Kiss Me if You Can

"What's ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ wrong, Mr. Miller? Don’t tell me you’re flustered because I just told the truth? Come on, don’t be like that. It’s something everyone knows anyway. You were just lucky as hell to be born with that kind of luck, huh? And Extreme Alphas—hell, they’ve got more money and women than they know what to do with, right? Plus, people say if they don’t have sex, their pheromones build up and cause all kinds of problems. Convenient excuse, really. Oh, speaking of, I heard a rumor that you fucked a dog once. Surely you didn’t do it because there was no one else around. I mean, people have all sorts of preferences, and I respect that. It’s possible, right? There are even brothel dogs in Denmark, aren’t there? I bet that place is heaven. Of course, I’m just joking."
Then he let out another exaggerated laugh. Like he was cracking up at his own joke. But this time, no one laughed.

"Mr. Conrad."
The interviewer inwardly grimaced. This was going too far. Trying to subtly signal him to stop, they glanced nervously toward Chase—who until then had said nothing and simply stared at Duncan—but suddenly let out a slow, audible sigh.
Everyone in the room held their breath and turned toward him. Duncan stopped laughing, but he didn’t look afraid. In fact, his cheeks flushed faintly with excitement—finally, Chase was reacting.

Chase slowly rose to his feet. The pheromone scent pouring from his body was pure, undiluted rage. The interviewer thought for a moment that Chase might storm out of the studio—but no. Chase walked straight toward Duncan’s chair.
It was less than ten steps. But with each footfall, the quiet thud of his leather shoes echoed in everyone’s ears like a gunshot.
When he finally stopped in front of Duncan, the first flicker of tension crossed Duncan’s face. No one had the faintest idea what Chase was going to do. Josh glanced at Mark.

Is he going to hit him?
Mark shook his head—he didn’t know. But they had to be ready for anything. Josh quietly approached, eyes fixed on Chase, unable to blink.
Then, slowly, Chase leaned down. Someone in the room covered their mouth and audibly gasped. The tension had reached its peak—and then, the unthinkable happened.

Chase kissed Duncan.
"……!"
No one said a word. They were all too stunned to even breathe.

And that included Duncan. His body froze, completely unresponsive. He couldn’t even process whether what was happening was real.
But it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a hallucination. The sensation of the tongue that slid uninvited between his lips was all too vivid.
That sweet scent made his head spin. For a moment, Duncan cursed the fact that he was a Beta. If only I were an Omega—I could’ve slept with him.

With this beautiful man.
Crunch.
A dull, wet sound echoed inside his ears. Duncan blinked in confusion. Chase slowly straightened up. Duncan stared up at him, dazed—and then realized something was wrong. Chase’s strikingly beautiful face was dripping in blood.

From his mouth down to his jaw.
"Screeeaaaam!"
"AAAHHHHHH!"
Screams of horror erupted from all directions. Duncan, panicking, spat out whatever filled his mouth—and the once-clear floor was instantly stained a deep, gleaming red. It finally hit him.

Nearly half his tongue had been severed.
Hands flying to cover his mouth, eyes wide in shock, Duncan looked up—and Chase whispered down at him.
"Go on, keep fucking running your mouth, you piece of shit."

For the first time, Duncan’s face filled with pure terror. His manager screamed for an ambulance, and the entire room exploded into chaos—while Chase began to laugh. A sharp, manic laughter that echoed through the studio. Everyone turned to him in horror, but he just kept laughing and laughing—as if Duncan’s condition was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
Bending forward, eyes crinkling as he laughed like a madman, Chase looked utterly deranged—and Josh, pale-faced, felt cold sweat dripping down his back.
An oppressive silence filled the room. Everyone except for Seth—who was now on monitor duty—had gathered in the lounge after returning, but no one had spoken for a long while. Josh figured they were all thinking the same thing.

And sure enough, it was Isaac who finally broke the silence, his voice lower and heavier than usual.
"I’m scared to keep doing this job."
"Yeah."

Henry, uncharacteristically, agreed. And didn’t even curse. Not for long, anyway.
"What if that crazy fuck turns on us, huh? Fuck, that guy got carried out in a fucking ambulance, and fuck—he had a towel over his mouth and it was soaked with blood! I mean, seriously, fuck! Is it even possible to just bite off someone’s tongue like that? What the fuck! That psycho’s gonna kill someone. Fuck, man, fuck!"
He spat out “fuck” five times in a row. But no one told him to calm down or said he was being too much. They just sat there in silence, silently agreeing.

