Chapter Text
Cathedral Ballroom, Bangkok — Present Day
The chandeliers glisten like frozen teardrops, hundreds of them strung from the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral-like ballroom. Gold leaf curls over every surface, catching the candlelight in shimmering patterns. Black roses—real, imported, obscenely expensive—spill from towering centerpieces, and the carpet underfoot is softer than sin. Everything reeks of Nateetorn money.
And fear.
Sky Nateetorn stands at the altar like a monument, unmoving and unyielding, carved in tailored black. His tux is Armani. His shoes, Louboutin. His scent—dominant, sharp, unmistakably alpha—coils through the room like a chokehold. People shift in their seats. Some glance away. Others dare not meet his eyes at all.
He ignores them.
He's waiting.
The string quartet swells into the wedding march, rich and full, but Sky's gaze doesn't flicker. Not even as the double doors at the end of the aisle creak open.
He doesn't need to look.
He knows she's not coming.
He's known since this morning—call it instinct, call it the gut of a man raised in power and betrayal. But still, he let it happen. Let the room fill with Bangkok's elite, let the cameras roll, let the whispers grow louder. Let the Changkham family sweat under the golden glare of his world.
Because when Sky Wongravee Nateetorn gets humiliated, he makes sure everyone bleeds.
"Sir," a low voice hisses at his side.
He doesn't turn his head. "Speak."
A trembling servant leans in, barely brave enough to whisper the words. "She's gone."
Glass shatters.
The champagne flute in Sky's hand explodes, crystal shards slicing into his palm. Blood spills over his fingers and drips onto the marble, but he doesn't feel it. Doesn't flinch. Only his jaw tightens.
The ballroom gasps.
Sky raises his head slowly, eyes like obsidian—sharp, cold, endless. The Changkham family sits like lambs before slaughter, trying to disappear into their chairs. The father, already sweating through his suit. The mother, trembling like a porcelain doll. The son—
The other son.
Sky's steps echo through the room as the crowd parts instinctively, like prey giving way to predator. His voice is low, barely a murmur. But it slices through the ballroom like a blade.
"Where. Is. She?"
Nani Hirunkit Changkham stands in the shadows of the pillar, breath shallow, heart pounding loud enough he swears Sky can hear it. The scene before him plays out like a dream he forgot he had—a nightmare, maybe. One where he's invisible until he isn't.
His sister, Navi, is gone.
Left behind a dress and a note. Forgive me.
Their father rises shakily from his chair, holding his hands out in some pathetic plea. "Sky, please, this wasn't our doing—she—she acted alone—"
"She was your responsibility, " Sky hisses.
Their mother collapses in a faint, slumping against the velvet cushion of her seat. A servant scrambles to her side.
Nani watches it all.
Always the spare. Always the overlooked child. Always the one left in the background while Navi bathed in light.
He steps forward.
His voice is quiet but unwavering. "Take me instead."
The room goes silent.
Every eye turns to him.
Even Sky's.
Sky's gaze lands on him like fire—scorching, cruel, disbelieving.
"You?"
Nani forces himself to stand taller, though his knees want to buckle. "You want a wedding. You want the contract. You want the scandal buried. I'm your best option now."
Sky's eyes narrow. "I don't want you."
"Doesn't matter," Nani replies, his tone clipped. "What you want walked out the door in a white dress and a pair of red heels. I'm what you have."
There's a pause.
A beat.
Then Sky exhales through his nose, eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable.
"You think you're protecting them?"
Nani doesn't answer.
"You're not." Sky turns away. "Tell the registrar. We're proceeding."
The Wedding — 30 Minutes Later
They stand side by side at the altar.
No bouquet. No smiles. No first kiss.
The air is thick with tension as the registrar lays out the contract, his hands visibly shaking. The camera flashes are subdued, as if the media, too, is unsure how to spin this—Bangkok's wedding of the decade turned hostage negotiation.
Sky signs the papers with a flick of his wrist, like he's swiping away a nuisance. He doesn't look at Nani once.
Nani takes the pen with a steady hand.
For all their wealth and opulence, the Changkham family has nothing now. Not even honor. But at least Nani can stop the bleeding.
