“Making money is important.”
Liang Xiao pressed down on the imaginary knife in his manager’s hand. “Brother Duan, calm down.”
“Calm, my ass!” Duan Ming shook him by the shoulders with all his might. “Wealth can’t corrupt! Selling your art is fine, but not your body! How far have things gone?”
“….” Dizzy from the shaking, Liang Xiao slipped on a face mask and patted Duan Ming’s shoulder, motioning behind him.
Duan Ming paused, releasing him before turning to look in the indicated direction.
Liang Xiao put his phone away and started walking toward the end of the hallway.
President Huo’s entrance was nothing short of a classic alpha tycoon cliché.
Barely moments after the text landed on Liang Xiao’s phone, two impeccably suited, sunglass-wearing bodyguards appeared out of nowhere, standing motionless by the elevator doors across the hallway.
Liang Xiao tugged Duan Ming closer and whispered to reassure him, “Think about the resources. Think about the activity budget. Think about the hush money.”
“But—” Duan Ming was still unwilling.
“Take some cookies back for breakfast,” Liang Xiao said, his voice tinged with resignation.
Duan Ming’s hairline receded by half a millimeter from sheer stress.
Leaving his financially meticulous manager behind to contemplate expenses down to the decimal, Liang Xiao strode toward the bodyguards, politely asking, “President Huo is upstairs?”
The bodyguards, true to their role, said nothing. One gestured for him to proceed, stepping aside to clear the way.
Liang Xiao waved briefly at Duan Ming before entering the elevator.
The two bodyguards followed in, the elevator doors closing tightly behind them with a soft ding.
Just as he turned back, a fine mist of suppressant spray enveloped him from head to toe without the slightest mercy.
Although Liang Xiao had braced himself, the overwhelming cloud of suppressant still left him coughing and sneezing before he could steady himself.
He recognized the spray—it was a specialized formula designed to neutralize omega pheromones completely.
In modern society, where progress had brought comprehensive advancements in medication, the differences between alphas, betas, and omegas were less prominent in social life. However, omegas still had a few unique needs that required control, particularly their periodic release of pheromones.
While the specific scents of omega pheromones could vary—fruity, floral, or dessert-like—they shared a universal trait: when released in large quantities, they could irresistibly influence alphas.
For someone like Liang Xiao, whose omega characteristics were strikingly apparent and refined, even though he religiously used suppressants and his pheromones had never been exposed, it was still blatantly obvious to anyone. A mere hint of his pheromones would inevitably draw strong, undeniable attraction from alphas.
At the banquet earlier, many people, upon seeing Liang Xiao, were quick to believe the trending gossip. Some even brazenly speculated about President Huo’s preferences—partly due to Liang Xiao’s presumed pheromone traits.
During those few hours, he overheard various theories about his pheromone profile. Some speculated it was an oriental musk; others claimed it was a citrus fougère, an amber moss, or even a gourmand caramel scent. The range of guesses was extensive and absurdly detailed.
“Enough already. It’s not like I’m constantly emitting pheromones,” Liang Xiao grumbled. He coughed, clearly uncomfortable with the suppressant spray, and added, “I’m wearing a bracelet, and I’ve taken suppressants. I won’t ‘compromise’ your precious President Huo…”
One of the bodyguards gave him an indifferent glance before turning away without a word.
Liang Xiao had been through this routine enough times to grow accustomed to the treatment. He waved his hand futilely to disperse the lingering spray, then unbuttoned his jacket and draped it over his arm.
The suppressant only targeted pheromones, leaving the person physically unaffected. Still, its cold, impersonal design reeked of hospital-grade disinfectant, an invasive smell that crawled straight down one’s throat even through a mask.
President Huo didn’t use blockers, so any potential issues had to be preemptively resolved at the source.
By now, the process had been streamlined considerably. When he came for the first time, the out-of-date artist named Liang, who could do anything to make money, almost lost confidence when he was asked to take a third bath with a Chinese herbal medicine recipe from nowhere. He had come dangerously close to rejecting the job and returning to minor background roles.
The elevator chimed as it reached the eighth floor, and the doors slid open.
“Mr. Liang,” a butler greeted him with a polite smile, gesturing for him to follow.
The butler was from the Huo family. Liang Xiao recognized him and returned the smile with a nod.
The floor had been entirely booked by Xingguan for the event. While the banquet below remained lively, this level was quiet and nearly deserted.
Following the butler, Liang Xiao walked toward the designated room.
When Liang Xiao first took this private job, Duan Ming, his manager, had strongly resisted. Despite his precarious financial situation, Duan Ming held onto a significant sense of dignity and professional ethics, refusing to see his role reduced to pimping.
But in the end, they simply didn’t have a choice.
Liang Xiao’s fixed monthly expenses left no room for cuts. With no funding from the company, even with constant hard work, the income barely covered the bare-bones expenses for his three-person team—just him, his manager, and an assistant. They couldn’t even afford a full-time driver, resorting to hiring one only when needed.
As someone approached to guide him, Liang Xiao set aside his mental tally of the ride’s cost, raised a hand to adjust his collar, and sighed softly.
An artist’s professional integrity dictates that no matter the nature of the job—public or private—they must always maintain their persona.
When Liang Xiao debuted, his persona was carefully crafted as a well-mannered young man from a privileged background. However, his popularity faded quickly, and he never transitioned to a new image.
Under his manager’s life-or-death threats, Liang Xiao reluctantly deleted the dress-up game from his phone, switched his playlist back to Chopin, Mendelssohn, and Lisa Ono, and regretfully abandoned the idea of taking extra complimentary toiletries home to resell.
