Nia, the older by four minutes, held tightly to her brother Alen's hand in one fist and his beloved stuffed bear in the other. Alen, as always, clung to his small, fluffy crocheted blanket, the edge of it dragging softly behind him. His pacifier was firmly in place; he'd been particularly attached to it lately.
The doctor had said both twins would eventually differentiate into Alphas, yet Nia already acted like Alen's personal bodyguard.
"Mom, can we go paint with Uncle Achie?" Nia beamed, wrapping herself around Lena's legs.
Acheron had gifted them a children's art set for their second birthday, and since then, he'd patiently taught them simple painting and drawing techniques. Ever since, the twins had driven their parents crazy, constantly begging to visit Uncle Eron again.
Alen waddled over, quiet as always. He looked up at Acacia, his big eyes wide and pleading. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
Acacia nearly caved on the spot. She always did when it came to Alen's puppy-dog eyes, but today, she hesitated. She wanted them to have fun, but she didn't want to overwhelm Acheron.
"Let me ask your Uncle Achie first, okay?"
"Yay!" Nia squealed.
Lena held them back gently while Acacia slipped outside without her two energetic shadows in tow.
By this time, Acheron had already finished cleaning up. He had gifted the rose-and-vase painting to Kai and Camlo, a quiet but still meaningful gesture.
"Wassup, Erie," Acacia greeted with a grin, walking into the garden.
"Thorny," Acheron replied with a smirk, pulling her into a warm hug.
It had been ages since they'd seen each other in person, but the familiarity settled between them instantly.
"How've you been?" she asked.
"So-so," Acheron replied, his voice low but honest.
She didn't press. Their brief exchange said enough.
"The twins want to paint with you again."
"I'd love to." He was already unpacking the acrylic tubes again. "I'll fetch some sheets of paper. Can you grab their table and chairs from the storage room?"
"On it."
As Acacia walked through the house, she passed the wall covered in family photos; snapshots of laughter, milestones and awkward teenage years. She passed her old bedroom, then Ivo's room, which he still used when he came home during university breaks and occasionally on weekends. Finally, she paused in front of Eron's closed door.
She opened it slowly.
She remembered the blue-painted walls, the soft white curtains, the frilly bedspread her mom had insisted on. The walls were still blue, but everything else had undergone a change. The curtains were now heavy and black. The bedding was grey, with two large, overstuffed pillows. A thick white rug covered the hardwood floor.
Art supplies filled every available surface, but the space was still tidy in its own way; cluttered but not chaotic. Controlled and organised.
It was a quiet reflection of the boy who lived here.
She didn't linger long. She quickly retrieved the twins' table and chairs and carried them out into the garden, placing them under the large tree where sunlight filtered gently through the branches.
Nia and Alen were practically vibrating with excitement when they arrived, practically running circles around each other. Acheron found an old picnic blanket and began squeezing colourful acrylics onto paper plates.
"What are you up to?" Acacia asked, amused.
"I thought we could do some finger painting."
"That's a great idea," Camlo said, approaching with a wide smile and rolling up his sleeves. He'd clearly decided to join in.
The twins plopped down on their miniature chairs, hands diving straight into the paint before smearing bold streaks across the paper. Ivy and Oaklen came out to take pictures, already talking about updating the photo frames around the house.
Before long, paint was everywhere on the tables, on faces, even in hair. Laughter filled the air like sunlight.
Eventually, Kai and Acacia called from the patio, announcing that lunch was ready.
Lena and Camlo scooped up a toddler each and rushed inside before the house became a canvas, too. After a quick bath, full of squeals and splashes, the twins joined everyone at the dinner table. Wearing matching pyjamas, their hair damp and smelling of lavender soap. Alen is still holding his blanket, and Nia is bouncing her legs under the table.
The long wooden table was packed with food, hearty and comforting, and surrounded by the soft buzz of familial chatter. Oaklen finally joined everyone, wiping his hands on a towel and accepting a well-earned plate from Ivy.
Acheron filled his plate slowly. He helped himself to a few pieces of grilled chicken and some of his father's signature side dishes: roasted vegetables, rice with herbs, and a buttery, flaky tart.
His appetite had been all but non-existent these last few weeks, but today... Today was different. The food smelled good, and there was a sense of safety in familiarity.
More importantly, he felt okay… maybe even good.
Acheron took small, slow bites of food. His stomach remained cautious, but he was determined to enjoy it. Around him, voices rose and fell in a familiar rhythm. Camlo was telling Lena about a new pastry recipe involving caramelised pears and rosemary. Kai and Acacia were comparing hospital stories with theatrical flair, occasionally making their spouses laugh or groan.
"We should do this more often," Acacia said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Just… exist together. No schedules. No rushing around."
"I agree," Ivy said, her voice gentle but earnest. "We've all been spread so thin. But today felt… necessary."
