Adriel's gaze swept across the display of sketches pinned along the boardroom wall. Dozens of designs—sharp, daring, some almost reckless in their boldness. The prelims had cut hundreds of entries down to these few, and even he had to admit: the competition had teeth this year.
"Damn," he muttered, half to himself. "I knew people would bring their best, but this…" His jaw tightened as he studied the pieces. "This is different. This is hunger."
Each design felt like a challenge, like a declaration. Ulrick Jewels wasn't just going to crown a winner—they were about to change their entire future.
And then his eyes landed on that design.
Adriel stilled. A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips, heat flaring low in his chest. He'd recognize Eren's hand anywhere—the precision of the lines, the rebellious edge hidden beneath elegance. His Omega had made it through. Not scraped by, but ranked near the very top.
Pride twisted sharp inside him, chased by possessiveness. No one else knew. No one else could guess. But he knew. And the thought of every Alpha, Beta, and Omega in this room praising his Eren's work made something primal stir in him.
"President," one of the judges said, gesturing toward the sketch. "This entry was submitted under a false name. Shouldn't that be disqualified?"
Adriel turned, gaze cool, voice clipped. "We never said pseudonyms were against the rules."
Claude—leaning casually in his chair, one leg crossed—snorted. His Omega pheromones spiked sharp and bitter, like citrus left too long in the sun. "Or maybe someone's just hiding because they know their work can't stand on its own." His tone was slick, mocking. "Only cowards need to wear masks."
Adriel's jaw flexed, but he didn't look at Claude. He kept his gaze locked on the sketch. "Or maybe it's genius. Mystery raises the stakes. Imagine the reveal at finals—when the best design comes from the one no one saw coming."
The room hummed with tension.
Claude's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Or imagine when that mask slips, and everyone sees exactly who doesn't belong."
Adriel finally turned then, his stare a warning. For the briefest moment, silence pressed in like a storm ready to break. Claude held his gaze, Omega defiance sharp in his smirk, but Adriel didn't flinch.
He leaned back, arms crossed, voice smooth but edged with steel. "Until that happens, the design stays. I don't care if the name on it is real or fake. Excellence speaks for itself."
Claude's smile faltered—just a flicker. Enough to satisfy Adriel's simmering Alpha instincts. Enough to make him think, Say another word. I dare you.
But Claude didn't. Not this time.
And across the wall, Eren's design waited—silent, defiant, a secret promise only Adriel understood.
Claude's voice cut through the room, smooth as velvet but edged with steel.
"Out of the fifty entries that survived the prelims, we'll be cutting down to twenty-five for round two. From there—ten finalists. And those ten will be revealed at the Ulrick Jewels Gala, exactly one month from now. At the gala, two winners will be named. They'll join the Ulrick Jewels Design Team."
He moved with deliberate grace, his Omega presence quiet but commanding, the click of his polished shoes echoing in the boardroom. The screen behind him flickered, washing the table in soft blue light.
Claude turned to Adriel, eyes sharp as glass. "Thoughts, President?"
Adriel leaned back in his chair, unreadable. "You're the Chief Designer. This is your competition. Do it as you see fit."
The room stilled at that. No one missed the weight behind those words—the President's trust was absolute. And no one dared question Claude's authority, not when he carried Adriel's approval like armor.
Whispers had already filled the company halls: Claude, the brilliant Omega who had once been Adriel's fiancé, now standing at his side again. His reputation preceded him—not just a designer with international acclaim, but a performer, a man whose very movements seemed choreographed. To many, he was untouchable. Chosen.
At the far end of the room, Eren sat quietly, hands folded over his notes. His gaze didn't waver, but his pulse did. The way Claude stood there, basking in the glow of attention, made something coil in his chest. Everyone believed Claude belonged at Adriel's side. No one knew the truth.
"The first concept was called Inheritance Bloom," Claude continued, his voice smooth. "A request from President Adriel—to design a tiara for the Princess of Spain."
He tapped the screen. A new image bloomed into view.
"And this," he said, stepping aside so the design dominated the room, "is our frontrunner. Tiara Concept: Safira – The Bloom of Chosen Blood."
