The warehouse was dim, lit only by a lantern flickering near a stack of crates. Dust and the faint tang of rust clung to the air, mixing with the salt of the sea that drifted in through the cracks. Adriel stood with an almost unnerving composure, jacket folded over one crate, his tall frame outlined in shadow.
The door creaked. Eren slipped inside, arms full—pillow, sheet, a mosquito coil balanced precariously on top, repellent clutched in one hand. His scent entered first, faintly sweet and unguarded, curling against Adriel's sharper Alpha musk that saturated the space.
Roen, Adriel's assistant, rose immediately when he saw the bundle. The Beta's steady presence softened the tension in the air as he moved to take the items from Eren's arms. "I'll handle these," he said evenly.
"Thanks," Eren muttered, handing them over. His gaze flicked to Adriel just once before dropping to the floor.
Adriel's voice carried from the shadows. "What are you doing here, Eren?"
Eren swallowed, clutching the repellent tighter. "I… brought these. Since you can't stay in the house. I thought you'd need them."
Adriel's gaze swept over him, unreadable. "And why aren't you in bed?"
"I was worried," Eren admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not used to places like this. And… I wanted to apologize. For how they treated you."
Adriel moved then, slow, deliberate. The scrape of his boots against the concrete echoed faintly. With each step, the subtle push of his pheromones rolled out—calm but commanding, like heat simmering under the skin.
The Omega part of Eren's instincts quivered, urging him to step back, to lower his head. Instead, he stood stiffly, gripping the bottle like a shield.
"You're apologizing for their mistakes?" Adriel asked, his baritone low, brushing over Eren like a physical touch. "You've done nothing wrong."
Eren shifted, his ears burning. "President—"
Adriel's eyes narrowed. "President?" His tone was sharp enough to still the air. He flicked a glance at Roen, who had just finished setting the mosquito coil on a box. "Roen, do you see a president here?"
Roen looked between them, brows raised. "…You're the only one I see, sir."
Adriel turned back to Eren, closing the last of the distance until Eren could feel the weight of him, the scent of his Alpha dominance threading tightly with the faint cologne he wore. "Not here. Not between us. If you keep calling me that, how will anyone believe what we are?" His voice softened, but the authority in it only deepened. "A mate doesn't need a title. He needs your trust."
Mate?
Eren's throat tightened, his breath catching against the heavy Alpha presence pressing at him. He couldn't meet Adriel's blue-gray eyes for long, yet couldn't look away either. The warehouse was vast and empty, but with Adriel standing this close, it suddenly felt stiflingly small.
The silence stretched again. Eren's heart beat harder, his Omega instincts pulling tight in his chest. He could feel Adriel's presence—solid, Alpha-sharp, pressing into him without a single touch. The way his scent clung to the air—clean cedar with a faint electric edge—made Eren's pulse stumble.
He blurted out before he could stop himself: "Why is your father so angry with you?"
Adriel's eyes lingered on him. For a moment, Eren regretted asking, but then the Alpha exhaled slowly, leaning back against the crates. "It's not a secret. He despises me because I tried to buy this island. To him, it's sacred ground, and to me, it was business." His gaze sharpened. "Now? He'll despise me even more—because I plan to marry his son."
Eren's stomach tightened. He didn't answer, just stared at the floor, the weight of Adriel's words pressing down on him. His father would never yield. Not easily.
Adriel studied him, reading every flicker of doubt across his face. "You're thinking too much again."
Eren jerked his head up, startled.
"Go back inside. It's late." Adriel stood, closing the distance with slow, deliberate steps until his scent wrapped firmly around Eren. His hand came down, not rough but certain, guiding Eren gently toward the door.
Eren froze under the heat of that touch on his shoulder. His body betrayed him—heartbeat racing, lungs dragging in more of Adriel's cedar-rich scent. His instincts whispered to lean in, to yield.
"Adriel—" he whispered, his voice breaking.
"Good night," Adriel said firmly, his Alpha timbre sinking straight through Eren's chest. He turned him toward the door and gave the faintest push, a command wrapped in tenderness.
Eren looked back one last time, caught in the pale fire of those blue-gray eyes, before stepping out into the night air.
Eren didn't answer Adriel and only stared at him for a long moment, unable to find words. Later, when he finally reached his parents' house, the door was barred. He knocked, at first lightly, then harder, until his fists ached. No one came. His calls went unanswered.
The night wind cut through his shirt, and the Omega sank down onto the cold step, pulling his knees to his chest. His body trembled, not just from the chill but from the hollow ache spreading through him. Locked out of his own home—again. Returning to the warehouse where Adriel and his Beta secretary slept seemed unbearable. What excuse could he possibly give? Admit that he had been shut out like a stray dog?
Adriel already knew his parents hated him. What would he think now—seeing Eren sitting out in the cold like unwanted baggage? Would he think the same? That he was unlucky, disposable, cursed?
Eren pressed his forehead to his knees, the bitter taste of his own scent curling around him—sharpened by humiliation, tinged with fear. Why me? His chest burned as he whispered to the night, "Why me?"
He closed his eyes, and the memory came rushing back, raw as ever.
He had been seven the last time his parents sent him away. Handed over to the nuns, abandoned without a backward glance. A decade later, on his seventeenth birthday, the yearning to see them had been unbearable. He had begged the sisters for leave to visit the island. Maybe now that he was grown, maybe now they would take him back.
He remembered stepping off the boat, clutching a tiny bundle of things he thought might prove he was ready. He hadn't even said goodbye to the nuns—he was too full of hope, too sure this was the day his parents would call him son again.
When he reached the path leading to their house, his steps faltered. Laughter spilled into the night. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting warm pools of light. His mother was there, smiling as she carried trays of drinks. His father, his older brother, both seated with neighbors, raising glasses in celebration.
For one dizzy, shimmering moment, his heart soared. Of course. Today is my birthday. They didn't forget. They've been waiting for me. His throat ached as he bit back tears, a smile breaking over his face. He wiped his damp cheeks with the back of his hand and quickened his steps, excitement bubbling in his chest. His whole body buzzed with it, his scent brightening with a sweetness he hadn't felt in years.
At last, he thought, at last they wanted him home.
Eren lingered outside the iron gate, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The scent of the gathering—the mingling of alphas, betas, and omegas—rolled toward him like a tide. He swallowed, clenched his hands, and whispered, "Ma."