class pheromones that had felt as though they would crush bone a second ago vanished instantly.
Shen Yanzhou leaned against the liquor cabinet, a cold sweat breaking out across his spine from the earlier suppression. He caught his breath, clicked on the living room lights, and fixed a cold stare on this “dog” he had purchased for a fortune from the carnivorous depths of Kowloon Walled City.
Despite having a premonition, when he finally saw the man’s face clearly under the unobstructed light, even Shen Yanzhou, who was used to the elite beauties of Hong Kong felt his breath hitch for a fleeting second.
He was too wild.
Standing there, he looked as though he had dragged the most dangerous storm of the Walled City into this climate-controlled, 26°C mansion.
The man was soaked through. The torrential rain had plastered his tattered tank top to his skin like a second layer, clinging to a granite-like musculature. Every fiber of his being seemed grown for the sole purpose of killing or surviving; he looked rock-hard.
Rainwater dripped from his messy black hair, tracing the lines of his face. It was an exceptionally handsome face not that of a common thug, but rather a fallen aristocrat. His eyes were a deep, heavy black; when he stared at you, they were devoid of emotion, like a wolf that hadn’t yet been fed.
He was a prime specimen.
Whether it was this body built for slaughter and sex or that face which could drive the arrogant socialites of Central mad, this thirty-million-dollar investment was at least starting to feel like it might pay off. At the very least, as a piece of decor for the house, he wasn’t an eyesore.
Shen Yanzhou adjusted his breathing, suppressing the biological tremor an Omega naturally felt toward a top-tier Alpha. He walked barefoot across the plush carpet and leaned languidly into the massive black sofa at the center of the room. He lifted his eyelids, looking down at the man with a gaze devoid of warmth.
“Come here.”
The man did not hesitate. He walked over on long legs and came to a halt before the sofa. His nearly two-meter height cast a massive shadow, instantly enveloping Shen Yanzhou. Even with his pheromones retracted, he carried an unsettling sense of aggression.
Shen Yanzhou frowned in distaste. He pulled a slender cigarette from the case on the coffee table and tapped his smoking hand toward the carpet. “Kneel.”
S-Class Alphas possessed a biological arrogance especially desperadoes like this who had clearly seen blood and crawled out of mass graves. Their bones were usually harder than the steel rebar in Kowloon.
Shen Yanzhou’s hand moved inconspicuously toward the Browning pistol hidden beneath the sofa cushion. If this wild dog dared to bare a single fang, he would press the barrel to the man’s forehead immediately.
To his surprise, the man didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even flinch. He took a half-step back, bent his knees, and hit the floor.
The movement was clean, efficient, and possessed a strange, disciplined elegance. With that kneel, the oppressive height advantage finally vanished.
Shen Yanzhou felt much more comfortable. He flicked his lighter, lit his cigarette, and took a long drag. Then, he extended his bare right foot, intending to hook the man’s chin to test this “dog’s” bite.
The foot was exquisitely formed: the toes were delicate and rounded, the arch curved beautifully, and the skin was so white it was nearly translucent, gleaming like porcelain under the lights. However, on that cold-white instep, the scars from the tea scalded by Shen Hong days ago remained a coin-sized swelling that looked jarring against the pale skin.
Just as his toes were about to touch the man’s jaw, a scorching, rough hand suddenly reached up without warning and clamped onto his slender ankle. The movement wasn’t heavy, but the strength was undeniable.
Shen Yanzhou’s eyes turned glacial. His hand beneath the cushion instantly found the cold grip of the gun, his finger hooking the trigger.
“Do you want to die?” His voice was laced with murderous intent.
“You are injured here.” The man stared unblinkingly at the swollen red mark. His rough fingertips carefully avoided the wound, yet his palm was so hot it made Shen Yanzhou shiver.
“What business is it of yours? Let go.”
The man looked up, his pitch-black eyes staring straight at him. He said seriously:
“This foot won’t do.”
“I am a crude man,” the man continued. “My muscles are hard and my skin is rough.” As he spoke, he actually lowered his head. In a posture of total humiliation, he brushed his cheek with extreme gentleness against the sole of Shen Yanzhou’s foot.
“This foot is injured. You won’t be able to apply strength if you step on me, and it will hurt.”
“Use the left foot instead.”
“The left one isn’t hurt. It will be more comfortable for you to step on.”