The rendering drew the room into silence.
"Centerpiece: a carved red carnation," Claude explained, his tone reverent. "Its petals ruffled like flamenco skirts mid-spin. Resin shifts from deep crimson to ember burgundy—alive with intensity. The bloom rises above the band, defiant, like a heart refusing to bow."
The hush that followed was almost worshipful.
"The carnation stays at the heart of the piece," Claude said, voice clipped and cool, "but now it blooms against swirling silver scrollwork. Its fire is tempered by icy pavé-set diamonds tracing the band. The contrast is deliberate—passion framed by restraint, tradition pierced by clarity."
She let the words hang, then read the inscription engraved inside the band: "La sangre que elijo." "The blood I choose."
A faint smile curved Claude's lips as he tilted his head toward Adriel. "No wonder the Princess of Spain loved it. It's… dramatic enough to catch even her eye." The compliment was there, but the undertone was sharp—like glass hidden in velvet.
Adriel's gaze lingered on the screen. His chest tightened, pride and protectiveness warring beneath his calm expression. Eren… you're carving your own path now. Even if no one here knows it's you. His fingers curled against the table's edge, a subtle restraint.
"This is our top submission so far," Claude continued, flicking to the next slide. "From a designer calling themselves Roselune."
One of the executives leaned back, brows raised. "Roselune? Sounds like a secret. But let's be real—designs this delicate usually come from Omegas. If it's an Alpha, I'll be impressed."
Another exec snorted. "Or it's just someone hiding their status because they don't think they'll be taken seriously. Anonymity makes cowards bold."
Adriel's jaw ticked, though he said nothing. He could feel every word like a slight against Eren, even if they didn't know it.
Claude's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Whether Alpha, Beta, or Omega—it doesn't matter. If Roselune survives round two, maybe then we'll see if they can stand in the light. But I wouldn't hold my breath."
He clicked the screen again, dismissing the design as though it hadn't just silenced the room.
"The next concept," Claude said, his tone warming with performative brightness, "is First Flame: The Memory of First Love."
He glanced at Adriel, quick and cutting. "This round challenges our designers to turn their earliest scars and sweetness into jewelry. Whether fleeting or unforgettable, first love always leaves a mark."
Adriel met his gaze, expression unreadable, though heat pulsed low in his chest. Careful, Claude. You don't even know how close that flame is burning.
Claude continued, voice silk over steel. "And the final theme…" He paused, savoring the suspense. "… Threaded by Stars: Love and Destiny."
The words hung heavy, the boardroom caught in silence. Claude's glance slid once more toward Adriel, cool and claiming.
Adriel only leaned back in his chair, lips curling into the faintest smirk. Let them think what they wanted. He already knew destiny was sitting just outside this room, sketching in quiet rebellion.
"This round dives into the tension between love as a choice and love as fate," Claude said, his voice smooth but edged like cut glass. "Is it written in the stars, passed down through bloodlines, or carved out by defiance? Designers will craft pieces that don't just shine—they'll challenge. They'll cut. They'll force us to decide whether destiny binds us… or whether we burn it." He let the words hang, chin tilted just slightly, daring anyone at the table to look away. Even the other alphas kept their silence. Claude's presence—sharp, unyielding despite the soft timbre of his omega scent—filled the boardroom.
Adriel's gaze lingered on him. "You really thought this through," he said at last, voice low, steady, impressed in spite of himself. "Every concept feels… alive."
Claude smiled faintly, but there was nothing soft about it. "Of course it does. I don't design to be forgotten." His eyes slid toward Adriel, the challenge plain. "And this is our first collaboration, isn't it? I won't let your name get dragged down by mediocrity."
Adriel leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. He didn't rise to the bait. He knew Claude wanted the fight—wanted him to bare his teeth, to remind the room who the alpha here really was. But instead, Adriel only inclined his head, a quiet acknowledgment.
Because even now, as he watched Claude glow with ambition, he thought of someone else. Someone who wasn't even in the room. Someone whose fire burned differently—quieter, but no less dangerous.
Eren. And Adriel's jaw tightened.