"So, he made it to the final round," Adriel murmured, eyes fixed on the report in his hands.
The second phase of Ulrick Jewels' design competition had ended, and the results were clear: Eren had advanced. Out of dozens of contenders, only ten remained. At Gala Night, their final creations would be revealed — and from them, two would be chosen to join the elite Ulrick Jewels design team.
"Just like in the first round, Eren's design received an overwhelming number of votes," Roen reported. He stood at a measured distance, watching as Adriel silently studied the document. "It seems many people are drawn to his work."
Adriel didn't respond, though his eyes lingered on the page with unreadable focus. His Alpha instincts bristled beneath the surface, conflicted — pride at his Omega's success tangled with a bitterness he couldn't name.
Roen, however, felt unease rising in his chest. Why was Adriel avoiding Eren? For days, his boss had kept his distance, even lying — claiming a business trip. Roen had thought the two were finally finding their footing, bond settling, maybe even softening toward each other. But now, Adriel seemed determined to pull away, while Eren grew paler and weaker with every passing day.
Adriel suddenly looked up, catching Roen's lingering stare. His tone was cool but sharp, carrying the edge of Alpha command. "What is it? Do you have something to say?"
Roen froze, the words heavy in his throat. Still, Adriel's gaze demanded an answer.
"No, sir. Only that… it seems you've been avoiding Eren. These past few days, he hasn't been himself. He looks tired, fragile. He barely eats. I'm worried—"
The sharp crack of Adriel slamming the report shut cut him off. His jaw flexed, teeth bared. "That stubborn Red. What is he trying to do? Starve himself—and my child?" His voice broke low, threaded with anger, but the raw fear bleeding into his scent betrayed him. The room filled with it, sharp and restless.
Before Roen could reply, his phone rang. He answered quickly, but as he listened, his face blanched with shock.
Adriel saw it instantly. His gut dropped, instincts flaring hot. "What happened?" His voice was harsh, almost frantic.
Roen swallowed hard. "It's Eren. He collapsed. They've taken him to the hospital—"
He didn't get to finish. Adriel had already snatched his coat from the chair and bolted out of the office, moving with feral urgency, his scent spiking wild in the air like a storm breaking.
"Sir—!" Roen called after him, cursing under his breath as he hurried to follow. His heart pounded. For the first time, he saw not the cold, composed Alpha President Ulrick, but a man stripped down to raw instinct—an Alpha on the brink of losing the person he was most afraid to admit he couldn't live without.
Adriel and Roen arrived at the hospital in a rush, Adriel's strides uneven and too fast, as if every second might cost him something irreplaceable. His chest tightened the moment he saw Claude and James waiting in the corridor. They were the ones who had brought Eren here.
"What happened? Where is he?" Adriel demanded, nearly breathless, his voice harsher than he intended. His Alpha pheromones spiked sharp in the sterile hallway, filled with barely leashed panic. He looked ready to tear the building apart if they didn't answer fast enough.
Before either Claude or James could speak, the door to Eren's room opened and the attending doctor stepped out. Adriel immediately turned on him, instincts bristling.
"How is he?"
The doctor's expression was tight, his tone clipped. "He's resting now. But he's pregnant—and severely malnourished. Why has he not been eating properly? Both he and the child are at risk. Whoever his Alpha is, he's been utterly irresponsible."
Adriel's fists curled at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The faint thrum of the bond he had denied pulsed in his chest, weak and unsteady. The reprimand struck deeper than any blade. He had let jealousy blind him—avoiding Eren, keeping his scent from him, leaving him vulnerable. And all the while, his Omega had been starving himself and their child.
"I'm his Alpha," Adriel said finally, his voice low, raw.
The doctor didn't flinch. His gaze swept over Adriel with cool disapproval.
"Then I strongly suggest you start taking better care of him, Mr. Ulrick. Do you realize how dangerous this is? An Omega in his state—unbonded, undernourished, and carrying—" His tone sharpened, each word cutting like glass. "You've left him exposed to stress without the stabilizing effect of a bonded Alpha's pheromones. His body is already depleted, and the child is drawing more from him than he has to give. If this continues, we aren't just talking about complications. We're talking about the very real risk of miscarriage—or worse."
The word miscarriage hit like a blade cleaving through Adriel's chest. His instincts roared, demanding he claim, bond, scent-mark, do something—but shame pinned him in place.
The doctor wasn't finished. "Do you understand? An Omega in this condition needs rest, proper nutrition, and the reassurance of his Alpha's scent to keep his hormones balanced. Yet he is working to exhaustion, skipping meals, and collapsing from strain. If you truly are his Alpha, then your negligence has brought him to this point. The responsibility lies with you, Mr. Ulrick."
Adriel's throat tightened. His pheromones soured, spilling bitter and unstable into the hall, making Roen flinch. He could barely keep from growling—not at the doctor, but at himself. His Omega—his Eren—was suffering because he had chosen pride over instinct.
And now, if he didn't change, he risked losing both of them.
Adriel felt the heat crawl up his neck, a suffocating mix of shame and rage. His fists curled so tightly his nails bit into his skin. Strain. Vulnerable. My child. My omega.
"I…" His voice cracked before he forced it low, almost guttural. "I'll take care of him."
The doctor's eyes narrowed, unimpressed. "See that you do. An alpha cannot stand on pride while his omega withers away. Responsibility comes before instinct, before ego." His words were sharp, deliberate, like a blade driven straight into Adriel's chest.
"You know the risk," the doctor pressed, tone rising. "He is unbonded. His body is carrying without the stabilizing effect of a claim or mark. That child is already under strain, and so is he. If you let him starve himself, if you let his stress spiral—do you understand what that means?"
Adriel swallowed hard, throat tight. He knew. Every alpha did. An omega carrying unbonded was like a candle burning at both ends—fragile, unstable, vulnerable to the smallest push.
"Complications aren't a possibility," the doctor said, voice like a lash. "They are inevitable if this continues. Malnutrition, miscarriage, collapse of his system. And without bond support, his pheromone cycles will only destabilize further. If you fail him, Mr. Ulrick, you fail both of them."
Shame scorched Adriel from the inside. His jaw locked, but his heart lurched as though the doctor had dug his fist straight into it.
"I understand," he rasped.
The doctor gave him one last hard look before turning away, leaving those words like a sentence ringing in Adriel's ears.