"It did," Camlo added, sipping his tea. "Like the world paused for a bit."
Oaklen glanced around the table. "We need more of that. Not just for Eron, but for all of us."
At the mention of his name, all eyes subtly flicked to Acheron, but no one pressed. He didn't flinch ... not this time.
Instead, he said quietly, "It was nice. I liked today."
There was a pause, soft and full of something like gratitude, and then the conversation resumed, still as light as before.
"Alen," Acacia said with warning in her tone, "stop using your carrot sticks as swords."
"But I'm fighting the evil broccoli!" Alen declared, dramatically stabbing the green florets on his plate.
"Broccoli is good for you," Lena chimed in, brushing a smear of mashed potatoes from Nia's cheek with a napkin.
"Broccoli is suspicious," Alen countered, eyes narrowed as he jabbed it again.
The adults all burst into laughter. Lena tried to hold hers back while trying to convince Alen to eat the said vegetables.
Nia, seated beside Camlo, turned to him with wide, curious eyes.
"Uncle Camie," she asked sweetly, "if broccoli is suspicious, does that mean the baby in your tummy can't eat it either?"
Camlo choked on his drink. Somehow, the toddler had found out.
Every adult at the table froze.
Acheron stared at his sister's daughter while coughing loudly into his sleeve, failing miserably to hide a snort.
Kai closed his eyes. "We were going to tell you all after dessert…"
"Oh my goodness," Acacia gasped. "You're pregnant ?"
Camlo covered his red face with both hands.
"Congratulations!" Ivy cried, immediately beaming as she rose from her seat to squeeze Camlo's shoulders.
Oaklen stood too, pulling Kai into a proud, albeit slightly teary, father hug. "You're going to be a dad."
Kai patted his back, laughing.
Alen slapped both hands to his face. "YOU'RE HAVING A BABY?!"
"You're going to be cousins!" Acacia told the twins excitedly.
Nia let out a high-pitched squeal. "Can I help name it?! What if it's a girl and we call her Rainbow Sparkle Rose?!"
Acheron snorted into his cup.
"Absolutely not," Kai muttered.
"Why not?" Acacia asked. "She sounds like a warrior princess. I vote Rainbow Sparkle Rose, too."
"I'm naming it," Camlo said, holding up a firm finger. "No vegetables, sparkles, or magical horses involved." Lightly glaring at Acacia, who only laughed in return.
"Oh, come on," Lena teased. "You're no fun."
Alen tugged on Camlo's sleeve. "Uncle Camie, if the baby's in your belly now, can it hear us?"
"Probably not yet," Camlo said with a gentle smile, "but soon."
"Then tell them I'm going to teach them how to draw dinosaurs," Alen said solemnly.
"And I'll teach it how to do a cartwheel!" Nia added, attempting to do one next to her chair and nearly knocking over the salad bowl.
"Sit down, Cirque du Soleil," Acacia laughed, catching her daughter mid-roll.
The whole table erupted in giggles.
Through the noise, Camlo glanced sideways at Acheron, who still had bits of paint on his wrists and a bit of blue on his temple, and saw his quiet smile as he watched the chaos unfold.
Camlo felt his heart lift.
This family. This loud, loving, occasionally ridiculous family had been his safe place from the very beginning. And today, Acheron, who had gone so long being quiet and curled inward, was finally letting some of that light touch him again.
The front door swung open with a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable clatter of sneakers being kicked off and landing nowhere near the shoe rack.
"Someone's home," Kai muttered, raising an eyebrow just as Ivo's voice rang through the house.
"Don't yell at me, I brought dessert!" he shouted from the hallway.
Acacia, without looking up, called out, "Is it edible this time?"
"Excuse you, it's from an actual bakery. I spent money, Acie."
Ivo finally appeared at the kitchen entrance with wind-tousled hair, one earring missing, hoodie halfway zipped, and holding a suspiciously dented paper box.
Behind him, his spicy pheromones mixed with the smell of street food and just a hint of alcohol, not enough to raise alarms but enough to make Oaklen narrow his eyes in a 'father knows everything' way.
"You're late," Ivy said, pointing at the clock with a spatula.
"And yet somehow, still fabulous," Ivo replied, ducking under her arm to kiss her cheek quickly and then stealing a piece of roasted potato off her plate. "What'd I miss?"
"Camie has a baby," Alen blurted out helpfully between mouthfuls.
Ivo blinked, processing. "Wait, what? Camlo's pregnant? I'm gone for one afternoon, and suddenly I'm going to be an uncle again?! Is there a newsletter I'm not subscribed to?"
"You'd ignore the newsletter anyway," Kai said, already holding out a chair.
Ivo dramatically flopped into the seat next to Eron, slinging an arm over the back of his chair. "Congratulations, Camie! I always knew you were baking something more impressive than croissants."
