Eamon stood in front of the heavy mahogany door for a moment longer than necessary before knocking twice and letting himself in. The scent of sharp cedar and old paper clung to the walls of the private office, a contrast to the modern minimalism of his own space.
Alessia Sauveterre, Eamon's Female Alpha Father, sat behind her desk, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she annotated a legal brief in scarlet ink. Her white shirt was crisp, and her hair was swept into a sleek, ageless bun. She glanced up only once, but the flick of her eyes was enough to pin him.
"You're three minutes late," she said coolly.
"I've had a full day," Eamon replied, closing the door behind him. "Even the city's corruption doesn't run on schedule."
Alessia smirked faintly, then gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. Talk."
He sat, crossed one ankle over his knee and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "I'll keep it brief. I've got five active cases: three commercial, one political, Messner's firm is pushing a bad zoning bill, and the last one that's probably going to ruin my sleep for the next year."
"Let me guess," she murmured. "The rape case. Desrosiers."
Of course, she knew. Alessia always knows.
Eamon nodded once. "It's going to be a bloodbath. The kid's glands were damaged, and the collar didn't hold, but it was able to barely stop him from being marked. He's not speaking much yet, but the family is prepared to back him. The problem is that the Blackwells are circling. I suspect they've already tried to delay the lab's report, maybe even started soft intimidation."
Alessia's pen paused mid-note. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you have proof?"
"Not yet. But I will. Their claws are in deeper than we thought. I want you to keep your ears open. And your allies are on edge. If they're pulling strings, they'll come for anyone who threatens to unravel the narrative."
She studied him in silence for a beat longer than was comfortable. "You're in dangerous territory, Eamon. They play ugly, and the matter of fact is you're still... learning."
"I'm not naive," he said tightly. "And I didn't bring this case to stroke my ego. I brought it because no one else would touch it."
Alessia set her pen down, not quite believing him. "You've always had fire. I admire that, but don't let your fury burn your judgment. If you misstep, they'll not only ruin the boy, they'll take a swing at you, and by extension—"
"The firm. I know."
"You should also consider your mother, you know, he isn't meant for our world", she added, her voice softening just slightly. "If the Blackwells come for you, they won't spare the people you love."
That pulled him back. His jaw tightened.
Eamon could only nod. His mother had a weak heart and easily got unsettled.
Alessia's eyes softened. "You may not always agree with me, but I raised you to fight battles that mattered. If this one matters to you, then go in swinging. But don't do it without backup and keep me in the loop."
"I always do."
A long moment of silence passed between them. It was weighty and layered with unspoken history and tension, but beneath it, a current of mutual trust.
Alessia leaned back in her chair and picked up her pen again. "Very well. Keep digging. And if the Blackwells breathe in our direction, I want to know the second they do."
Eamon stood, smoothing the sleeves of his shirt. "They're already breathing. I just intend to make sure they choke."
***
Before Acheron realised it, the weekend had arrived, and this one was special. All of his older siblings were coming home for a visit.
That morning, he decided to sit outside in the garden, hoping to enjoy the lingering warmth before winter crept in. A sudden urge to paint had overtaken him. This time, he reached for acrylics, not typically his first choice, as he'd always preferred oil, but most of his supplies were still packed in boxes from the boarding house. And he wasn't ready to open those yet. He couldn't bear the chance of uncovering something Hadeon had gifted him.
He set up a medium-sized easel and a small canvas between patches of flowers. He had thought about sitting directly on the ground to paint, but the grass was brittle, hardened by the coming cold. It would only poke at him and make him itchy. Instead, he pulled over a garden chair, and next to it a small table where he neatly arranged his brushes and tubes of paint.
Lately, his work had been mostly monochromatic, black-heavy with stark light tones and shadowed edges, but today he wanted to push himself. His grasp of colour theory was strong, even if the recent trauma had left his art raw and stripped down. Today, he aimed to play with colour and shading again, starting small.
His subject was a tall, cracked Victorian-style vase surrounded by blooming pink and red roses. He began the piece in grey scale, layering in shadows and depth before gently introducing bursts of vibrant colour into the rose petals just enough to hint at life amidst the quiet.
With each brush stroke, memory returned to his fingers. The motions felt natural, even if his technique was still recovering. He didn't chase perfection; it was enough that he was painting again.
While Acheron lost himself in the colour-streaked world he was building, his older brother Kai arrived with his husband, Camlo.
They had met years ago during university, on the day Kai had finished an impossibly brutal round of medical exams. Exhausted and dazed, he'd stumbled into a nearby café, and behind the counter stood a barista, handsome and focused, swirling hearts and leaves into cappuccino foam like it was second nature.
From that day forward, Kai returned nearly every day, sometimes pretending to study just to sneak glances. It took him two years to even flirt. In the end, it was Camlo who asked him out, laughing brightly as he did. He'd noticed Kai's shy admiration from the very beginning and had simply run out of patience.
They'd marked each other soon after. Kai went on to land a position at a prestigious hospital, and Camlo finally opened his dream bakery.
