For a brief moment, there was absolute silence.

Chen Nian’s words flowed so naturally, as if he were merely stating a fact: I don’t perform in public because only Shavri Vitaljevich, my fiancé, is allowed to hear my music.

Lu Heng, who had meticulously prepared a dozen arguments to persuade Chen Nian, found himself utterly speechless, as if his forceful punch had landed squarely on a soft pillow, leaving him both powerless and frustrated to the point of suffocation.

His gentle smile nearly cracked as he hastily composed himself. “Ah… I see. What a pity.”

“Yes, it seems His Highness is the only one who’s heard us both play,” Chen Nian remarked with a serene smile. He turned to Shavri Vitaljevich, his lips curled into a faint grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Actually, I’ve always been curious. After practicing piano for so long without exchanging ideas with anyone else… what does His Highness think?”

Without hesitation, Shavri Vitaljevich replied, “Of course, you play better.”

Lu Heng: …

Chen Nian tightened his grip on Shavri Vitaljevich’s sleeve and pouted softly. “How can you make such a hasty judgment?”

By this point, it didn’t matter who was the better pianist.

The onlookers were being force-fed a heaping dose of “dog food” (public displays of affection), while Lu Heng himself was choking on it, nearly unable to breathe. The young master, unused to such humiliation, could barely hold his composure. His face flushed, he bit his lip and hastily excused himself, retreating to the company of his companions.

As the crowd murmured and gossiped, Chen Nian feigned surprise with a small exclamation, his expression hinting at mild regret. “Did I overstep? Should I have accepted his request?”

Shavri Vitaljevich shook his head firmly. “You never need to do anything you don’t want to.”

Chen Nian’s response came instantly: “I don’t want to stay locked up in the White Tower.”

Shavri Vitaljevich froze. Chen Nian laughed lightly, patting his arm. “I was just joking. Don’t take it to heart.”

But Shavri Vitaljevich knew how many truths in this world were veiled as jokes.

Already burdened by guilt, the crown prince’s heart sank further. If there were such a thing as a guilt detector, it would have exploded the moment it measured him.

Meanwhile, Chen Nian gracefully disengaged from the situation, sipping his wine with evident satisfaction.

What’s with these noble Omegas and their lackluster tactics? he mused. Their verbal jabs can’t hit me, their manipulative airs aren’t even a tenth as refined as mine, and their fragile egos are as thin as paper.

He felt a pang of disappointment. Was there no worthy opponent to give him a real challenge?

From that moment on, Shavri Vitaljevich stayed glued to Chen Nian’s side. The perpetually oblivious crown prince had finally come to a realization: Yes, Chen Ci is my prince consort. With him beside me, no one else has any excuse to approach me.

At last, he was free from discussions about “flower arranging, cooking, the cost of outfits, or where they were purchased”!

Shavri Vitaljevich’s gloom lightened considerably. Relaxed, he leaned back in a corner with Chen Nian, raised his glass, and even clinked it gently against Chen Nian’s. “Are you sure drinking so much is fine?”

He hadn’t forgotten Chen Nian’s discomfort the night before.

“It’s no big deal,” Chen Nian replied, finishing another glass with ease and smacking his lips in satisfaction.

Was this his tenth glass tonight? Twelfth? He’d lost count.

At that moment, the orchestra struck up a melody, and the lights dimmed. The post-dinner ball had officially begun.

Men and women slowly entered the dance floor, taking the hands of their partners or friends to revel in the evening’s splendor amidst the lingering scent of wine.

“Do you want to dance?” Shavri Vitaljevich asked.

Chen Nian shook his head. He was intrigued, yes, but unfortunately, he didn’t know how to dance. The closest he had come to learning was a brief stint with pole dancing from his colleagues at the nightclub. If he actually danced here, he might just scare everyone to death.

“You should go,” Chen Nian suggested.

“I don’t feel like it,” Shavri Vitaljevich said, remaining seated. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave in a bit.”

Despite the failed attempts by Beryl Merritt and Lu Heng to provoke him, other determined individuals continued to cast glances their way.

In the corner of the hall, Shavri Vitaljevich and Chen Nian sat side by side. The Alpha’s platinum hair looked almost white in the dim light, his sharp features exuding steadiness rather than coldness, with an air of restrained composure.

Next to him, the Omega gazed at the dancers in the center of the room, reclining casually against his chair. His once-neat collar was slightly disheveled, revealing his pale neck adorned with a secure anti-bite collar, which only one person—the one beside him—could unlock.

Something Shavri Vitaljevich said made Chen Nian’s lips curl faintly. The smile was slight, yet it seemed to ensnare every onlooker’s heart.

Then the prince consort raised his glass, clinking it softly against his fiancé’s. The two leaned in, exchanging hushed words that no one else could hear, indulging in their private moment amidst the lively banquet.

“I feel like a dog that just got kicked for no reason.”

That was the shared sentiment of everyone witnessing the scene.

