By the time the sun had climbed high enough to burn the mist off the gardens, Eline still hadn't stirred.
He lay sprawled in the sheets like someone pulled under by exhaustion rather than sleep—breathing deep, body heavy, the kind of rest that came only after being wrung dry. Midday bells echoed faintly through the estate. No one went to wake him.
They were already elsewhere.
The study was sealed—thick doors, old wood, wards woven into the walls themselves. Carlson Valentino sat at the head of the long table, unmoving, his presence alone enough to quiet the room. Age had not softened him. It had sharpened him.
~in study room
Lucien stood to his right.
Alaric leaned against the far window, arms crossed, watching reflections instead of faces.
Severin sat back in his chair, fingers steepled, expression unreadable—empty in the way only deliberate restraint could be.
Darian stood apart, closer to the shelves than the table, already thinking in formulas and outcomes rather than morality.
Lucien spoke first. He didn't ask permission.
"He has female genitalia."
The words landed cleanly. No hesitation. No embellishment.
For a fraction of a second, silence held—then Carlson's eyes shifted, sharp as a blade turning toward light.
"Explain," the old man said.
Lucien did. Precisely.
"Externally, his body presents male. Bone structure, muscle density, voice, everything.
But he have female genitals."
Severin's mouth curved—not a smile, not quite.
"So the secret flower," he murmured. "Buried well."
Carlson didn't speak at first.
His eyes remained on Lucien, steady, assessing—not surprised, not disturbed. When he finally did speak, his voice carried the quiet weight of certainty.
"Then he isn't incomplete," he said. "He's dormant."
Darian looked up immediately.
"Exactly," Carlson continued. "If external female genitalia are present, there is a strong likelihood the internal structure exists as well. A uterus may already be there—underdeveloped, inactive, or hormonally suppressed."
Severin tilted his head.
"So the issue isn't absence."
"No," Carlson replied. "It's infertility."
Lucien's gaze sharpened.
"You're saying he was born capable—just not functional."
Darian's lips curved, not in pleasure but fascination.
"That simplifies everything. Awakening fertility is far less complex than creating anatomy. Hormonal recalibration, vascular enhancement, cellular stimulation—nothing unprecedented."
Alaric exhaled slowly.
"So the body rejected its own potential."
"Or was never allowed to reach it," Carlson said. "Nature hesitates. We don't."
Lucien folded his arms.
"Then the potion—"
"—doesn't need to build," Darian finished. "Only activate."
A brief silence followed.
Severin smiled faintly.
"So the vessel was never empty. Just locked."
Carlson rose from his chair.
"Proceed carefully," he said. "If he already carries the structure, forcing it would be wasteful. He must be guided into fertility—not broken into it."
Lucien nodded once.
"He's compatible," he said. "His body responds instinctively. Whatever he is—it recognizes us."
Carlson turned toward the door.
"Then fate did half the work for us," he said. "And we will finish the rest."
At first, it was just heat—sharp and irritating—burning into one side of his face. A single ray of sunlight had slipped through the narrow gap between the curtains, careless and precise, landing directly on his cheek. It wasn't gentle. It stung enough to drag him out of sleep.
He shifted instinctively, trying to turn away from it, and that was when his body protested.
A deep, full ache spread through him the moment he tried to sit up—muscles sore, limbs heavy, a dull throb settling into places he didn't want to think about yet. He froze, breath hitching, confusion still fogging his mind.
For a few seconds, he just stayed there, staring blankly ahead, letting the pain register.
Then memory caught up.
Not all at once—no. It came in fragments. Sensations before images. Heat. Loss of control. His body responding without permission, without thought, as if something else had taken over. He felt almost drunk remembering it—hazy, slowed, but not gone enough to forget.
His throat tightened.
Was it a dream?
It felt impossible that his body could have betrayed him like that, moved on instinct alone, swallowed by sensation while his mind lagged behind, helpless. Unreal. Wrong.
He looked around.
The room answered him immediately.
This wasn't his.
The ceiling was higher. The bed too large, too opulent. Dark furniture, heavy drapes, the faint scent of something unfamiliar—Lucien.
His stomach dropped.
Reality settled in with cruel clarity.
It hadn't been a dream.
He had slept with the one person he was supposed to stay away from.
Lucien.
And worse—far worse—Lucien had seen what no one else ever had.
Panic rushed through him, fast and suffocating. His chest felt tight, breath shallow, thoughts spiraling before he could stop them. That secret—his secret—had been buried for years. Hidden from everyone. Everyone except his mother… and even she was gone. Abandoned him so early he barely remembered her face.
No one else knew.
Until now.
The realization hollowed him out.
Tears slipped down his temples before he even noticed they'd started, soaking into the pillow as his vision blurred. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't know how to fix this—didn't even know where to begin.
What would Lucien do?
Who else would he tell?
The soft click of the door opening made him flinch.
A butler entered quietly, movements
Eline startled, scrambling to pull the sheet higher around himself as a man entered—older, dressed impeccably, movements calm and practiced. A butler. He didn't look surprised. Didn't look curious.
He simply approached the bedside, placed a tray down, and arranged it neatly.
Food. Water. Medicine.
"Eat when you can," the man said evenly, not unkindly. Then he turned and left without another word.
The door closed.
Eline stared at the tray as if it belonged to another world.
He had no appetite. No interest in medicine. All he wanted now was to disappear.
Eline lay on the bed, lost in his thoughts. His mind spun with the events of last night—the heat, the pleasure, and the undeniable fact that he had slept with Lucian. And now Lucian knew his secret.
What would he do? What would happen next? How could he protect what he had hidden for so long? His heart raced as he stared at the plate of food the butler had left earlier, untouched, then shifted his gaze to the window, trying to anchor himself.
A sudden knock on the door made him jump.
Carlson stepped in.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then Carlson's gaze flickered red—just for a moment, sharp and deliberate.
And then he smiled.
Quietly. Almost. Almost like he was happy.
Eline froze. He didn't understand the smile. He didn't know why Carlson would be happy. He didn't know what this meant for him—what would happen now that his secret was seen.
His chest tightened, his thoughts a whirlpool. He could only stare, paralyzed, as the quiet, almost-happy smile lingered in the air between them.