Camlo, ever patient, smiled. "Thanks, Ivo. We waited until the right moment to tell everyone."
"And that moment just happened to be when I was out heroically supporting the local nightlife with my friends?"
"You were at a gaming café eating loaded fries," Eron deadpanned, not even looking up.
"You wound me, baby bro."
"Don't call me that."
"See? No gratitude," Ivo sighed dramatically, turning to Alen and Nia, "You two are the only ones who truly appreciate me, right?"
Both twins shouted something incoherent but enthusiastic, mostly because they'd spotted the mystery box Ivo brought.
"Oh no," Ivy warned. "Do not let them eat anything until I know what that is."
Ivo smirked. "Relax, Mother of Doom. It's a dozen cream puffs. Lactose-free. I made sure, because someone", he glanced at Camlo, "acts like I'm trying to assassinate him every time dairy is involved."
Camlo stuck out his tongue at him.
Just like that, Ivo's whirlwind energy was folded into the fabric of the evening. A mix of chaos and laughter, sarcasm and genuine warmth, the kind that only a close-knit family can balance without tipping over.
Outside, dusk turned into night, and fairy lights blinked on over the garden like fireflies. The younger kids drifted to sleep in laps, the tea was refilled, and someone played soft music from an old speaker that had survived three family moves and one kitchen fire.
***
The fire crackled softly in the sprawling hearth of the Blackwell estate's private study. Oil paintings loomed on the walls, all depicting ancestral Alphas staring down with the pride of an untouchable legacy. Thick velvet curtains were drawn tight, muting the hum of the outside world. The room smelled of aged scotch and cigar smoke, with a sharp undercurrent of fear masked as control.
At the head of the long, polished table sat Thaddeus Blackwell, patriarch and CEO of the Blackwell Holdings Group. Also, Hadeon Blackwell's Grandfather. A silver-templed Alpha with sharp, calculating eyes. His wife, Marianne, a Beta with steel in her posture, perched at his right. Their personal legal advisor, Mr. Langford, sat with an open binder thick with documents. Another man stood near the window, checking something on a secured tablet, the logistics coordinator, not part of the family, but still trusted.
Thaddeus finally broke the silence.
"How far along are we with getting Hadeon out?"
The man by the window looked up. "The private charter is ready. Papers are being finalised for a quiet transfer under a corporate scholarship program. The country in question doesn't have an extradition treaty."
"Good," Thaddeus muttered. "We'll tell the press he's entering a rehabilitation institute abroad. Emotional instability, therapy sabbatical. Let them chew on that."
Marianne took a sip of her wine, her voice ice-cold.
"He's not built for prison. If that Sauveterre boy pushes through with this case—"
"He will," Langford interrupted. "Eamon Sauveterre's record is clean. Obsessively clean. He takes only what he thinks he can win. He smells blood."
Thaddeus slammed his fist onto the table, but it was a quiet, restrained slam. "Then bleed him dry. I want every skeleton in his closet. Talk to the media assets. If you can't find a scandal, create one."
Langford nodded, making notes.
"And the Omega?" Marianne asked, a note of disdain in her voice.
"Acheron Desrosiers," Langford replied. "Seventeen at the time of the incident. Raped in early autumn. Medical records confirm the collar had been cut off, but he was not marked."
"So he wasn't claimed," Thaddeus said thoughtfully. "Unfortunate, it would have been easier to hide all this if they were bound."
Langford could only nod and finish his report. "He's in a fragile state. He has attended several therapy appointments; however, we have been unable to obtain any notes on the sessions. Dr. Pace and the Desrosiers' parents are all cooperating with Sauveterres. Also, Mrs Desrosiers is…relentless."
"Can we buy her?"
"No," Langford said. "Ivy Desrosiers has money of her own and a grudge the size of a mountain. Former prosecutor before she became a housewife. She's not easily shaken."
"Then break her son," Thaddeus snapped. "Legally, for now, and make sure it's untraceable."
He turned to Marianne.
"You know people in Omega health circles. Get something leaked. Maybe hint that he was unstable, had a history of obsession, maybe hormone imbalance, whatever will make the public second-guess him."
"What about the lawyer?" she asked.
Langford smirked. "We're looking into Eamon's personal relationships. He has a spotless record. But his mother, Edmund Sauveterre, an Omega, used to work in pharmaceuticals. There are some early patent disputes… we're digging."
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. "I want him pressured. Every inch he moves forward, we move to block him. File motions, call in favours with the prosecution office. If the case moves to court, we delay until Hadeon is long gone."
There was a moment of silence.
"If all else fails?" Marianne asked.
Thaddeus looked into the fire. "Then we take it underground. Permanently."
The quiet weight of those words hung in the room like thick smoke.
"Make no mistake," he added. "I don't care what we have to burn. No promiscuous Omega is taking down this family."