The words tore out of his throat, raw and jagged. Without giving himself time to think, he surged up from the sofa, the anger burning through the venom in his veins.
He lunged for the folder, but Seungcheol caught his wrist easily. He was an alpha in peak health, and Jaemin was a recovering omega running on fumes.
"Stop it," the alpha snapped, twisting Jaemin's arm back—not enough to break it, but enough to hurt, enough to force Jaemin back down onto the cushions. The concern was vanishing, the guilt evaporating under the heat of irritation. "Don't be dramatic."
"You stole my music!" Jaemin shouted, hot tears of rage, not sorrow, stinging his eyes. "I worked on that for more than a year, you saw me write it! That's my life, Seungcheol! That's my graduation!"
"And what were you going to do with it?" Seungcheol's voice turned cold. The mask was slipping. The supportive mentor and brother in music, the tender lover, the struggling artist—they were dissolving, revealing the steel skeleton of the Choi heir beneath. "You think you can stand on that stage? You?"
He released Jaemin's wrist with a shove, straightening up to his full height. He looked down at Jaemin, his expression hardening into something imperious and cruel.
"Let's be realistic, Jaemin. Look at yourself. You're shaking. You're pale. You're emotional. You think any orchestra wants a weeping boy on their podium? You think the board wants a pianist who looks like he's about to faint from a stiff breeze?" Choi Seungcheol scoffed, brushing off his lapel. "You have the mind for music, Jaemin, but you don't have the stomach for the throne. You never did."
Jaemin stared up at him, his chest heaving. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
It was the silence of a mirror shattering. The image of the man Jaemin loved, the man he thought was his soulmate, cracked and fell away, leaving a stranger standing in his place.
"I'm going to Professor Baumann," Jaemin rasped, clutching his wrist. "I'm going to tell him everything."
"Are you?" Choi Seungcheol laughed, a cold, cruel sound that rang off the walls, the walls that felt like they were crushing in on Jaemin. "And what exactly will you tell him? That the top student in the Academy, the son of the Foundation's largest donor, stole music from… whom exactly?"
He leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
"From an omega who lied on his application forms?"
Jaemin froze, the blood draining from his face. "You… You promised—"
"I know what I said. And I know what you are, Jaemin. I could smell it all over you, for years. I tasted it. And if you want to tell the Academy what happened, you're going to have to explain to them how a beta ended up going through his heat, right within the Academy dorms." He leaned in close, eyes flashing. "Do you know what happens to omegas who lie to get into the program? They don't just get expelled. They get blacklisted. You'll never play a note in this country again."
"You wouldn't," Jaemin breathed, horrified. "You… We're mates. You marked me."
Choi Seungcheol sighed heavily, his hand flying up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He stood still for a long beat, and when he slowly lowered his hand, his expression had softened into something terrifyingly tender.
"Exactly. You're my mate now."
He reached out, his fingers finding the bandage on Jaemin's neck where the bonding mark lay hidden, and pressed against it—a claim, a reminder. Jaemin flinched violently, a fresh wave of heat and shame rolling through him, but Seungcheol didn't pull away.
"I do care about you," he said easily, as if explaining a simple solution to a childish problem. "That's why I'm doing this. I claimed you, Jaemin. You're mine now, and that's not something I take lightly.
"If you stay quiet, I will take care of you. I'll take care of everything. I can make sure you graduate somehow, even if you don't have anything to submit. I'll pull strings. You know I can. I've done it for you before."
He sat down on the coffee table, bringing himself to Jaemin's eye level, looking for all the world like a loving partner proposing a future.
"We can still be together. Isn't that what you want? We can build our legacy together. You write the music—because you are brilliant at it, I won't deny that—and I will be the face that sells it. I will conduct the masterpieces that only you can compose."
He smiled, warm and encouraging.
"We'll be a single entity. The perfect partnership. No one needs to know who held the pen, as long as we succeed. You can stay by my side, and I will keep you safe." He reached to cup Jaemin's face in his hands, a small, placating smile breaking across his face. "Deal?"
Crack!
Jaemin didn't speak. He swung. The slap that shoved Choi Seungcheol's hands away might as well have struck him across the face.
The offer was vile. It was a cage wrapped in velvet.
"I am not your shadow!" Jaemin choked out, scrambling backward on the sofa. "I exist! My music is my own! You can't just—You can't just consume me!"
Choi Seungcheol's face went blank, the warmth vanishing as if a switch had been flipped. Then, it twisted into something colder, darker.
He stood up slowly, dusting off his hands. "It could have been a good life, Jaemin. Better than you deserve." He looked down at Jaemin with distinct disdain, the way one might look at a disobedient pet.
"But if you're so bent on telling them the truth, then go ahead. You won't be able to hide what you are any longer. Then we'll see just who they believe. Me, the future pride and glory of this institution... or a deceptive omega who can't even keep his own hormones under control."
The cruelty was absolute. It was a suffocating weight, heavier than the gravity in the dorm room.
Jaemin stared at him. He looked at the man he had worshipped, the man he had wanted to serve, the man he had given his body to.
He saw that that man no longer existed. Perhaps he never did.
Slowly, shakily, he stood up.
"Keep it," he whispered. His voice was broken, but his eyes were dry.
Choi Seungcheol blinked, surprised by the capitulation. "Good. I knew you'd see rea—"
"Keep the paper," Jaemin choked out. "You can only ever dream of writing music like mine. And every time you conduct it, you'll know it's a lie."
Before Choi Seungcheol could respond, before the alpha could grab him again, Jaemin turned and ran.
He stumbled out of the house, into the hallway, and jammed his finger against the elevator button. He didn't look back. He couldn't.
He knew Choi Seungcheol was right. He knew the odds were impossible. He knew he was walking into a firing squad.
But he wasn't going to disappear into the shadow Choi Seungcheol had cast for him.
The elevator doors opened, and Jaemin rushed in. He wasn't going back to the dorm. He was going to Professor Baumann's office.