His name scrawls across the bottom of the page.
The registrar clears his throat, voice awkward. "By the authority vested in me under Thai marriage law, I now pronounce you... legally wed."
There is no applause.
No music.
Only the faint sound of the ink drying on paper.
Later That Night
The limousine glides through the night like a ghost, silent and black. Sky sits on the far side, one leg crossed over the other, head turned toward the window. He hasn't spoken a word since they left the ballroom.
Nani watches him in the dim light, fingers twisting in his lap. The silence is thick.
Finally, Sky moves.
Turns toward him slowly.
His eyes gleam like knives in the dark.
He leans in, close enough that Nani can feel his breath—cool, measured, venomous.
"This changes nothing," Sky whispers. "You're still nothing."
Nani meets his gaze, spine stiff, lips curving into a bitter smile.
"We'll see."
——
Bangkok, Midnight — Sky's Penthouse
The penthouse is silent—too silent. Just the distant hum of the city far below and the occasional clink of crystal against crystal. The space gleams with cold elegance: walls of glass, slabs of marble, steel accents catching the moonlight. It's everything he is—imposing, sharp, controlled.
Sky Nateetorn stands at his private bar, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched, eyes burning. He pours himself a double shot of whiskey—no ice. The burn is welcome. Familiar. Almost enough to drown the fury simmering in his veins.
Almost.
The contract had been signed twelve hours ago. Legally binding. Publicized. Irrevocable.
He is now a married man.
To him.
Sky turns his head slightly.
Nani Changkham stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows like a painting come to life—small, graceful, framed by Bangkok's glittering skyline. The city lights cast his silhouette in silver, his white shirt too large on his slender frame. Too delicate. Too beautiful.
Too dangerous.
Sky hates the way his chest tightens.
"Enjoying the view?" he says, voice flat.
Nani doesn't turn. "It's better than looking at you."
Sky downs the whiskey in one go. His grip tightens around the glass, veins twitching beneath his skin. "You'll stay out of my way. Understood?"
That gets Nani's attention. He turns slowly, head tilted, expression unreadable. But his eyes—those sharp, midnight eyes—glint with something fierce.
"Don't worry," he replies coolly. "I don't want you either."
The silence that follows is sharp enough to bleed.
It hits him before he realizes it.
The scent.
Sweet. Warm. Infuriating.
Roses. Honey. And omega.
Sky stiffens, the whiskey glass hitting the marble counter with a clink. The air shifts—charged, crackling, predatory. His instincts lurch violently, flooding him with heat and possessiveness. Every alpha cell in his body coils tight.
He spins to face him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snaps, stalking toward him.
Nani raises an eyebrow, utterly calm. "Standing."
"Control your scent."
"I can't," Nani says, tone mock-thoughtful. "Unless... you'd like to help me with that?"
It's a challenge. A loaded one.
Sky is across the room before he realizes it, towering over him.
"Say that again."
"I said—"
Sky grabs him—not hard, not enough to bruise, but enough to make Nani's breath hitch. His fingers press against the slender column of Nani's throat, feeling the pulse race under soft skin.
Nani doesn't flinch.
Their faces are inches apart. The scent clings to the air like silk, tangling around Sky's brain. His heart hammers, his grip tightens—and Nani's lips part just slightly, a breath catching between them.
"Don't tempt me," Sky growls.
Nani's voice is soft, goading. "I thought alphas liked being tempted."
The room blurs.
Sky leans in.
His lips are a breath away.
So close.
Then—
He shoves Nani back with a snarl, spinning away as though burned.
"Know your place."
There's a beat of silence.
Then—
"I do," Nani says smoothly, adjusting his collar, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. "It's you who can't seem to remember yours."
Sky freezes.
Turns, eyes blazing.
Nani smirks. "You're the one who couldn't resist."
Sky growls low in his throat, but he doesn't move.
He can't.
Because Nani is walking away, hips swaying slightly, scent trailing behind him like a challenge and a curse. He doesn't look back. Doesn't stumble. Doesn't shrink.
And Sky's eyes stay on him.
Pinned.
Addicted.
This marriage will be the death of me, Sky thinks bitterly.
And he already knows—
He might not mind.