Jihan’s POV
I had only presented a month ago, and everything still felt wrong in my body—as if my senses were tuned too sharply, like a speaker turned up past distortion.
Scents clung to me no matter how much I tried to ignore them.
Exhaust fumes burned the back of my throat.
Coffee drifting from a café two streets away made my stomach twist.
Even the faint, half-faded scents of other people lingered in the air like fingerprints.
I hated it.
Before presenting, I’d been able to walk through the city with my headphones on, lost in beats and melodies only I could hear.
Music had always been my refuge—my constant.
I wanted to make it my future too.
Music production, sound engineering, composing something that could hold emotion the way words often failed to.
Now, even music struggled to drown out the world.
I adjusted my headphones around my neck as I walked toward campus, fingers unconsciously tapping against my thigh in a rhythm I’d been building since last night.
High school was over—done and dusted.
I should’ve felt free.
College was supposed to be a clean slate: studios instead of classrooms, late nights mixing tracks instead of worrying about instincts and scents and who might look at me and see something to claim.
I was only a few minutes away from the main gates when someone tapped my shoulder.
Every muscle in my body locked.
My first instinct wasn’t curiosity or annoyance—it was fear.
My Abeoji, my alpha father, had drilled it into me since the day I presented.
Be careful, Jihan.
Don’t trust alphas too easily.
Some of them don’t think with their heads.
I turned slowly, heart pounding so hard I thought he could hear it.
He was an alpha.
That much was obvious immediately—but his scent wasn’t aggressive or sharp.
It was controlled.
Neutral.
Almost deliberately restrained, like he was trying not to overwhelm me.
That alone made me hesitate.
If I ignored him, I’d be rude.
If I stayed… I could be making a mistake.
“Are you Kim Jihan?”
My stomach dropped.
I glanced around before nodding, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed I felt standing there.
“Yeah,” I said carefully, forcing a polite smile.
“Do I know you?”
“Oh—no. I don’t think so.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking oddly nervous.
“I work for your grandmother.”
The word grandmother hit me like ice water.
I stepped back instinctively.
He noticed immediately and raised his hands slightly, as if to show he meant no harm.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice tightening.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Please,” he said quickly.
“You’re her only chance. She wants to make things right. She wants to apologize to your fathers.”
Fathers.
The plural made something ache painfully in my chest.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I asked, my tone sharper now.
He sighed, like he’d been expecting that question.
“Your fathers’ names are Kim Jichan and Kim Hansoo. They ran away from home when they were around your age. Your grandmother tried to reach out for years. They never responded. She’s old now, Jihan. She doesn’t want to leave things unresolved.”
I hated how easily he spoke about my family.
Like they were a story he’d memorized.
“I can’t convince them if they don’t want that,” I said quietly.
“And I really need to go. I have orientation today.”
I smiled—wide, polite, practiced—and walked away before he could say anything else.
Still… if he was telling the truth, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
__________________
When I got home that afternoon, I knew something was wrong before anyone spoke.
I smelled it first—stress, worry, something tight beneath the familiar lavender of my Appa’s scent.
My omega father stood near the door, arms folded, eyes tired.
“Appa?” I asked softly.
“Are you okay?”
He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“I was worried about you,” he said.
“Your Abeoji’s mother came here today. She was demanding to see you.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“But… I thought she wanted to apologize,” I said.
“She said she did.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“She spoke with your Abeoji. It didn’t go well.”
There was something heavy in the air, something unsaid and fragile, like glass about to crack.
“Are you hungry?” he added quickly, opening his arms.
“College orientation must’ve been tiring.”
I stepped into his embrace without hesitation, pressing my face into his shoulder.
His scent grounded me instantly.
“It was exhausting,” I muttered.
“I didn’t make any friends.
Yunjoo didn’t even come—he’s probably still in heat.”
“At least no one bothered you,” Appa said gently.
The front door slammed open.
“What kind of mother asks for forgiveness and then demands her grandson marry a stranger—”
My Abeoji stopped abruptly when he saw us, his anger crashing into silence.
His scent was sharp, uncontrolled.
“What do you mean marry?” Appa asked, tightening his hold on me.
“It’s not Jihan,” Abeoji said roughly.
“She wanted Chansoo to marry one of her friend’s omega grandchildren.”
The room spun.
“But Chansoo’s too young,” I blurted out.
“He’s basically still a pup.”
