Critical Stage

Sleepiness was shaken off instantly.

Cesare roughly ran his hands through his blonde hair in frustration.

‘You’re kidding me. Of everyone, how could it possibly have been Zahir I slept with last night?’

Cesare hadn’t known if Zahir al-Tamid was an Alpha, so he hadn’t even imagined that the Alpha from the previous night and Zahir could be the same person.

The realization hit him hard.

Annoyed and confused, Cesare quickly crumpled up the note, threw it aside, and then checked beneath the blanket.

Despite the intensity of last night’s sexual encounter with the Alpha, his current ‘arousal’ served as sufficient evidence of his excellent ‘health’ as a well-functioning male.

Yet, it was also between his legs that Cesare felt the most profound soreness, where it was dominated by Zahir’s ‘manhood’ all night long.

Thankfully, it seemed Zahir had been considerate, leaving Cesare clean and dry.

He hadn’t checked thoroughly, but he assumed there had been no knotting.

Cesare would have been writhing in agony if there had been a knotting, as it would have completely torn up his insides.

Several worries flooded Cesare’s mind, but he ignored them for now and got out of bed.

By the way...

As he picked up his clothes, he noticed something else in the mirror’s reflection.

“Damn! What’s this?”

His skin, starting from the base of his neck, was covered in love bites that could easily be mistaken for mosquito bites.

Cesare paused in surprise, halted his process of getting dressed, and glanced downward.

Looking closer, he noticed marks on his thighs as well.

“What has this insane Alpha brat done to me!”

Unable to imprint on Cesare, it was evident that the ‘Alpha’ decided to mark his ‘territory’ with his mouth instead.

It seemed like he wanted to keep Cesare’s presence a secret from everyone.

If Cesare’s conjecture was correct, he had succeeded.

This would prevent Cesare from engaging in any type of sexual activity with anyone for a while.

Suddenly struck by a sharp headache, Cesare hastily put on his dress shirt and draped his suit jacket over his shoulders.

He wanted to look presentable, but there was neither makeup nor even a comb in the sealed room.

Cesare stepped out into the corridor, looking as shabby as a rain-soaked dog.

The atmosphere had shifted, as if everyone was slowly preparing to leave.

Unlike before, the hallways were filled with the hum of people walking busily.

Feeling vulnerable in his unguarded state, Cesare hastened to seek refuge on the second floor.

Regrettably, the peculiar design of room 202 required an exterior entrance.

Despite the panoramic view the layout offered, Cesare cursed whoever assigned him this inconvenient chamber as he reluctantly stepped back outside.

As he stepped outside, a refreshing sea breeze immediately greeted him.

Small islands were visible nearby, and the rolling waves heading toward the shore were clear.

The blindingly beautiful sunlight illuminated the sea’s surface, creating a dazzling spectacle.

However, Cesare had more pressing concerns than the scenery.

The moment he stepped outside, he heard the soft chatter of the crowd.

He tried to pass by without paying attention, but unfortunately, a crowd was gathered around the outdoor bar in front of his room.

Amid the crowd, one man stood out to him.

His uniquely beautiful features drew attention, even among the actors and celebrities around him.

He exuded a sensual aura with his thick black hair, elongated black eyes, and slender figure.

It would be more fitting to call him beautiful rather than handsome.

That man was none other than Zahir al-Tamid, the prince of Kazar ― a country reputed for having the highest dollars per capita in the world ― and more importantly, the man who had been on top of Cesare the previous night.

Cesare’s headache intensified, making him all the more desperate to disappear into the crowd and quietly slip back into his room.

So, he swiftly turned around and quickened his stride.

Suddenly, someone called his name from behind.

“Cesare Caruso?”

To his astonishment, the voice came from directly behind him.

He turned and saw Zahir gracefully stepping away from the crowd.

Despite his initial shock, Cesare effortlessly swept his hair back with one hand, exuding an air of composed elegance accompanied by a polite smile.

Beneath that facade, a tempest of indignation raged.

“Long time no see, Zahir,” Cesare said with a smile.

Indeed, Cesare Caruso and Zahir al-Tamid had a history together.

When Cesare studied abroad, their paths crossed at the same university repeatedly over several years.

They even shared a few classes, and throughout those years, Cesare had always been struck by the prince’s ‘persistence.’

However, their association was neither warm nor tightly-knit.

Much to Cesare’s chagrin, he spent the night sobbing in a mix of pain and unwanted pleasure, thanks to this cursed Alpha.

If Zahir had not been masked, such an encounter would surely have been avoided.

He definitely felt duped by Zahir.

Cesare was still weighed down by the remnants of that night.

Yet, there Zahir was, standing before him, chattering away, apparently delighted.

“Can you believe it, Cesare Caruso? We’ve been on the same ship for two days, and I haven’t seen you until now,”

Zahir exclaimed, his tone filled with surprise.

‘Oh, so now he’s surprised? He’s the one who invited me here in the first place, but then he acts as if it’s a surprise to see me. What a hypocrite.’