Edmun rarely checked messages during dinner. In this house, meals were deliberately protected spaces. But tonight the atmosphere was already fractured. Alessia is the only one currently still able to eat.
With a quiet, reluctant exhale, Edmun reached for his phone and unlocked the screen. He had every intention of glancing at the notification and setting it aside, but instead, he opened the message. He noticed that the profile picture was blank, and he didn't recognise the name. There were no mutual contacts or any previous threads.
There was just a single, unopened message sitting at the top. A faint crease formed between Edmun's brows.
He tapped it open.
There was only one sentence, which was really short but deliberate. It was vague and had no extra explanations, but it felt threatening enough not to just ignore outright.
Edmun's posture gradually started to change. First, his shoulders began stiffening, then his fingers tightened slightly around his device. Alessia, sitting right next to him, noticed immediately, causing her utensils to pause mid-air.
"Edmun?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, the colour draining from his expression as understanding settled in.
"What is it ?"
Alessia put her full attention on her Omega. Without conscious effort or perhaps without caring to restrain it, her pheromones unfurled into the room in a slow, controlled wave. It spread throughout the dining room like a low, invisible current. Edmun's breath, which was shallow now, deepened. His tight and hunched shoulders eased by a few degrees, and lastly, his fingers loosened around his phone.
Alessia Sauveterre is a dominant Alpha, and her pheromones carry weight. If Jasper and Eamon had not been her blood or accustomed to her scent, the sudden release would have been suffocating. Instead, they merely felt the pressure of it.
Edmun finally felt relief. He instinctively leaned closer to Alessia's presence. His knee brushes hers beneath the table. Without a word, he turned the phone toward her.
The message sat there, stark against the screen.
[Anonymous: Get your son to drop the case, or it gets worse.]
Alessia read it once, then once more. Her expression hardened slightly, and she lifted her gaze to Eamon and repeated the message out loud. She made sure to enunciate each word separately, letting each one settle into the room. Before any of them could respond, Edmun's phone chimed again. Quickly followed by Eamon's, then a split second later Alessia's and finally Jasper's. Four devices are lighting up in near synchrony.
Eamon reached for his phone first; headlines are already starting to climb online. The top three searches sat at the head of every platform, each one worse than the next.
'Omega Bond Tampering'
'Did Edmun Sauveterre Illegally Dissolve a Sacred Mark ?'
'Consent Questioned in Unauthorised Bond Removal.'
Each one had thousands of reposts, and the comments keep multiplying by the second. Speculation is spreading like oil on water.
Jasper stared at his screen, colour draining from his face.
Edmun's fingers tightened again despite the steadying scent surrounding him.
Eamon tapped the third headline, and the article opened instantly.
The article opened with a pristine photograph of Edmun Sauveterre. He stood upright, posture elegant and assured. He wore the faintest, carefully unguarded smile, which softened his features. Laboratory glass framed him on either side. He looked every inch the accomplished scientist, both calm and principled.
Then the tone shifted.
The warmth of the image gave way to colder language. The admiration dissolved into scrutiny. Where the photograph suggested integrity, the paragraphs that followed began to question it.
Dr Edmun Sauveterre, a renowned pharmaceutical scientist specialising in Alpha and Omega pheromone research, rose to prominence following what many called a "medical revolution." Dr Sauveterre developed a compound capable of digesting and neutralising Alpha pheromones embedded within a marked Omega's system, effectively dissolving the bond. Supporters hailed the discovery as liberation. A second chance for forcibly marked Omegas. The birth of what is now known as the Omega Freedom Movement, a campaign demanding public access to bond-neutralisation procedures and the eventual abolishment of mandatory Omega collars.
As an Omega myself, I once considered Dr Sauveterre a hero. Until recently, that is. A recently leaked recording suggests Dr Sauveterre may not be the saviour he portrays himself to be. The audio file appears to show him proceeding with the bond-neutralisation procedure despite clear hesitation and distress from the Omega involved. A bond that was legally recognised and registered.
Was this liberation… or interference?
Was this medical necessity… or ideology?
Critics are beginning to question whether Dr Sauveterre's work represents freedom for Omegas or a dangerous anti-Alpha agenda disguised as reform.
The next paragraph struck harder.
The timing of these revelations raises serious questions. Edmun Sauveterre's son, Eamon Sauveterre of Sauveterre Law, is currently representing an Omega who has accused the Blackwell family's only Alpha heir of abuse. Is this truly a case of misconduct?
Or are we beginning to see a pattern — one in which powerful parents refuse to accept their Omega child's lawful marking?
The implication was clear; the article continued speculating, weaving half-truths with loaded language, constructing doubt where there had once been clarity. At the bottom, embedded beneath the final paragraph, was the referenced audio clip.