“I know,” Abeoji snapped, then sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s why I’m furious. But she said it was either you or him. And you’re an omega. I won’t risk you with some unknown alpha. Chansoo can protect himself.”
I hated that his logic made sense.
“Does Chansoo know?” I asked quietly.
Abeoji shook his head.
“You’re not going to force him, right?” My voice trembled.
Both of them nodded.
I chose to trust them.
__________________
Talking to Chansoo was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Not because he yelled.
Not because he blamed me.
But because he already understood.
I found him in his room that night, sitting at his desk with his jacket still on, bag tossed carelessly onto the floor like he hadn’t planned on staying long.
When I knocked, he didn’t tell me to come in—but he didn’t tell me to leave either.
“Chansoo,” I said softly.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure,” he replied after a moment.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
The silence pressed in on my ears, thick and uncomfortable.
He finally turned to face me, and the look in his eyes made my chest ache.
He wasn’t angry.
He looked… tired.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“They asked me.”
The words landed cleanly, without accusation.
I nodded.
“They shouldn’t have.
I’m so sorry.”
“I know why,” he said immediately.
“You don’t have to explain.”
That made it worse.
“I know what an alpha could do to an omega,” he continued, gaze fixed on the floor.
“I know the risks. I know why they’d never gamble with you.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
“I would’ve said the same thing,” he admitted quietly.
“If I were them.”
His understanding felt like a knife.
“But,” he added after a pause, “it still hurts.”
He looked up then, eyes glassy but dry.
“Because no one asked me,” he said.
“Not even once.”
My throat tightened.
“They just… decided,” he went on.
“They decided I could handle it. That I’d be fine. That I’d protect myself.” A faint, humorless smile curved his lips.
“I’m an alpha, right?”
“Chansoo—”
“I’m not saying they’re wrong,” he cut in gently.
“I’m saying I wasn’t considered.”
The word echoed.
“I wasn’t even the backup,” he said.
“I was the first choice.”
I stepped forward without thinking.
“You don’t deserve that.”
“I know,” he said.
“But knowing doesn’t make it easier.”
I wanted to tell him I’d take his place.
I wanted to promise something—anything—that would make it better.
But I was afraid.
Afraid that if I spoke, I’d be lying.
“I never wanted this for you,” I whispered.
“I would’ve done something if I could.”
He studied my face for a long moment, searching.
“I believe you,” he said finally.
And that almost broke me.
Because belief didn’t erase the hurt.
After that, he changed.
Not dramatically.
Not in ways anyone else noticed.
He stopped waiting up for me.
Stopped walking me to the bus stop.
Stopped knocking on my door just to ask what song I was listening to.
He stayed out later.
Came home quieter.
Locked his door—not to keep me out, but to keep himself together.
I never thought being an omega could feel like a curse to my alpha brother.
Not because he resented me
But because loving me meant being chosen without consent.
__________________
The engagement wasn’t official yet, but we were summoned to meet her.
I didn’t hate my grandmother right away.
What I felt was colder than that.
She assessed Chansoo first, her gaze sharp and calculating, lingering just long enough to make my skin crawl.
“Strong,” she said at last.
“He’ll do nicely.”
I felt Chansoo straighten beside me, posture snapping into place out of instinct—polite, respectful, trained.
No one asked him if he wanted this.
No one had ever planned to.
She barely acknowledged Appa, speaking over him like his presence was an inconvenience rather than a person.The way she spoke to my Appa was careful, polite, and edged with something sharp—like every word was weighed against how much respect she had to give versus how much she wanted to withhold.
She never raised her voice.
She didn’t need to.
When she looked at me, it wasn’t with warmth or judgment.
It was assessment.
Like I was a variable in an equation already solved.
The mansion itself didn’t surprise me.
I’d grown up hearing enough half-stories to imagine it.
What unsettled me was the way the servants addressed my Abeoji.
Not sir.
Not Mr. Kim.
Young master—as if he’d never left.
As if he could still step back into this life if he chose to.
And then I noticed Appa.
The way he moved through the space without awe.
The way he didn’t hesitate, didn’t shrink.
The way none of this felt new to him.
That was what shocked me most.
My Appa had come from wealth too.
From a world like this.
And he had walked away from it without regret.
For love.
Our parents weren’t just estranged from their families.
They were people who had chosen each other at the cost of everything else.
And now, somehow, that cost had found us.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But quietly—through expectations, through silence, through decisions made without asking.
Handed down like an inheritance no one wanted.
To Chansoo.
To me.