"Mom, we're here!" Camlo called as he entered the house, carrying a box of still-warm baked goods. Ivy opened the back door from the kitchen and motioned towards the garden.
Acheron sat nestled between beds of late-autumn flowers, streaks of paint smeared across his cheek and temple. His hair was tied back loosely, and he wore an old shirt stained with a history of colours.
To strangers, he still appeared closed off, detached or stoic even, but to those who knew him like his family, the signs were clear. His posture was looser. The dullness in his eyes had lessened, and a small spark glimmered beneath his lashes.
Kai watched his youngest brother closely, one arm resting around Camlo's waist. For the first time in weeks, something like hope bloomed in his chest.
He had worried himself sick over Eron's depression. He wasn't a psychologist, but he had seen enough victims spiral, driven to harm or to silence when justice wasn't swift enough, or healing too far out of reach.
He had feared that Eron might follow the same path, but here he was. Painting again.
And it meant everything.
Camlo noticed Kai's shoulders relax and the subtle smile that hadn't graced his face in months. He slipped a hand into his own tote bag and pulled out a modest box, his bakery's label pressed neatly on the front.
He walked outside and towards Eron, carefully placing the box down between jars of murky water and upright brushes.
Inside were all of Eron's favourites a simple comforts from childhood to now.
Camlo had practically watched Acheron grow up. The assault had rattled him deeply, too.
He quietly fetched a second garden chair, dragging it close to Eron's side without a word.
He didn't speak.
He just sat.
The warm smell of vanilla, cinnamon, and fresh pastry slowly joined the scent of paint and roses.
And together, in the autumn hush, they just… were.
Camlo didn't speak at first. He simply watched.
Watched the gentle yet purposeful way Eron's hands moved across the canvas. The way his fingers gripped the brush, relaxed but firm, as if painting was the only thing keeping him grounded. His gaze was focused, his expression soft in concentration.
After a few minutes, Camlo cleared his throat quietly.
Eron glanced away from the painting, only just noticing Camlo sitting beside him. A soft smile curled his lips.
He had always liked his brother-in-law. Camlo had a calming presence, like warm sunlight filtering through a window. Familiar and safe.
Eron used the pause in his work to clean his brush and squeeze out fresh paint onto the palette.
"How's the bakery doing?"
"Really good, actually," Camlo replied, sitting forward slightly. "It took a few years to make a dent in the local scene, but now we've even got some regulars. A few come in every day."
"That's great," Eron said, glancing up. "I remember how tough it was at the start, barely breaking even. I'm glad all that effort's finally paying off."
He cast a quick look at the bakery box sitting nearby. Camlo chuckled and reached inside, handing him a pastry.
A crisp puff pastry, filled with chocolate and nut compote.
"I made them specifically for you, silly."
Eron smiled and took a big bite. Camlo's gentle nature always had a way of making him feel... less on edge, as if everything might be okay, even if just for a moment.
"Delicious as always."
"Only for you, kiddo." Camlo ruffled his hair, which earned him a tiny snort from Eron, half in amusement and half in protest.
Then, Camlo's expression shifted. His hand curled around his wrist, and he took a slow, shaky breath.
"I've got some news," he said, his voice quieter now. "And I wanted to tell you first."
That caught Eron's full attention.
Camlo exhaled again, nerves bunching tightly in his chest. The fear of saying the wrong thing or the right thing at the wrong time made him hesitant, but then the words spilt out, like breath he'd been holding too long.
"Kai and I found out last week that... I'm pregnant."
There. It was said.
Camlo didn't look up, couldn't. Under normal circumstances, he knew Eron would be ecstatic, but after everything… after him and the trauma. Eron had just started making cautious progress. He didn't want to knock that fragile rhythm off balance.
He had chosen to tell him one-on-one for that very reason. To give him space and time.
What came next wasn't silence.
"Camie," Eron said gently, and his voice trembled but not from pain. "I'm so happy for you guys."
He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Camlo, hugging him tight. "It's the best news I've heard this year."
Camlo let out a surprised laugh, relief and joy tangling together as he returned the hug and held Eron tightly.
Camlo and Kai had always dreamed of starting a family. It was a quiet wish that nestled between work shifts, study sessions, and the quiet domesticity they built over the years, whispered in late-night conversations and held close during hospital visits and bakery openings. Being an Alpha and Omega pair, most assumed it would be an easy journey for them, a natural next step, but biology had other plans.
Camlo was a recessive Omega, a fact he had known since his early teens. His family had a long, complicated history of fertility issues — miscarriages, failed heats, and heartbreaking attempts that never bloomed into life. Doctors never ruled it out entirely, but hope thinned with each passing year, and even the best fertility specialists offered little more than conditional encouragement. "It's possible," they would say, "but don't build your future on it."
And yet, they tried. Month after month, year after year. Sometimes they allowed themselves the fantasy of decorating a nursery in their minds, wondering aloud whose eyes the baby would have, which lullaby Camlo would sing to sleep. Other times, silence took over. It became easier not to mention it at all, easier to carry on without stirring the grief that always lingered beneath the surface.
