01.
I have an older brother.
He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen.
—Unfortunately, he's a Beta.
Not a noble, pheromone-adored Omega, nor a dominant, commanding Alpha.
Just a Beta. Someone overlooked, barely needed.
Less fertile than Omegas, less valued than Alphas. His life seemed destined to be ornamental—a background piece, a pawn on a chessboard that could be discarded at any time.
Before I turned nineteen, I didn't even know he existed.
The first time I saw him was at a party on a rainy night.
It was pouring. I hadn't wanted to go, but my mother insisted. The rain on the way annoyed me, and I spent the whole ride thinking of excuses to leave early.
Then I saw him.
He was sitting in the dimmest corner of the banquet hall, surrounded by quietly chatting guests. Though his presence should've been inconspicuous, he drew every eye in the room.
A finely tailored dark grey suit outlined his slender yet upright frame with impeccable precision. His black hair was slicked back, revealing a face so striking it was almost unreal—long, narrow eyes, sharp features, pale skin glowing with a faintly cold, jade-like luster under the lights.
His lashes were long and drooping, quietly listening to the Alpha next to him. No response, no movement, not even a trace of expression—yet it was impossible to look away.
The Alpha handed him a glass of wine. He took it and drank it in one gulp. The amber liquid slid from the corner of his lips, traced the curve of his jaw, and fell—under the dim lights, it looked like a silent seduction, or perhaps a quiet rebellion.
In that moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The Alpha leaned in to whisper something in his ear. He merely turned his head slightly, revealing a slender, fair neck. The skin was flawless—no gland, no suppressant patch.
He was a Beta.
"He's outrageously beautiful," someone behind me sighed. "They say he's the eldest son of the Pei family? Shame he's a Beta—but with a face like that, who cares…"
I froze.
The eldest son of the Pei family. That was my… brother?
If not for that sentence, I would never have known I had a brother.
I stared at him. At the figure sitting silently among the swirling lights and shadows, lashes lowered, as if separated from the world by a thin mist.
He was too beautiful. Too perfect to seem real.
A strange emotion stirred in my chest—maybe discomfort at this sudden sibling revelation. Or maybe… because I could've not come tonight. I could've missed meeting this person.
I stood there, unable to look away.
And somewhere in my heart, something quiet and small stirred—softly, without a sound.
02.
After the party, the rain stopped. He and I went home together.
No greetings, no introductions. He sat in the backseat, silent to the point of fading away. Leaning against the seat, eyes half-closed, his cheek resting against the window—his emotions unreadable. Drunk, or just tired?
I sat beside him, barely a fist's width apart, yet my eyes were glued to him—brows, cheekbones, jawline, Adam's apple… inch by inch.
He carried traces of another's pheromones—probably that Alpha from the party who stood too close. The scent had faded, but it still left a lingering spicy fermentation, like repressed desire rotting at the edges.
I frowned and murmured, "It stinks."
He opened his eyes.
Still a bit dazed from the alcohol, his gaze was soft, confused. "What?"
"The pheromones on you. They stink," I repeated.
He looked at me, as if regaining clarity. The looseness in his expression vanished, replaced with that same cold composure from the party.
"I don't smell anything," he said calmly, like stating the weather.
Of course he didn't. Betas can't smell pheromones.
"But I can."
For some reason, I was unusually persistent tonight.
He frowned slightly—those brows were perfect, sharp by nature. He didn't respond, just shifted away from me.
Like he was avoiding something. Or resisting, instinctively.
He closed his eyes again and leaned toward the window, falling completely silent.
He probably thought I was crazy.
He was thin, small-framed, barely taking up space. Curled up like that, he seemed to sink into the seat, even his breathing softened.
I looked down at him, and suddenly thought—
I could probably wrap his waist with just one hand.
I shouldn't have thoughts like that.
He's my brother.
But I kept looking. At the small tear mole at the corner of his eye, almost invisible under his lashes. You wouldn't notice it unless you were this close.
His lashes trembled in the dim light like butterfly wings hidden in the night—delicate, quiet.
I knew I shouldn't be staring.
But I couldn't stop.
How could someone be this beautiful?
And yet—he was my brother.
03.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Lying in bed, tossing and turning, every time I closed my eyes I saw his lashes, that tiny mole. The more I thought, the more irritated I became, my chest foggy with damp, suffocating air.
In the early hours, I rode to my mother's place.
She and my father had recently separated. On the surface, things were civil, but they lived their own lives now.
