Chapter 9: The Illusion of Control

The mansion was eerily quiet as Dorian made his way up to his room. His footsteps echoed lightly through the wide hallways, the distant ticking of a grandfather clock the only other sound in the stillness. The fundraiser had ended hours ago, but the weight of the day still pressed down on him, each step heavier than the last.

Eryx and Cassandra had barely spoken to him on the ride home. The usual tension had filled the car—Cassandra making a few brief, cutting comments about his performance, while Eryx sat silently, his cold gaze fixed straight ahead. Dorian had nodded at all the right moments, given all the proper responses, but his mind had been elsewhere.

His mind had been on Rhys.

Now, standing alone in his bedroom, the familiar weight of responsibility settled over him again, heavier than ever. His room, with its pristine shelves and perfectly arranged furniture, offered no comfort. Everything was in its place, just as it always had been. But somehow, that only made him feel more trapped.

Dorian sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair. He stared down at his hands, still feeling the ghost of Rhys' presence—still remembering how close they had been, how the air between them had felt like it was crackling with something he couldn't explain.

How had it come to this?

Dorian had always prided himself on control—on his ability to stay composed, no matter what. But today, for the first time in a long while, that control had slipped. He had almost let something happen with Rhys, something he couldn't even begin to process. And the worst part was, he had wanted it.

His chest tightened at the thought.

Rhys Everen had been a thorn in his side from the moment they met—always teasing, always pushing, always there to disrupt the order Dorian had so carefully built around himself. At first, it had been easy to brush it off as nothing more than a nuisance, something he could ignore. But the more time he spent with Rhys, the harder it had become to pretend that it didn't affect him.

Because it did. And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

Dorian clenched his fists, his mind racing with the memory of that almost-kiss. The way Rhys had looked at him, the way his scent—jasmine, rain-soaked earth, and wild mint—had wrapped around him, pulling him in despite every instinct telling him to pull away. He had been so close to losing control. Too close.

And now, sitting here in the quiet of his room, Dorian couldn't shake the unsettling realization that a part of him wanted to lose that control. A part of him was tired of being perfect, of being the model Alpha that his parents expected him to be. He had spent his whole life trying to meet their impossible standards, trying to live up to the Vaelis name, but with Rhys...

With Rhys, everything felt different.

Dorian exhaled sharply, running his hands through his hair again. He shouldn't be thinking like this. It was dangerous. If his parents ever found out, if Eryx or Cassandra even suspected that he was wavering, the consequences would be severe. They had raised him to be the perfect Alpha, the heir to the Vaelis legacy, and any sign of weakness was unacceptable.

And yet, for all the training, all the discipline, there was a part of Dorian that had never quite fit into the mold they had created for him. A part of him that wanted more than the rigid life laid out before him.

A part of him that Rhys seemed to see.

Dorian's mind flickered back to the fundraiser—back to the moment when he had seen the Omega couple in the crowd. There had been something so familiar about them, something that tugged at the edges of his memory, though he couldn't place it. The way they had looked at him, the strange pull in his chest when their eyes had met... It had felt wrong. But at the same time, it had felt right.

Everything was spinning out of control, and Dorian had no idea how to stop it.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, and his heart sank as he recognized the sharp, deliberate sound. Cassandra.

"Dorian," Her voice called from the other side of the door, cool and clipped. "Your father and I would like to speak with you."

Dorian swallowed, the familiar weight of duty settling over him once more. Of course. There was always something. Always some way he had fallen short, some flaw they had to point out. And he knew, without question, that this conversation wouldn't be about praise for his work at the fundraiser. They would find something wrong—some imperfection in his performance.

For a brief, reckless moment, Dorian considered not answering. Just staying in his room, locked away from their scrutiny, away from their expectations. But the thought was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come.

Because that wasn't who he was. It wasn't who they had made him.

With a quiet sigh, Dorian stood, squaring his shoulders. He couldn't afford to fall apart now. Not with his parents waiting for him. Not with everything they expected him to be.