Eventually, they stopped expecting. Camlo buried the ache beneath batches of croissants and morning coffees, while Kai poured himself into his patients. They never said the words aloud, but both of them had quietly begun to grieve the child they would never meet.
Which is why, when the positive test came, a delicate and blinking confirmation of the impossible, it felt less like a new chapter and more like divine intervention. A miracle, in every sense of the word. A defiance of genetics, history, and odds.
For the first time in years, hope was no longer a wound. It was a heartbeat.
They stayed that way for a while, letting the garden hold them in its quiet safety.
Eventually, Acheron pulled back, swiping another pastry from the box with a mischievous little grin. They both laughed softly and settled back into the quiet, chatting in low tones as Acheron added final strokes to his painting.
Late morning melted into early afternoon.
Kai appeared from the house carrying two mugs, one filled with chamomile tea and the other with cinnamon-spiced coffee. He handed them over wordlessly.
His eyes landed on the canvas and stayed there.
He recognised the shift instantly. The colours. The light.
Eron's work was changing.
The shadows that had dominated his earlier pieces, so dark and heavy, Kai had once feared what they might foreshadow, were no longer the focus. There was warmth now with detail and life.
Eron was coming back to them.
Kai smiled, brighter than he had in months.
Loud voices drifted from the house. It was a lively chorus of laughter, overlapping conversations, and the occasional high-pitched shriek of children. Amid the noise, Acheron easily picked out his sister's voice.
Acacia Desrosiers.
Tough as nails, sharp as thorns. Except when it came to her younger siblings, her Omega, or her three-year-old twins. Then, she became soft as rain.
Acacia stood at the same window Kai had stood at earlier, gazing out at the garden. She hadn't seen Acheron since long before the attack. Between work and the twins, she and her wife Lena had struggled to make the trip. But standing here now, watching her baby brother sitting among the flowers with paint smudged across his cheeks, she wished she'd come sooner. Wished she hadn't been so afraid of missing a client meeting or jeopardising her new architectural project.
"He's so thin," Acacia murmured, her voice tight.
"He was thinner," Ivy replied quietly. Her voice carried an edge of sorrow, heavy with unspoken guilt. "He's put on a little weight these past couple of weeks."
Acacia didn't answer. She remained rooted in place, her eyes never leaving the scene outside. She watched as Kai animatedly told a story, arms flying as usual. Camlo smiled at him indulgently, and Eron, as quiet as ever, sat beside them, a small but genuine smile lifting his lips.
"How's the case going?" Acacia asked at last.
"It's moving forward," Ivy said, glancing over from where she was checking the temperature of the roast chicken. "Dr. Pace is keeping the police informed about Eron's progress, only what's necessary. The police aren't thrilled that they can't question Acheron directly, but for now, they've agreed to the arrangement."
"That's impressive," said a soft voice behind her. Lena entered the kitchen and wrapped an arm around Acacia's waist, pressing a hand to her Alpha's back. "How did you manage to pull that off?"
"We hired a lawyer," Ivy explained. "From the Sauveterre Law Firm. Their work has been... exceptional. I genuinely didn't expect this level of protection."
"He's the one who suggested we hold off on questioning until Eron could handle cross-examination," Oaklen added from the stove, where he was busy frying a spread of side dishes. "It wasn't easy, but it's held so far."
"I can't believe the police went for that," Lena said, brows raised.
"Neither can I," Oaklen admitted. "They've been trying to poke holes in it, of course, but Eamon's paperwork is airtight."
"What did you say his name was?" Acacia asked, brows furrowing slightly.
"I don't think I mentioned it before," Ivy replied, turning to face them. "His name is Eamon Sauveterre."
"Well, speak of the devil," Kai chimed in, walking into the kitchen carrying two empty mugs. "Who's talking about Eamon the Great?"
Ivy blinked, surprised. "Wait — you know him?"
"We went to high school with him," Acacia said, smirking. "He was basically a legend back then."
"A real Prince," Kai added with a grin.
"Prince ?" Ivy echoed, now visibly intrigued.
Kai nodded. "He had two main nicknames: 'Eamon the Great' and 'The Prince.' Mostly because he was annoyingly perfect at everything. He had top marks, varsity sports, debate champion, probably invented cold fusion in the science lab when no one was looking."
"Plus," Acacia continued, grinning at the memory, "he was stupidly good-looking and somehow managed to stay humble about it. Naturally, a bunch of conspiracy theories cropped up about him being genetically engineered."
"Yeah," Kai snorted. "People said his mom, who worked in pharma at the time, modified his genes in the womb." Both of them burst into laughter, the sound infectious, echoing through the kitchen.
Ivy shook her head, smiling despite herself. "I can't believe I hired a school legend."
"He's still a legend," Kai replied. "But a useful one this time."
It was just then that Acacia and Lena's twins burst into the kitchen.