Eamon slowed his car to a stop before the towering iron gates of Kingsmere, a high-end private community that he had grown up in. Even after years away, the sight still carried weight.
Kingsmere lay nestled at the foot of King's Summit, where the old stone castle still crowned the mountain like a relic of conquest. Once a fortress of monarchy, it had long since been converted into a museum of fine arts and rare collections. The estates below the summit had not diminished with time; instead it had evolved. What had once been land granted to noble houses was now home to political dynasties, industrial magnates, and legal empires. Influence flowed through Kingsmere like blood in veins.
Two security guards stepped from the gatehouse the moment his headlights cut across the sensors. They were broad-shouldered, disciplined, and heavily equipped with bulletproof vests fitted beneath tailored uniforms, firearms concealed but unmistakable in the way they carried themselves. One approached the driver's side while the other circled the vehicle with practised precision, scanning mirrors, undercarriage, and tinted glass.
Anywhere else, the display might have seemed excessive, but in Kingsmere, it was protocol. It was known for housing politicians, government officials, corporate heads and families who held far too much influence. Safety and protection are just as important as privacy.
"Mr Sauveterre. Welcome home." The guard's voice was respectful but neutral, with no further familiarity or softness.
Eamon inclined his head in acknowledgement.
The gates groaned open slowly, deliberately, as if reminding anyone watching that entry could only be granted. Eamon drove through.
Even inside the community, the distance to his family's estate took several minutes. The roads curved in deliberate seclusion, properties separated by manicured woodland and artfully placed elevation changes designed to shield and produce privacy.
At last, another set of iron gates rose ahead; it was taller, more private and engraved subtly with the Sauveterre crest. Eamon slowed to a crawl. The recognition system scanned his vehicle, and the gates parted without hesitation. The driveway beyond was long and winding, bordered by perfectly pruned hedges, sculpted shrubs, and towering trees whose branches intertwined overhead like a canopy. Discreet ground lighting illuminated the path in warm gold, guiding him forward.
At the end of the drive stood the Sauveterre estate.
Four levels of ultra-modern architecture layered into the hillside, terraces placed at almost every floor, glass railings surrounding each edge, that's allowed for it to reflect the city skyline in fractured ribbons of light. Stone and warm timber clashed and blended across the façade, while floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped nearly every side of the structure.
The house did not hide. Lighting from within, casting clean geometric lines against the night. From here, the skyline stretched uninterrupted, and the entire city lay out.
Eamon parked before the expansive glass entryway and cut the engine. For a moment, he sat there, hands still on the steering wheel.
He was finally home.
Before he could even step fully from the car, the front door swung open.
Edmun emerged without any hesitation or attempts for composure. His Omega mother crossed the stone steps quickly and wrapped Eamon in a tight embrace before he could even brace for it. Edmun squeezed him with the kind of affection that ignored everything around them.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the way," he murmured against Eamon's shoulder, smiling widely when he finally stepped back just enough to look at him properly, eyes sweeping from head to toe in quiet assessment.
Edmun stood a little above Eamon's shoulder, compact but steady. His face was small and heart-shaped, softened by almond eyes the same golden-brown shade as Eamon's own. Age had traced only the faintest lines at their corners. Even nearing fifty, Edmun carried himself with a youthful energy that felt untouched by time.
He wore an oversized knit sweater that slipped slightly at one shoulder and loose, light trousers that brushed against the stone steps. His black hair, thick and naturally wavy, fell just past his ears, which he kept unstyled and simple.
Then Eamon's gaze dropped to the scar stretched across Edmun's neck. It had faded over the years; the angry red had long since softened into a pale, uneven line. Nothing about it looked gentle. The skin remained jagged and slightly raised. Time had dulled the colour but not the meaning. Eamon remembered the night too clearly — the call, the blood, the sterile hospital corridor soaked in Alessia's feral pheromones as she stood guard outside surgery like a predator denied its kill.