"Coming," He called, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

As he walked toward the door, the memory of Rhys' closeness—his warmth, his scent—lingered in the back of his mind, and for just a moment, Dorian wondered what it would be like to let go. To stop fighting, to stop pretending, and let the pieces fall where they may.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

With one final breath, Dorian opened the door and stepped out into the hall, back into the world of control he couldn't seem to escape.

_

The long hallway leading to his parents' study felt colder than usual, the polished marble floors amplifying the echo of Dorian's footsteps as he approached the heavy wooden doors. The dim lighting only added to the sense of formality and distance that always seemed to cling to this part of the mansion.

He paused just before reaching the doors, taking a slow breath in an attempt to steady himself. He had faced these moments countless times before—conversations where his parents' cold, assessing gazes left no room for error, no space for emotion. They always expected perfection, and tonight would be no different.

With a soft exhale, Dorian pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The study was as imposing as ever, filled with towering bookshelves, dark wood furniture, and a large desk that dominated the room. Eryx sat behind the desk, his pale blue eyes sharp as they tracked Dorian's every move. Cassandra stood near the window, her elegant posture never faltering, her dark amber eyes cool and calculating.

"Dorian," Eryx said, his voice a low rumble that commanded attention.

"Father. Mother." Dorian greeted them with a small nod, his voice carefully controlled, masking the storm of thoughts still swirling in his mind.

Cassandra was the first to speak, her tone clipped. "You handled yourself well at the fundraiser. The event was a success, and your speech was... satisfactory."

The word "satisfactory" landed like a heavy stone in Dorian's chest. It wasn't praise—Cassandra never offered praise—but it also wasn't a critique. Not yet.

"But," She continued, her gaze narrowing slightly, "There was something about your demeanor today that seemed... off."

Dorian's heart skipped a beat, though his expression remained neutral. He had learned long ago to hide any sign of weakness in front of his parents. Still, the memory of that almost-kiss with Rhys flashed in his mind, making his chest tighten.

Cassandra moved closer, her sharp gaze boring into him. "You seemed... distracted at certain moments. As if your focus was not where it should have been."

Dorian swallowed, maintaining his calm. "I assure you, I was fully focused on the event."

Eryx remained silent, his cold gaze never leaving Dorian's face as if he were studying him for any sign of imperfection. Cassandra, however, wasn't finished.

"I saw you talking to that boy—Rhys Everen," She said, her voice laced with disdain. "The Omega. The one involved in your detention."

Dorian's pulse quickened. He could feel the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak. He knew where this was going, and it took everything in him to remain composed.

"He's reckless," Cassandra continued, her tone sharpening. "And you are not to associate with him beyond what is necessary for school business. His presence reflects poorly on you, and by extension, on us."

Eryx finally spoke, his voice low and unyielding. "Your focus should be on maintaining the Vaelis name. You cannot afford distractions, Dorian."

The word "distractions" hit harder than he expected, though he tried to push the thought of Rhys from his mind. But it lingered—Rhys' teasing smile, his touch, the way he had effortlessly slipped past Dorian's defenses. The pull was undeniable, and the more his parents pressed, the more Dorian felt the weight of his control slipping.

"I understand," Dorian said, keeping his voice steady.

But Cassandra's gaze was still sharp, piercing through his carefully maintained exterior. "Do you?" She asked, her voice dropping to a chilling softness. "Because it seems to me that you've been letting yourself get too close to things that could compromise your position."

For a brief, reckless moment, Dorian almost asked what exactly she meant—if she had seen something, sensed something between him and Rhys. But he stopped himself just in time. The last thing he needed was for them to catch on to the storm brewing inside him.

Dorian clenched his jaw, nodding once more. "I won't let it happen again."

Cassandra's lips pressed into a thin line, satisfied but still critical. "Good. Because you need to stay focused. The family's reputation depends on it, and as the future leader, you have no room for weakness."

