"Adriel…?"
Eren's voice was fragile as he stirred, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in the air. Warmth anchored him—fingers laced tightly with his own. Turning his head, he found Adriel slumped beside the bed, his broad frame curled awkwardly against the mattress, his Alpha presence filling the room even in sleep.
"Adriel," he whispered again. He tried to slip his hand free, but the Alpha's grip only tightened, possessive even in slumber. Slowly, Adriel woke, eyes opening groggy before sharpening the moment they landed on Eren.
"Eren!" The word was raw, relieved. Adriel shot upright, startling him with the suddenness, though his hand never let go. With the other, he cupped Eren's cheek, thumb brushing fever-hot skin.
Eren's chest squeezed tight. Heat surged through him—his body betraying his heart, his scent betraying the storm twisting inside him.
"You're burning up," Adriel muttered, concern threading his voice. "I should call the doctor—"
"No." Eren's hand caught his wrist, holding him there. His breath hitched as their gazes locked, Omega to Alpha. "It's not… the fever."
Adriel stilled, studying him with quiet intensity. His grip eased, but his hand remained against Eren's cheek, thumb still resting at the edge of his flush. He said nothing, simply looked—until understanding shifted his expression, softened his mouth. A knowing curve pulled at his lips.
"You realize," he said finally, voice low, careful, "it's in our contract. You're not allowed to fall in love with me."
The words struck harder than if he had shouted. Eren felt his pulse spike, his throat closing around all the truths he'd never meant to confess. He knew that clause, had signed it with his own hand. It was supposed to keep him safe—from Alpha pressure, from binding instincts, from wanting what he could never have.
But Adriel's touch made a lie of it.
"And if I did?" Eren whispered, voice trembling with both defiance and need. "What would happen then?"
Adriel's hand lingered on his cheek, heavy with unspoken answers.
"Then we have to end this. All of it."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Adriel's pheromones surged, filling the room with a sharp edge of conflict—dominance coiled tight, barely restrained. His hand was still on Eren's, but now it felt like an anchor, holding him to the bed, holding him to him.
"Eren," Adriel said at last, voice rougher than he intended. "That contract exists for a reason. You can't—" His throat tightened, his instincts cutting across his resolve. He leaned in, close enough that Eren could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his scent trembled between warning and want.
"You can't fall in love with me." The words came out strained, softer than a command but heavier than a plea.
Eren's chest ached. His Omega instincts urged him to yield, to close the distance, to take comfort in the Alpha's presence. His heart thundered so loud it drowned out reason.
His hand trembled as it drifted instinctively to his stomach. "But… my baby?" The words slipped out, raw, his voice catching. Fear coiled in his gut, dredging up the memory of the office, the blows, the shouting—everything that could have taken the little life growing inside him.
"Your baby is safe," Adriel said, and his voice softened, though his gaze stayed unyielding. His thumb brushed over the back of Eren's hand, grounding, steady. "But from now on, you don't fight. Not with anyone. I won't allow it."
Eren's lips parted, confusion breaking through his hurt. "Adriel…?"
"I'll have you transferred to the main branch," Adriel continued, tone firmer now, decisive. "Starting Monday."
Eren's eyes widened, scent spiking with shock. "What? You can't just—"
Adriel's pheromones flared, silencing him as effectively as a hand over his mouth. The air thickened with dominance, every instinct in Eren's body screaming to yield. Adriel leaned closer, his grip tightening. "I will not leave you in that den after what happened. Not with our child inside you." His voice cracked, the word our weighted with raw fear and possessive need.
Eren's body betrayed him again. Heat curled in his stomach, a pulse of longing woven into his scent, answering Adriel's without permission. His heart ached, his instincts screamed to lean closer, but his mind replayed the Alpha's first words: We have to end this.
On the nightstand, Adriel's phone buzzed. Roen's voice spilled out—cold facts, confessions from the women who had attacked. Each word was a reminder of danger, but Adriel barely listened. His focus remained fixed on Eren, his scent wrapping around him in protective layers.
"This is the only choice," Adriel said, quieter now but no less commanding. "James can run the branch. But I won't leave you where they can reach you again."
His hand hovered over Eren's stomach, not touching—almost reverent. And though he had just cut their bond with words, his instincts betrayed him, claiming Eren and the child in a way neither contract nor command could erase.