The blade had been meant to end him. Instead, it only left a reminder.
Eamon didn't think before he moved. He pulled his mother into another embrace, this time tighter, lowering his head instinctively until their temples brushed.
His Omega mother's pheromones wrapped around him the way they always had, grounding and protective. It was the same scent that had calmed him after nightmares as a child and the same scent that lingered in the kitchen late at night while homework spread across the table.
Some comforts never changed.
Edmun laughed softly, patting his eldest son's back. "Hope the drive wasn't long."
"It was fine," Eamon replied, though his voice carried more weight than the words suggested.
He stepped back from the embrace and climbed the remaining steps toward the entrance. Edmun followed easily beside him.
"Guess who's home?" Edmun asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.
"Mmm. Jasper."
With a dramatic sigh. "Why do I even let you guess?" Edmun muttered, rolling his eyes as they stepped inside.
The foyer opened into a vast, light-filled expanse. Contemporary elegance defined the interior, stone feature walls rising in clean lines, warm wood accents softening the edges, and sweeping glass panels that blurred the boundary between the indoors and the glittering skyline beyond.
It was unmistakably Edmun's taste. Refined and polished without sacrificing any warmth.
Alessia had, at least in theory, attempted to involve herself in the design process. In practice, her only lasting contribution had been approving the invoices. After several firm and entirely overruled suggestions.
Growing up, the house had been the envy of every friend Eamon had ever brought home. Immaculate furniture and Art pieces that cost more than most people's annual salaries, but for Eamon, it had never been about the architecture.
It had been about the contrast of his father's discipline and his mother's warmth. Structure versus soft laughter and quiet understanding.
Where one enforced order, the other offered sanctuary.
It might have looked like a hard upbringing from the outside, but in their own precise way, his parents had balanced each other so completely that Eamon had never lacked either love or direction.
"Dinner's ready," Edmun said, already turning toward the dining area. "Go freshen up. I'll set everything out."
Eamon nodded and moved toward the nearest guest bathroom.
He washed his hands, then splashed cool water over his face. The reflection staring back at him looked composed, his tie still perfectly knotted, cuffs secured with polished links.
He loosened the tie slowly, unfastened the cufflinks and rolled his shoulders.
At work, his father's dress code was non-negotiable, but at home, it's optional.
Looking at the mirror reflection one last time, Eamon let out a shaky breath.
When Eamon entered the dining room, he immediately noticed that Edmun had brought out the good set of thin-stemmed crystal glasses that caught the light like liquid fire, the heavy porcelain plates rimmed in understated gold. It wasn't a formal dinner, but it wasn't a casual one either.
On his plate rested a perfectly seared steak, juices glistening beneath the warm glow of the chandelier. The potatoes were soft and whipped smooth, flecked with herbs. Vibrant vegetables are neatly arranged and carry the faint scent of butter and garlic.
Edmun cooks just like he loves, attentively and without half measures.
Jasper, Eamon's younger brother, was already seated. He leaned back in his chair, a grey knitted beanie covering most of his blonde hair, but stray strands curled around its edges. His bright blue eyes, the same shade as their fathers' but not as sharp, tracked Eamon's entrance with open curiosity.
They didn't have a bad relationship; they simply had a different upbringing. Eamon grew up with more of his father's strictness and his brother more of his mother's care. This had forged Eamon to be more like Alessia, precise and sharp, whereas Jasper has more of Edmun's warmth and occasional recklessness.
This has caused Jasper to often speak before thinking, leaving Eamon silent as he was still measuring his words before responding.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Alessia entered the room with her usual quiet authority. The tie that normally framed her throat was gone, the top two buttons of her tailored white shirt undone. Her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders, softening the sharp lines of her posture without diminishing her presence.
Even relaxed, she carried power like a second skin.
"Evening," she said simply, pulling out her chair and sitting with fluid precision.
A moment later, Edmun emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of wine balanced in his hands. He moved with easy familiarity, placing it at the centre of the table before opening it with practised grace. The soft pop of the cork punctuated the air.