Weakness. The word echoed in Dorian's mind, twisting uncomfortably inside him. All his life, his parents had drilled it into him—control, perfection, strength. There was no space for vulnerability, no room for anything less than excellence.

But now, standing there in the cold, calculated atmosphere of the study, Dorian couldn't help but feel the strain of it all—the pressure to be perfect, to be everything they expected him to be. And today, for the first time in a long while, he had felt himself falter.

The weight of his parents' expectations was suffocating, but the more they pressed, the more that part of him—the part that had almost kissed Rhys, the part that craved something more than this empty, perfect life—fought back.

"We'll discuss your next responsibilities tomorrow," Eryx said, his voice final, as if the conversation was already over.

Dorian nodded stiffly. "Yes, Father."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, the door closing softly behind him. As soon as he was out in the hallway, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He had survived the conversation, as he always did. But tonight, the weight of it felt heavier than usual, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the lingering memory of Rhys—his touch, his scent, the way he had made Dorian feel like maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than this.

Dorian walked back to his room, his mind still spinning with the events of the day. And for the first time, he found himself wondering what it would be like to finally let go—to stop fighting the pull he felt toward Rhys and see where it would take him.

But he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

With a heavy heart, Dorian closed the door to his room, the familiar walls of control closing in around him once more.

_

The next morning, Dorian walked into Haleworth Academy with quiet determination, his mind still heavy with the warnings from the night before. His parents' words echoed in his head—no room for weakness, no distractions. He had spent years perfecting the art of control, of being the ideal Alpha, and he wasn't about to let everything slip now.

But as he walked through the school grounds, the memory of Rhys lingered, like a stubborn whisper in the back of his mind. That moment in the auditorium—the almost-kiss, the crack in his carefully constructed armor—kept replaying in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to shove it aside.

He couldn't let himself lose focus. Not now.

His jaw tightened as he moved toward the gym, his footsteps brisk, purposeful. He needed to get back to routine, to discipline. If he threw himself into his training, into his responsibilities, maybe he could regain the control that had slipped through his fingers the day before.

The gym was mostly empty this early in the morning, the perfect setting for him to focus on his workout without any distractions. As Dorian changed into his workout clothes, he ran through his plan for the day. After training, he had meetings lined up with the student council, tasks to review for the next school event. He would immerse himself in his duties, give himself no room to think about anything else.

Certainly not about Rhys.

Dorian stepped onto the mat, his body immediately moving through the familiar motions of his taekwondo forms. The sharp movements, the precision of each strike and kick, gave him something to focus on. Each hit, each block, was designed to train not just his body but his mind—a way to enforce discipline, to regain the control that had started to slip.

The physical exertion pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind, his muscles burning as he moved through his routine with ruthless efficiency. The familiar rhythm of training was a welcome escape, a way to drown out the noise, the emotions, the pull toward Rhys that had been gnawing at him since their encounter.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus, Rhys' face kept flashing in his mind—his teasing smile, the warmth of his breath, the way Dorian's heart had raced when they stood too close.

He let out a frustrated breath, his foot hitting the mat harder than intended as he completed the last strike. Control. He needed control.

But as much as Dorian wanted to regain it, the pull toward Rhys wasn't something he could just ignore. And part of him, the part he kept buried beneath layers of discipline and duty, didn't want to ignore it.

Enough.

He pushed the thought aside and moved to the next part of his routine, forcing his mind to focus. He wasn't going to let this break him.

_

After training, Dorian showered and changed back into his uniform, ready to throw himself into the rest of the day. He walked through the hallways of the academy with his usual quiet authority, nodding at students who greeted him, his mind already turning to the upcoming meetings with the student council.

But even as he moved through the motions, his senses were on high alert, half-expecting to run into Rhys at any moment. The thought sent a surge of frustration through him—he shouldn't be this distracted.

