Chapter Text
Lee Jihoon didn’t need to look at the calendar to know the week had reached Wednesday. The air inside Choi Holdings in Seoul carried a particular scent on that day: less coffee and more lavender from the cleaning spray the night crew used, mixed with the potent aroma of Heavy Rain that came, of course, from the main office. Choi Seungcheol was there, punctual as always, and the presence of the Dominant Alpha was a constant reminder of the wall of professionalism Jihoon had built over the past four years to protect his heart. His own soft scent of Morning Rain barely dared to blend with his boss’s steady pheromones, a perfect metaphor for Jihoon’s fear of getting too close. Sitting at his secretary’s desk, the only thing that mattered was the stack of documents for the ten o’clock meeting.
Jihoon was, as he described himself inwardly, an Omega who valued order and discretion. At twenty-seven, he had cultivated an image of almost robotic efficiency; the silent and competent right hand of the CEO, known for his ability to anticipate problems before they appeared. It was a disguise, and a good one. No one in the company suspected that behind the calculated seriousness and always professional touch, his Omega heart raced every time Seungcheol, even by accident, brushed his shoulder when passing by, or when the Alpha’s angular frame bent over his desk to review a report.
He was checking the profit margins when that deep, velvety voice, the one that made his bones hum faintly, called out to him.
“Secretary Lee.”
“Yes, Mr. Choi?” Jihoon stood up immediately, holding the folder. Formality was the anchor that kept him from drifting into the pull of attraction he felt.
Seungcheol was standing at the doorway of his office, his collar slightly unbuttoned, his tie already a bit loosened—a sign that he had been immersed in work for hours, even though it was only nine in the morning. His posture was always imposing, but his expression looked tired. The Dominant Alpha carried the weight of the entire company on his shoulders, and that, ironically, made him seem more vulnerable—and more attractive—in Jihoon’s eyes.
“The ten o’clock meeting was moved up to nine forty-five. Reschedule the Busan call and postpone the confirmation of the export contract until tomorrow. And please, prepare my coffee as usual. Two sugars, no milk.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll make the adjustments right away,” Jihoon replied with a nod, already returning to his desk to start dialing. His movements were precise, never hesitating—the embodiment of competence. That was the side of him Seungcheol saw, and he liked it. It was safe.
As the coffee maker dripped water and the rich aroma spread through his department’s break area—a scent that barely scratched the density of his boss’s Heavy Rain—Jihoon allowed himself a second of vulnerability. He looked through the glass window that separated his cubicle from Seungcheol’s massive office. The Alpha was on the phone, brow furrowed in concentration, thin-rimmed glasses now perched on his nose. The sight was both domestic and dangerous. It was there, within the familiarity of routine, that Jihoon most felt the ache of his secret love.
Four years. Four years living in the shadow of the man he loved, keeping a safe distance to avoid rejection—or worse, the humiliation of being discovered. Seungcheol, at thirty-eight, with an Alpha scent that commanded immediate respect, had never shown the slightest hint of romantic interest in him. His treatment was always respectful, an acknowledgment of Jihoon’s professional skill, but cold enough for Jihoon to know his place.
When he brought the coffee to his boss’s desk, Jihoon kept his gaze fixed on the cup.
“Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you, Jihoon,” Seungcheol murmured, taking the mug. His fingers brushed against Jihoon’s, a contact that lasted only a split second, but it was enough to send a timid warmth up the Omega’s skin and make his Morning Rain scent quiver slightly.
Jihoon blushed. It was imperceptible to most, but his ears turned faintly red. He felt stupid for it, but it was a biological reflex he couldn’t control.
Seungcheol must not have noticed. He thinks I’m just shy. It was his survival mantra.
“Have a good day, sir.”
“You too, Jihoon.”
Jihoon returned to his desk, his heart still pounding. He took a deep breath, pulling his control back into place. The morning carried on in a rush, with the meeting, the rescheduled appointments, and the usual paperwork that came with a CEO. It was around two in the afternoon, just after Jihoon’s quick lunch at his desk, when the air inside Choi Holdings shifted.
It wasn’t the Dominant Alpha’s scent, nor the lavender. It was an aroma of damp earth and fresh pine, lighter, but still unmistakable. A scent of a young Alpha, laid-back, with a touch of insolence.
“Jihoon! My favorite!”
The tall figure, with a radiant smile and the aura of a shepherd pup fresh out of a run in the rain, appeared in the hallway, walking straight toward the secretary’s desk. It was Kim Mingyu, Seungcheol’s cousin, an Alpha Jihoon knew by sight and from a few brief professional interactions. Mingyu was everything Seungcheol was not: relaxed, expressive, and, frankly, a born flirt.
