The Enigma's 'closed circuit'

Eighteen years of being the most watched teenagers in the city hadn’t just made Liang and Shen famous—it had made them lethal. The transition from childhood "partners" to the two most powerful high school seniors in the country was a slow, agonizing burn that had sharpened every edge and darkened every shadow in the dual-penthouse complex.

The "Duo" wasn't just a nickname anymore. It was a goddamn warning.

Liang stood by the open trunk of the armored SUV, his black uniform blazer straining against shoulders that had filled out with the raw, heavy muscle of a prime Alpha. At eighteen, he was a mirror of ShaYou’s height and Gao Tu’s sharp, lethal gaze. He’d inherited his father’s CEO charisma and his Papa’s terrifying, silent precision. Currently, his golden eyes were focused on a text message, the morning sun catching the gold flecks that had started to dominate his iris as his Alpha power reached its peak maturity.

"Shen! Move your ass! We’re going to be late for the senior assembly and if Papa sees the attendance report, I’m fucking dead," Liang roared, his voice now a deep, resonant baritone that carried the natural authority of a CEO-in-waiting.

Hua-Shen stepped out of the penthouse elevator, and the air around the car immediately cooled by ten degrees. He didn't look like a student. He looked like an Enigma who had already seen the end of the world and found it boring. He was leaner than Liang, dressed in a tailored black shirt and the school’s charcoal slacks, his iridescent violet eyes hidden behind a pair of dark lenses. Carrying the blood of Wenlang and Hua Yong, he was the ultimate weapon—the King’s aggression tempered by the Reaper’s cold, surgical detachment.

He didn't say a word. He just drifted past Liang, the scent of cold ozone and expensive sandalwood trailing behind him like a funeral shroud. As he passed, his hand accidentally—or perhaps not—brushed against the small of Liang’s back.

The contact was brief, but for Shen, it was like a goddamn electrical surge.

Since they’d turned eighteen, the 'closed circuit' of their childhood bond had become a live wire. Every time they touched, Shen felt the Enigma-Alpha friction grinding against his ribs. He wanted to grab Liang by the throat and kiss him until the Alpha forgot his own goddamn name; he wanted to push him into the dirt and show him who really ran this fucking city.

He did neither. He just got into the back seat and stared out the window at the skyline his fathers had conquered.

"You’re in a shitty mood again," Liang muttered, sliding in beside him. The SUV was spacious, but at eighteen, Liang took up a lot of goddamn room.

His thigh pressed against Shen’s, a steady, burning heat that made Shen’s inner Enigma growl in low-frequency frustration.

"I’m always in a shitty mood, Liang. You’re just too slow to notice," Shen whispered, his voice a low, jagged vibration that vibrated through the leather seats.

The senior parking lot was a sea of luxury cars and high-level pheromones, but everything went dead quiet when the blacked-out SUV pulled up.

They stepped out in unison. It was their first day of senior year—the final lap before they were officially handed the keys to the empires.

"Look at them," a junior whispered, ducking behind a locker. "The Reaper’s Prince and the CEO’s Heir. Don't even look them in the eye or you’ll wake up in a shitty ditch."

Liang thrived on the attention. He walked down the hallway with a smirk, throwing casual nods to the Alphas who were smart enough to bow their heads. He was the sun—bright, loud, and devastatingly attractive, carrying that ShaYou-level confidence that made people want to follow him into a goddamn fire.

Shen was the gravity that kept that sun from exploding. He walked half a step behind Liang, his hands buried in his pockets, his violet eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of a threat to the person he considered his "anchor."

"Hey, Liang! Great summer, man?" a senior Alpha named Mo Ran called out, stepping into their path. Mo Ran was the captain of the combat-sports team, a guy who thought his B-Class percentile Alpha rating made him a big deal.

Liang grinned, stepping forward to do the typical Alpha handshake-hug. "Yeah, Mo Ran. Spent most of it in the training pits. You look like you've put on some weight. Getting soft in your old age?"

"Fuck you, Liang," Mo Ran laughed, but as he pulled back, his hand lingered on Liang’s shoulder a second too long. He leaned in, his voice dropping in a way that he thought was confidential, but an Enigma heard everything. "We’re having a blowout at my place Friday. Alphas Omegas only. You should come. Bring the Shadow with you if he promises not to creep everyone out."

Shen’s eyes snapped to Mo Ran’s hand.

In the Enigma’s mind, the world slowed to a crawl. He saw the way Mo Ran’s fingers gripped Liang’s blazer. He smelled the smug, greasy scent of Mo Ran’s Alpha pheromones trying to "mark" Liang as a peer—as if they were on the same level.

It was an insult. It was a violation of the property he hadn't even claimed yet.

"He’s not coming," Shen said, his voice so cold it felt like a fucking razor blade dragged across a jugular.

Mo Ran blinked, looking over at Shen with a sneer. "What was that, Shadow? I was talking to the Alpha."