Some Omegas, their fragile egos bruised, gritted their teeth in frustration. Many of those hoping to claim the prince consort’s title were young nobles who had never faced real adversity. As Chen Nian had predicted, they were delicate to the point of tears.

Who said the crown prince and his consort had a bad relationship?!

Shavri Vitaljevich didn’t care what anyone thought. His attention was entirely on Chen Nian.

He had never realized before just how much Chen Ci could drink. One glass after another, and not even consistently sticking to one type—he mixed them all.

Even with his impressive tolerance, Chen Nian was visibly tipsy by now.

He unbuttoned the clasp at his collar, revealing his neck, collar, and collarbone—all clearly visible under the dim light.

Throughout the night, Chen Nian had effortlessly deflected two pointed attempts to provoke him, using calm wit and grace to land flawless counterattacks.

It made Shavri Vitaljevich wonder: What kind of clever words must those soft lips have uttered to emerge so victorious?

The boy’s lips, moistened by wine, seemed to carry a tempting sheen. Even his breaths were laced with a faint fragrance—of alcohol and tuberose.

Every move Chen Nian made seemed to carry an unspoken allure that drew Shavri Vitaljevich’s gaze, making it impossible to look away.

This wasn’t the first time.

Last night, in the courtyard, a mere glance of Chen Nian leaning down to drink from the fountain had utterly distracted him from his gaming obsession.

He realized that he’d never truly understood Chen Ci.

Beneath the cold, indifferent exterior was a captivating vitality that he had never noticed.

Half an hour later, at Chen Nian’s suggestion, Shavri Vitaljevich escorted him out of the banquet hall. The reason was simple: Chen Nian couldn’t drink another drop.

Once seated in the back of the private vehicle, Chen Nian no longer felt the need to maintain his decorum. He immediately slouched lazily against the seatback.

Shavri Vitaljevich sat beside him. With the self-driving system activated, the bodyguard in the passenger seat, and the privacy screens raised, the rear of the car became a fully private space.

Chen Nian was genuinely drunk. He closed his eyes, finally quiet.

Shavri Vitaljevich’s gaze lingered on his face, tracing from his neck to his flushed cheeks, catching the faint blush brought on by the alcohol.

He stayed silent, letting Chen Nian rest, but couldn’t help replaying the night’s events in his mind.

Chen Ci had surprised him in so many ways tonight.

He was far from harmless.

When faced with hostility, Chen Ci never attacked first. Instead, he waited for others to step into his trap and countered them with precision, striking exactly where it hurt most.

Why had Shavri Vitaljevich never noticed this before?

Frowning slightly, he studied the boy resting beside him. That peculiar feeling of unfamiliarity grew stronger.

Since yesterday afternoon… so many things had changed.

As though seeking answers, Shavri Vitaljevich reached out instinctively. The back of his hand brushed lightly against Chen Nian’s cheek.

It was warm.

In contrast, the Alpha’s hand felt cool, like a refreshing balm in the summer heat.

Before he could withdraw, Chen Nian let out a soft sigh of comfort. Unwilling to let the coolness leave, he nuzzled against Shavri Vitaljevich’s hand, practically leaning his entire body into the crown prince.

Shavri Vitaljevich froze.

Chen Nian sniffed the air.

A sweet, mellow scent mixed with the richness of alcohol teased his senses. It wasn’t any of the wines served at the banquet.

Drawn by his natural fondness for good liquor, Chen Nian leaned closer.

Closer. And closer still.

The unfamiliar embrace was clumsy and awkward, far less comfortable than those from Alphas in the Underground City.

If not for how intoxicating the scent was, Chen Nian might have cursed him.

Unlike Omegas, an Alpha’s neck was unprotected. As Chen Nian leaned in, Shavri Vitaljevich’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

Chen Nian’s hand rested on Shavri Vitaljevich’s shoulder as his nose brushed against the Alpha’s neck, inhaling deeply.

The air brushed over Shavri Vitaljevich’s sensitive skin, carrying the distinct scent of his pheromones straight to Chen Nian’s nose.

The suppressant-dulled cravings within Chen Nian awoke, ignited by the alcohol and burning hotter by the second.

The tuberose fragrance from Chen Nian’s body intensified. The shy bud finally bloomed in the darkness, revealing its softest, most vulnerable core, responding instinctively to the Alpha beside him.

Chen Nian had never encountered pheromones so perfectly suited to his tastes.

His eyes fluttered open silently. The side profile before him was young and handsome, with platinum-blonde strands curling slightly where they had escaped the confines of hair gel.

Shavri Vitaljevich’s pale lips were tightly pressed as he struggled to control his breathing, trying to avoid inhaling too much of the Omega’s tuberose scent.

As Chen Nian’s nose brushed against the Alpha’s neck, a soft murmur escaped his lips, carrying clearly to Shavri Vitaljevich’s ears despite his frozen state:

“You… smell so sweet.”

Few would have guessed that Shavri Vitaljevich’s pheromones weren’t the fiery intensity of vodka, but the clear, sweet notes of sherry.