Shen Yanzhou’s finger on the trigger froze.
He had seen those who feared death, those who begged for mercy, and the “hard bones” who would rather die than submit. But a freak who worried about his master’s foot hurting while having a gun pointed at his head? That was a first.
“Are you a masochist?” Shen Yanzhou pulled his foot back and replaced it with his uninjured left one. He stepped onto the man’s shoulder without ceremony, even applying a forceful grind. “If you want to be stepped on that badly, then endure it.”
The man didn’t dodge; instead, he straightened his back to give Shen a steadier footing. That submissive behavior made the fire in Shen Yanzhou’s heart dissipate inexplicably.
Boring. Why bother with a stupid dog.
He withdrew his foot and leaned back into the sofa, his gaze raking over the man’s broad shoulders and solid chest. This frame was indeed a masterpiece. He just wondered if the man would be anything other than a clumsy, blunt instrument in bed.
“Tell me about your background, where you came from, and how you ended up in the black market,” Shen Yanzhou’s voice turned cold. “I want the truth. If I find out you’re spinning a tale”
He gestured with his cigarette toward the black, storm-tossed sea outside. “I wouldn’t mind throwing you into Victoria Harbour to feed the fish. In this weather, the schools should be quite hungry.”
The man was silent for a moment, seemingly organizing his words.
“My earliest memory is fighting for food in the cage-homes of Sham Shui Po.” His pace was slow, his voice a low rasp. “I didn’t have a name then. Everyone called me ‘Ah Gou’ (Dog) or ‘Ye Zai’ (Bastard).”
“Later, to stay alive, I went to Kowloon Walled City to guard gambling dens. You’ve likely heard of it a lawless zone. As long as you could fight, you had a meal.”
“Guarding dens?” Shen Yanzhou raised an eyebrow. “What specifically? Just standing guard?”
“Not entirely,” the man shook his head. “Sometimes I had to help collect debts. Some desperate gamblers would lose everything, or those who took high-interest loans would try to run; I had to bring them back. I didn’t like using knives it was a hassle. Usually, I just used my hands.”
“Your hands?”
“Mhm. Break an arm or a leg, or dislocate a jaw, and they become honest.” The man spoke with total indifference. “Later, the blind man at the stall said I had good moves and sent me to the underground fights. Five hundred for a win. Nothing for a loss, plus you had to pay your own medical bills.”
“How long did you fight?”
“Five years. Eventually, no one dared to fight me anymore, so I had to find other work.”
Shen Yanzhou let out a cold laugh. That was a rough resume. “Then how did you end up in the black market? Since no one could beat you, how were you caught?”
At this, the man’s brow furrowed slightly, showing a trace of confusion and annoyance. He actually looked a bit dim-witted.
“A few days ago, just as the typhoon was coming, I was eating a rice plate in a back-alley cafe in Mong Kok. I was truly starving that day and didn’t notice what was behind me.”
“Someone hit me from behind with a club. They played dirty. Before I could even turn around, a needle went in. When I woke up, I was in that iron cage, and my body had no strength left.”
He kept his eyes on Shen Yanzhou’s.
“You were clubbed because you were busy eating?” Shen Yanzhou’s tone was full of skepticism. “You are an S-Class Alpha. Even with a sneak attack, you shouldn’t have been completely helpless.”
“As you can see, I don’t have much of a brain,” the man said, a self-deprecating smirk touching his lips as he looked directly at Shen. “Plus, at that point, I hadn’t eaten in four days.”
“Four days?”
“Mhm.” The man nodded, his gaze exceptionally earnest. “At that time, if someone had offered me a bowl of char siu rice, forget a clubbing I would have given them my life.”
Shen Yanzhou was silent. The story sounded cliché the kind of tropes found in cheap Hong Kong films but in the chaotic, moldy despair of Kowloon Walled City, such things happened every day. The logic was sound, the details felt real. It didn’t seem staged.
But he only believed about thirty percent of it.
This man, though wearing cheap clothes and describing a destitute life, possessed a presence that no cage-home thug could ever cultivate. And those muscle groups efficiently honed and without wasted movement looked less like the result of street brawling and more like the product of long-term, standardized training.
Shen Yanzhou stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet. He added a few ice cubes to a crystal glass, poured cold water, and handed it to the man.
“Drink.”
The man blinked, seemingly slow to process this sudden “grace.” He reached out, took the exquisite crystal glass, tilted his head back, and drained it.
