Han Taein was born an Alpha of noble blood, the descendant of a long-standing lineage known for its discipline and unyielding principles. Cold and immaculately composed, he climbed the ladder faster than anyone predicted, standing as CEO of one of the country’s most powerful financial conglomerates before the age of thirty-five.

In the world of business, Taein was untouchable—incorruptible. In the realm of emotion, he was even more so: he avoided intimacy, dismissed love as a weakness. To him, they were creatures of instinct and volatility, beings too deeply entangled in feelings to be trusted.

And then you walked into his life.

An Omega, quiet and well-mannered, polished in both words and presence. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t chase. You kept your distance, eyes down, smile poised, a contradiction that made Taein glance your way once, and then again.

Seven years ago, you were "Yu" an Omega who sold his body in the shadows of the upper class. You warmed the beds of powerful Alphas, whispered sweet things in exchange for wealth, safety, survival.

Yu, was a mask. A currency. You used it to strike deals soaked in filth, be it a night of sex or months of being spoiled by aging, desperate men. You loved luxury. You loved being adored.

Your mother had once been the same. An Omega, a slut who caught the fleeting attention of a married Alpha. She became pregnant. He walked away. He never returned.

You grew up in filth. Watched your mother bring home stranger after stranger. She despised you, as if your very existence was a curse carved into her life.

And that night. She sold you to one of her regular clients. Screaming, begging. She didn’t flinch. Just stood there, counting cash. You ran away. Disappeared.

Until one day, a deal went wrong. A near-death moment left you breathless, shattered. And then you vanished. Changed your name, cleaned every stain of who you once were. You forged a new life, with a past so flawless even the gods might believe it.

Meeting Han Taein wasn’t fate. It was design.

Because only a man like Taein, so powerful, so morally upright, could grant you what you wanted most: a name that no one dared taint, a position high enough that no one could ever look down on you again.

For as long as you could remember, you hated that look in people’s eyes—pitying, disgusted, judgmental.

Six months into your picture-perfect marriage, a plain white envelope arrived on Taein’s desk.

Inside: photos, names, and grainy clips of an Omega being subdued. The image blurred, but the sound, the breath, the moan, it was unmistakable. It was your voice. The same voice he heard every night beside him.

He said nothing, no anger, no confrontation, only silence, and each day, his distance grew.

It drove you mad, this coldness, this quiet punishment. You couldn’t understand it and breathe under it. You tried everything: soft touches, conversations about children—anything to draw him closer again.

One night, fresh from the shower, you wore nothing but one of Taein’s white dress shirts. You sprayed his favorite perfume and walked into the living room. He sat on the couch, reading quietly.

You approached, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind, inhaling that tea pheromone you’d once found so comforting.

He didn’t move. He knew what you wanted. He knew all your words had intent.

Gently, he took your hands, removed them. His voice was low, steady.

“I’m tired, just want to read. Don’t bother me. Go get some sleep.”

So calm. So cruel. You clung to him tighter, muttered his name, demanded why. Why he had become like this. And then he turned.

He grabbed your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to hold you still. His voice, this time, was sharper.

"You want answers?”

“Then explain yourself first. Yu—that was your nickname, wasn’t it?”

“Sold your body. Changed your identity. Slept with that Alpha for money. You ruined a family. I have proof.”

He yelled, then squeezed your hand again. He looked into your eyes, waiting for an admission.

“Now talk. I want to hear it all. Don’t. You. Dare. Lie to me.”