A quiet night stretched across the sky, with a lone moon hanging above, much like the omega standing by the window, lost in thought.

In this cruel world, he had once been like a drop of morning dew. Pure, untouched, a small pearl of nature. He had been gentle and kind, a dependable friend, an understanding partner, an obedient son, a soul that existed to mend what was broken in others.

He had believed in them.

Believed that they loved him. That they cared. That when his time came, they would stand by him, just as he had always stood by them.

But time proved him wrong.

He gazed at the moon, its soft light spreading quietly across the world. It was serene and selfless, just like he used to be.

"September 2..."

His fingers curled slightly at his side.

"The day my life fell apart."

His lips curved into a faint, emotionless smile.

"I learned what this world really is that day. I never thought cruelty would come from the people I loved the most."

A pause.

"I was naive, thinking love meant something. Thinking that if I cared, they would care too."

His gaze hardened slightly.

"I was a fool, loving without expecting anything in return. Just like that moon."

Slowly, he turned away from the window and walked toward the table beside his bed.

A photo frame rested there.

His wedding picture.

He picked it up, his eyes settling on the couple at its center. For a moment, silence lingered. Then a quiet smirk appeared on his lips.

"What a beautiful lie, Mr Dalan Arlo."

"Asher!!"

The calm shattered instantly at the sound of his name.

Asher turned.

A small figure stood there, wide doe eyes staring at him with practiced innocence.

Nalan.

His soft features, small nose, and slightly pouting lips made him look harmless, almost angelic.

Asher’s expression softened for a brief moment.

Too cute.

But he knew better.

Very well.

Nalan walked toward him and tugged at his shirt, his expression wronged in a way that could melt anyone’s heart.

Anyone except Asher.

"Nalan," he said calmly, narrowing his eyes, "what did you just call me?"

"Sweety," Nalan replied, blinking up at him.

Asher sighed.

"Don’t act cute. I know you better than anyone. Call me Mommy."

Nalan pouted slightly, tilting his head.

"But you look too young to be a mommy..."

"That doesn’t change the fact that I am one."

Nalan paused, as if thinking, then smoothly changed the topic.

"I’m still hungry," he said softly, leaning closer. "Can you make banana milk and strawberry pancakes?"

Asher frowned. "You already ate."

"I know," Nalan said, eyes bright, "but your cooking is too good. I can’t help it."

Asher looked at him suspiciously.

Something felt off, though he could not place it.

"Is it really that good?"

"Really."

A short silence passed.

Then Asher sighed in defeat.

Without another word, he lifted Nalan into his arms and carried him to the kitchen.

Not long after, warm food filled the air with its comforting scent.

Later, after dinner, a bath, and a few quiet moments together, Nalan drifted to sleep.

Asher lay beside him, holding him close, his thoughts growing heavier.

His gaze darkened.

"Mr Dalan Arlo..."

His fingers tightened slightly around the blanket.

"Let’s see who turns whose life into a living hell."

His eyes slowly closed.

"Your peaceful days are over, the moment I step into City S."

The skyline of City S was a jagged blade of neon and glass, cutting through the dark. From the back of the black sedan, Asher watched the city approach. Four years ago, he had crawled out of this place on his hands and knees, trailing blood and broken promises.

Now, he was driven back in.

"Nalan," Asher said, his voice as smooth as polished marble.

The boy, who had been staring at the passing lights, turned instantly. "Yes, Mommy?"

"Remember the rules. In that house, you are a masterpiece. Silent, perfect, and fragile." Asher reached out, adjusting the collar of Nalan’s coat with surgical precision. "But never forget: a masterpiece is only to be looked at. If anyone tries to touch you, you tell me."

Nalan nodded, his expression shifting from a child’s wonder to a chilling, eerie blankness. He was his father’s son, after all. He knew how to wear a mask.

The Arlo Estate sat atop the hill like a fortress. When the car pulled to a stop at the grand entrance, the heavy oak doors opened before Asher even stepped out.

The head butler, Morris, froze on the top step. His tray rattled. "M-Mr. Asher?"

Asher stepped out of the car, his movements fluid and intentional. He wore a suit of charcoal silk that shimmered like oil under the porch lights. He didn't look like a victim returning home; he looked like a landlord coming to collect an overdue debt.

"Is Dalan in his study?" Asher asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He walked past Morris, the scent of his suppressed pheromones leaving a trail of artificial, icy lilies in his wake.

"Sir! Mr. Arlo is in a meeting with the Board of Directors—"

Asher didn't stop. He navigated the labyrinthine hallways with a terrifying familiarity. He knew which floorboards creaked and which corners held hidden cameras. He stopped in front of the double mahogany doors of the grand study.

Behind those doors was the man who had signed the papers to discard him like trash on September 2nd.

Asher straightened his shoulders. He didn't knock. He leaned his weight against the doors and pushed them wide.

The room was thick with the scent of Sandalwood and Cold Ash. The heavy, suffocating pressure of an Alpha’s domain. At the long conference table, five older men in suits turned in shock. At the head of the table sat Dalan Arlo.

Dalan hadn’t changed. His jaw was still a sharp line of granite, his eyes two chips of frozen grey. He looked up, his brow furrowing in irritation at the interruption; until his gaze landed on Asher.

The silence that followed was deafening. The air in the room spiked with Dalan's sudden, violent surge of pheromones; surprise, followed immediately by a dark, possessive territoriality.

"Out," Dalan commanded.

The directors scrambled. They didn't need to be told twice. The sheer force of Dalan’s presence was enough to make their lungs ache. As the last one scurried past Asher, Asher caught the man’s eyes and gave a tiny, mocking tilt of his head.

The doors clicked shut.

Dalan stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the desk. "Asher. You’re supposed to be dead. Or rotting in a gutter."

"I looked into the gutter, Dalan," Asher walked forward, his heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood. He stopped just inches from the desk, invading the Alpha’s personal space without a hint of fear. "It was crowded with the people you’ve stepped on. I decided I didn't like the company."

Asher reached out, his fingers grazing a crystal decanter on the desk. He picked it up, poured a glass of amber liquid, and took a sip. Cold. Calculated.

"You have a lot of nerve coming back here," Dalan growled, his voice a low vibration that would have made any other Omega drop to their knees. "What do you want? Money?"

Asher let out a soft, melodic laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Money? I have plenty of that. No, Dalan. I’m here because I realized I left something behind four years ago."

Dalan’s eyes narrowed. "What?"

Asher stepped aside, revealing Nalan, who had been standing silently in the shadow of the doorway. The boy walked forward, his doe-eyes wide and "innocent," stopping right beside Asher.

Dalan’s breath hitched. The resemblance was undeniable. The shape of the eyes, the stubborn set of the jaw; it was a miniature, polished version of himself.

"I left you your heir," Asher whispered, leaning over the desk until he was face-to-face with the man he hated. "And in exchange, I’m taking your peace of mind. I’m moving back into the West Wing tonight."

"You think I’ll just let you stay?" Dalan reached out, grabbing Asher’s wrist. His grip was iron.

Asher didn't flinch. He looked down at the hand on his wrist, then back up at Dalan, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips.

"You will," Asher said, his voice dropping to a dangerous silkiness. "Because if you don't, the press will find out that the great Dalan Arlo; the pillar of City S; tried to dispose of a pregnant Omega and his true blood heir. Think of the stock prices, Dalan. Think of the scandal."

Asher leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Dalan’s ear.

"I’m the fangs at your throat, Darling. Try to scream, and I’ll bite."