Jihoon managed to keep his professionalism. “Mr. Kim. It’s good to see you. Mr. Choi is busy at the moment. He’s on an international conference call.”
Mingyu leaned casually on Jihoon’s counter, cheerfully ignoring the barrier. His scent invaded Jihoon’s personal space, but the Omega held firm.
“Ah, a conference call. Yes. Cheol is always busy. Please tell him it’s an urgent family matter. It’s about Aunt and Uncle, and the pressure.” He winked. “That pressure.”
The use of the word pressure sent a small twinge of caution through Jihoon. He knew Seungcheol’s relationship with his parents was notoriously tense, especially regarding his nonexistent personal life.
Jihoon picked up the receiver. “One moment, please.”
He buzzed in. “Mr. Choi, Mr. Kim Mingyu is here. He says it’s an urgent family matter, about your parents.”
There was a tense silence on the other end. Jihoon could almost feel the Alpha’s frustrated sigh.
“Let him in. And cancel my three o’clock call. And… bring Mingyu a coffee as well. He likes vanilla.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jihoon hung up and turned back to Mingyu. “Mr. Choi can see you now. Please go in, Mr. Kim. I’ll prepare your coffee.”
Mingyu smiled, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, but didn’t move right away. He leaned a little closer over the counter.
“You’re always so efficient and good-smelling, Jihoon. I don’t know how people manage to keep their hands off you. Seriously, you should go out more.” Mingyu winked again, an obvious, easy flirtation.
Jihoon felt heat rise faintly in his ears, the blush he always tried to hide. He kept his voice steady. “Mr. Kim, please go in. Your coffee will be ready shortly.”
“All right, all right. No need to be so cold, Jihoon. I was just appreciating the view,” Mingyu said with a light laugh before finally stepping into his cousin’s office and closing the glass door behind him.
Jihoon stood there for a moment, absorbing the disruption in his routine and the boldness of his boss’s cousin. He knew Mingyu was a flirt and that there was probably no malice or truth in his words, but still, the brief compliment made his face burn.
He prepared the vanilla coffee and brought it over, knocking on the half-closed door.
“Excuse me,” he said, noticing Seungcheol and Mingyu speaking in low, tense voices on the sofa. He set the mug down on the coffee table. Seungcheol only nodded.
Jihoon stepped out and closed the door, unable to catch the substance of the conversation. He tried to focus on the reports, but the anxiety in the air, mixed with the density of Heavy Rain, left him tense. Family pressure. He wondered what it meant—he had answered too many calls from Mrs. Choi, the Alpha’s mother, asking Jihoon to convince her son to pick up his own phone.
Almost an hour had passed. The silence in the anteroom had become oppressive. The door finally opened, and Mingyu stepped out with the completely satisfied smile of an Alpha.
“See you soon, Jihoon! I hope we meet again under more fun circumstances.” He gave one last wink and disappeared into the elevator.
Silence settled in again. Jihoon knew the moment had come when his desk phone gave the small beep Seungcheol used to summon him. He picked up his notebook and knocked on his boss’s door.
“Come in.” Seungcheol’s voice was tense, but not angry.
Jihoon entered, moving closer to the desk. Seungcheol was standing, gazing at the Seoul skyline. The afternoon light highlighted the weight on his broad shoulders.
“Secretary Lee,” he began, without turning around. There was an embarrassed tone in his voice—something Jihoon rarely heard.
“Yes, Mr. Choi.”
The Alpha turned. His brow was furrowed, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets—a posture he rarely adopted in front of his employees. He looked like a reprimanded boy, not the relentless CEO. The scent of Heavy Rain was slightly clouded, as if the Alpha was struggling against his own shame.
“This… this is embarrassing, Jihoon. But I need to be direct.” Seungcheol hesitated, clearing his throat. “My parents gave me an ultimatum. I need to present an Omega by the end of the month, or they’ll choose one for me. One from… one from their social circles.”
Seungcheol sighed, his Heavy Rain scent carrying a tinge of frustration. “I need to bring someone to present to them, and Mingyu… Mingyu suggested I bring you. You’re the only name even remotely associated with me that my parents know, and they already like your voice when you answer their calls.”
Jihoon felt his heart race. He tried desperately to maintain his professional façade, to keep things from becoming awkward.
“I understand, Mr. Choi. Family pressure regarding marriage is, unfortunately, common.” He tried to sound both sympathetic and distant. “But… what exactly would you want me to do?”
