Summer heat blazed as finals loomed. My bestie and I huddled together, plotting our epic summer vacation escape.

"Beach trip! Sun! Sand! Hot Alphas in swim trunks!" My friend waved a glossy brochure excitedly.


"So basic," I rolled my eyes. "If we're going anywhere, let's hit the mountains—suspension bridges! Waterfalls! Adventure!"

We dissolved into giggles. I turned to Julian, quietly reading beside us: "Hey, bubble boy, where would you want to go?"

His reading paused momentarily as he glanced up. Those ice-blue eyes revealed nothing before he returned to his book, as if my question had been merely ambient noise.


Typical. I shrugged it off, well accustomed to his "words are precious resources" philosophy.

What I missed was that as my friend and I enthusiastically debated which destination offered better eye candy, the cool cedar-scented pheromones around us subtly intensified.


This subtle possessiveness grew increasingly obvious in the days that followed.

I noticed Julian seemed perpetually annoyed lately. Specifically, whenever I interacted with any male besides him, the air around him would chill dramatically, his pheromones turning sharp and aggressive.

Especially when Lucas showed up.

"Aurora," Lucas materialized at our classroom door during break yet again, passing me a note, "your mom wants me to remind you about next week's family gathering. She says dress 'appropriately ladylike.'"

"Yeah, yeah," I waved dismissively. "You know my mom's taste. In her world, 'ladylike' means 'human doily.'"

Lucas and I bickered like we were alone, oblivious to Julian beside us, whose face had darkened to storm-cloud levels. His Alpha pheromones surged toward Lucas like a tidal wave. Though Lucas, being Beta, couldn't detect the specific scent, he still felt that primal dominance pressure. His face paled, his speech faltering.

After Lucas beat a hasty retreat, I turned to find Julian's eyes blazing with unmistakable jealousy.

That's when it clicked.

After careful analysis, I reached a conclusion: this wasn't love—it was pure Alpha instinct. He viewed me as his territory, and any male encroachment triggered his biological defense system.

Yep, that had to be it. I mentally high-fived myself for such rational, clear-headed analysis.

What I didn't anticipate was that the moment finals ended, my parents would call insisting I join them at grandma's house in the countryside.

My first instinct was to tell Julian. But my WeChat messages all failed to send—red exclamation marks across the board. Grandma's place was infamous for its dead zones. Direct calls went straight to voicemail.

I had no choice but to message his sister Vivian, begging her to relay the news, before reluctantly allowing my mom to bundle me onto the countryside-bound bus.

A week later, I lounged in my pajamas under the grape trellis in grandma's yard, furiously scratching mosquito bites while pondering the meaning of life. The countryside nights were eerily quiet except for the symphony of cicadas and frogs.

Just as I was drifting off, a soft creak came from the yard gate.

I snapped to attention, only to see a shadowy figure awkwardly scaling the fence and tumbling into the yard.

Julian?!

He wore the same white shirt I'd last seen him in, now wrinkled and dust-covered. His hair was a mess, and his face and arms were decorated with angry red mosquito bites matching mine, making him look utterly pathetic.

"Julian?!" I jumped up in shock. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He stared at me, lips parting slightly as if to speak, but instead just rushed toward me, relief flooding his eyes like a shipwreck survivor spotting land.

"What happened? Vivian said you vanished! We couldn't reach you!" I blurted anxiously.

He scratched at a particularly angry welt on his arm, his voice raspy from travel: "Phone… lost it."

"So you trekked all the way to the middle of nowhere looking for your phone?" I couldn't fathom his logic.

He shook his head, those ice-blue eyes unnaturally bright in the darkness, meeting mine directly as he spoke with deliberate clarity:

"Couldn't reach you. Got worried."

In that moment, all my questions and complaints evaporated. The evening breeze, cicada chorus, sweet grape scent, and his anxious cedar pheromones crackling like static electricity—everything wove together into a net that caught me completely.

Almost unconsciously, I stepped forward and released my sweet orange Omega pheromones.

It was intentional comfort. My pheromones flowed like warm ocean currents, gently surrounding his storm-tossed forest. His body trembled, muscles gradually unwinding, breathing steadying as his sharp pheromones mellowed back to their usual coolness.

"I…" he looked at me, eyes burning with raw emotion, "I hate when you talk to other guys."

"I know, it's Alpha territoriality," I said with forced casualness.

"No," he cut me off firmly, "I thought so too. But… these days without you, I realized it's not that."

He took a deep breath, as if gathering every ounce of courage, and finally confessed:

"When I see you, the anxiety stops."

"Aurora, I like you."

That was it.

My rational, scientific "biological instinct theory" collapsed instantly under his simple, awkward confession, crumbling to dust.

The air between us turned honey-thick. He watched me, clearly waiting for a response, so nervous his hands twitched aimlessly.

"So you traveled all this way, turned yourself into a mosquito buffet, just to tell me that?" I teased.

His face flushed crimson, eyes darting everywhere but at me, voice dropping to a whisper:

"I missed you too much."

I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing.

"Well, well! Bubble boy doesn't just squeak anymore—he's spouting sweet nothings now?"

Looking at his embarrassed yet earnest face, my heart turned to complete mush. I stopped teasing, stepped forward, and wrapped him in a proper hug.

His body went rigid for a moment before relaxing. Then, awkwardly, tentatively, he returned the embrace, burying his face against my neck.

Warm breath, cool cedar, and sweet orange—in that moment, they blended into perfect harmony.

Well, looks like I'd need to revise my summer plans.

A countryside getaway for two sounded pretty perfect.