He pulled out the chair beside Alessia and sat, but not before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek.
It was a subtle intimacy between two people who have been together for a long time.
"It's good to have all my Alphas home again," Edmun said brightly, his eyes sweeping between Alessia and his sons.
Alessia's hand slid briefly along his back in response before she turned her attention to Eamon.
"How are your cases progressing?"
No is no small talk or any delay. Just straight to the substance.
Edmun sighed under his breath but wisely chose not to intervene.
"Everything is on track," Eamon replied evenly, cutting into his steak with precise movements.
Alessia studied him over the rim of her glass, not just listening to his answer, but also assessing his posture, his tone and the slight tension in his shoulders. She didn't comment. Instead, she shifted the conversation toward the recent merger between two rival law firms.
The discussion sharpened instantly.
They started discussing potential client migration, market influence and potential political leverage that may affect the firm. In just a few minutes, they had already formed a strategic advantage.
Eamon engaged automatically, offering insights and calculating outcomes aloud. It was familiar territory, an intellectual sparring that felt more like training than just a normal conversation.
Across the table, Jasper and Edmun exchanged a quiet look; they had seen this before. Anytime these two Alphas are in discussion, the air is thick with dominance, but not necessarily aggression.
Eamon made an effort to remain present in the conversation, but his focus kept slipping, not from disinterest, but distraction.
His thoughts couldn't help but drift to the thread of messages exchanged over the past few days. It was nothing remarkable, just fragments of ordinary life.
Complaint about hospital food.
Dry remark about court transcripts.
Photos of rain against a window.
On their own, each message had been insignificant, but together, they couldn't help feel... intimate.
Acheron did not overshare. He offered small pieces of his life, a few sarcastic comments here and there. Through this, Eamon is able to see glimpses into his habits and his humour.
To Eamon's surprise, he found himself rereading them.
The familiar weight of legal strategy faded into background noise.
Until his phone chimed.
The sound cut cleanly through the conversation. Eamon slipped his phone from his pocket, already knowing who it would be.
Acheron.
His name on the screen felt strangely intimate.
Without hesitation, Eamon opened the message.
[Achie:]
[Meet my son !]
Beneath the message was a photo of a small black kitten that filled the frame, sprawled awkwardly across what looked like a blanket far too big for him. His fur was glossy and soft-looking, dark as ink, except for one back leg, which was entirely white, as if dipped in milk.
The camera had caught him mid-expression, with a set of beautiful and impossibly blue eyes. A tiny pink tongue peeking between needle-sharp baby fangs as though he had been interrupted mid-meow. One paw stretched toward the lens, claws barely visible.
His thumb moved before he consciously thought to respond.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[He's cute. What's his name ?]
The reply came almost instantly.
[Achie:]
[Nimbus.]
Eamon's head remained lowered, but his expression changed in a way that was impossible to miss. The tension that had lingered in his jaw since he'd entered the house eased. The sharpness in his eyes softened. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, completely unguarded and almost boyish.
Across the table, Jasper blinked, and Edmun paused mid-sip. Alessia didn't look away from her plate, but she still noticed.
Eamon's fingers moved again.
[Achie:]
[Are you still having dinner?]
Eamon glanced at the table before replying.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[Unfortunately.]
There was a brief pause before a new message appeared.
[Achie:]
[Family interrogation ?]
The corner of Eamon's mouth couldn't help but twitch.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[Cross-examination would be more accurate.]
Three dots appeared, then disappeared after a few seconds, and then reappeared again.
[Achie:]
[Should I be worried ?]
It was an odd question.
Eamon read it twice before answering.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[About ?]
[Achie:]
[Being discussed.]
Eamon leaned back slightly in his chair.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[You were not on the agenda.]
He hesitated, then added.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[Officially.]
The reply came almost immediately.
[Achie:]
[That sounds worse.]
Eamon exhaled softly.
