Maxwell Corporation wasn’t known for its leniency. Anyone who stirred trouble in front of their gates usually disappeared by lunchtime. One couldn’t just show up and cause a scene unless that person had a death wish or connections so powerful they were untouchable.

He should turn back. Yet curiosity tugged at him until he edged closer through the murmuring onlookers.

"What’s going on?" someone whispered near him.

"Some rich idiot’s having a meltdown," another replied.

"I heard it’s one of the Hewitts."

"No way. HW’s?"

Neville frowned. Through the gaps in the crowd, he finally caught a clear view—and froze.

Mick Hewitt.

The second young master of HW Corporation stood in the center like some fallen prince, his expensive suit disheveled, his pale green eyes bright with fury and madness. His tie hung loose, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

He was shouting something about betrayal, about contracts, about something unfair. But Neville couldn’t make out the words over the buzz of the crowd.

Whatever it was, it had everyone’s attention.

Security guards lingered nearby, clearly uneasy. Their formation said "prepared," but their body language screamed "don’t touch him." After all, Mick was still the second young master of the HW Corporation. The collaboration between HW and Maxwell was already known publicly. No one wanted to be the guy who laid a finger on a Hewitt and got both corporations at each other’s throats.

Neville crossed his arms, lips twitching.

"Did this idiot lose a screw or something?" he muttered under his breath.

The question barely formed before someone behind him shoved forward, trying to record the scene. The crowd rippled like a wave, and suddenly, Neville was stumbling straight into the front line.

Oh, come on—

He tried to back away, but the people pressed in tighter, murmuring louder. Neville found himself stuck in front of the crowd.

Oh, da—

And that was when he noticed Mick wasn’t alone.

Standing beside him was Killian Sergie, another walking headache. His hand clamped tightly around Mick’s arm, as if restraining him, though his own expression was far from composed. His eyes were burning with the same madness as Mick’s.

The growing noise must’ve drawn Killian’s attention, because his head turned toward the crowd.

Neville’s breath hitched. His stomach dropped.

Shit.

Killian’s gaze swept across the crowd and landed directly on him.

Time seemed to stop.

"This bastard," Killian muttered, low and sharp.

Neville’s eyes went wide and instinctively took a step back.

"What the—"

But Killian was already on the move.

He walked towards the crowd like a predator. The people around him sensed the sudden tension and tried to pull him back. But Killian was faster. He immediately spread his pheromones to oppress everyone within reach.

It carried the weight of a Dominant Alpha’s authority, demanding obedience from everyone in its path. The people holding Neville immediately let go, stumbling back with glazed expressions. A few nearby omegas in the crowd whimpered, their knees trembling. Even the Alphas in the crowd winced, caught off-guard by the intensity.

Neville clenched his jaw. "Oh, for f—seriously?"

He could feel the weight of Killian’s dominance pressing down, but he had built enough resistance to Dominant Alphas not to collapse against their pheromones. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting. His pulse quickened, skin prickling under the strain.

But even if Neville wasn’t that affected by Killian’s pheromones anymore, he still couldn’t fight back against a Dominant Alpha who had lost his reason in a close combat.

"Stop it, Killian," one of the security guards barked, stepping forward.

"Stay out of this," Killian snapped, his tone laced with poison.

The guard froze mid-step, his Alpha instinct bowing before higher dominance.

Neville clenched his jaw. Of course, he will use that.

Killian closed the distance and, without warning, fisted a hand in Neville’s hair, yanking his head back hard enough to sting.

Neville gritted his teeth. "Let go."

Killian smiled, a vicious curl of his lips.

"Slut," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Then the noise dropped to a hush, whispered speculation.

Neville’s blood boiled. "What the hell did you just call me?"

Killian’s grin only widened. He leaned close, his breath hot and sharp against Neville’s ear.

"You heard me."

But logic had no place here, not with an audience hungry for drama and two Alphas who had clearly decided he made an excellent target.

The crowd instantly became lively—murmuring, recording. Holographic screens popped up like fireflies as spectators activated their devices. Nothing attracted attention like a scandal among the elite.

Neville felt heat crawl up his neck, furious.

This *sshole!

Mick turned at the sound of Killian’s voice. He had been mid-rant with the guards, his tone shrill with self-righteousness, but the moment his eyes found Neville, all other concerns evaporated.

"Oh, would you look at that?"

His voice was smooth, taunting. He took a step forward, green eyes glinting with malicious delight. "If it isn’t Mr. Hope."

"Don’t involve me in your crazy antics," Neville snapped, struggling against Killian’s grip.

"Crazy?" Mick’s laugh was sharp and ugly. "Coming from you? That’s rich."

He gestured grandly, and Killian obeyed, dragging Neville forward like a prize. Neville’s mind raced, trying to figure out an escape route. He could scream and draw attention to the fact that he was being assaulted in broad daylight.

But who would help him?

Most of the crowd looked like they were enjoying the show. And the security guards, those useless bastards, just stood there doing nothing.

"Let me go, Sergie!" Neville hissed, pulling away.

"Stop struggling. It’s useless." Killian said mockingly.

"I’ll do what I want," Neville said as he opened the system mall, searching for items he could use.

"Suit yourself." Killian’s tone was mocking, almost casual. "You seem to like the attention anyway."

He shoved Neville hard enough that he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance. The crowd murmured louder, feeding on the tension like vultures.

Mick crouched slightly, eyes raking over Neville as though appraising damaged goods.

"I heard you like to sleep around," he said, voice dripping with poison. "Did those Alphas at the gathering not satisfy you? Or were you just hoping for another round?"