Henry buried his head in his hands and hunched over.
"If I hadn’t blown all that money… fuck that bastard."
That was his final muttered curse, and then he went silent again. The room sank back into stillness. Mark had his eyes closed, massaging the bridge of his nose. That grotesque scene still hadn’t left his mind—but he couldn’t afford to show it. He was the team leader. He had to hold the line, keep everyone together, de-escalate the panic.

Clearing his throat, Mark finally spoke.
"It is what it is. This is our job. And at least Chase Miller was the attacker. Better than if we’d failed to protect him."
"That’s supposed to be comforting…?"

Isaac snapped, but quickly sighed and shook his head. He knew—just like the rest of them—that Mark had no other choice, no other words to offer. That was the real problem.
"We just have to pray the full security team gets here soon."
Everyone knew that too. They just didn’t want to admit it.

They couldn’t leave. Not until the contract was over.
Mark’s voice hardened.
"We all signed up for this, didn’t we? What are we supposed to do now—bail? Maybe Chase Miller’s even worse than a few years ago, sure, but what do you want me to say? We’re past the point of no return."

His tone became sharper at the end, unable to hold back the frustration boiling inside him. He let out a low groan and added weakly,
"We just… need to keep doing our jobs and hang in there. We don’t have a choice."
With that, he ended it. There was no alternative. In the heavy silence, Josh stood up.

"Where are you going?"
Isaac asked. Josh replied at once.
"Patrol. It’s my turn."

They all took shifts patrolling the estate and the garden at fixed hours. With no real alternatives, there was no point sitting around doing nothing. Josh left early and stepped outside the mansion.
Haa…
A breath of cold night air eased the tightness in his chest. Suddenly, he missed Pete terribly. As he walked, he pulled out his phone. Even though he already knew, he checked the time anyway—but of course, it hadn’t changed. It was far too late to call. The best he could do was finish his patrol and rewatch videos of his son.

I hope Pete’s doing okay.
The ache in his chest grew suddenly sharp, and Josh came to a halt.
A figure lay just a few paces ahead of him.

Tension hit instantly. Josh narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what—or who—it was. His licensed gun was holstered at his waist. He planned to identify the figure first—but if anything suspicious happened, he’d shoot without hesitation.
Who the hell would be crazy enough to lie down and sleep in the garden of Chase Miller’s mansion?
Then he recognized the man—and the tension in his shoulders evaporated.

Of course. It was Chase Miller himself.
After the uproar he caused earlier in the day, he was now casually sprawled out on the grass, letting the night wind wash over him. Josh barely managed to stifle the breath that almost burst out of him in disbelief. He really does whatever the hell he wants. If something happened out here, who would take the blame?
Josh furrowed his brow—but quickly corrected himself.

Well… it is his yard.
Besides, this was a mansion under constant surveillance by security guards and CCTV. There was no chance anything would happen to him.
That must be how he can do whatever the hell he wants, and get away with it.

Of course, it had been Duncan who started it. Everyone would say the same. But the retaliation… was too much. Now, that man would never be able to mock Chase again.
No one would.
Josh stared at Chase quietly, deep in thought. Lying there with arms outstretched, eyes closed and savoring the breeze, he looked more peaceful than anyone else. For a moment, it seemed like he might have fallen asleep. He was barely breathing—so still that his shallow, calm breaths made him look nearly lifeless.

Josh stood there for a while, just watching him. It was strange. Just hours ago, he had seen for himself how cruel and savage this man could be—and yet now, Chase looked pure, almost fragile, like an angel. The man who had laughed like a lunatic with blood all over his face… was nowhere to be found.
So where the hell did that Chase Miller go?
Josh suddenly found himself wondering. The sweet scent of Chase’s pheromones drifted faintly through the air. He should have reached for another piece of candy—but he didn’t. He stayed there, unmoving. His eyes hesitantly returned to Chase’s face. Pale cheeks veiled by long lashes, drained of all color. If it started snowing, you probably wouldn’t even be able to find him.

His chest tightened, unexpectedly. Then, suddenly—Chase opened his eyes. Josh froze. He hadn’t been asleep. He’d just been lying there, silent, stilling his breath.
Chase’s gaze moved slowly, fixing on Josh. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other. And for a fleeting moment, Josh nearly reached out to him.
Thankfully, he caught himself before making that mistake—but the motion had already started, leaving him in an awkward, half-lifted stance.

Chase was still watching him. As if trying to figure out whether the person standing there was a dream or reality. Maybe he hadn’t fully come back to himself yet. Josh cleared his throat.
"If you're going to stay out here, should I bring you a blanket or something?"
Chase didn’t answer. Josh remembered the long silence earlier—before Duncan’s tongue had been bitten off—and how Chase had ignored him all along.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
A cold chill ran down his spine—until Chase’s brows creased, as if he were finally becoming aware of his surroundings.
But this silence was different from before. Josh suddenly wanted to run away. As he took a quiet step back, Chase spoke.