My sudden arrival startled the servants. They looked at me like I was going to smash up the place.
She came out in a silk robe, hair slightly messy, but voice relaxed as usual. She yawned and told someone to prepare a room, then frowned at me. "Fought with your dad?"
"No," I said. "I just want to ask about my brother."
She glanced at me, a faint emotion flashing in her eyes, quickly hidden beneath her usual calm. She gestured to the couch. "Sit."
Before I could speak, she began—like she'd already prepared the answers, just waiting to recite them.
"Your brother was sick a lot when he was young," she said evenly, like telling a story about someone else's kid. "You weren't born yet. We sent him to B City for treatment."
"Then why didn't anyone tell me?" I stared at her. "I only found out I had a brother from someone else."
She gave a soft laugh, her tone airy. "Why would we tell you?"
"A Beta—disposable. Even if he were around, you wouldn't have noticed him." She paused, voice flat like commenting on the weather. "In this family, the useless don't exist."
I was speechless.
She wasn't wrong. If I'd grown up with a Beta brother, the rules of the Pei family would've taught me: don't look at him, don't speak to him, don't even remember his name. His presence would've been worth less than a valuable antique.
"Then why is he back?" I asked after a moment. My voice was rough. "Is he better now?"
But she misunderstood, smiled faintly, indifferent. "He didn't come back to compete with you."
I said nothing.
I didn't think he came to compete. I genuinely wanted to know if he was okay.
"He came to help. To stabilize a few shaky connections for this family." She paused. "You should be grateful to him."
I nodded, but inside I felt nothing. Just still, like dead water.
"One last question." I looked into her eyes. "What's his name?"
She looked back, silent for a beat. Then she whispered, as if her voice might dissolve into the wind: "Pei Cheran."
—Pei Cheran.
I repeated it softly.
The name dropped into my heart like a bead of water into a lake—rippling gently, then sinking without a sound.
I remembered how he sat in the car last night, eyes half-closed, lashes trembling. Like a startled deer.
Something heavy and indescribable rose in my chest, weighing down my entire heart.
That was my brother.
Pei Cheran is my brother.
04.
My brother rarely stayed at home.
Or rather, he only came when Father asked him to. The rest of the time, he lived elsewhere.
Since that night, it was like something had latched onto my soul. My eyes always unconsciously followed him.
He was always quiet, clean, deliberately silent. Like a finely crafted doll, elegant and purposeless. His manners perfect, his smile restrained, his eyes void of emotion—especially when facing Father, or me. His gaze was as if we were two unrelated species.
But occasionally, I caught glimpses of perfunctory indifference and veiled irritation in his eyes.
One time, Father suggested he move back to the main house. He gave a low "mm," neither agreeing nor refusing.
A month passed. Still nothing.
I had someone investigate his place—it was across the entire city. A two-hour commute, one way. Yet Father frequently summoned him for lunch or dinner. He'd rather spend four hours commuting daily than move back
.
This avoidance—it made me uneasy. Even agitated.
One night, Father came home late, and dinner turned into a midnight snack. My brother had no choice but to stay the night.
Strange, calling it "staying the night"—he belonged to this house. But when he heard he had to sleep here, he quietly said, "Sorry for the trouble."
That night, I stepped out of my room.
A wall light lit up the stair corner, casting a warm, soft glow down the hall.
I saw my brother sitting on the sofa, wearing a loose white shirt, one button undone, head lowered, icing his face.
The cold compress glistened against his pale skin, highlighting a vivid red handprint.
I froze. My steps toward the kitchen stopped. And then I spoke: "What happened to your face?"
He looked up, still dazed from sleep. "Argued with Father."
I blinked. "Was it something serious…?"
"It's nothing."
His response was quick, and calm. Then he lowered his gaze again, returning to the ice pack. As if I didn't matter.
I stood there, suddenly feeling stiff.
I didn't say anything more.
My brother was always like this—keeping distance. Cold, like soaked in icy water. That wariness and rejection—it wasn't hidden.
—Except that night.
At the party. When he was talking to that other Alpha.
That was the first time I realized—
Even the word "obedient" could carry a strange, sultry undertone.
I stepped closer, almost involuntarily. Drawn by something I couldn't name.
But he turned away, avoiding my eyes. Got up, adjusted his collar, and said softly, "Good night."
Polite and distant. Like a brother brushing off his kid brother's late-night greeting.
In that moment, I felt irritated. Irritated by his distance, irritated that he treated me like a child.
For the first time, I found myself resenting the word "brother."