Evening descended over the Dale estate.The walls catching the last traces of sunset and casting a copper glow into Lucian's study. The room was a portrait of modern power: matte-black shelving lined with rare first editions, clean marble flooring softened by a deep gray rug, and a massive desk of dark stone with steel inlays. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched behind him, overlooking manicured gardens lit by subtle ground lights.
A single abstract paintingstreaks of crimson across white canvas hung above a low leather sofa. Everything was sharp and precise.
Lucian sat in his chair, a sculpted piece of Italian design, posture straight but his jaw tense. Beside him, Carlos stood like a sentinel, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the television recessed into the wall. The news cycle replayed the same footage over and over: DAWN Entertainment's statement about the flowers, Elian's brief appearance outside the studio, and the endless speculation buzzing in bold captions across the screen.
Lucian read the article again on the slim tablet in his hands, his brows drawn low. He knew exactly what DAWN was doing polite distance and careful denial. Elian's world was tightly controlled. His had just collided with it.
Suddenly, the rhythm of the room shattered.
The door swung open so hard it banged against the glass paneling, and Celeste stormed in barefoot, in her silk pajamas, her phone clutched like a weapon. Her hair was wild, her fury raw.
"Lucy, what the hell?" she demanded, voice sharp enough to cut through the hum of the television. "You sent him flowers? Six hundred pink camellias? Who does that? Do you realize what kind of scandal you've just thrown him into?"
Carlos lifted a hand, calm but firm. "Celeste. Breathe. He didn't send them to start a scandal. Just listen to him."
She rolled her eyes, pacing like a storm contained in human form, then stopped and tapped her foot hard against the rug. "Well?"
Lucian's reply came low, steady. "I just want to know him better."
"Why?" Celeste shot back immediately.
Celeste rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out. She tapped her foot on the floor, waiting demanding for an answer.
"There's something about him…" Lucian stared into the screen. "Something I can't name. From the moment I saw him on that stage it's like I've been caught in a current. I don't know what it is, but I'm drawn to him. And his studio… it's the only place I could reach him without crossing a line. That's why I sent the flowers. I didn't mean him any harm."
Celeste folded her arms across her chest. "Why do you want to know him, Lucy? He's not one of your weekend bedmates. Please
leave him alone."
Carlos chuckled softly. "Didn't you say you wished he was part of the family? Maybe your wish is coming true."
"Hell no," Celeste snapped, spinning to glare at him. "Not like this. Elian is too pure. He's not like the others. I won't let Lucy make him just another name on his list."
Lucian didn't respond. His gaze had drifted back to the television, where grainy footage replayed on a loop: Elian arriving at DAWN that morning, flanked by security, his head bowed beneath a sea of flashing cameras.
"Leave Elian alone, Lucy," Celeste said again, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. "You have Liam your self proclaimed boyfriend hovering like a servant. He'd lick your shoes if it meant ending up in this family. So go be with him."
"Liam is not my lover," Lucian snapped, turning to face her.
Celeste rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, yeah. He's just your bed warmer. Whatever. I don't care what you call him. Just stay away from Elian. Celeste said again, quieter now but no less fierce. She spun, her silk pajamas whispering against the floor, and slammed the door behind her.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Lucian leaned back, rubbing his temples with one hand. "What's this nonsense about Liam being my boyfriend?"
Carlos sighed, his tone pragmatic. "Well… he's the only omega you've slept with more than once. "
A groan escaped Lucian's throat. "This is why I never repeated partners. Do you think this will ruin things with Elian?"
Carlos gave a slow shrug. "Hard to say. You've never even spoken to him."
Lucian's gaze drifted back to the screen, where Elian's face, half-hidden by his brother's protective arms, was replayed again and again. Even blurred, his presence was enough to unravel Lucian's carefully constructed control.
For the first time in years, Lucian wanted more than a bed warmer, he wanted permanence.
...
The city glittered that night, the skyline burning with a thousand jeweled lights. On the thirty-second floor of an exclusive bar, polished marble floors, velvet booths, and crystal chandeliers catching the amber glow of whiskey the air was heavy with laughter, perfume, and the faint curl of expensive cigars. Here, the wealthy gathered to have casual hookups, or one night stands .
Liam Harrison, with his lean figure and sun-gold hair, sat at the center of it all like a prince in exile. Tonight, however, his beauty was wasted on the bitterness twisting his mouth. News article of Lucian Dale sending flowers to the country's beloved pop star, Elián Hart had been enough to sour his entire evening.
His three closest friends lounged with him in the private booth, wine glasses in hand, but rather than comfort him, their questions circled like flies over open wounds.
"Liam," one of them asked, voice sly beneath the music, "tell me it isn't true. Did Dale really send six hundred camellias to that singer?"
Another leaned in with mock sympathy. "It's all over the newsfeeds. Everyone's talking about Lucian and Elián. Isn't it… awkward for you?"
The third chuckled, too curious to hide it. "Be honest what does this mean for you two? For you and Lucian?"
Liam's eyes, bright as polished glass, narrowed. He adjusted the cuff of his silk shirt with deliberate grace, as though the conversation bored him. "It means nothing," he said smoothly, every syllable sharpened by pride. "Lucian and I are still going strong. A few flowers don't change that."
His friends exchanged looks, waiting, but Liam's chin lifted higher. He sipped his wine, lips brushing the rim as though sealing a vow. "He is mine," he continued, proud and possessive. "I'll call him later and ask about the flowers myself.
The words were delivered with the ease of entitlement, as though he were the only one allowed such intimacy with the man most omegas desired.
The tension broke then, laughter spilling over the table as the friends raised their glasses. "To Liam and Lucian," one toasted.
"To the longest lasting love," another added with a grin.
Their voices rose in unison, and though Liam's smile returned, it carried the brittleness of glass. The night wore on in a haze of champagne, whispered gossip, and careless laughter, until at last, one by one, they departed for their sprawling mansions, leaving Liam alone with his thoughts.
When he arrived home, the Harrison estate was not quiet. The chandeliers in the grand foyer glowed late into the night, and waiting for him in the drawing room were his father, his mother, and his younger sister Julia. Their faces were set, expectant.
Liam paused, smoothing his hair with a practiced hand. He knew that look. They were not waiting for him out of affection they were waiting to speak of Lucian.
It had been the same ever since he first confessed to them that he had captured Lucian Dale's attention. His parents, both shrewd in the ways of wealth and power, had not hesitated in their advice. Secure him. Lock him down. A Dale in the family meant influence that could not be bought. Respect. Status. More doors opening in a country where even the rich still clawed for higher ground. His mother had whispered marriage. His father, more blunt, had mentioned pregnancy.
Now, with the news spreading like fire, Liam knew they would press harder.
As he stepped into the room, Julia's sharp eyes met his, her painted nails tapping against a glass of wine. His father leaned forward, templed hands reflecting the light. His mother, poised as ever, lifted her chin in silent question.
Liam's jaw tightened. He straightened his shoulders, blond hair falling perfectly into place, and prepared for the interrogation he knew was coming.