chapter 6

Rhonin woke up to the sound of keys jingling and a security guard mumbling about budget cuts. 

For a second, he had no idea where the fuck he was. Then he blinked, taking in the endless rows of bookshelves, the dim overhead lights and the goddamn rock-hard library chair he'd been sleeping in. 

"Shit—fuck!" 

Panic shot through him as he shot up from his seat, nearly knocking over his laptop. He glanced at the time on his screen. 

9:52 PM. 

His session at Eden was scheduled for 10:30 PM. 

"Fucking hell!" 

He grabbed his bag and bolted toward the entrance, only to slam face-first into a locked glass door. 

"No no no no—" 

He rattled the handle. Locked. 

The overnight staff must have closed up without checking for dumbasses passing out at their desks. 

"Are you serious right now?!" 

After five minutes of banging on the door and making enough noise to summon a ghost, a security guard finally walked over, looking half-asleep and entirely unimpressed. 

"Library's closed, kid—" 

"I KNOW," Rhonin yelled. "Just let me out!" 

The guard sighed, fished out his keys and unlocked the door at the slowest possible pace. By the time Rhonin exploded onto the sidewalk, he was a sweaty, stressed-out mess. 

He had exactly thirty minutes to get across town, into Eden and into the goddamn breeding suite before he officially ruined his first job. 

"Kane is never gonna let me live this down," He muttered, sprinting toward his car. 

_

By some divine miracle, Rhonin made it to Eden with four minutes to spare. He practically skidded through the entrance, breathless, hair a mess, looking one step away from cardiac arrest. 

The receptionist blinked at him. "You're late." 

"I know," Rhonin gasped. "Where—Where do I go—" 

Before she could even answer, an assistant rushed forward and grabbed his arm. 

"The client has already arrived," They said, hauling him toward the prep area like a damn hostage. "You need to change. Now." 

Rhonin was shoved into a changing room, a neatly folded dark silk robe waiting for him. 

"Wait, do I have to wear this?" He asked, staring at it. 

"Yes," The assistant said. "And hurry up." 

Rhonin grumbled but stripped down and threw the robe on, tying it loosely around his waist. He barely had time to fix his hair before he was ushered to the assigned suite. 

His heart was beating out of his chest. 

He could feel it now—the omega inside the room. 

The scent hit him through the fucking door, making his fingers twitch. 

Heat. 

Deep, simmering omega heat, rich and potent, curling around his senses like smoke. 

He swallowed thickly, his alpha instincts coiling tight. 

For a split second, he considered turning the fuck around. 

This was real. This wasn't a joke, wasn't a casual hookup, wasn't some bullshit test. 

This was his job. 

His breath came out slow, controlled. He squared his shoulders, flexed his fingers and opened the door. 

The moment Rhonin stepped inside, the heat-scent slammed into him full force. 

It was intoxicating, dizzying— but wrong. 

Because the omega sitting perfectly poised on the couch didn't look affected at all. 

No flushed cheeks. No trembling limbs. No desperation in his breathing. 

Just cold, unreadable elegance. 

The man in front of him was gorgeous—tall and slender with sleek black hair that fell just past his jaw, framing razor-sharp cheekbones and ice-pale skin. 

His dark eyes were piercing, blank with boredom as he regarded Rhonin with a gaze that could freeze hell over. 

He looked untouched. Controlled. Like he was above all of this. 

And yet, his scent told an entirely different story. 

Rhonin's instincts flared, muscles tightening. His blood roared. His body knew what was happening—an omega in heat was right in front of him, waiting. 

But his brain? His brain just kept repeating, What the fuck? 

Argent—the omega he was assigned to—tilted his head slightly. "You're late." 

Rhonin, still standing stiff as a board, blinked. "Uh." 

Argent blinked back. 

Rhonin's lips parted, his alpha instincts screaming at him to react—but all he could manage was: 

"…Yeah. My bad." 

Argent stared at him, unimpressed. "I see Eden's hiring standards have dropped." 

Rhonin clenched his jaw. "Look, I—" 

Argent slowly crossed one leg over the other, posture still pristine. "If you're finished gasping like a fish, we should begin." 

Rhonin barely resisted the urge to groan. 

He was so fucked.

And he didn't move for awhile.

Not because he didn't want to but because his brain had completely short-circuited. 

His alpha instincts were going haywire from the sheer presence of an omega in heat but his rational mind was too caught up in disbelief. 

Argent was stunning. 

Not just attractive in the way most omegas were—soft, inviting, warm. No, Argent was sharp. He was cool-toned elegance, all sleek lines and effortless beauty, the kind of perfection that didn't need to try. 

His black hair framed his angular face, eyes dark and piercing even in their disinterest. His scent—intense, demanding, all-consuming—curled around Rhonin like an invisible leash, triggering every deep-rooted alpha instinct Rhonin had. 

And yet, Argent himself looked bored as fuck. 

Rhonin barely swallowed. He was supposed to… what? Just walk over there and start? 

Fucking hell. 

Argent's brow twitched in irritation. "Are you going to stand there?" 

Rhonin jerked forward instantly, years of survival instinct kicking in from being scolded by professors, bosses and now, apparently, disgruntled heat-ridden omegas. 

"Uh—yeah," He muttered, stepping closer, trying to act like he knew what the fuck he was doing. 

Argent watched him approach, eyes cool and assessing, scanning him up and down with sharp calculation. 

Rhonin felt more like a test subject than an alpha as Argent leaned in slightly, inhaling. 

Rhonin stiffened, his body heat spiking as Argent subtly breathed in his scent. 

A slow, pleased hum left Argent's lips. 

Satisfaction. 

Approval. 

Rhonin's instincts practically preened at the subtle reaction. 

Argent pulled back, expression unreadable but the smallest nod of satisfaction flickered across his features. 

Rhonin suddenly understood. 

This was why the previous alphas were rejected. Argent wasn't just picky—he was sensitive to alpha scents. If Rhonin hadn't passed this silent test, he wouldn't be here right now. 

Before Rhonin could figure out what the hell he was supposed to do next, Argent turned away, untying the silk robe he was wearing. 

The fabric slid off effortlessly, revealing smooth, pale skin, the elegant dip of his spine, the long, slender legs as he stepped toward the bed. 

Rhonin's brain shut down. 

Argent climbed onto the mattress—not submissively, not like he was waiting for Rhonin to take charge but with a calm, detached efficiency. 

He turned his head slightly, dark eyes glancing over his shoulder. "Let's get this over with." 

Rhonin did not move. 

He couldn't. 

Every alpha instinct in his body was screaming at him to react. To touch. To take. To claim. 

And yet—he hesitated. 

Something was wrong. 

Despite the scent of heat thick in the air, Argent wasn't trembling. He wasn't needy or desperate. 

And more importantly? 

He wasn't wet. 

The realization hit Rhonin like a bucket of ice water. 

The heat scent was there, undeniable, suffocating—but Argent himself looked completely untouched. 

No slick. No flustered expression. Nothing. 

His body wasn't reacting. 

Rhonin's own arousal dimmed slightly, confusion cutting through his instincts. 

Something about this felt off. 

He swallowed, throat tight. "…Are you sure you're in heat?" 

Argent's expression didn't change. "Of course." 

Rhonin's gut twisted.