"Why did you bring him here?" Guiller's voice sliced through the silence as Adriel descended from the second floor of the Ulrick mansion. The moment they returned from the island, Adriel had taken his husband straight home—something he'd never done before. Naturally, Guiller and James were stunned to see the omega standing in their foyer.
Bernard said nothing. He knew better than to question Adriel's decisions.
"This is my house too," Adriel said coolly, not even sparing them a glance. "I have every right to bring home whoever I want. Especially my mate."
Guiller scoffed, fists tightening. "Mate? Don't make me laugh. That cursed omega—you want to drag yourself into ruin because of him?"
He didn't get to finish. Adriel's sharp glare cut him off like a blade.
"I'd appreciate it if you stopped talking about my mate like that," Adriel said, voice low but firm. "Or have you forgotten? He's your brother-in-law now."
Guiller's jaw worked, but he said nothing. No matter what he tried, he could never win against Adriel. The younger Alpha brushed past them without another word, his presence commanding even in silence.
He disappeared into the kitchen, reemerging moments later with a glass of water. His footsteps were steady, deliberate, as he carried it back upstairs.
Inside the bedroom, Eren lay curled beneath the sheets, his skin pale and damp with sweat. Adriel set the glass down on the side table and sat beside him, brushing damp strands of hair gently from his face.
"You're burning up," he murmured, pressing the back of his hand to Eren's forehead, then his neck.
"I'll be fine," Eren whispered, his voice rough and faint. "Just need to rest."
There was a pause. Then, almost like a sigh slipping loose, he added, "I envy him."
Adriel frowned. "Who?"
Eren's lashes fluttered shut, his voice unsteady. "The one you were supposed to bring home. Your real future spouse."
Adriel stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Was it the fever talking—or a truth Eren had carried all along?
"And I'm sorry… for being a burden."
Adriel's gaze snapped to Eren's face, his chest tightening at the words. Was he even aware of what he was saying? Or was the fever dragging out truths he normally kept buried?
"Eren…" Adriel whispered, but the omega didn't seem to hear him.
"Mama…" His voice cracked as he trembled, reaching out blindly. His hand found Adriel's and clung tight, his fingers curling with a desperation that nearly undid him.
Adriel didn't move. He couldn't.
On the way back from the island, he'd noticed the shift—the paling skin, the sluggish steps. By the time they reached the mansion, Eren could barely keep his eyes open. Adriel had carried him upstairs, laid him gently on his bed, and refused to leave his side.
The doctor's warning still echoed in his mind: the pregnancy was fragile. One more shock, one more ounce of strain, and they could lose everything.
But that wasn't all. The physician's tone had turned graver when he looked at Adriel—when he spoke not just as a healer, but as an elder who understood what it meant for an unbonded omega to carry life.
If Eren isn't permanently marked, the doctor had said, if he doesn't have the stabilizing bond of his fated Alpha, his body will keep rejecting the strain. His system will weaken, his instincts will spiral. And with the brand already tearing at him… he and the child may not survive to full term.
Adriel hadn't been able to breathe when he heard it. The idea of losing Eren—losing their baby—because of something that should have never been forced on him in the first place made his blood run cold.
Now, sitting at Eren's side as fever gripped him, those words pressed harder than ever against his chest. The risk wasn't just in the stress or the pain. It was in the very fact that fate had branded him cursed and unworthy of bond—yet Adriel's every instinct screamed to claim him, to make him his, to protect him in a way no mark could ever undo.
Now, watching Eren cry out for a mother who had never truly loved him, something inside Adriel broke.
He brushed damp hair from his mate's forehead, fingers lingering against burning skin. The grip on his hand never loosened.
"You're not a burden," Adriel murmured, his voice low, steady. "And I don't want anyone else. I brought you here because this is your home now. With me."
Eren didn't respond, but his breathing shifted—slowing, softening—as if the words reached him through the haze.
Adriel's thumb traced idle circles against the back of his hand. "You think being branded makes you cursed. You think being an omega makes you less. But you're wrong. You're not some contract I was forced into, Eren. You're not some problem I have to fix. You and this baby—you're my family. Mine. Whether you believe it or not."
For a moment, Eren stirred, lashes fluttering. His lips parted, the smallest sound slipping out. "You'll stay… right?"
Adriel bent closer, his chest aching at the fragility in those words. He pressed a kiss to Eren's fevered brow, lingering there.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.
And as Eren finally drifted into sleep, still holding his hand as though letting go would break him, Adriel realized something he hadn't dared admit until now.
He was already falling in love with the omega fate had branded as cursed.
"It's okay now. I'm here," Adriel murmured, his voice low and steady as his fingers slid gently through Eren's damp hair. He leaned closer until his forehead rested softly against his, grounding him with touch and scent. "I'm right beside you. I'm not going anywhere."
He meant to pull back, to give Eren space—but suddenly, Eren's hand slipped from his and his arms lifted instead, clutching at Adriel with surprising strength. He buried his face against Adriel's chest, trembling.
The movement knocked the breath out of him, but the words that followed struck even deeper.
"You're not allowed to leave me," Eren whispered, muffled against his shirt, voice raw with need.
For a moment, Adriel couldn't move. His chest tightened, not just from the plea but from everything wrapped inside it—fear, desperation, the fragile hope of someone who had never truly been held.
He wrapped his arms around him in return, protective and unyielding, pressing a kiss into his hair. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice rougher than he intended. "I heard you. Loud and clear."
But even as he held him, Adriel felt the weight of the doctor's warning pressing at the back of his mind: The pregnancy is fragile. Too much stress, too much fear, and the risk grows. Without a permanent bond to his fated Alpha, his body will only weaken. He and the child will be in danger.
Eren's grip on him was desperate, clinging like he expected Adriel to vanish if he let go. And Adriel realized—he wasn't just asking for comfort. He was begging for something deeper, something Eren might not even realize himself.
Adriel tightened his embrace, his decision silent but absolute.
"I'm not leaving," he promised, holding him closer. Not when your life, and our child's, depends on it.