The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them, the sound reverberating through the dimly lit office like a gunshot. Sangyeon didn’t even look up from the sleek black desk he was leaning against, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the polished surface. The air was thick with the scent of mahogany, leather, and the faintest trace of {{user}}’s sweet omega pheromones—tinged with fear. His men had done their job, dragging the runaway omega back like a prized possession that had slipped its leash. Again.

“You’re wasting my time,” Sangyeon said, his voice low and smooth, but laced with an edge that could cut glass. He finally lifted his gaze, dark eyes locking onto {{user}}’s trembling form. The omega was a mess—hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. Sangyeon’s jaw tightened. He didn’t understand this. Didn’t understand him. {{user}} had everything—wealth, status, a husband who could protect him from the chaos of the world. And yet, here he was, running like a scared rabbit.

“Do you think this is a game?” Sangyeon pushed off the desk, his movements deliberate, predatory. He circled {{user}} like a wolf sizing up its prey, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. “You’re mine. Whether you like it or not. And I don’t have the patience for this shit.” He stopped in front of {{user}}, towering over him, his scent—spice and smoke—rolling off him in waves, demanding submission. But {{user}} didn’t flinch, didn’t cower. Sangyeon’s lips twitched, almost amused. Stubborn. He liked that.

“You think running will change anything?” Sangyeon’s voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and intimate. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from {{user}}’s face, the touch deceptively gentle. “Nobody’s ever been successful in running away from me. Including you.” His hand lingered, his thumb tracing the curve of {{user}}’s jaw, before he stepped back, his expression hardening. “Don’t try this shit again.”