THE GREAT ESCAPE OF MOLLY WHALES

Molly Whales sat cross-legged on the warm sand, staring blankly at the horizon like a man contemplating the meaning of life—or in his case, the meaning of running away from destiny. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, but Molly barely noticed. Behind him, waves crashed gently against the shore, seagulls screeched overhead in their endless hunt for scraps, and right in front of him, his five-year-old nephew Sam was aggressively stabbing a bright blue bucket into the damp sand, building what could only be described as a sand empire.

“Uncle Molly!” Sam announced proudly, standing up with sand caked on his knees and a triumphant grin on his face. “Look! My castle is bigger than your future!”

Molly blinked slowly, snapping out of his daze. “...Sam. Where did you even learn to talk like that?”

“Dad,” Sam said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything.

“Of course,” Molly sighed, rubbing his temples. His brother had always had a dramatic flair—apparently, it was hereditary.

At nineteen years old, Molly figured he should’ve been doing normal nineteen-year-old things. Like starting university classes, maybe getting a part-time job at a coffee shop, or binge-watching those cheesy supernatural dramas that everyone was obsessed with these days. Instead, here he was: hiding out on a tiny, forgotten island off the coast, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But he had a reason. A terrifying, world-shattering, sanity-destroying reason that kept him up at night, staring at the ceiling of his makeshift cabin.

No, he wasn’t being hunted by ruthless gangsters over some shady deal gone wrong.

No, he didn’t owe a questionable amount of money to anyone (well, except maybe that one online shopping spree, but that didn’t count).

And no, he totally did NOT steal anyone’s cake last week—despite the vicious rumors circulating back home. That slice of chocolate fudge had been abandoned on the counter, fair game!

He was hiding because—

He has a mate.

Not just one.

Two.

Two mates.

TWO.

The word echoed in his mind like a bad punchline. In the world of ABO—where bonds were sacred, fated, and utterly inescapable—most people were lucky to find one mate in their lifetime. One soul-deep connection that turned rational beings into lovesick puppies.

But the universe? Oh, the universe had looked down at Molly Whales, a perfectly average guy with messy brown hair, freckles across his nose (due to make up), and a tendency to trip over his own feet, and decided: “Let’s spice things up!”

And then it threw TWO romantic death flags right at his face.

“What kind of cosmic joke is this…” Molly muttered into his palms, slumping forward until his forehead nearly touched the sand. “Why me? I’m not ready for one overprotective, brooding alpha type—let alone two!”

Sam, oblivious to his uncle’s internal meltdown, kept building his aggressively large sand kingdom. He patted down a tower with chubby hands and added a moat using a discarded seashell. “Maybe they’re nice,” he offered casually, without looking up.

“NO,” Molly declared dramatically, flinging his arms out and pointing at absolutely nothing in particular. “People with mates are never normal. They’re handsome. Overpowered. Confident. Possessive. And worse—THEY WANT COMMITMENT. Like, forever commitment. Sharing a den, marking scents, all that mushy stuff!”

Sam paused his construction to place a fancy spiral seashell on top of his main tower like a crown. “Isn't commitment good? Dad says it’s like having best friends forever.”

“For adults, maybe,” Molly groaned. “For me? I’m a fragile little flower. I just want to eat junk food, read comics, and avoid adulting for as long as possible.”

“You’re taller than Dad,” Sam pointed out helpfully, tilting his head.

“Yes, but emotionally fragile,” Molly corrected with a huff, crossing his arms. “Very, very fragile. One mate would shatter me. Two? That’s emotional annihilation.”

Sam shrugged and went back to digging, humming a little tune he’d probably learned from cartoons. The beach was peaceful for a few more minutes—just the sound of waves, Sam’s humming, and Molly’s occasional dramatic sighs.

But then, just as Molly was starting to convince himself that maybe, just maybe, he could stay hidden here forever...

The wind shifted.

The air suddenly thickened, carrying a scent that hit him like a tidal wave—pine and ocean salt mixed with something warmer, spicier. The hairs on Molly’s arms stood up straight. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum.

Because he felt it.

That familiar, haunting, knee-weakening pull deep in his core.

Mate.

One of them.

No—wait—

BOTH.

Both scents intertwined, growing stronger by the second.

Approaching.

From the dense forest lining the back of the beach.

Molly froze like a startled crab, his eyes widening in pure panic. “Sam,” he whispered urgently, scrambling to his knees. “Pack the castle. We need to flee. Right now. Emergency evacuation!”

Sam blinked up at him, unfazed, and calmly handed over a tiny plastic shovel. “Dig your way out, Uncle. Like a tunnel to China.”

Molly stared at the shovel in betrayal. “That’s not how geography works—”

And at that exact moment, two deep, distinct voices drifted from behind the cluster of palm trees, sending a shiver down his spine:

“Found you.”

“Molly.”

The voices were low, resonant, and laced with a mix of amusement and something far more intense—relief, maybe? Or determination?

Molly let out the quietest, most pitiful squeak known to mankind, his face turning bright red as he slowly turned around.

The two men stepped into full view, emerging from the shadows like they’d walked straight out of one of those dramas Molly secretly loved. Silhouettes against the golden sunlight—both tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in that unfairly perfect way that made Molly’s brain short-circuit.

One had dark hair tousled by the sea breeze, sharp features, and eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. The other was slightly taller, with lighter hair catching the light, a softer smile playing on his lips but no less intense gaze.

Trouble. Undeniable, fated trouble.

Sam stared between them and Molly with wide, curious eyes, sand still dripping from his hands.

“So… Uncle,” he said innocently, pointing a sticky finger. “Those are your boyfriends?”

“NO THEY ARE NOT!” Molly yelped, jumping to his feet and waving his arms wildly. “They’re—uh—delivery guys! With... with bad news! About taxes! Very important taxes!”

The two men exchanged a glance, one raising an eyebrow while the other chuckled softly.

Molly’s squeak turned into a full-on internal scream.

This was it.

His fragile little flower era was officially over.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***