"What's the situation?" Nyxen asked, voice low as he leaned back against the velvet headrest of the Emperor's suite. The video call with Thayer flickered to life, casting a pale glow across him. Heat still radiated from his skin, his robe hanging open like armor discarded too soon.
Thayer raised a brow the moment he saw him. Damp hair, flushed skin, the faint gleam of exertion clinging to him—Nyxen looked like he'd walked through a storm and dragged it in with him.
"Well," Thayer said with a sardonic tilt of his mouth, "judging by your state, I'd say you barely kept your hands steady."
Nyxen shot him a look, rubbing at his temple. "Seriously? You want to joke about this now?"
Thayer's chuckle was short, sharp. He'd seen this before—five years ago, a hotel room, Riven crumpling under pheromone chaos, Nyxen carrying the aftermath. But this time was worse. He could see it in his eyes.
"Riven's asleep?" Thayer asked, tone softening.
"Finally," Nyxen muttered. "Took everything I had to stabilize him."
Thayer nodded once, then shifted. "Medical teams are tending the guests. Neutralizers are online again. No fatalities—just bruises, panic, and more than a few breakdowns."
Nyxen exhaled, slow, controlled. "Good."
"But we've got a problem," Thayer went on, his voice tightening. "Nexus clients and partners are furious. They're demanding you appear before docking—to look them in the eye and prove this ship is still under your control."
Nyxen's eyes snapped open, sharp as glass.
"And the Virellian brothers," Thayer continued carefully, "they're pushing for—"
"Did you find who released the pheromone?" Nyxen cut in, his voice like a blade. "Nexus OS should've caught his scent signature."
Thayer hesitated. He knew Nyxen was right. The system should have flagged it instantly. But whoever did this… they'd masked themselves, shielded their output, or slipped through because the system wasn't built to detect what they were.
Nyxen's jaw tightened. He didn't care about apologies. He cared about control. And someone had just tested it.
"I'm sending you footage of our top suspect," Thayer said, clipped. "But the CCTV's a wreck—no clear face, and he's not in the database."
Nyxen's eyes narrowed. "Not in the system?"
Thayer paused, the weight of the thought heavy in his voice. "You don't think… he's like you?"
The silence stretched, heavy as a verdict. Nyxen didn't answer. He didn't need to.
No ordinary Alpha could've pulled this off. Only someone dominant enough to slip beneath the suppression system's sensors—untraceable, deliberate. It hadn't failed. It had been bypassed.
Then a sound pierced the call. Thin. Fragile. A child's cry.
Nyxen's head tilted, sharp as a blade. "Is that Lior?"
Thayer's sigh was quiet, resigned. "He won't settle. Keeps calling for his papa."
Nyxen straightened, every trace of fatigue gone. "Put him through."
The phone shifted. Thayer angled it toward the bed. Lior was a small shape beneath the sheets, eyes swollen, cheeks blotched, his little body trembling with leftover sobs.
"Hey, little puppy," Nyxen said, voice soft as velvet.
Lior's head jerked up, hearing that familiar endearment.. His lip wobbled. "Papa…"
"Why those tears?" Nyxen asked. Not cruel. Not scolding. But heavy enough to make the boy swallow.
"I—I want my Papa," Lior whispered, scrubbing at his face with a fist.
"I know." Nyxen's tone dipped lower, more intimate. "But listen to me. Tonight, your papa needs you to be strong. Can you do that for him?"
Lior hesitated, small shoulders tightening.
"You don't want him to see you weak, do you?" Nyxen pressed, the words smooth as silk but sharp beneath. "It would break his heart to know you cried."
"I'm a good boy," Lior blurted, voice trembling. "I don't want Papa to be sad."
Nyxen's smile was slow, predatory in its patience. "That's right. You're not just a good boy—you're his anchor. If you falter, he falters. Do you understand?"
Lior blinked up at him, tears forgotten, caught in the gravity of his voice. He nodded, almost too quickly.
"Good," Nyxen murmured. "Then tonight, you'll stay with Uncle Thayer. You'll close your eyes. You'll sleep. Because if Papa wakes tomorrow and sees you weak…" Nyxen let the pause stretch, just long enough to twist the knife, "…you'll hurt him. And you don't want to hurt him, do you?"
The boy shook his head violently.
Nyxen chuckled, quiet and rich, curling like smoke. "Of course you don't. So no more tears. No more fear. Papa's mine to protect. Your job is to obey. Understood?"
Lior nodded again, fiercely this time, curling back beneath the blankets with new, trembling determination.
Nyxen leaned back, his gaze cutting toward Thayer now, the softness gone. "Thayer."
Thayer stepped back into frame, jaw tight. "Yes, Emperor?"
"Conference with the partners and clients. And bring in the Virellian brothers."
Thayer blinked, stunned. "You're really going to face them like this?"
The silence that followed was iron. Nyxen's face was unreadable, carved from shadow.
Thayer's throat bobbed. "Understood."
Nyxen didn't look up. "Not yet. This isn't the time for them to see me."
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice low and clipped. "They want someone to blame. They want an apology. Fine—we'll feed them that. But I want the bastard who released those pheromones tracked, cornered, and dragged into the light."
Then he cut the call.
Silence swallowed the suite.
Nyxen leaned back against the velvet headrest, eyes shadowed, fingers pressed to his temple. He'd built the suppression system to be untouchable. Perfect. But arrogance had blinded him. The surge hadn't broken the system—it had slipped beneath it.
A ghost. Unregistered. Beyond S-Class. And dangerous.
Back in the guest suite, Thayer exhaled as the screen went black. The quiet felt heavier now. He turned, watching Lior curled small beneath the covers, his lashes still damp from earlier tears.
"Don't grow up like your Dada," Thayer muttered, voice rougher than he intended. "Always so sure of his own voice. Never anyone else's."
Lior blinked up at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Thayer shook his head, forcing a thin smile. "You wouldn't understand. Just… sleep, alright? If your papa finds out you're still awake, who knows what he'll do."
He tucked the blanket tighter around the boy, smoothing it over his chest. The lamp beside the bed cast a soft golden glow, catching in the child's hair.
"Goodnight, little Nyxen," Thayer said with a low chuckle, though the words landed like a sigh.
"Goodnight, Uncle Thayer," Lior whispered back, eyes already slipping shut.
Thayer froze. That was the first time the boy had ever called him "uncle."
He lingered, staring at the small, steady rise and fall of Lior's chest. Something unguarded tugged at his mouth—a smile, faint but real.
Then he reached out and switched off the lamp. The room sank into quiet darkness, the sound of Lior's breathing the only thing left alive in the hush.