[Mr Sauveterre:]
[It isn't.]
[Achie:]
[Okay.]
Just that, there was no added emoji or elaboration, but Eamon's chest still filled with warmth.
Eamon stared at the screen a second longer than necessary before placing his phone face down beside his plate. When he finally looked up, he was met with three very different expressions.
Jasper is openly curious.
Edmun is delighted and mildly suspicious.
Alessia is analytical.
"What?" Eamon asked, though he knew exactly what they had seen.
"Someone special?" Edmun asked lightly, though the glint in his eyes suggested the question was anything but casual.
Eamon hesitated. Eamon didn't know how to answer; in fact, he didn't want to say no, but also had no right to say yes either.
Before he could answer, Alessia spoke.
"Is it Mr Desrosiers?" One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted, not accusatory or surprised. Simply just observing. Eamon's head turned toward his father before he could stop himself. Surprise flickered across his face briefly.
"…Yes."
Across the table, Jasper straightened instantly, chair scraping faintly against the floor. His bright blue eyes sharpened with interest, and a low, incredulous laugh slipped out.
"Wait, is this the Acheron guy?"
Eamon didn't answer, nor did he need to. Jasper's grin widened, and he leaned back again, slicing into his steak with exaggerated leisure, though his attention never left his brother's face.
"I heard something interesting about him at university," Jasper said casually, though the excitement in his voice betrayed him. To his expectation, Eamon's head snapped in his direction. Although his parents didn't need visible reactions, he knew his family well, and he knew they were interested.
Jasper lifted a bite to his mouth and chewed slowly, deliberately, stretching the silence until it felt almost theatrical.
"Apparently," he continued, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, "Desrosiers' golden boy is into some pretty hardcore BDSM."
He took a sip of wine.
"Not entry-level stuff, from what I've heard."
The room grew silent, Jasper noticed in the stillness, the shift in Eamon's scent and the subtle tightening in his brother's posture. The fork in Eamon's hand stopped mid-air, his knuckles whitened around the handle.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"Source." Alessia's voice cut through the room like a blade drawn cleanly from its sheath.
Jasper's amusement faltered. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance.
"Just university chatter. A senior who went to Acheron's high school said he's… very into submission."
The word hung in the air longer than it should have.
Eamon's jaw flexed. He hated hearing Acheron's name in strangers' mouths, but hated far more when it was paired with speculation. But beneath the irritation was something sharper and calculating. University gossip didn't just spread like this without fuel, especially when the target is someone already so vulnerable.
Blackwell.
It has to be.
This felt far too deliberate.
He set his fork down carefully, almost too carefully and dropped his napkin onto his plate.
"That's disgusting," he said, voice even but edged with steel.
Jasper blinked.
He had seen Eamon irritated before, but he had not seen this before.
"It's not a big deal," Jasper rushed, sensing too late that he'd stepped into deeper waters. "Most people don't even believe it. I mean — I don't. I just thought—"
He had meant to only tease, not to provoke.
"You thought it was entertaining?" Alessia asked calmly.
Jasper swallowed. Edmun finally looked up, his warm expression dimmed by concern. His gaze shifted between his sons, reading their pheromones and postures.
Eamon's shoulders were rigid now. Not angry, not outwardly at least.
For the first time, Jasper understood. This wasn't just gossip, but something far more personal.
Eamon leaned back in his chair, the muscles in his jaw tight enough to ache. A deep crease settled between his brows, shadowing his expression. Across from him, Edmun watched the shift unfold; first in his eldest son's posture, then in Jasper's guilty silence.
He knew that look; Eamon did not bristle without reason.
Jasper, for his part, suddenly seemed much younger than twenty-two, shoulders shrinking inward, eyes dropping to his plate as if the food might shield him from consequence. Edmun inhaled slowly; he needed to find a way to diffuse this and to soften the air before it hardened further.
He opened his mouth to speak—
A chime cut through the room; it came from his phone.