A server approached him. “Mr. Liang.”
Liang Xiao handed over his unbuttoned jacket, and nodded gracefully with a polite smile. “Thank you.”
His appearance was stunning. With his lashes lowered and a gentle smile, he exuded an extraordinary warmth and purity.
Though he wore nothing more than a simple cotton shirt under his jacket, it somehow highlighted his cultured and gentle demeanor. Even surrounded by the overpowering smell of disinfectant, he didn’t look savage at all.
The server, a young omega as well, blushed and stammered despite the usual lack of mutual attraction between omegas. Shyly, he handed him a key card. “President Huo said…you should take a shower first.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Making money was important.
Everything was for the sake of money.
Maintaining his professional persona, Liang Xiao took a deep breath, continued to smile calmly, accepted the key card, and later drew a stick figure with “Huo Lan” written on its head in the fogged mirror of the bathroom. He crossed it out a dozen times before thoroughly showering himself clean.
When the butler escorted him to room 8103, the domineering Alpha president—who seemed to suffer from a severe case of OCD—was immersed in work.
Liang Xiao sensibly stayed quiet, found a spot near the door, and played on his phone.
As the president of Xingguan, Huo Lan was undoubtedly wealthy.
From Liang Xiao’s perspective, if he ever reached Huo Lan’s level of wealth, he would retire early, leave the entertainment industry, and spend his days sipping coffee and sunbathe on the beach.
But President Huo didn’t.
Not only did he work tirelessly, but he was also so busy that even summoning Liang Xiao required finding a spare moment.
Initially, Liang Xiao had no idea what Huo Lan spent his days doing. After hearing updates from Duan Ming, he at least knew that part of Huo Lan’s time was spent outsmarting the competing film and television companies for money.
“President Huo,” the butler softly announced, “Mr. Liang has arrived.”
Huo Lan set down the document he was reading and looked up.
Liang Xiao quickly put away his phone.
Having just dried his hair, he was still wearing the same simple cotton shirt. With his fresh and warm presence, a light smile, and an untroubled expression, he greeted, “President Huo.”
Huo Lan gave a slight nod.
Liang Xiao wasn’t in a hurry. He waited patiently as Huo Lan decided on his posture, his gaze falling naturally on him.
Betas typically didn’t have as striking an appearance as the other two genders. In the entertainment industry, the proportion of Alphas and Omegas was relatively high. From Liang Xiao’s experience of encountering countless A’s over the years, very few could compare to Huo Lan’s exceptional presence.
Back when Huo Lan first entered the public eye, many people claimed that with his qualities, he could have dominated the industry even if he had debuted as an artist himself.
—Not that it would make much of a difference. Despite being a film and television company that rarely worked in front of the camera, Xingguan maintained a consistently high level of popularity. Its artists thrived as if they were members of an high-profile boy band, and much of that was directly attributable to their CEO, whose fanbase rivaled that of top-tier celebrities.
Huo Lan gestured for the butler to leave the room before turning his attention back to Liang Xiao. “Sit.”
“No need.” Liang Xiao smiled politely. “Let’s keep it brief. I don’t want to waste your time.”
The room was quiet, with minimal decoration. There was a faint wintery scent in the air, like snow-covered pine branches stirred by the wind.
Perhaps to complement Huo Lan’s Frozen-esque pheromones, the room’s temperature was kept low, quickly dispelling any warmth Liang Xiao had brought from the bathroom.
Shivering slightly, Liang Xiao blew on his hands to warm them before clasping them together.
Huo Lan was a businessman, not one of those muscular Alphas who looked like gym trainers. However, his haute couture suit couldn’t hide his naturally broad shoulders, long legs, and proportions that made him a perfect candidate for magazine covers.
Even without actively releasing pheromones, the innate intensity and exclusivity unique to Alphas emanated from him, impossible to suppress.
To Liang Xiao, this man seemed to have workaholic written all over his expression, possibly accompanied by obsessive cleanliness in the margins. But there was no denying that, despite the stark coldness of his demeanor, Huo Lan had a face that was effortlessly seductive.
Sharp eyebrows, phoenix-shaped eyes, a high nose, and thin lips framed by strikingly dark lashes. His narrow, deep-set eyes carried a natural allure.
In typical domineering president romance novels, he is the kind of person who can be so romantic that he can seduce the world and have countless harems just by tilting his chin.
…
Unfortunately, he was utterly indifferent.
Liang Xiao sighed quietly, lamenting the wasted potential. He hid his less-than-decent reading apps in a hidden folder on his phone, nodded to the butler waiting in the hallway, and closed the door behind him.
Huo Lan’s indifferent gaze landed on him again.
“The trending topic.” After a few seconds of silence, Huo Lan’s pen clicked shut and landed on the desk. “It constitutes a breach of contract.”
“…” Liang Xiao mentally crossed out the word wasted from his earlier thoughts.
Huo Lan had no interest in his reaction and retrieved a contract, reading it aloud: “Both parties agree voluntarily to complete confidentiality with no exposure allowed. Any breach will result in a one-time penalty of 500,000.”
“President Huo.” Liang Xiao decisively turned to leave. “I just remembered—I’m severely allergic to Alphas. I’m not suited for temporary marking. No need to settle the previous payment—”
“The fault lies with Xingguan.”
Just as he pulled the door open, Huo Lan spoke calmly from behind him: “The money has already been transferred to your account.”
…
Liang Xiao braced himself against the door, gracefully pivoting halfway back into the room.
“The allerg
y is cured.”
He loosened his collar, his brows relaxing as he donned the warm, approachable smile of a yogurt promoter at a supermarket tasting booth. “Shall we do it now?”
