Underneath The Storyline

Asahin was taken aback when Kaylen brought him to a modest two-story house in a working-class neighborhood. He had expected the heir to the most powerful family in the kingdom to reside in a luxurious penthouse, yet here they stood before an unassuming yet well-maintained home.

A sturdy iron fence enclosed the property, and a small flower garden in front of the house softened the cool tones of the building's exterior. The scent of damp earth lingered in the air from the recent rain, mixing with the delicate fragrance of blooming flowers.

Kaylen unlocked the gate effortlessly, and they walked along a cobbled pathway leading to the front door. He swiftly unlocked it and gestured for Asahin to step inside first.

Upon entering, Asahin found himself in a small hallway that led into a spacious, open-concept living area. The space was meticulously arranged, exuding a sense of order and tranquility. A large gray chaise lounge sat at the center of the room, accompanied by a matching sofa positioned for both relaxation and conversation. To the left, an American-style kitchen blended seamlessly with the living area, with a small round table and two chairs placed near a staircase leading to the second floor. Beside the stairs, a discreet bathroom was tucked away for convenience.

Two towering ficus plants flanked the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, bringing a touch of nature indoors. The windows overlooked the iron gate and the little flower garden in front. A large flat-screen TV stood opposite the sofa, framed by shelves filled with books and movies, adding personality to the otherwise modern and minimalist decor.

Asahin absorbed the sight with a mixture of surprise and familiarity.

"Go upstairs and take a hot shower. I'll leave some clothes at the door," Kaylen said, motioning toward the stairs.

Asahin wordlessly removed his damp sneakers and climbed the stairs, his feet making soft thuds against the polished wooden steps. The second floor was just as well-organized as the first. A small hallway branched into three rooms—a bedroom to the right, a bathroom to the left, and a neatly arranged office directly ahead. The color palette of deep gray, navy blue, and silver might have felt cold in theory, but the home exuded an unexpected warmth, as if it were a well-kept sanctuary rather than a bachelor's retreat.

In a daze, he entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. The moment the warm water cascaded over his skin, an unfamiliar lump formed in his throat. This house—it was almost identical to the kind of home he had always envisioned for himself before transmigrating to this world. In his past life, when he had trouble sleeping, he would imagine the perfect home, a place that felt like safety and solace. This house felt like it had been plucked directly from his thoughts and materialized before him.

A strange, suffocating sense of nostalgia squeezed his heart, and before he knew it, silent tears mixed with the shower water. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—he had lost everything. His mother, his sister, his former body, his dreams. He had been thrown into a world that operated on laws he barely understood, governed by a hierarchy he had no control over.

Sure, he could live here, carve out a new life for himself, but he would never get back what truly mattered. He was an omega in this world, and even though he was classified as defective—unable to release or perceive pheromones—it didn't mean he was unaffected by them.

All the times he had felt lightheaded, suffocated in crowds, or overwhelmed by unseen forces—it had all been due to pheromones. Even betas, though considered neutral, emitted them to some extent. Through his extensive internet searches, he had learned that pheromones could be weaponized, even used to instill fear so intense it could kill someone.

First-class alphas were revered in this society because of their ability to manipulate pheromones with devastating precision. They could command admiration, induce fear, or demand submission with nothing but their presence. Only first-class omegas had the strength to counteract them, matching their power.

But Asahin was neither. He was defective, an anomaly.

He clenched his fists, pressing his forehead against the cool tile wall. How was he supposed to survive in a world like this? If he had to be reincarnated as an omega, why couldn't he have at least been a normal one?

His sobs racked his frame, each wave of grief stripping away the fragile composure he had maintained until now. The mugging earlier had only emphasized his vulnerability. In his original life, he had been strong, self-sufficient. He had fought his way forward with sheer resilience. Here, he was at the mercy of forces beyond his control, in a body that felt foreign and weak.

After over half an hour of quiet mourning, he finally stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, and wrapped a towel around his waist. When he cracked open the bathroom door, he found a neatly folded set of clothes and a pair of slippers waiting for him.

He quickly put on the sweatpants and oversized T-shirt, noting how loose they felt on his smaller frame, then slid his feet into the slippers before heading downstairs.

The house, which had felt slightly chilly earlier, was now warm, filled with the inviting scent of vanilla and spices. It was a cozy contrast to the cold emptiness he felt inside.

"Come eat," Kaylen called, nodding toward the table where a steaming bowl of soup awaited him.

Asahin arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"It's beef bone soup. I heated it up for you. You were out in the rain for too long," Kaylen explained, his expression unreadable.

Asahin hesitated. Why did he care so much? It didn't add up.

Regardless, he sat down and picked up the spoon, cautiously tasting the soup. Across from him, Kaylen sat with his arms crossed, his piercing gray eyes locked onto him.

"You promised to stay out of trouble," Kaylen said. "Just this morning, remember?"

Asahin sighed. "Am I under house arrest until you find me a new place?" he asked, incredulous.

