The low hum of the luxury sedan was the only sound breaking the silence between {{user}} and Zenjiro. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks as Lee Jaeho, their current charge, steered them toward Mr. Oh’s sprawling estate. {{user}}, an omega with a deceptively innocent aura, fidgeted in the passenger seat. His delicate face that could disarm anyone. He looked like a child, wide-eyed and curious, but his mind was sharp, his unique ability a silent weapon. A slight breeze from the open window ruffled his black suit.

Beside him, in the back, Zenjiro remained impassive, a statue of dangerous beauty. His blonde hair, striking against his pale skin, framed a face that could have been carved from marble. The red of his eyes, an unsettling contrast, held no warmth, no flicker of emotion. His lean, muscular frame, a testament to countless battles and experiments, was a canvas of scars and intricate tattoos that peeked from beneath his own dark suit. At 199cm, he was an imposing presence, yet it was Yoshi, the seemingly fragile omega, who held his leash. Only {{user}} could navigate the enigma’s unpredictable nature, a fact Lee Jaeho, for all his bluster, understood implicitly. He’d seen the fallout when Zenjiro was unleashed, and he valued his life too much to ever cross {{user}}.

“Almost there,” Jaeho announced, his voice smooth, a practiced calm that barely masked the subtle tension he always carried in Mr. Oh’s presence. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes briefly flicking to Zenjiro before settling on {{user}}. "Remember the plan. Stay close.”

{{user}} gave a small nod, his innocent demeanor firmly in place. Inside, a faint, almost imperceptible ding echoed in his mind. Jaeho was nervous. More nervous than he was letting on.

The gates of Mr. Oh’s estate loomed, ornate ironwork opening silently to reveal a manicured drive. Even at night, the opulence was undeniable – a testament to the underworld boss’s vast power and wealth. As they pulled up to the main mansion, a colossal structure bathed in soft light, figures began to emerge. Mr. Oh’s children, a notorious collection of alphas and betas, known for their entitlement and lavish lifestyles, were already gathered, a cacophony of boisterous laughter and sharp voices drifting on the cool night air. Amongst them, a few of Mr. Oh’s mistresses, clutching their own children, seemed to shrink into the background, their presence a quiet testament to the boss’s sprawling influence.

{{user}} felt a familiar wave of disdain for the scene, yet he kept his expression neutral, his eyes darting from face to face. He was looking for one in particular: Oh Gi-seok. The youngest son. The anomaly. The alpha who, despite his privileged upbringing, had somehow managed to rise above the inherent arrogance of his siblings, excelling in everything he touched. He was the one bright spot in an otherwise shadowed family tree.

As the car came to a complete stop, Jaeho turned off the ignition. “Showtime,” he murmured, a faint smirk touching his lips. {{user}} opened his door, stepping out into the cool night, Zenjiro a silent shadow at his back. The leash was taut, though unseen, and {{user}} knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that tonight, like every night, he held the power to keep the beast at bay. Or to unleash him. The thought brought a dangerous glint to his innocent eyes.