Seven years. Seven fucking years, and not once did he ever try to reach out. Not that I would've wanted him to.
I lifted my chin, my voice cutting like ice. "Not long enough. And never again, if I had a choice."
My voice came out colder than I intended, sharp like a blade slicing through the air. But I didn't care.
Cale and Logan greeted him, but Dorian barely acknowledged them—just the slightest tilt of his head, the bare minimum of courtesy. Of course. Fucking Vaeloras. The greatest, most powerful alpha bloodline. Untouchable. Superior. And then there was me. The stain. The fucking disappointment.
Logan, still oblivious to the weight of the moment, turned to Dorian with that infuriating curiosity of his. "Do you know Kael?"
Dorian smiled. That fucking smile. Slow. Knowing. The kind that wasn't just arrogance but amusement, like he knew something I didn't. Like he had already won some game I didn't even know I was playing.
"Know?" he echoed, voice rich with amusement. "I know everything."
His eyes flicked to mine, and I swear he could see straight through me—to every goddamn nightmare, every buried scar, every second of my existence that had been shaped by the Vaeloras' rejection.
My stomach twisted, but I didn't look away. I refused to.
"We studied together. Right, Kael?"
His voice was smooth, almost amused, like this was some casual reminiscence rather than a deliberate taunt.
Liar.
The word screamed in my head, but I refused to let it slip past my lips. Studied together? What a joke. If sharing the same space while being ignored counted. If growing up under the same roof but never being acknowledged as anything more than a stain on the family name counted.
Cale stood beside me, silent but watchful, picking up on the shift in the air. Logan, on the other hand, looked interested, his sharp eyes flicking between us like he had just uncovered something worth prying into.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay composed. "If that's what you want to call it," I said, my voice void of emotion.
Dorian's smirk deepened, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—told me he wasn't just playing around. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.
Dorian turned to Cale and Logan, his expression carefully neutral. "And you both are?"
I nearly scoffed. He didn't know them? What a joke. This wasn't ignorance—it was a power move. A subtle way to remind them where they stood in his world.
Cale, ever the professional, gave a tight smile. "Cale Lancaster, CEO of Evren." He gestured toward me. "And this is my personal assistant, Kael."
Deliberately.
Logan, unfazed, introduced himself with that same arrogance he always carried. "Logan King. CEO of Titan." His voice was calm, but I caught the flicker of something in his eyes. Annoyance? Curiosity? Whatever it was, he didn't appreciate being overlooked.
Dorian barely reacted, giving only the slightest nod before his gaze slid back to me. That fucking smirk still lingered, like he found the whole thing amusing.
"Shall we take a trip down memory lane?" Dorian's voice was laced with amusement, but there was something calculated in his gaze. It wasn't a request—it was a command wrapped in mockery.
Cale looked troubled, his grip tightening around the glass he was holding. Logan, on the other hand, looked puzzled. There was something else in his expression too—something sharp, something unsettled. Jealousy? No, that would be ridiculous... right?
I knew something was coming, and yet, I wasn't afraid. I followed Dorian to a more private space, the noise of the party fading behind us.
The moment we were alone, his smirk widened. "My dear cousin," he drawled, voice dripping with false warmth. "Seven years since you ran away like a coward."
I scoffed, crossing my arms as I met his gaze head-on. "I didn't run away, and you fucking know it, Dorian."
His smirk didn't waver, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, condescension, maybe even satisfaction that I was still so affected by him. "Oh? Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?" He tilted his head, stepping closer, his voice dropping just enough to press against old wounds. "Because from where I stand, it sure looked like you ran with your tail between your legs."
My jaw clenched. "I left because I had no reason to stay," I shot back, my voice sharp and unwavering.
Dorian chuckled, shaking his head like I was a child spouting nonsense. "No, cousin, you left because you weren't wanted."
"In all my eighteen years under Vaelora's roof, no one ever bothered with these insignificant business gatherings, Dorian," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through the air between us. "So tell me—what's so special about tonight? Or did you just miss me?"
Dorian's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable, something dangerous. He took his time, letting the tension stretch, before finally speaking. "Let's just say... tonight will be interesting."
Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with an unfamiliar weight settling in my chest.
A slow, creeping unease curled around my ribs. My pulse beat a little faster. Something's wrong.
What the hell is going to happen tonight?
I barely felt the floor beneath me as I pushed through the crowd, my breath uneven, my pulse a frantic drum in my ears. My grip tightened around Cale's wrist the moment I spotted him, yanking him away from the sea of people without a second thought.
"Something is goi—"
I stopped.
The words choked me before they could leave my mouth because that voice—his voice—rose above the chatter, silencing everything around me.
My father.
Standing tall on the stage like a fucking monument, his presence as unshakable as ever, as if nothing in the world had ever dared to touch him. As if he had never had an omega son.
The lights bathed him in gold, making him seem untouchable. Unforgiving. A man who had already erased my existence from his story.
"Tonight, we honor our bloodline."
The words hit like a punch.
"The Vaeloras have led, shaped, and ruled. We have stood at the pinnacle of power for generations, and we will continue to do so with unwavering strength. Because our name, our blood, is what defines us."
I barely noticed the way my nails dug into my palms.
"The next heir of the Vaelora legacy." A pause. A breath. A death sentence.
"Dorian Vaelora."
The applause crashed over me like a tidal wave. Deafening. Crushing.
I couldn't move. I couldn't fucking breathe.
Dorian stood there, basking in it all. The acceptance. The belonging.
I let out a sharp, hollow chuckle, the sound barely making it past my lips.
I already knew it. I had always known it.
I was never going to be standing on that stage.
Not as an omega.