Liang’s smile faltered, his golden eyes flashing as he sensed the sudden, violent spike in the air. "Shen, relax. It’s just a party—"

"I said," Shen stepped forward, his iridescent eyes glowing with a terrifying, predatory light that leaked out from behind his shades. "He isn't coming. And if you fucking touch him again, I’m going to make sure you never use that hand to hold a goddamn trophy again."

The hallway went dead silent. The lockers began to vibrate, a low, ominous hum echoing through the concrete floorboards. Shen’s Enigma aura didn't just leak out; it fucking flooded the hallway like a tidal wave of violet smoke.

Mo Ran’s face went pale—that sickly, Alpha-fear white. He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned by a hot iron. He was a senior Alpha, but standing in front of an eighteen-year-old Enigma who was protecting his 'property' was like standing in front of a goddamn freight train.

"My bad," Mo Ran stammered, backing away and nearly tripping over his own feet. "I... I’ll see you guys in assembly. Forget I said anything." He turned and bolted, leaving the hallway smelling like sweat and pure terror.

Liang let out a long, ragged breath, turning to look at Shen. His silver eyes were wide, a mix of irritation and something else—something softer, something confused—flickering in the depths.

"What the fuck was that, Shen?" Liang hissed, though he stepped closer, his scent spiking with a confused, cedar-and-rain heat. "Mo Ran is a prick, but he’s a connected prick. You didn't have to go full 'Death God' on him in front of the whole fucking school."

"He touched you," Shen rasped, his fingers twitching at his sides. He could still feel the phantom heat of Mo Ran’s hand on Liang’s shoulder, and it made him want to burn the entire building to the ground. "He had his scent all over you. It was fucking disgusting."

"It’s just an Alpha thing, man! We slap shoulders, we talk shit. It’s how it works!" Liang countered, throwing his arms up in frustration. "You’ve been like this all summer. Every time someone breathes in my direction, you look like you're ready to commit a fucking triple homicide."

Shen stepped into Liang’s space, forcing the larger Alpha back against a row of lockers. It was a move that screamed dominance—a move that shouldn't have worked on someone as powerful as Liang, but it did. Shen was leaner, but in that moment, his Enigma presence felt like it was crushing the air out of the room.

"I don't care how it fucking works for other Alphas," Shen whispered, his face inches from Liang’s. The scent of Liang was overwhelming now—a thick, intoxicating cloud that made Shen’s heart hammer a frantic, violent rhythm. "You are the heir to the S-G Conglomerate, Liang. You don't let bottom-feeders like Miller put their hands on you. Do you understand?"

Liang stared down at him, his breath hitching. He could feel the raw, possessive power radiating off Shen, a pressure that was demanding he submit. For any other Alpha, this would be a challenge to a fight. But with Shen... it felt like a claim. It felt like being pulled into a black hole he didn't want to escape.

"Shen..." Liang whispered, his voice losing its baritone edge.

Shen’s gaze dropped to Liang’s lips for a split second—a moment of pure, unfiltered hunger—before he caught himself. He pulled back, the violet light in his eyes fading into a cold, detached shimmer.

"Get to class, Liang," Shen said, turning his back on him. "I’ll see you at lunch. And don't let anyone else touch the jacket. I just had the scent-masker updated."

Liang stood by the locker for a long time after Shen disappeared into the crowd. His heart was racing, and his skin felt like it was on fire where Shen’s presence had brushed against him.

He’d known Shen his whole life. They’d shared a crib, they’d shared a penthouse, they’d shared every goddamn secret they had. But lately... Shen was changing. He was becoming darker, more possessive, and those iridescent eyes were starting to look at him like he was a prize to be won rather than a brother to be protected.

Liang touched his own shoulder, right where Mo Ran had grabbed him. He could still feel the lingering, metallic chill of Shen’s Enigma aura.

"Fucking hell," Liang muttered to himself, a small, confused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the fear. "What the fuck are you doing to me, Shen?"

The school bell rang, a sharp, metallic sound that signaled the start of their final year. The crown was waiting for them, the city was watching, and the bond between the CEO's Son and the Reaper's Prince was beginning to warp into something that would either save the empire—or burn it to the goddamn ground.

And in the back of his mind, Liang couldn't help but wonder: if Shen ever actually tried to claim him... would he even have the strength to say no?

☆♡☆

The ride home was a fucking nightmare. The interior of the armored SUV, usually a place of comfortable silence or shared jokes, was thick with the kind of ionized tension that preceded a lightning strike.

Liang was slumped in the corner, his golden eyes fixed on the tinted window, his jaw set in a hard, stubborn line. His scent was sharp—acrid and agitated, like cedar wood catching fire. Shen sat opposite him, his arms crossed over his chest, his iridescent violet eyes hidden behind his lashes as he watched the pulse thrumming in Liang’s neck.

"You're still brooding," Shen noted, his voice a low, smooth vibration.

"I’m not brooding, I’m fucking annoyed, Shen," Liang snapped, finally turning to glare at him. "You made us look like goddamn psychos. Mo Ran is an idiot, but he’s the captain of the combat team. Now everyone is going to be whispering about how the 'Duo' is falling apart because the Enigma can't keep his fucking cool."

