"Why him, President?" the branch manager demanded when Adriel announced his choice. "There are dozens of qualified staff here. He's useless—barely leaves his desk, contributes nothing. He's dead weight."
Adriel didn't look up from the papers on his desk. His tone was cool, dismissive. "You said it yourself—he doesn't do much. That makes him the ideal secretary. He'll have time for me."
The woman blinked, stunned by the logic. Of all the candidates, he chose Eren? In her eyes, the omega was only good for fetching coffee. But she bowed her head. "Yes, President." She left the office quickly, leaving James and Adriel alone.
"I don't get it," James said, leaning against the desk with a scowl. "Why are you even here? Do you think I'm not managing this branch well enough?"
Adriel's eyes flicked up, sharp. "Is that how you see it?"
"What else am I supposed to think?" James snapped. "The numbers aren't lagging. Sales are fine. So why suddenly show up here?"
"Because sales are fine," Adriel replied evenly. "That's why I came. To see what you're doing right. And to scout talent for the main branch."
James's lip curled. "Is that really it? Or is this about Eren?" His voice dripped with disdain. "I don't know what spell he's put on you, Uncle, but he's plain. Dull. Worthless."
Adriel's pen stilled against the paper. His pheromones pressed faintly into the air, a silent warning. "Careful, James. You're talking about my omega."
James scoffed, unbothered. "Your omega? Don't make me laugh. You want to know the truth? He was never anything to me. Pathetic creature mistook kindness for affection. Convinced himself I wanted to marry him. He even arranged the damn wedding without asking me. Gullible. Desperate. An Ulrick would never lower himself to someone like that."
Adriel's gaze sharpened, cold enough to cut steel. "Is that why you abandoned him? On the day of the wedding?"
"I didn't abandon him," James sneered. "Because I never wanted him in the first place. He just couldn't see it. Not then, not now."
Neither man realized Eren stood just beyond the door, clutching a stack of documents. The manager had sent him to deliver them, but he froze when he heard his name.
Every word seared into him like acid. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, his throat burned, his eyes stung. He pressed a trembling hand against his stomach, the place where his child grew, as if that fragile life was the only anchor holding him upright.
He wanted to walk in, to prove them wrong, to demand why. But his feet wouldn't move. He stayed rooted there, silent tears trailing down his cheeks, listening to James dismantle what little worth he thought he had.
Inside, James leaned back with a smirk. "So tell me, Uncle—why? Why take him of all people? Is this about Eren? Or are you just trying to get under Grandfather's skin, rebelling against what he wants?"
Adriel's lips curved, humorless. "What kind of melodrama have you been watching? You sound ridiculous."
But his voice carried weight, steel beneath the calm. Enough to make James finally falter, just a fraction.
And outside the door, Eren wiped at his face, though the tears kept coming. He couldn't bring himself to knock.
"Unlike you, I take responsibility," Adriel said, his voice low and cutting.
James scoffed. "Responsibility? For him? Why?"
"You don't need to know," Adriel replied, unbothered. His tone sharpened as he added, "But what you will remember is this—Eren is with me now. Which makes him your uncle. Show some respect."
James barked a laugh. "Uncle? You expect me to call him that? He's younger than me. I won't debase myself." His smile curled with mockery. "And what do you mean by 'mate'? Grandpa hasn't approved anything."
Adriel's lips lifted in a smirk. "I don't need approval. I'm an Alpha. I choose. I claimed him, and that's enough."
"You think too highly of yourself," James snapped, bitterness bleeding through his voice. "Even Grandpa and my father don't matter to you. You only listen to yourself."
Adriel stilled, gaze narrowing on his nephew. The weight of his pheromones pressed heavily, forcing James to glance away. "If you're finished wasting my time, leave. I have work to do."
James clenched his fists, fury flashing across his face as he turned toward the door. His hand was on the knob when Adriel's voice stopped him.
"Wait."
James froze, then looked back.
"What I told you just now," Adriel said evenly, "does not leave this room."
James sneered. "You mean the part where you shackled yourself to a mere employee? Figures. Even if you married him out of some misplaced duty, you still can't claim him in public. You're ashamed of him too. Beneath our blood. Beneath you."
Adriel's expression didn't flicker, but his silence was colder than anger.
James smirked in triumph and yanked the door open—only to falter.
Eren was standing there. Documents clutched in his trembling hands. His eyes wide, glassy. He had come to deliver papers at the manager's request, but James's words had rooted him to the spot.
Tears had already cut silent tracks down his cheeks. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the humiliation raw, searing. Every word James spat had branded itself into him: mere employee… beneath you… ashamed.
For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the faint hitch of Eren's breath.
James's smirk deepened, as if savoring the devastation he'd caused. He brushed past Eren deliberately, his shoulder knocking the Omega's as he left.
Adriel's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the trembling figure at the door. But Eren couldn't look at him—he lowered his head, shame pressing harder than any Alpha's dominance. His hands shook around the papers, and though he tried to steady himself, his silence screamed louder than any protest.
Eren froze, the words cutting and comforting at once. Harsh, yes—but beneath them lay concern. Not for him, but for the life inside him. For their unborn child. His hand instinctively covered his lower stomach, a protective gesture.
Softly, almost to himself, he whispered, "Hey, little one. Why won't you take this food? It smells good. Everyone else is enjoying it." He huffed a laugh, low and tired. "We can't live on milk forever, you know. Tell me… what would make you happy? I'll eat it for you."
He didn't know Adriel was nearby, lingering in the hall, hidden in the shadow of a doorway. The Alpha hadn't intended to stay, but the quiet honesty in Eren's voice rooted him in place. Something primal stirred inside him—territorial, protective, dangerous. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to leave before his instincts betrayed him.
When Eren finally returned to the conference room, the untouched plate of fine food was gone. In its place sat a tall glass of milk, still cold, droplets sliding down the glass. He stopped in his tracks. No one seemed to notice, too busy laughing and chatting around him.
Except Adriel.
The Alpha didn't glance his way, didn't acknowledge him at all. He was already deep in discussion with James and the other managers, posture calm and commanding. But Eren knew. He knew why the food had been replaced He sat down, wrapping his hands around the glass. His chest ached—embarrassment, gratitude, confusion all tangled together. He lifted the glass and drank, the cool milk sliding down his throat, warming something far deeper inside.