I had been born to take that title. It was my right. My legacy. But the moment it was known I wasn't an alpha, that future had been ripped away from me, discarded like a mistake that had no place in history.
And now, they wanted me to watch as it was handed to someone else.
This was what Dorian wanted.
This was why he made sure I came.
Because he knew. He fucking knew.
He knew where I was, who I was with.
He wanted me to see it with my own eyes.
To see the family that had once been mine, the name that had once been mine, the future that had once been mine—slip further away, permanently out of reach.
My throat felt tight, my vision blurring at the edges, but I didn't let it show.
I couldn't.
I wouldn't.
Because if there was one thing I had learned in the 18 years under the Vaelora name—
It was that showing weakness meant giving them power over you.
And I would rather die than let them think they still had anything over me.
The walls closed in. The air thickened, suffocating. The applause—deafening. Crushing.
I needed air. I fucking needed to breathe.
My legs moved before I could think, pushing through the sea of people, past the clinking glasses and murmured congratulations. My vision blurred, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
The moment I stepped outside, the night air hit me like a slap. Cold. Sharp. Not enough.
I sucked in a breath, but it didn't reach my lungs.
I gripped the railing, fingers shaking, my entire body trembling like I was about to shatter.
I shouldn't care. I shouldn't care.
But the weight in my chest, the raw, gut-wrenching ache, told me otherwise.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
I wasn't supposed to be just watching.
I was supposed to be up there. That was supposed to be my name. My fucking legacy.
I let out a broken laugh, my breath fogging in the cold.
They had taken everything. And now, they made me watch as if I was just some stranger.
As if I had never belonged at all.
A voice sliced through the suffocating silence around me.
"Finally found you."
That voice. I recognized it instantly.
Logan.
I kept my back to him for a moment, my eyes locked on the distant city lights, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. My breath was uneven, my fingers trembling slightly before I forced them to still. I had spent years mastering the art of control, of keeping my emotions buried beneath layers of ice. But tonight—tonight, it was cracking.
I inhaled sharply, gathering the pieces of myself before turning to face him. My expression was blank, calculated, a mask I had worn for years.
His eyes scanned me, like he was trying to read something in my face. He wouldn't find anything. I wouldn't let him.
Exhaling slowly, I let my voice come out sharp, detached.
"What do you want?"
"You okay?"
His usual smirk was gone. Just like that. The arrogance, the teasing—it wasn't there anymore.
When I turned to face him, his expression shifted. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, reading.
Do I look that bad?
I clenched my fists. I didn't need his concern. Not from him. Not from anyone.
"Why wouldn't I be?" My voice was sharp, cold—like I could cut through his pity before it reached me.
"Looks like you're about to cry," he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost cautious.
I scoffed, rolling my shoulders back, forcing myself to stand straighter. "And if I was?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.
Logan studied me for a moment, his gaze unreadable. "Then I'd ask who the fuck made you feel like this," he said, his usual arrogance laced with something else—something dangerous.
I exhaled slowly. "No one." A lie. A fucking lie. But I wasn't about to break, not in front of him.
"Fine, don't tell me," Logan sighed, tilting his head. "At least tell me why you're crying."
Fucking hell. I was going to tell him? No. No way in hell.
I clenched my fists, forcing my breath to stay even. I wasn't crying. I wasn't breaking. He didn't get to see me like that. Instead, I turned my face away, wiping at my eyes before any weakness could betray me.
"I'm not crying," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Logan stepped closer, his teasing smirk gone, replaced by something else. Something unreadable. "You expect me to believe that?" His voice had lost its usual amusement, and that made it worse.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because if I opened my mouth now, I wasn't sure what the fuck would come out.
Instead, I stayed silent, letting the weight of everything press against my ribs. Letting the truth remain unspoken.
Glad he got the hint that I wasn't going to tell him.
Logan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair like he was debating whether to push or let it go. For once, he chose the latter. Good. Because I wasn't in the mood to explain shit.
"Alright," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Keep your secrets, then."
Damn right, I would.
Fuck.
I didn't see it coming. One second, I was drowning in the weight of the night, and the next—Logan pulled me into his arms.
The last time someone held me, I was ten. At a funeral. It wasn't warmth—it was pity. But this? This wasn't that. Was it?
The warmth hit me before my mind could fight it. A part of me screamed to push him away, to not let an alpha—of all people—hold me like this. But my body betrayed me. It froze.
He pities me.
That thought dug into my chest like a blade. That's why he did this. That's why he held me so gently. That's why he didn't say anything. Fuck.
I should move. I should shove him away. I should tell him to get lost. But my body refused to listen. Instead, something inside me cracked. My breath hitched, and before I knew it, something warm slipped down my cheek.
When was the last time I cried?
At my mother's death? When I was ten? When I watched her casket lower into the ground while my father stood beside me—cold, distant, unmoved? When I realized no one in that fucking house ever wanted me?
It had been so long since I let myself feel. Since I let the weight of my past settle on my shoulders.
I stiffened. I couldn't let him see me like this. Not an alpha. Not Logan.
But before I could move, before I could shield myself, Logan did something that made my breath catch.
He slid off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me, covering my face and upper body.
Protecting me.
My heart lurched—did something I couldn't name. It felt foreign, unfamiliar. It fucking terrified me.
But it wasn't long before the world came rushing back. The murmurs of the party. The distant clinking of glasses. The weight of the past pressing on my shoulders.
I should pull away.
I should.
But I didn't.
I stayed in his arms, even when the tears stopped. Even when my breathing evened out. Even when the worst of it passed.
I stayed.
For the first time in years, I let someone stay. And I didn't know if I hated it.