Eamon's finger hovered over it, but Edmun was faster.
The sound crackled through the dining room speakers.
The audio was of low quality; it has obviously been compressed a few times. The recording began mid-breath; it starts abruptly with the sound of raw and heartbreaking sobbing. Then a small voice, shaking, spoke.
"I—I don't want to go through with this—"
Cut.
Silence followed; there was nothing more, nothing after and nothing before.
Nothing more was needed as the damage was already done.
Edmun made a strangled sound, his hand flew to his neck, fingers pressing against the jagged scar that marked the day he had nearly died.
"That's not the full clip," he gasped. "They cut it. They cut it short."
His breathing became uneven.
"They removed the rest."
Tears spilt freely now.
"He consented," Edmun whispered, voice breaking. "He consented after we explained. He said he'd die if we didn't. He signed. He signed—"
Alessia was already moving. She stood and pulled Edmun into her chest, one arm firm around his shoulders, the other cradling the back of his head. She lowered her face to his hair and pressed a slow, grounding kiss to his temple.
Her pheromones intensified, not wild or uncontrolled but still stronger than before. She murmured something low into his ear, too quiet for Jasper and Eamon to hear, but whatever she said worked. Edmun's breathing steadied gradually, though soft hiccups still escaped him.
Across the table, Jasper sat frozen, horror replacing the earlier amusement.
Eamon hadn't moved, nor had he spoken. His eyes were still on the screen. Just as the saying goes, all bad things come in threes. Another article surged to the top of the trending column.
This time, it carried a different name.
Acheron Desrosiers.
The headline loaded in bold.
'The Boy Who Cried Wolf'
Eamon's fingers moved quicker than expected. He opened it. The article was shorter but also far more cruel.
Sources close to the situation have stated there is footage allegedly captured on the evening in question. In the recording, Acheron Desrosiers appears distressed, but not restrained. He is seen entering the private room voluntarily and engaging in what observers describe as an emotionally charged exchange.
More notably, the footage suggests a prior familiarity between the parties. Tone, proximity, and language indicate a dynamic that some experts describe as consistent with consensual dominance-submission relationships. Questions have also emerged regarding Mr Desrosiers' history of substance dependency. Medical records confirm previous treatment for drug-related issues. In a leaked clip attached to the bottom of the article, Mr Desrosiers can allegedly be heard requesting controlled substances.
While supporters frame this as desperation, critics argue it complicates the narrative. Was this a case of coercion or a private encounter between consenting adults blurred by addiction and regret?
The Blackwell family has declined to comment directly but maintains confidence that the full context will exonerate their son.
At the bottom is a video clip.
Eamon clicked it before he could stop himself.
The screen flickered.
Whatever composure he had left—
Fractured.
The video opened in darkness, followed by a rustle that could be faintly heard, and then a sharp intake of breath.
The camera shifted and snapped into focus on a small figure suspended from the ceiling by bound wrists. Silver hair hung wet and dishevelled over his face, clinging to his pale skin, slick with sweat. His shoulders shook violently, his thin frame trembling from exhaustion rather than the cold. The room was dim, lit by a single overhead bulb that cast harsh shadows across bruised flesh. Soft, broken sobs filled the speakers.
Off camera, a voice spoke. "Look up."
The boy froze, for half a second, and the shaking stopped. Suddenly and far too quickly, almost as if trained, he lifts his head. Phoenix eyes met the lens; even swollen and rimmed red, they were unmistakably beautiful. Bright emerald green and completely ruined by fear.
"What do you want?" the voice demanded.
Acheron's hands moved instinctively, palms pressing together despite being bound. The motion was desperate and pleading. His arms shook so badly the camera trembled slightly while trying to keep him centred in frame. Dark bruises bloomed across his wrists and forearms, fresh ones layered over older, yellowed ones.
"Baby, please," Acheron whispered. His voice was hoarse and cracked raw.
"Say it." The voice shifted into a softer, almost coaxing tone.
Acheron swallowed visibly.
"Please… can I have the drugs?" His words fractured as tears streamed freely down his face. "I—I'll do anything."
The phrase hung in the air.
"Anything," the unseen man repeated, not as a question.
Acheron's gaze flickered off camera and toward the left, as if looking at someone just out of view. His lower lip trembled. He nodded once.
Then again.
Each movement is smaller than the last. More tears soaked into the already drenched fabric of his shirt.
The man behind the camera laughed.
The video cut abruptly to black.
Silence swallowed the dining room; for several long seconds, no one breathed. Then Eamon's phone struck the polished wood of the table with a sharp crack.
"Fuck." The word tore from him, stripped of all composure.