Completely defenseless.
A strange look flashed in Shen Yanzhou’s eyes.
“I don’t care about your past,” he said, returning to the sofa. “Similarly, don’t try to pry into my affairs. Once you entered this door, your past was voided.”
“In this house, you only have one job.”
“Listen to me. Be my dog. Do you understand?”
The man set the glass down, rested his hands on his knees, and lowered his head again. “Understood.”
“Since the past is cut off, I can’t be bothered to call you by your old name,” Shen Yanzhou said casually. “I spent thirty million to buy you that money could have bought me several teams of enforcers.”
“Since you are so expensive, from now on, your name is ‘Thirty Million.'”
“Thirty Million?” the man chewed on the words, his expression dazed.
“What? Is it too ugly?” Shen Yanzhou raised an eyebrow. “Or do you feel objectified?”
“No.” The man shook his head, and his lips actually curved up slightly. “I like it very much.”
“It sounds very expensive.”
Shen Yanzhou: “…”
The wild dog’s logic was truly bizarre.
“Likewise, you don’t need to know my name. In this house, you will only call me ‘Master’.”
“Yes, Master.”
That “Master” was uttered with a low, lingering tone, making Shen Yanzhou’s irritation fade a bit further. He poured himself a glass of strong liquor, observing the man’s reflection in the glass.
“One last question.” Shen Yanzhou swirled his drink. “Why did you jump me from behind earlier?”
“I did not jump Master.”
“I was here to ‘fulfill my duty’.” The man remained kneeling, his expression unreadable.
“Fulfill your duty?” Shen Yanzhou turned, leaning against the cabinet.
“I assumed that since Master spent so much to buy me, it was for… sex.” The man looked up, his eyes a mixture of clarity and murkiness. “The people at the auction told me that Omegas who spend tens of millions to take an Alpha home are usually empty and lonely. They’re bought to be used in bed.”
“…”
Crack. A hairline fracture appeared in the crystal glass in Shen Yanzhou’s hand. He laughed the kind of laugh born from pure exasperation.
“Sex?” He took a few steps forward, grabbed the man’s damp collar, and yanked him close. Their noses nearly touched, their breaths mingling.
“Do you think… I’m like those bloated wastes who can only think with their lower half?”
“Or do you think I’m the kind of Omega who gets so desperate that I’d go into heat for any wild man I pick out of a trash heap?”
The distance was too close. Close enough for the man to see Shen Yanzhou’s fan-like, thick eyelashes and his own reflection in those silver-grey pupils. He could smell the intoxicating fragrance on him.
“You’re not.”
“And how am I not?” Shen Yanzhou pressed, a cold sneer on his face.
The man looked at the thin lip’s inches away, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Because Master is too beautiful.”
“So beautiful… it makes one want to die on you.”
“Heh.”
How crude. Hearing that blunt, exposed statement, Shen Yanzhou released the man’s collar and pulled away. He wiped his hands in distaste and looked at him coldly. “Sex? You think you’re worthy?”
He tapped his finger toward the man’s solid lower abdomen. “I bought you only for that S-Class blood of yours. Once you use that thing to knot inside me and get me pregnant, your mission is complete.”
“Until then, that is your only purpose.”
“Do you understand?”
“I do,” the man replied in a low voice.
“But not now.” Shen Yanzhou rubbed his temples wearily; the migraine from prolonged tension was making him drowsy. “I’m tired. I’m in no mood to deal with that thing of yours.”
He pointed toward a thick, shaggy rug in the corner of the hall, far away from his bedroom.
“You sleep there tonight.”
With that, Shen Yanzhou didn’t spare him another glance. He turned toward the bedroom. As he reached the door and put his hand on the handle, he seemed to remember something. He threw one last line down to the man still kneeling in the center of the living room:
“Turn off the lights.”
“Yes, Master.”
As the lights died, darkness rushed in like a tide. The man lay down obediently until the bedroom door upstairs emitted a faint click as it locked.
In the darkness, he slowly opened his eyes. The previously dull, muddled gaze turned instantly sharp and piercing, accurately tracing the direction of the bedroom. He rubbed his rough fingertips together, savoring the memory of that ankle smooth as jade in his palm. His gaze grew deep and dark.
Force it in, knot, pregnancy…
‘How does he dare to make such an invitation to me?’