4:45 PM. The Office of Professor Silas Shen.
The atmosphere in the office began to settle into a heavy, suffocating sediment—the kind of silence that follows an absolute loss of control.
Silas Shen leaned heavily against the edge of his mahogany desk, his posture no longer the image of academic perfection. His high-collared sweater was rumpled, and his stiff white laboratory coat was a mess of creases and folds, the hem crushed from the frantic struggle and the subsequent, treasonous embrace. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven heaves. His gold-rimmed glasses lay forgotten on the floor, leaving his vision a hazy, unfocused blur, but his other senses were hyper-alert. He could feel it—the mark at the nape of his neck, freshly ground and gnawed upon, was radiating a sick, rhythmic sense of biological satisfaction that mocked his intellect.
"Professor... your heart is beating so fast."
Hunter Huo was half-kneeling between Silas's legs, looking up with a face flushed with the afterglow of a successful hunt. His golden hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his amber eyes were filled with a terrifyingly soft, post-satiation docility. He looked like a satisfied predator basking in the scent of his mate. "You liked it... didn't you? You liked it just as much as I did."
Hunter reached out, his long, calloused fingers trembling slightly as he tried to brush a stray lock of black hair from Silas's forehead.
Slap.
The sound was sharp and crystalline, echoing through the silent office like a gunshot. It wasn't just a flick of the wrist; it was the sound of Silas using every ounce of his remaining strength to violently strike Hunter's hand away.
"Get away from me."
Silas's voice was so cold it felt as though it had been submerged in liquid nitrogen. The broken gasps and the heat of the previous moments were gone, replaced by a dead, hollow self-possession that was far more terrifying.
Hunter froze, his hand hanging suspended in the mid-air. He stared at Silas, watching as the professor reached down with trembling fingers to retrieve his glasses. Silas wiped them clean with a clinical detachment, slid them back onto the bridge of his nose, and then looked at Hunter with a gaze that was utterly devoid of humanity. It was the look he gave to discarded lab waste or a failed, contaminated sample.
"Hunter Huo... does this 'conquest' give you a sense of achievement? Does manipulating a biological instinct to force a surrender make you feel powerful?" Silas stood up. Even though his knees were weak and his thighs felt like lead, he forced himself to stand perfectly straight. He began to fasten his shirt buttons one by one, moving from the bottom to the very top, until the high collar once again constricted his throat, hiding the raw, angry red marks Hunter had left behind.
"Silas, I didn't mean... I wasn't trying to—"
"Address me as Professor Shen," Silas interrupted, his words cutting through the air like a scalpel. "What happened last night and what just occurred here was nothing more than a Compulsory Physiological Suppression—a reaction triggered by the proximity of a high-density Alpha pheromone on a vulnerable Omega system. In biology, we call this an 'Involuntary Stress Response.' It does not signify my acceptance of you. It is not a bond. And it certainly does not give you the leverage to intervene in my life."
The light in Hunter's eyes didn't just fade; it was extinguished, replaced by a dark, jagged aura of wounded pride and burgeoning malice. He rose to his full height, his towering frame casting a long, ominous shadow that swallowed Silas whole.
"Involuntary? A stress response?" Hunter let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. He took a sudden, violent step forward, slamming his hands onto the desk to cage Silas within his reach. "Silas Shen, is your heart made of the same cold stone as your lab equipment? When you were wrapping your arms around my neck just now, your pheromones were so sweet it was driving me insane. And now you're standing there telling me it was just a response?"
"Yes." Silas met his gaze directly. Though his face was so pale it was nearly translucent, his voice was as steady as a surgeon's hand. "Classmate Huo, if you dare to cross the boundary between student and teacher again, I will submit every shred of evidence of your harassment to the University Board. Even if it costs me my reputation, even if I have to burn my own career to the ground, I will ensure you are erased from this university."
The temperature in the office plummeted to sub-zero.
Hunter stared at him, his chest heaving with a mixture of fury and disbelief. He had never met someone so ruthless—someone who was willing to be even crueler to himself than to others. Silas Shen would rather admit to being a victim of "biological suppression" than acknowledge even a microscopic spark of genuine emotion.
"Fine. Fine, Professor Shen. You're truly something else." Hunter stepped back, a self-derisive smirk curling his lips. A predatory glint flickered in the depths of his eyes—a sign that the wolf wasn't retreating, but merely recalibrating. "You want to play at 'withdrawal'? You want to pretend nothing happened?"
He reached out and snatched the bag of high-end inhibitor patches and sprays from the desk. Without taking his eyes off Silas, he threw them into the trash bin with a violent, resounding thud.
"Then you better pray that your precious 'logic' can hold down your 'instincts' forever. My mark is buried deep in your neck, Professor. It's a ticking time bomb. When the next wave hits, let's see where you can find enough 'medical common sense' to save you."
Hunter wrenched the office door open and stormed into the hallway without looking back. He left behind a turbulent, bitter scent of burnt orange that lingered in the air like a physical stain.
The office returned to a graveyard silence.
Silas collapsed into his chair, his strength finally deserting him. He bit his lower lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood. With trembling hands, he yanked open his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of high-potency "Chemical Cleansing Wash"—a brutal, experimental suppressant with agonizing side effects that he had never intended to use.
He poured the clear, stinging liquid into his palm and rubbed it violently against the mark on his nape.
The pain was immediate and explosive. It felt like acid seeping into his pores, trying to dissolve Hunter's essence.
"Ngh..."
He slumped over the desk, his fingers clawing at the wood until his nails nearly bled.
This was the "Withdrawal." It was a thousand times more agonizing than the addiction itself. He was trying to erase every trace of Hunter Huo from his skin, but every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the image of that golden-haired boy—his eyes filled with a terrifying mix of submission and madness.