His hands dragged through his hair, undoing the careful style, fingers pressing hard against his scalp as if grounding himself physically was the only way to keep from shattering something else.
Across the room, Edmun made a small, broken sound.
"That poor boy," he whispered.
His chest hitched again.
"I'm sorry. I can't—"
He stood too quickly, chair scraping against marble, and left the room without another word. His footsteps were hurried, uneven, retreating up the staircase toward the only space that had ever felt entirely safe.
Alessia watched his retreating figure. Her face did not crack, but something behind her eyes shifted.
Eamon lowered his hands slowly.
"I'll handle it." His voice was colder now.
Alessia turned to him.
"No."
The single syllable held weight.
"We will."
She stepped closer, her presence filling the space the way it always had.
"This was coordinated," she continued. "Your father. That boy. The timing and the narrative"
Her eyes sharpened. "This isn't just simple gossip, but a coordinated attack. It is a strategy."
Eamon's fists were still clenched at his sides. Slowly and deliberately, he forced them open.
"If you want to keep him safe," Alessia said quietly, "you do not fight this alone."
After a moment, Eamon nodded.
"Okay."
She studied him for another heartbeat, measuring his resolve, rage and vulnerability before giving a single nod in return.
Then she left, rushing upstairs. She found the master bedroom empty, but still she didn't hesitate. She moved straight past the bed and into the walk-in closet.
She found him there, curled on the floor in a pile of her tailored jackets and pressed suits. Surrounded himself with her scent. His shoulders were shaking, and his fingers pressed to the scar at his neck as if trying to hold it together.
For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway, but eventually she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
She didn't speak, she simply released her pheromones instead, slow at first but increasing the intensity at a steady pace.
She lowered herself to the floor and pulled Edmun gently onto her lap, wrapping both arms around him. His face pressed into her chest, fingers fisting into her shirt.
She kissed his temple.
Then, without thinking, her thumb brushed over the scar at his throat.
The memory struck like lightning: the hospital lights, the blood. The moment she had believed she was about to lose him.
If the knife cut had been slightly deeper.
She had nearly lost her Omega.
Nearly lost her family.
She had sworn, in that sterile hallway, under white fluorescent light, that it would never happen again, not to him and not to her children.
Her arms tightened around Edmun.
"Oh, shit." Jasper's voice was thin now, completely stripped of its earlier teasing edge. He stared at the dark screen of his phone on the table as if it might accuse him directly.
"I really thought it was just rumours… just stupid university gossip." He swallowed. "Now—"
The sentence collapsed under its own weight. He saw it now, how easily he and his friends had repeated it. Laughed about it or even embellished it. They passed it along because it was shocking, because it was entertaining, and it wasn't happening to them.
They hadn't realised they were feeding something.
Each whisper. Each raised eyebrow. Each speculative comment.
Became fuel for someone far more calculated who is fermenting and shaping it all into something sharp and deliberate.
"I didn't think…" Jasper tried again, but the words were stuck. Guilt crawled up his throat, hot and suffocating.
Across from him, Eamon looked at his younger brother.
He didn't yell, didn't lecture or defend.
The silence was far worse.
Eamon picked up his phone from the table and walked out of the dining room. He desperately needed fresh air.
Before fully realising if he had already started to dial Acheron's number.
The temperature hit his skin sharply, grounding him. He inhaled once, deeply, forcing oxygen into lungs that felt too tight.
Before he consciously decided to, his thumb had already pressed Acheron's name.
The call began ringing.
Across the city, in a dark room, the world was quiet and peaceful. A soft buzzing cut through the silence; the glow of a phone screen illuminated the edge of a nightstand.
On the bed, a small black-and-white kitten stirred first. Blue eyes blinked open slowly, pupils wide in the darkness. Nimbus lifted his head, ears twitching at the vibration. He stretched dramatically, back arching and tiny claws flexing before wobbling toward the source of the disturbance.
The phone continued to buzz.
Nimbus reached it.
He extended one tentative paw.
Tap.
The phone shifted closer to the edge.
He tried again.
Tap.
It tipped.
For a split second, it balanced precariously before tumbling off the nightstand. It bounced once against the carpeted floor and slid neatly beneath the bed frame, the screen still glowing faintly before dimming into darkness.
Nimbus blinked at the empty space.
Satisfied, he let out a small, squeaky yawn and turned around in a clumsy circle before climbing back into the warm hollow of Acheron's arms.
Acheron stirred slightly but didn't wake. Even in sleep, his arms instinctively tightened around the kitten. Nimbus nuzzled against his jaw, rubbing his small head beneath Acheron's chin before settling.
Their breathing synced. Slow, even and peaceful.
Acheron's face softened completely in his sleep.