"Lucian, hurry up!"
Celeste Dale's voice rang like a bell through the marble halls of the Dale estate , a sprawling Italianate mansion nestled high above the city, where wrought iron balconies overlooked manicured gardens and the air always smelled faintly of jasmine and power. The 23-year-old heiress stood at the foot of the grand staircase in a shimmering designer dress, practically vibrating with excitement.
Tonight was no ordinary night. Her favorite artist , the one and only Elián Hart, the Omega pop sensation who had captivated the whole nation and beyond was holding a live concert downtown. And for once, Celeste wasn't going with just bodyguards. No, tonight she had managed the impossible.
She was dragging her brother with her.
Lucian Dale (32) the cold, infamously untouchable head of the Dale Mafia Empire, and the most feared Alpha on the eastern seaboard had finally agreed, after a month of pestering, to accompany her. Not because he liked concerts, or crowds , But because peace of mind was more valuable to him than arguing with his spoiled, persistent little sister.
"You promised, Lucian!" Celeste shouted again, adjusting her earrings in the gilded mirror as her heels clicked against the marble floor. "Don't make me come drag you down!"
From upstairs, Lucian's voice echoed coolly, "I'm checking the venue's security protocols. You're lucky I haven't canceled this whole thing."
Celeste rolled her eyes. Of course he was.
Lucian had spent the entire week studying the concert venue like he was planning a hostile takeover combing through entry points, emergency exits, and scanning crowd statistics. When he discovered over 40,000 people would be attending, he nearly backed out.
"That's too many people just to hear one Omega sing," he had muttered earlier. "What's so damn special about him?"
Celeste's answer had been swift. "Everything. He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "More beautiful than you?"
"Without question," she had said dreamily. "Elián is ethereal."
Now, she bounced in place as the grand oak door swung open and Carlos entered Lucian's best friend and personal assistant. Dressed in sleek black and holding a tablet under his arm, Carlos looked every inch the quiet professional... until he saw Celeste's grin.
"Let's get going," he said with a warm smile.
"Yeepeeee!" Celeste squealed, grabbing her purse.
Carlos smirked. "Excited much?"
"Like hell I am! Do you know how long I've waited for this night?"
"But you've seen him perform dozens of times," Carlos laughed as he walked with her toward the car.
"It doesn't matter," she sighed, eyes shining. "He mesmerizes me every time. I could see him a thousand times and still not get enough."
Lucian finally descended the stairs, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit dangerous, poised, and clearly irritated. "Carlos, don't tell me you're a fan too."
Carlos hesitated… then looked away in guilty silence.
Celeste burst into laughter. "Welcome to the Songbird Fandom, Carlos!"
"What the hell is that?" Lucian snapped.
"It's what Elián's fans call themselves," Carlos mumbled, clearly embarrassed.
Lucian stared at his friend with deep betrayal. "I can't believe I've lost you to this nonsense too."
"Just wait until you hear him sing," Carlos said with a shrug. "Even your stone heart might crack."
Celeste clutched her purse a little tighter and whispered, "How I wish Elián were part of our family. I'd be happy every single day."
Lucian scoffed. "It's not too late. Ask him to adopt you. Since your real family is so useless."
"I never said that!" she gasped. "Don't let Mom hear you say that, Lucy."
Lucian's eyes darkened. "I told you never to call me that."
"Yeah, yeah," Celeste waved a hand. "You don't have to be so bitter. Honestly, I pity the Omega who'll end up marrying you. What a cold, miserable life."
Lucian stopped dead. "What?"
"Oh my god, you're terrifying," she teased. "Let's go, Carlos, before he changes his mind."
Arm in arm, Celeste and Carlos swept through the front doors and into the waiting limo, whispering and giggling like children at a sleepover. Lucian followed behind, dragging his feet like a man on his way to war.
"I don't even want to go," he muttered under his breath. "This is a waste of time."
The black limousine slid through the glittering streets of Los Angeles like a shadow wrapped in silk. Inside, the soft scent of leather and sandalwood floated through the air-conditioned quiet, broken only by Celeste's humming light, excited, uncontrollable.
She sat with one leg crossed over the other, dressed in an opalescent lilac dress that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her long golden hair was pinned half-up with a silver butterfly clip, a gift from their mother. On her lap sat a small Elian Hart fan banner, neatly folded but held with the reverence of a sacred relic.
Lucian Dale sat beside her, tall, broad-shouldered, and tense in a perfectly tailored black suit with no tie. His midnight hair was slicked back in habitual order, jaw locked, one gloved hand resting on his thigh while the other absently tapped his phone not because he cared about anything in it, but because he needed something to do besides listen to his sister gush about her "Songbird."
In the front seat, Carlos tried not to smile too wide. He drove with practiced ease, but his eyes sparkled in the rearview mirror.
"This is the same Elian concert you went to last year in Vegas, Cel," Lucian muttered, finally lifting his gaze from the screen. "And the year before that. And the year before that."
"And each one was different," she replied with a grin, leaning close to Carlos. "Right, Carlos?"
Carlos cleared his throat. "He did improvise an entire encore last year that made people cry."
"Of course he did," Lucian sighed. "Because when an omega sings in falsetto, the world forgets how to think."
Celeste smacked his arm. "He's not just an omega. He's Elian Hart."
Lucian arched a brow. "Still doesn't justify ten thousand people screaming his name in a dark arena like they're in a trance."
Carlos chuckled softly. "You'll understand when you hear him, sir."
Lucian leaned back and looked out the window, jaw tightening. The streets were glowing with posters. ELIAN HART – LIVE IN LOS ANGELES. His face delicate, androgynous, striking smiled from every wall, digital board, and merchandise stall. Long lashes, sea-glass eyes, that lean frame. He looked like someone who'd never broke a rule .
As they neared the venue a sleek, glass-wrapped amphitheater carved into the Los Angeles skyline Lucian sat straighter. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd spilling onto the sidewalks. Fans in pastel colors waved glowing banners and wore heart-shaped pins that read "SONGBIRDS FOREVER."
"You brought backup?" Lucian asked.
Carlos nodded. "Six men inside. Fifteen outside.
"Overkill," Lucian muttered.
"You agreed to come," Celeste reminded him, pointing a manicured finger. "So no scaring anyone. No guns out. No death threats."
"Remind me again why you couldn't go alone like every other spoiled heiress?"
"Because I love you," she cooed sweetly, fluttering her lashes. "And because dad said you should get out more."
Lucian rolled his eyes. "Next time I'll just send a donation to the fan club."
As the car pulled into the private VIP entrance, muffled cheers and camera flashes lit the dusk like distant fireworks.
Celeste bounced in her seat. "He's inside, Lucian. Breathing the same air as us."