"No."
His voice was barely above a breath.
"I don’t need it."

That was it. Josh was unexpectedly relieved by how calm the reply was. No need to say goodbye, right? He began to slowly back away—but then, Chase spoke again.
"If you want to watch, go ahead. As much as you like."
"What?"

Josh froze at the unexpected words. Chase twisted his mouth into a cold smirk. His voice, though soft, cut sharply as he continued.
"It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Go ahead and stare all you want. You probably want to run off and tell everyone about it, right? About how freakish an Extreme Alpha looks?"
Josh blinked, startled.

"Treating someone like an exhibit—I don’t do things like that. And talking about a client’s appearance or private matters would be a violation of my professional ethics."
His tone hardened without meaning to. It genuinely upset him to have his profession—something he took pride in—treated so cheaply. Chase stared at Josh, saying nothing. The half-lidded, violet eyes lingered on him listlessly.
Josh had meant to push back, but somehow… the energy drained out of him. Was this how sailors felt when they heard a siren’s song? It felt like if that man lifted a finger, anyone would do exactly as he wanted.

Then Chase held out his hand to him. It was a simple, lazy wave—but it was enough. There wasn’t a person in the world who could refuse that hand.
Josh wasn’t sure anymore whether his brain was fogged because of the pheromones or because of Chase’s face. The only thing he was sure of—was that if he didn’t follow through, he would regret it.
"……!"

As he stepped closer, Chase suddenly sat up and grabbed Josh’s hand, yanking him down. Josh let out no sound as he fell on top of him.
"What the hell…"
Lifting his head in shock, Josh went completely blank. Chase was staring back at him with half-lidded eyes. The normally sleek, styled hair was tousled and messy. His pale cheeks were faintly flushed. And those moist, violet eyes shimmered like liquid moonlight.

Josh forgot to breathe.
Chase stared up at him with that maddeningly sweet expression—and said,
"Do you want to kiss me?"

Josh’s heart plummeted.
In his widened gaze, Chase’s perfect face filled his vision. White fingers reached up and brushed his neck. Slowly, pressure built, guiding Josh’s head down. Chase’s lips came closer—and suddenly, Duncan’s blood-soaked face flashed before Josh’s eyes.
He might cut off my tongue too.

Fear and arousal surged inside him all at once. Just moments ago, this man had kissed Duncan. Ridiculous jealousy tangled with panic, creating a chaotic storm of emotion. But even amidst the confusion, he couldn’t pull away. On the contrary—he let himself be led, tilting his head down.
Chase’s long lashes fell into his field of view. Josh closed his eyes. Warm breath brushed against his lips—and just as a soft sigh slipped from his mouth, Chase spoke.
"You’ll fuck anyone as long as they ask, huh? You little whore."

Josh opened his eyes and stared down at him.
Chase was still looking right at him—but now, his face was filled with disdain and contempt.
Josh finally realized—Chase had been mocking him.

"……ugh."
A quiet groan escaped him like a sigh, and he pushed himself up, stumbling back. Chase simply watched him go.
Standing blankly, Josh wiped his lips, looking down at him. His face flushed with heat, the corners of his eyes burning. The wind was cold, but his body still felt hot. He wanted to say something—but no words came. His heart pounded so hard, he didn’t know if it was from humiliation or something else. By the time he calmed down, only emptiness remained.

Chase had returned to his usual doll-like expression, watching him in silence. Josh stared back, then let out a bitter smile. Chase flinched slightly, his brow tightening.
"……Could’ve lost my tongue."
His voice was as calm as always. Chase said nothing. He just stared, as if annoyed by the very fact that Josh was still talking.

Josh continued, unfazed.
"Are you alright? Shouldn’t you go back inside?"
Chase looked at him and gave a faint smirk. As if he found him pathetic. Josh, without reacting, simply said, "Right," and turned around.

Still, Chase said nothing.
I need to get the hell out of here.
Josh’s steps grew faster. It felt like Chase’s gaze was still clinging to his back. Before he knew it, he was running. He couldn’t stop—because if he did, it felt like that man would catch him. And then what?

He barely made it back inside. Gasping for breath, he slammed the door shut behind him. Silence crashed down.
In the massive entry hall, only his ragged breathing echoed through the air.
Chase, of course, hadn’t followed.

Josh felt a wave of relief and emptiness all at once.
"Get a grip, you fucking idiot."
He cursed out loud, deliberately. Dumping the last of the candies into his mouth, he reminded himself—he must not let himself fall for that man.

Not that man.
Not Chase Miller.