"No, but at least try not to cause unnecessary problems."

Asahin slammed his spoon down. "I went for a walk and got mugged. How exactly is that my fault?"

Kaylen's gaze sharpened. "You got mugged?"

Asahin let out a dry laugh. "What, did you think I ripped my own shirt apart for dramatic effect?"

Kaylen frowned, scanning Asahin's body. "Did you see his face? Why didn't you report it?"

"Because I didn't want to cause trouble," Asahin retorted, mimicking his words from earlier. "Besides, he wore sunglasses, and it all happened too fast."

Kaylen stood abruptly, striding toward him. "Did he hurt you?"

"I said I'm fine—"

But Kaylen had already pulled up Asahin's shirt, revealing dark purple bruises in stark contrast with his pale skin.

"You call this fine?" Kaylen's voice was laced with irritation.

He grabbed Asahin's wrist and led him to the sofa. Before Asahin could protest, Kaylen disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a first aid kit. He pushed Asahin back against the cushions and, with gentle yet firm hands, applied a cooling gel to the bruises.

A shiver ran down Asahin's spine at the contact. He bit his lip, suppressing a strange tremor. It had to be the gel's cooling effect,right? No way it was because of Kaylen's touch.

Asahin sat still, conflicted. Kaylen's actions made no sense. One moment he wanted nothing to do with him, the next he was tending to his wounds. And yet, what confused Asahin even more was his own reaction—why wasn't he pulling away? Why was he accepting everything this man did as if it were the most natural thing in the world? Why wasn't he protesting, rejecting him outright?

More than that—why didn't his body react the way it had before? The original Asahin had always been overwhelmed by Kaylen's presence, his body instinctively recoiling, his pulse erratic. Even at the party, when he first saw him, the reaction had been immediate and visceral. Yet now, he felt at ease. Too at ease. Like Kaylen was the only thing anchoring him in this foreign world that made so little sense.

How could something so drastic change in just a day?

"Sleep here tonight," Kaylen said, clearing his throat. "There's a phone upstairs—you can use it to call your family and tell them you're staying at a... friend's house. So they don't worry."

Asahin nearly laughed. Right. As if anyone in his family actually cared whether he came home or not, as long as it didn't tarnish their perfect image. And a friend? That was almost hilarious. He didn't have any friends.

"No need," he said, voice laced with amusement. "I already told my father I was going out to meet some friends, so he'll assume I stayed with one of them."

Kaylen's gaze sharpened. "If you were out with friends, then when did you get mugged? Why didn't they help?"

Oh, aren't we nosy? Asahin bit back a sigh.

"It happened after we split up," he lied smoothly. "And I was too embarrassed to go to them afterward."

Kaylen wasn't buying it. "And your father let you leave without any guards?"

Asahin clenched his jaw. He wanted to snap at him to stop prying, but he bit his tongue. Kaylen had taken him in, treated his wounds. He owed him at least some patience.

"I told them to leave because…" He paused, scrambling for a believable excuse. "Because I was meeting someone. I didn't want my father to know."

Kaylen's expression darkened instantly.

What now?

"First, you say you went for a walk. Then, it turns out you were with friends. Then you sent your guards away because you were secretly meeting someone—and yet, somehow, you still ended up wandering back home, alone, in the rain, clothes in tatters." Kaylen's voice was tight, edged with something Asahin couldn't quite place. Frustration? Something else? "I thought you promised to stay out of trouble. But here you are, sneaking around in secret, getting yourself hurt. You lie about everything—"

"You know what?" Asahin snapped, pushing himself to his feet. "I don't feel like being interrogated like some criminal who did something unspeakable." His heart pounded in his chest. "Thank you for helping me, but I'm leaving." He shoved Kaylen aside. "And you don't have to help me anymore. With anything. Especially not leaving the Valmoor family. Just—just go back to ignoring me like you always have."

He turned toward the door, but before he could take another step, Kaylen was on him, gripping his arm.

"Wait."

Asahin spun around, and for a split second, he saw it—real surprise flickering in Kaylen's storm-gray eyes, as if he hadn't expected this reaction.

"I'm… sorry," Kaylen said quietly, gaze locked onto his. "Stay. I won't ask anything else."

Asahin yanked his arm free, anger still hot in his chest.

"I know you can't stand the sight of me," he said, voice sharp. "I know you're only helping me leave the Valmoors because of a promise you made to your mother. But that doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm some villain."

A bitter laugh caught in his throat. How ironic—wasn't that exactly what Asahin Valmoor had been written to be? The villain. The antagonist. The obstacle in someone else's story.

How ridiculous.

He exhaled shakily. "Look, I'm trying," he murmured. "I'm trying to change. To start over. I'm doing my best."

Kaylen studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Okay." His voice was softer now. "I'll bring you a blanket and a pillow. Just stay here tonight."

Then, without another word, he turned and strode upstairs.

Asahin slumped onto the couch, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

What a mess.