"I don't give a shit what they whisper," Shen hissed, his eyes flashing. "Mo Ran was disrespectful. He was touching what didn't belong to him."

"I don't belong to anyone!" Liang roared as the SUV pulled into the private garage.

The door hadn't even fully opened before Liang was out, storming toward the private elevator. Shen was right on his heels, his predatory grace making him look like a shadow chasing a fucking storm.

They burst into the penthouse kitchen like a pair of clashing hurricanes.

Wenlang was sitting at the marble island, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a tablet in front of him. Hua Yong was standing by the stove, his massive frame silhouetted against the city lights, moving with the same surgical precision he always used.

They both looked up simultaneously, their seasoned S-Tier instincts immediately picking up on the pheromone war happening between the two eighteen-year-olds.

"Fucking hell," Wenlang muttered, rubbing his temple. "I could hear you two screaming from the lobby. What the fuck now?"

Liang didn't answer his uncle. He marched straight to the industrial fridge, ripped it open, and grabbed a soda with enough fucking force to nearly dent the can.

"Ask him!" Liang barked, gesturing wildly at Shen with the can. "Ask the 'Shadow' why he decided to threaten a senior in the middle of the hallway because of a goddamn handshake!"

Shen stepped into the kitchen, his aura heavy and oppressive. The lights overhead fucking flickered—a telltale sign of his Enigma-bleed. "It wasn't a handshake, Liang. Mo Ran was marking you. He was putting his pathetic Alpha scent on your blazer. I wasn't going to let that slide."

"It’s a school, Shen! People touch people!" Liang yelled, spinning around to face him. He popped the tab on the soda, the hiss of the carbonation sounding like a gunshot in the tense room. "You’ve been acting like a possessive freak all month. I can't even talk to an Omega in the library without you hovering like a goddamn gargoyle."

"Because they're all beneath you," Shen rasped, stepping closer until he was in Liang’s personal space again.

The air in the kitchen turned thick, the smell of ozone clashing with the heat of Liang’s anger. "They don't see you for what you are. They just see a crown they want to steal."

"Maybe I want to be seen!" Liang countered, his silver eyes blazing. "Maybe I’m tired of being the only person you allow in your shitty little bubble! You’re not my keeper, Shen. You’re my partner. Start acting like it and stop acting like you fucking own me."

Liang took a massive, angry swig of his soda, his eyes never leaving Shen’s. The tension was so thick Wenlang actually put his drink down, his gold eyes darting between the two boys with a look of dawning realization.

"I'm fucking done with this," Liang spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fuck off, Shen. Go meditate in a dark room or whatever the hell you do to act so superior. I’m going to my room."

Liang turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, the heavy thud of his boots echoing down the hallway until his bedroom door slammed shut with a bone-rattling thud.

The silence that followed was fucking heavy, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.

Shen stood in the center of the kitchen, his head bowed. His pheromones were spiking—a chaotic, jagged mix of raw anger, frustration, and a deep, aching longing that he couldn't quite suppress. The air around him shimmered with violet static, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.

He let out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders slumping for the first time all day. He looked wrecked—not physically, but like his very soul was being pulled in two fucking different directions.

Wenlang exchanged a long, meaningful look with Hua Yong. The Reaper hadn't moved, but his violet eyes were fixed on Shen with an intensity that could peel paint.

"Shen," Hua Yong rumbled, his voice a deep, grounding vibration that cut through the static.

Shen didn't look up. "Not now, Dad."

"I didn't ask if you were ready to talk," Hua Yong countered, his Voice dropping into that lethal, commanding register. He stepped away from the stove, his massive presence filling the room. He walked over to his son, stopping just a few feet away.

Hua Yong crossed his arms, his eyes scanning the way Shen was trembling. The Enigma-bleed was reaching 30%—way too high for a "minor bicker" between friends.

"What the fuck is going on?" Hua Yong demanded, his pheromones flaring in a silent command for the truth. "That wasn't a fight about a school bully. I’ve seen you two fight for eighteen years, and it never smelled like... that."

Wenlang leaned back, swirling his drink, his gold eyes sharp. "Yeah, Shen. You’re radiating enough possessive Enigma-aggression to choke a goddamn horse. And it’s all directed at your 'brother.' Care to explain why the penthouse feels like a powder keg about to blow?"

Shen finally looked up, his iridescent eyes wide and bloodshot, the violet light in them flickering like a dying star. He looked at his fathers—the two men who had built an empire out of blood and absolute devotion—and for a second, the mask of the cold, detached Enigma slipped.

"He doesn't understand," Shen whispered, his voice breaking. "He doesn't feel the circuit. It’s... it’s getting louder. Every time he touches me, it’s like I’m burning alive."

The room went dead silent. Wenlang’s glass stopped mid-air. Hua Yong’s expression didn't change, but the air around him softened, the protective father overriding the lethal Reaper.