He was supposed to be the one in control, the one who kept everything in order. But Rhys had a way of disrupting that, of throwing his world into chaos without even trying. And the worst part was, Dorian found himself drawn to that chaos, despite everything his parents had drilled into him.

As he walked toward the student council room, he spotted Talia waiting by the door, clipboard in hand.

"Morning, President," She greeted with a small smile. "We've got the final reports for the fundraiser, and the next event details are ready for review."

"Good," Dorian said, nodding. "Let's go over them now."

But before they could step inside, a familiar voice cut through the hallway.

"President."

Dorian's entire body stiffened at the sound. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He could already feel the tension building in his chest.

Rhys.

Taking a slow breath, Dorian turned to see Rhys approaching, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, that same teasing grin tugging at his lips. His presence alone seemed to throw the air around them into disarray, and Dorian's heart gave an unwelcome jolt.

"I'm surprised you're not too busy to say hi," Rhys said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "What, no more running away?"

Dorian clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the heat creeping up the back of his neck. "I don't have time for this right now, Rhys."

Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly not bothered by the brush-off. "Really? Because you looked like you could use a break."

"I'm fine," Dorian said sharply, turning back toward the door. "I have work to do."

But Rhys wasn't done. "Funny. You didn't seem fine yesterday."

Dorian froze, his grip tightening on the door handle. His mind flashed back to the almost-kiss, to the way his composure had slipped in that brief, heated moment. The memory sent a rush of conflicting emotions through him—frustration, confusion, and something far more dangerous.

He turned to Rhys, his voice low. "I don't know what you think happened, but it won't happen again."

Rhys leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, completely unfazed by Dorian's cold tone. "Sure, President. Whatever you say."

The smirk on Rhys' face told Dorian everything he needed to know—Rhys wasn't going to let this go. He would keep pushing, keep teasing, keep testing the boundaries until Dorian cracked again. And that terrified him.

Dorian straightened, forcing his voice back into its usual calm. "I have responsibilities to attend to. If you'll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, Dorian stepped into the student council room, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary. His heart pounded in his chest, and the carefully maintained control he had fought so hard for was slipping once again.

But no matter how hard he tried to distance himself, to shut Rhys out, he couldn't escape the pull between them. It was like a force of gravity, drawing him back no matter how hard he resisted.

And the more he tried to regain control, the more it seemed to slip from his grasp.

_

Rhys leaned against the wall outside the student council room, watching as the last few students filtered out of the building. The afternoon sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows over the courtyard, and the air was heavy with the quiet hum of a school day winding down.

But Rhys wasn't in any rush to leave. Not today.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the look on Dorian's face earlier that morning—the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened the moment their eyes met. Rhys could feel the shift between them, the way Dorian was trying to avoid him, trying to bury the pull that had sparked between them at the fundraiser.

And Rhys wasn't about to let that happen.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that what had started as a game had turned into something else. He wasn't just toying with Dorian anymore—he wanted to see how far he could push the boundaries, how much he could break through that icy exterior Dorian wrapped himself in. There was something real beneath all that control, and Rhys had every intention of uncovering it.

With a small grin, Rhys pushed off the wall and walked toward the student council room, where Dorian was still finishing up. Rhys had a plan—one that involved getting a little closer than Dorian was comfortable with, and maybe, just maybe, seeing how far he could push him before that composure cracked again.

The door was slightly ajar when Rhys reached it, and he peeked inside. Dorian was alone, standing by the large meeting table, his back to the door as he went over a stack of papers. The tension in his posture was unmistakable, the same rigid control he always carried, but Rhys could sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

Perfect.

Rhys stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. Dorian didn't turn around at first, likely assuming it was just another council member dropping off something. But when Rhys didn't say anything, the room grew still.

Dorian's back stiffened even more, and Rhys couldn't help but smirk.

"Long day, President?" Rhys drawled, his voice soft but teasing.