“I need you to pretend to be my Omega for a week. We’ll go to Daegu, where most of my family is, next Friday. I’ll introduce you as my partner. Then we’ll return to Seoul and say the relationship didn’t work out. The compensation for your time and discretion will be significant.” Seungcheol lifted his eyes, avoiding direct contact. “There won’t be any physical contact beyond what’s necessary, of course. I assure you, it will be purely… acting.”
The word acting struck Jihoon like a blow. He suppressed the ache and let his professional concern rise to the surface.
“Mr. Choi, with all due respect, I’m concerned about the credibility of this plan.”
Seungcheol frowned, puzzled. “Credibility? Why?”
Jihoon drew in a deep breath. It was difficult to speak of his own insecurities, but it had to be said.
“Your family. They expect a man like you to have a partner who matches your status. A partner from a well-known family, with connections—perhaps with a sweeter scent.” He lowered his gaze. “I’m only your secretary. I’m not one of those ‘gentle’ high-society Omegas. Your family might believe I’m just trying to take advantage of my position.”
The silence that followed was filled by the growing intensity of Seungcheol’s Heavy Rain. The Alpha did not look pleased with what he had just heard.
“Jihoon, look at me,” he commanded, and this time, his voice carried the full authority of a Dominant Alpha.
Jihoon raised his eyes, slightly intimidated.
“I don’t care what family you’re from, or what your scent is, or what you do. That’s none of their business,” Seungcheol said, his voice dropping lower, but his tone still firm. “I need someone competent and trustworthy at my side, and that person is you. My mother just wants me to have someone. Who it is doesn’t matter. And if… if anyone dares to suggest that you’re after ‘advantage,’ or that you’re not good enough for me, you tell me. I’ll deal with it myself. Is that clear?”
The sudden protection, and the anger directed at his parents (and at anyone who might judge him), made Jihoon’s heart race. The Alpha, always so restrained, was defending him even before he had agreed to the arrangement.
Jihoon’s wall wavered. He truly didn’t want to hurt his heart with the illusion of being Seungcheol’s Omega for a few days, but the thought of spending the rest of his life wondering what could have been was far more painful.
“I… I understand, Mr. Choi. I will help you.” His voice came out steadier than he expected. He nodded, one last professional thought keeping him from falling apart. “I only hope you’re convinced your parents will believe it.”
Seungcheol finally smiled—a small, genuine smile that eased the tension in his eyes. The Heavy Rain calmed, becoming just a steady, powerful scent of relief.
“Good.” Seungcheol said, opening the drawer of his desk and pulling out a sleek, black credit card. “Use this. Consider it a work expense—you’re doing me a tremendous favor, Jihoon, and you should look your best. I need you to look comfortable by my side. Anything that makes you feel less like ‘just my secretary’ and more like my Omega. Don’t worry about formalities; my parents prefer authenticity over pretense, so choose whatever you feel good in.”
Jihoon stared at the card. It was a step even deeper into the charade. “Mr. Choi, I don’t know if it’s appropriate—”
“It’s appropriate,” Seungcheol cut him off, placing the card in Jihoon’s hand. The Alpha’s touch, this time, was deliberate. “Use it. Get what you need. Think of Daegu as a week of vacation and an extra bonus.”
Jihoon slipped the card into the inner pocket of his blazer, feeling the weight of the object—a symbol of buying into a lie. He needed an anchor back to professionalism.
“Understood, Mr. Choi. But about the—” Jihoon began, eager to establish the narrative.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Seungcheol’s desk phone rang loudly. The Alpha sighed, resignation flickering in his eyes. He gestured to Jihoon, asking for a moment.
“Yes? This is him. Send him in.” Seungcheol glanced briefly at Jihoon, a silent apology. “Jihoon, I need to take this. Start planning the flights and the shopping list. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”
“Of course, Mr. Choi.”
Jihoon gave a hurried bow and left the office, closing the door behind him. He couldn’t focus on the sound of Mr. Park’s approaching footsteps.
The Alpha had dismissed him without giving him the narrative for the charade. Without the story, he was exposed. He would probably have to improvise the most important part of the lie.
Jihoon sat down at his desk, his body still wrapped in the powerful scent of Heavy Rain the Alpha had left lingering in the anteroom. In his pocket, the black card felt like it was burning.
One week. Seven days of being his Omega.
He didn’t know if it would be the best or the worst week of his life, but Lee Jihoon knew one thing: he was risking his heart for an illusion that, even if only for a brief moment, he would have to pretend was real.