"Made something special for you and our little one—hope it reminds you of the way I've always spoiled you. Save a bite for me, alright? I'll be home before you miss me. —Your Husband."
The word Husband made Eren's pulse skip. His fingers trembled slightly as he folded the note, tucking it closer than he meant to. That single word carried Adriel's scent, faint but grounding, curling around his instincts like a warm claim.
"Husband? You're married?" Sylvia blurted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the silence. Her eyes snapped to Clara, then back to Eren, incredulous.
Eren froze, caught like prey under a spotlight.
"Well, that explains a few things," Sylvia went on, her tone turning acidic. "Who is he? An executive? A client? Someone with deep pockets, obviously. Because it's not easy to land a meal from Sear & Swoon—and you?" She gestured at him dismissively. "You don't exactly scream 'high society.' More like… convenient."
Clara bristled. "He didn't buy it, Sylvia. It says right here—he made it for him." She tapped the note firmly, her voice edged with defiance.
Sylvia's lips curled into a cold smile. "So maybe his husband's just the chef there. That would make sense."
A few coworkers chuckled nervously, feeding off her bite.
"Careful, Sylvia," another teased. "If Eren's husband is really that important, and you keep poking at him, word might get back to Sir Adriel."
"Oh please." Sylvia scoffed, but her gaze slid back to Eren, calculating. "I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. He's an Omega secretary. Men like that don't usually end up with men who can buy out restaurants." She let the word Omega hang in the air like a taunt before striding back to her desk.
Eren sat rigid, his throat tight. The laughter, the stares—they all pressed against the raw edges of his pride. The word convenient echoed in his head. Convenient. Temporary. Replaceable. His instincts coiled uneasily, but then—his eyes fell to the second container. Strawberries. Just the way Adriel always cut them, careful and indulgent, like he was feeding something fragile and precious.
His chest loosened despite himself. Adriel wasn't just feeding him. He was reminding him—you are mine.
"Your husband's adorable," Clara said softly, breaking through his thoughts. She nudged him with a smile. "Now I get why you never touch cafeteria food. If I had someone cooking for me like that, I'd never eat here either."
Eren's lips curved into a faint, shy smile, his hand resting lightly on the box. The claim of husband was still burning against his skin, steadying him against the sting of Sylvia's words.
Then his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Adriel's name. And just like that, the tension in his chest melted into warmth.
Clara caught the shift in Eren's expression and grinned knowingly before turning back to her work, though her ears were clearly pricked.
"Did you get the food I sent?" Adriel's voice came through the receiver, deep and warm, thrumming straight through Eren's chest.
Eren's fingers brushed the sticky note resting on top of the lunch box, his heart kicking harder at the sight of Adriel's handwriting. His Omega instincts answered instantly, a quiet flutter of warmth low in his belly.
"I did," he murmured with a small laugh, unable to help it.
"Weren't you in a meeting? How did you even have time to make this? You didn't have to—"
"I've always got time for you… and our little one," Adriel cut in, smooth and unyielding in the way only an Alpha could be.
Eren swallowed, his throat tight. "Still—"
"Don't overthink it, Red. I love doing this. And I know you—skipping meals, ignoring your cravings. You forget, but your body doesn't. Our child doesn't." His tone gentled. "I wasn't about to let you go hungry."
Eren's chest tightened at that word—our. The bond between them stirred, soothing the doubts Claude had left festering.
"I just don't want people thinking—"
"That I'm hopelessly in love with my Omega?" Adriel's laugh was soft, intimate, carrying a scent memory Eren could almost feel wrapping around him. "Let them. I wear that pride like a mark."
Eren ducked his head, heat pooling in his face. Clara's eyes flicked over, catching the shy smile before looking away again with a knowing smirk.
"Are you free now? Is your meeting over?"
"Just wrapped up. Roen and I are heading to a hotel branch for another client. I won't be back until late afternoon. Eat, Red. Every bite."
"…Alright. Take care," Eren whispered, softer now, his instincts aching with the distance.
"Red—"
The single word vibrated through him, low and claiming. His pulse skipped, Omega instincts urging him to answer, to lean into the bond tugging between them. But silence stretched, heavy and charged.
Eren checked the screen—the call was still connected. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah… I just—" Adriel exhaled, and when he spoke again his voice had dropped into something rawer, vulnerable. "I miss you."
Eren's breath hitched. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, chest warming, shoulders loosening as though soothed by a scent only memory could carry.
"…I miss you too."
Adriel hummed, satisfied, the sound wrapping around him like a promise. "Go eat. I'll see you later."
When the line clicked off, Eren stared down at the strawberries set aside just for him. His lips curved slowly, and for the first time since Claude's arrival, the storm inside him eased.
Adriel was spoiling him. And honestly… he loved every second of it.
When Claude stepped into Adriel's office, his eyes immediately caught on a desk not far from the Alpha's. He froze, breath hitching, before a bitter scoff slipped past his lips—the kind that carried both hurt and pride.
So… he keeps him close even here. Playing secretary, pretending to be nothing more. For what—Adriel's convenience? His amusement?
Fueled by that bitter ache only an Omega could know, Claude strode over to the desk. But what he found there stopped him. Not evidence of secret indulgence.
Not luxury trinkets or Alpha gifts. No—delicate sketches sprawled across the surface. Designs. Jewelry. Dreams etched in graphite.
Claude leaned down, his scent spiking sharp with jealousy as he whispered, "So, he's not just filing papers after all." His voice was low, roughened by something deeper than anger. "You let your little Omega husband do whatever he pleases. Pretend he's just your employee…" His jaw tightened. "I wonder what he did to make you claim him."
His fingers hovered over the sketches but didn't touch. He could almost smell Eren on them—the faint trace of his scent clinging to the paper. Claude's chest ached, instincts clawing up like hunger. That should have been me.
"But I won't stand by and watch him take what was meant to be mine," he murmured. His voice was sharp, but the undercurrent was Omega desperation. "You loved me first, Adriel. We were meant to be. And when I finally tell you why I left… you'll understand. You'll forgive me. You'll come back."
Just then, the door clicked open. "I'm back—" Adriel's voice filled the office, rich and commanding, carrying that Alpha weight that sank straight into bones.
Claude turned instantly, forcing his smile into place like a mask. But Adriel froze the moment he saw him. The warmth that had lingered from his bond-call with Eren vanished, replaced by a cold wall of Alpha steel.
"Welcome back," Claude chirped, sliding one of Eren's sketches back onto the desk with deliberate care. "How was the meeting?"
He moved toward Adriel slowly, posture graceful, scent carefully smoothed. "I wasn't expecting you back this early. Did things wrap quickly? Have you eaten?"
Adriel didn't answer. His eyes swept past Claude, scanning the room, searching—reaching instinctively for his Omega. But Eren wasn't there. The sharp disappointment in his face cut deeper than words.
"You're not who I expected to see," he said flatly, voice dipped in frost.
Claude's eyes flicked down. A bouquet in Adriel's hand. The sour twist of jealousy hit his tongue.
"Those flowers… are they for him?" His voice was sweet, but too sharp.
"You're not subtle about it anymore," Claude added, stepping closer. "Everyone can see it. Do they know? That your so-called secretary is really your wife?"
He reached out, fingers brushing Adriel's hand—the one holding the bouquet.
Adriel's jaw flexed, silent. His Alpha scent sharpened, not with interest, but with warning.