A Concerning Discovery

The following morning, Tarya descended the staircase leading to the annex's basement. The air grew cooler with each step, the stone walls pressing inward. Her heels clicked against the cold floor, sharp and deliberate. Gone were her usual elegant dresses, the dripping jewelry, the elaborate hairstyles that crowned her like a queen. Today, she wore simple linen pants and a soft pink shirt, her long black hair cascading down her back in loose waves. Even stripped of her finery, her presence radiated authority—a polished blade beneath a silk sheath.

Her deep brown eyes burned with anticipation.

She relished the suffering of others. And she was especially delighted in making Asahin suffer.

That cursed boy. Where had his sudden defiance come from? Hadn't she trained him enough? Wasn't he supposed to be under her complete control by now? He had always been so pliable, so easy to mold. Had he forgotten his place—that he was nothing more than a tool to elevate her son?

Asahin was supposed to make Darrien shine. To make Kaylen Morrison and everyone else watching see how superior Darrien was. That was his only purpose. That was why she'd allowed him to survive this long.

If what the witch had said was true, then Kaylen could never—must never—feel anything toward Asahin but contempt. No pity, no kindness, certainly not affection. Just pure, blistering disgust.

For the past year, Tarya had ensured that Asahin acted according to her carefully laid plans. He had clung to Kaylen in public, thrown humiliating tantrums, stolen his belongings like a desperate, pathetic child. He had followed orders without question, his fear making him easy to manipulate. Everything had been going perfectly.

Until last night.

Asahin had slipped away—sneaking off like a rat in the dark—and returned drenched in Kaylen's pheromones.

The scent had been so potent that the estate guards picked it up the moment they neared the annex. Tarya's rage ignited the instant she was informed. Kaylen's pheromones. Oozing from Asahin's skin. Saturating the very walls of the east annex.

Everyone at Valmoor House was familiar with Kaylen Morrison's pheromones. How could they not be?

It happened during the homecoming party, when the Valmoors welcomed Darrien and Kaylen back from abroad. Kaylen had stood at the head of the table, a crystal glass of champagne in his hand, and raised a toast to the Valmoor family. His voice had been steady, his gaze sharp and composed. Then, he'd made the announcement:

"Darrien and I have been dating for almost two years."

And then Kaylen had released his pheromones—blanketing the estate, since that was the custom when your intentions with that family's omega were serious.

No one had ever witnessed an alpha with such strength and control. The Morrison heir's pheromones rolled through the hallways and gardens, saturating the very stones of the estate, yet they weren't oppressive or overbearing. They were warm. Gentle. Laced with gratitude and intent.

It had been a remarkable display of power—not only a declaration of his claim on Darrien, but a warning to everyone present. Kaylen Morrison wasn't to be challenged, or someone to be trifled with. He was more than worthy of being the heir to House Morrison.

Tarya had been brimming with delight. Her son deserved such an alpha and the life that came with him. But there had been one lingering problem—one obstacle that she hadn't managed to eradicate completely. Asahin.

She'd tried. Over and over. But the boy was surprisingly resilient. So, she had shifted strategies—turning Asahin into a weapon instead. She had broken him down, reduced him to nothing but a pawn in her carefully constructed game. Or so she thought.

But now? After last night?

No. It didn't make sense. How had Asahin and Kaylen even crossed paths? And why would Kaylen's pheromones—his undeniable mark—be all over that defective omega?

Had Asahin told him something? Had he exposed what Tarya and Darrien had been doing all this time? Surely not. Kaylen wouldn't believe him. Tarya had made sure to tarnish Asahin's reputation beyond repair. No one trusted him. He was the spoiled, unstable stepson—the embarrassing third-class omega who couldn't even produce or sense pheromones properly.

But… what if Kaylen had seen proof? What if Asahin—the obedient little dog that he was—had suddenly decided to bite?

Tarya's lips curled. She had been stabbed before, both literally and metaphorically. The pain and the consequences were nothing new. But this? She would not allow herself to be undone by a fragile slip of an omega.

She reached the basement door. Two guards stood at attention, bowing slightly as she approached.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice sharp and cold.

"Barely conscious, my lady," one of the guards answered.

"Have you been feeding him your pheromones every two hours as I instructed?"

"Yes, my lady," the other guard confirmed. "He passed out a few times, but we woke him with fear-inducing pheromones."

Tarya smiled thinly. "Good. Now open the door and drag him back to his bedroom."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and ascended the stairs toward Asahin's room.

The door was ajar. She stepped inside and settled into the armchair near the window. Asahin's annex was clean, as always. Tarya made sure of it. Appearances were important. Should anyone decide to visit unexpectedly, they would see no signs of neglect.

The annex itself was modest—three floors, more than forty years old. The lower level housed the kitchen, staff quarters, and a reception room. The second floor held four large bedrooms, including Asahin's. His mother's room remained untouched. The top level was a library and storage space. Tarya had ensured the annex was tastefully furnished with deep purple and gold tones—a reflection of Valmoor wealth and status. Even the gardens behind the annex were meticulously maintained.

Two guards dragged Asahin into the room and dropped him at her feet. He was pale, trembling, his breathing shallow. He couldn't even lift his head.

Tarya nudged his shoulder with the tip of her heel. "Boy."

No response.

She nudged harder. "Wake up."

Asahin's breath hitched. His eyelashes fluttered, but his eyes remained closed.

"Take him to the bathroom," Tarya said, her voice sharp. "Give him a cold shower."

As the guards hauled Asahin's limp body away, Tarya pulled her phone from her pocket.

"Bring a generous breakfast to the east annex," she ordered. "Quickly."