Dorian's head snapped up, and he turned to face Rhys, his expression a mixture of surprise and frustration. His dark green eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a flicker of something else—something more uncertain—just beneath the surface.

"What are you doing here?" Dorian asked, his tone sharper than usual.

Rhys shrugged, taking a few leisurely steps closer. "Just wanted to check in. You seemed a little... tense earlier."

"I'm fine," Dorian replied curtly, turning back to his paperwork as if to dismiss him.

But Rhys wasn't so easily deterred.

He walked closer, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps, until he was standing just behind Dorian—close enough that he could see the subtle tension in the Alpha's shoulders, could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"Are you sure?" Rhys asked softly, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're doing everything you can to avoid me."

Dorian's hands froze over the papers, his fingers curling slightly into the edges. He didn't turn around, but Rhys could see the way his back tensed even further, like he was bracing himself for something.

"I'm not avoiding you," Dorian said, though his voice sounded strained, as if the words were costing him something.

Rhys smirked, leaning in just slightly, close enough that he knew Dorian could feel his presence, could sense the heat between them. "Really? Because that's not how it feels."

For a long moment, the room was silent. Dorian didn't move, didn't say anything, and Rhys could almost hear the battle going on inside him—the fight between keeping control and giving in to the pull between them.

Rhys decided to push a little further.

"You know," Rhys murmured, his voice teasing, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. That moment at the fundraiser. The almost-kiss."

Dorian's entire body went rigid, his breath catching audibly in his throat.

Rhys continued, his voice dropping even lower, closer to a whisper. "You felt it too, didn't you?"

Dorian turned then, his eyes flashing with something between frustration and desire. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no denying the heat in his gaze—the way his eyes locked onto Rhys' with an intensity that made Rhys' heart race.

"This is inappropriate," Dorian said, though his voice was unsteady, the usual calm cracking under the weight of the moment.

Rhys chuckled softly. "Inappropriate? Maybe. But that doesn't mean it isn't real."

Dorian swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them so thick it was almost tangible. Rhys could feel the pull growing stronger, could see the way Dorian's composure was starting to slip, piece by piece.

And Rhys wasn't about to back down now.

He stepped even closer, closing the last bit of space between them until they were practically chest to chest. He could feel the heat of Dorian's body, could see the way Dorian's pulse jumped in his neck, and for a moment, Rhys considered pushing even further, seeing just how far he could take this.

But then Dorian spoke, his voice strained and quiet. "Rhys..."

Rhys paused, his gaze locking on Dorian's, waiting for what would come next.

"I... can't," Dorian whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

The words sent a strange jolt through Rhys. He could hear the conflict in Dorian's voice—the desperation to maintain control, to keep everything in line. But Rhys could also see the way Dorian's resolve was crumbling, the way his emotions were warring beneath the surface.

"You think you can't," Rhys said softly, his voice more serious now, his teasing edge gone. "But you can. You just won't let yourself."

Dorian's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes locked onto Rhys' with a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something raw.

Rhys leaned in just a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you so afraid of?"

For a moment, Dorian said nothing, his eyes flicking away from Rhys, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting against himself. But then, in a voice so quiet it was almost inaudible, Dorian finally answered.

"Losing control."

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy and vulnerable. And for the first time, Rhys saw the real Dorian—the one hidden beneath all the layers of duty and perfection, the one who was terrified of letting go.

Rhys' gaze softened, the playful edge in his demeanor slipping away as he stepped back slightly, giving Dorian space to breathe. "You don't have to lose control," Rhys said quietly. "You just have to stop hiding."

Dorian didn't respond, but the look in his eyes told Rhys everything he needed to know. The battle was still raging inside him, but Rhys had seen the cracks in his defenses, had seen the way Dorian had almost let go.

And Rhys wasn't giving up anytime soon.

With one last look, Rhys turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dorian standing there, the tension between them still thick, still unresolved. But Rhys knew, without a doubt, that they would both be back here again. And next time, he wasn't sure either of them would be able to stop.