Eren's mouth opened, but no words came. His lungs ached with the weight of her rejection. He lowered his head, trembling, his scent heavy with sorrow. How much more did they want him to give up? What sacrifice would be enough to make them see him as their son again?
"Don't embarrass me. Go back to the nuns. Don't cry. Don't make a scene."
Eren's father strode toward them, his pheromones heavy with irritation. Eren lifted his head, heart hammering. His father's gaze slid over him as though he were a nuisance.
"You should be grateful," the man said, voice flat. "At least away from here, you're spared the judgmental stares. Go back to where we left you." He paused, sharp eyes narrowing. "Don't make me repeat myself. You know I hate repeating myself."
Then he turned his back, already done with him.
"Pa!" Eren called after him, the plea ripping from his chest. His scent spiked with grief, but his father didn't slow, didn't even look over his shoulder.
"Lydia," the man said instead, not breaking stride. "The guests are waiting. Don't keep them waiting—it's shameful." With that, he disappeared back toward the crowd.
Eren's mother lingered only a moment longer. "Go back," she said softly, her voice already pulling away.
Eren caught her hand before she could leave. "Why?" he choked out. His grip trembled.
Her shoulders tensed. She turned back, eyes clouded with irritation and something darker—fear. "Why again?" she muttered, as though weary of him.
Eren fumbled with the strap of his satchel, pulling free the packages he had carried all this way. He pressed them into her hands, his voice breaking. "Please. Take these. It would be a waste if I brought them back."
Lydia glanced at the gifts, then at his face. For a heartbeat, her scent wavered with sorrow. Then she set her jaw. "In the future, don't do this again. Stay where we left you. It's for your own good."
She turned away, gifts clutched against her chest, and walked toward the house.
Eren stood rooted to the ground, his hands empty, his chest burning. His pheromones bled sorrow into the night air, unrestrained, heavy and raw. His vision blurred as tears slipped hot and unwanted down his cheeks.
This moment seared itself into him, deeper than any wound. It was the memory he would carry, the one that kept him from returning to the island—until today.
"What are you doing out here?"
The baritone voice snapped Eren from his thoughts. A weight settled on his shoulders — warm fabric. He blinked and looked up. Adriel stood above him, his coat draped over Eren's frame.
"Adriel…" Eren's throat tightened. Had he come looking for him?
"Is this where you plan to sleep?" Adriel asked, brows furrowed. "It's freezing. Do you want to get sick? Even if you don't care about yourself…" His voice softened. "Don't forget — you're carrying my child. I won't risk anything happening to it."
Eren lowered his head. "Why are you here? Why are you still awake?" His voice was hoarse, unsteady.
Adriel let out a quiet breath, crouching down so their eyes met. "I could ask you the same thing." His gaze flicked toward the silent house. The door was shut tight. "The door's locked?"
"They're asleep," Eren muttered. But his scent — raw with sorrow — betrayed the truth.
Adriel's jaw tightened. He had heard enough earlier, and now he could see it plain: they didn't want Eren there.
"Answer me this," he said softly. "They don't care about you, do they?"
Eren's lips trembled. He looked away, fingers tangling in his own red hair. "You saw it yourself. I'm not the son they want. All because I'm different. My red—" He broke off when Adriel caught his hand.
Eren flinched, startled by the warmth of his grip. Adriel leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching. "I told you before," he murmured, voice steady. "Colors have meaning. Red isn't shame — it's fate. You may not believe it now, but one day this will lead you to something good. Stop doubting yourself. Stop thinking so little of yourself. If they can't see your worth, Eren, that's their loss. Not yours."
Eren swallowed hard, chest aching. His pheromones shivered with uncertainty, then softened under the calm steadiness of Adriel's own.
"I don't know where I belong," he whispered.
Adriel smiled faintly, straightening. He extended his hand. "Then come with me. I'll take you to where you do."
Eren stared at the hand, then at Adriel's face. There was nothing extraordinary about the gesture — and yet his heart pounded, wild and restless, as if something inside him had already chosen.
"Unless, of course, you want to stay here," Adriel said quietly.
Eren's gaze lingered on the house. The door was still shut, silent. He knew — even if he begged until his voice broke — no one inside would open it for him. Not now. Not while he carried the child of their enemy.
"You're hesitating," Adriel murmured. "You still believe—"
"I just wanted them to see me as their son," Eren cut in, his voice low. His throat burned as he forced the words out. "But I guess that's impossible." He looked at Adriel, his scent trembling with hurt. "Your family won't accept me either. Once they find out I belonged to James, they'll—"
"It doesn't matter." Adriel's reply was sharp, almost a snap. "This marriage isn't about love."
The words struck like a blow. They were true, yet Eren's chest clenched, a dull ache spreading as his grip on himself faltered. His hand trembled at his side before he steadied it.
"Right," he said after a pause, voice faint. He forced his gaze away from the door and placed his hand in Adriel's. "Let's go."
Adriel's expression softened, just for a moment. "Good choice." He helped Eren to his feet, adjusting the coat around his shoulders with quiet care. Then he turned to his secretary, who waited nearby.
"Send word tomorrow," Adriel ordered. "Tell her family this: how I treat them depends on how they treat Eren."
The secretary nodded silently.
Eren looked back one last time. The house loomed dark, indifferent. His chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. Ten years ago, he had walked away with nothing. And now, he was leaving again — still unrecognized, still unwanted. Would he ever stand at that door as a son?
"Stop," Adriel's voice cut through his thoughts. Eren turned to him, startled.
"Don't torture yourself over them," Adriel said firmly, meeting his eyes. His pheromones pressed steady and grounded against Eren's restless scent. "Family isn't only blood. A home… it's whoever makes you feel warm."
Eren swallowed hard, looking at Adriel's face. Something in his chest shifted — not healed, not whole, but no longer entirely empty.