"Yes, my lady," a woman's voice responded.

Tarya set the phone down and began tapping her fingernails against the table's surface. Calm. Collected. But her eyes burned. She would remind Asahin of the consequences of disobedience.

Her gaze drifted toward the bed. A sliver of silver caught her eye beneath the pillow. Tarya crossed the room and lifted the pillow. A phone. Not Asahin's old phone. Her brow furrowed. She knew every detail of Asahin's original phone—she had installed monitoring apps and content restrictions herself. The only thing she hadn't installed in that phone was a tracking device—an oversight she now bitterly regretted. If she had tracked his movements, she wouldn't have to sit here, wasting her time and energy piecing together where Asahin had gone. She would have known immediately. She could have confronted him with cold, irrefutable proof. Instead, she was left with questions—and Tarya hated unanswered questions.

The reason she hadn't installed a tracker was simple: she never thought Asahin would dare to leave the house without her permission. He never had before. For years, he had been conditioned to fear the outside world—to fear the pheromones that lay beyond the safety of the east annex. His body couldn't handle it. She had ensured that.

Every Friday, without fail, Asahin was injected with a carefully crafted serum under the guise of managing his damaged pheromone glands. He believed the injections were meant to stabilize his body, to prevent him from suffering the side effects of his supposed defect. He trusted that the shots were keeping him alive. He even thanked her for it. But in reality, the serum was designed to weaken him—to make his body hypersensitive to alpha pheromones, heightening his discomfort to unbearable levels.

Tarya had watched the results with satisfaction over the years. Anytime Asahin ventured near someone emitting strong pheromones, his body reacted violently. Shortness of breath, muscle tremors, lightheadedness—his system couldn't cope with the intensity. The effect was so severe that Asahin grew terrified of leaving the annex. He avoided the outside world completely, believing it was his own body's weakness that confined him.

It worked perfectly. Until now.

Asahin had managed to sneak out. Somehow, he had bypassed the guards and the surveillance—a system she had intentionally left lax because there had never been a need to tighten it. He wasn't supposed to have the strength or courage to leave. He was supposed to be too broken, too fragile, too afraid. But not only had Asahin left the annex—he had returned drenched in Kaylen Morrison's pheromones.

Tarya's grip tightened on the phone. The more she thought about it, the more it enraged her. This might not have even been his first time sneaking out. How long had he been doing this under her nose? How many times had he slipped past her carefully constructed walls without her knowledge? If it weren't for the overwhelming scent of Kaylen's pheromones that had clung to him upon his return, she might have never even noticed.

Tarya turned on the phone. It was unlocked. Amateur mistake. There were only three numbers saved. The nanny's. Evan's. And…

Food guy?

Tarya narrowed her eyes. Why would Asahin save a delivery service's number? He hated phone calls. He ordered through apps. She pressed the dial button.

It rang once.

Then a low, familiar voice answered.

"Asahin? What's the matter?"

Tarya's blood ran cold. Kaylen Morrison's voice!

She ended the call immediately. Her hand curled into a fist. The phone buzzed. Kaylen was calling back.

She declined the call and typed:

"Sorry, wrong number."

A response came instantly.

"No worries. Talk later. Bye."

Tarya's jaw tightened. Talk later!?

It didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. Kaylen hated Asahin. She had seen it in his eyes so many times—the cold indifference, the barely concealed disgust. Tarya had worked so hard, so carefully, to make sure that hatred took root and thrived. She had orchestrated every confrontation, every moment of humiliation, ensuring that Kaylen would view Asahin as nothing more than a weak, pathetic nuisance. And it worked. Or at least, it was supposed to have worked.

So why was Kaylen acting differently now?

Her thoughts circled back to the night of the party. That was when everything had started to unravel. Kaylen had insisted on carrying Asahin back to his room after he collapsed. Insisted. That had been the first crack in the carefully constructed façade. But it couldn't have meant anything—Darrien had followed closely behind, and Kaylen had returned to the party afterward without a second glance. Business as usual. No softness, no warmth. Just Kaylen being Kaylen.

Had it started before that? Impossible. Just three days before the party, she had made sure Asahin embarrassed himself at the university. Screaming, crying, pushing Darrien, clinging to Kaylen like a desperate fool. Kaylen's reaction had been exactly what Tarya had expected. Darrien had reported back that Kaylen was absolutely appalled. He even called campus security to have Asahin dragged away like a madman. Exactly as Tarya had planned. There had been no hesitation, no flicker of concern in Kaylen's eyes. So then… when?

Tarya's hand tightened around the phone, her nails digging into the smooth surface. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached. Something, somewhere had shifted. Kaylen was supposed to hate Asahin. But the scent of Kaylen's pheromones clinging to Asahin when he returned home proved otherwise. That kind of saturation didn't happen by accident. Kaylen's scent had soaked into Asahin's skin. His clothes. His very breath. Kaylen had never done something like that with Darrien.

That's why she was so much more enraged. This wasn't just a mistake—it was a threat to everything she had built. If Kaylen's indifference toward Asahin was cracking, it could undo years of work.

Her hand shot toward the table, grabbing her personal phone. Her fingers flew over the screen.

"Send someone from the control room to install tapping and tracking devices."

Within thirty seconds, a guard in black entered the room, took Asahin's phone, and left without a word.

Tarya walked back to the armchair and sank into it. Her expression was cold, calculating.

Had Asahin been meeting Kaylen in secret? Or worse—had Kaylen sought him out?

Tarya's eyes darkened as a cold smile curled across her lips. If Asahin had crossed the line she drew for him then he would surely pay the price.