It was still dark when Adriel stirred awake. Beside him, Eren lay curled against his side, his arm draped over Adriel's chest, his scent soft and unguarded in sleep. For a moment, Adriel breathed him in—warmth, sweetness, the omega's quiet trust pressing into him like a balm.
Careful not to disturb him, Adriel slipped free and crossed to the desk. Papers and pencils lay scattered where Eren had left them. One sketch lay on top, and the sight of it made Adriel's breath catch.
The Ouroboros. A serpent devouring its own tail.
He stared, pulse pounding. In Eren's hand, it wasn't just eternity—it was a circle of memory, of bonds that never dissolved, even when torn apart. It spoke of love that consumed itself but never died.
Adriel's hand clenched into a fist. His alpha instincts bristled instantly, his scent sharpening with anger and something darker. The sketch screamed of James—Eren's first, the one who had nearly claimed him. The ghost of another Alpha's scent still haunting the omega Adriel held now.
A low growl rumbled in his throat before he bit it back, teeth grinding. The urge rose swift and feral: wake Eren, roll him beneath, sink his teeth deep into the soft curve of his neck until his scent drowned in Adriel's, until there was no space left for anyone else. His body screamed to mark, to claim, to erase.
But the sight of Eren sleeping so peacefully froze him where he stood. His chest constricted painfully. If he gave in to that urge—if he marked out of fear, not love—wouldn't that prove his worst suspicion?
That he was nothing more than second best, a replacement trying to overwrite what Eren had already given away?
His fingers twitched at his side, caught between reaching for Eren and curling into fists. His scent flared, thick with frustration, before he forced it down, masking his instincts with iron control. He couldn't wake him. Couldn't demand what might not be freely given.
"So you still love him," Adriel whispered bitterly into the dark, his voice almost a growl.
The words tasted like ash. His alpha wanted to claim, but his heart—his rational, terrified heart—was afraid that if he pressed too hard, Eren would pull away forever.
The conflict tore at him until he could no longer breathe in the same room. Before dawn, Adriel ordered Roen to pack his things and move them to the condo. Lucas would stay behind to guard Eren.
Adriel left without waking him. Because if he stayed, he wasn't sure whether he would kiss Eren awake or bare his teeth and mark him out of desperation.
Distance was the only thing keeping Adriel's anger from consuming him whole.
Eren woke to find Adriel gone. His side of the bed was cold, the sheets carrying only a faint trace of Alpha scent already fading.
He searched the mansion, expecting his mate to appear at breakfast, but Adriel was nowhere. Confusion gnawed at him. Why hadn't Adriel waited for him to wake? Why hadn't he said anything? The absence felt wrong, the bond stretched thin and restless.
Even at Ulrick, there was no sign of him. Passing by his office, Eren peeked inside, half-hoping Adriel would be there, but the desk sat empty. His chest tightened. Today was the submission deadline for the second phase of the jewelry competition—he had been eager to show Adriel his design. Instead, silence.
"Did he leave early?" Eren asked when he crossed paths with Lucas.
Lucas nodded. "Yes, sir. Roen picked him up this morning."
Later, outside Adriel's office, Eren heard his name.
"Eren."
He turned quickly, relief sparking in his chest only to vanish just as fast when he saw Roen. "Where is he? Adriel isn't here? Where did he go?"
Roen hesitated, studying him. Hadn't they spoken? Had something fractured between them? Adriel would never vanish so abruptly if all was well.
"The President had an urgent business trip," Roen finally said. "He won't return until the Gala."
The words were technically true. He had packed Adriel's things himself. Still, he left out the cruelest part: that Adriel hadn't looked back, hadn't even considered that his pregnant omega might wake alone, his bond aching from the emptiness.
"Business trip?" Eren echoed, eyes widening. The bond tugged uncomfortably in his chest. Adriel hadn't said a word. Why would he leave without telling him?
"H-haven't you gone with him?" he asked, his voice catching.
"I'll follow soon," Roen replied. "I just need to oversee the competition results first."
He noticed the way Eren's eyes dimmed at that—the flicker of disappointment, the way his scent thinned, fragile and uncertain. But Roen said nothing more. It wasn't his place to meddle between Alpha and Omega.
Still, as he watched Eren turn away, he couldn't shake the heaviness in his chest. Something vital between them had cracked, and he feared this was only the beginning.
Eren walked back to his office in a daze. Every step felt heavy, the bond aching like a wound, Roen's words echoing in his ears. Business trip. It rang hollow, no matter how many times he repeated it to himself.
Adriel had never left without telling him. Not once. And yet this morning, Eren had woken to cold sheets, and now he was hearing from someone else—not his Alpha—that the man he loved was gone.
Eren sank into his chair, staring at the sketch he had worked on so late the night before. He had wanted Adriel to see it first. To smile, to steady him with that Alpha certainty, to tell him he believed in him. Instead, all he had was an empty space where Adriel should have been.
His hand curled protectively over his stomach. The child growing inside him was proof of their bond, part Alpha, part Omega, and yet he felt unbearably alone. Why didn't you tell me, Adriel? Why didn't you wait?
A hundred doubts crowded his mind, heavier than the ache in his body. Was Adriel angry with him? Exhausted by his stubbornness? Did he regret being tied to an Omega like this?
His throat burned. He blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. No. He's just busy. That's all. It must be urgent… But the hollow tug along the bond told him it was more than that. The absence of Adriel's scent in the halls was like silence pressing against his chest.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his clasped hands. The office around him blurred into stillness.
"Adriel," he whispered, voice trembling, "why does it feel like you're slipping away from me?"
Adriel sat in the back of the car, the city lights streaking past the tinted window. His reflection in the glass looked like a stranger—jaw tight, eyes shadowed with anger and doubt.
The sketch haunted him. That serpent biting its own tail. Endless. Unbroken. James's ghost traced into Eren's lines, into his very heart.
Adriel had told himself that leaving was the only way. Distance would cool his temper, give him space to think. But as the miles carried him farther from the mansion, guilt gnawed at him as fiercely as jealousy had earlier.
He pictured Eren waking, reaching across the sheets for him, finding only emptiness. He imagined the faint flicker of the bond as Eren searched for his presence and found none. His gut twisted. His Alpha instincts snarled at him to turn back, to scent-mark, to claim, but his pride forced him still.
"Damn it," Adriel muttered, pressing his palms hard into his knees. His scent had soured with frustration, the confined space of the car thick with it. His chest ached with the weight of all the words he hadn't said.
He loved Eren—God, he loved him—but the thought of always being second to James was unbearable. If Eren's heart truly still circled back to another Alpha, then what did that make him? Just the one fate had shoved into place, nothing more.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. The bond itself tugged faintly, as though Eren were calling out to him. Adriel didn't take it out. He couldn't—not while the storm inside him raged this way. Instead, he leaned back against the seat, eyes shutting, the serpent sketch seared into his mind. His instincts urged him toward his Omega, but his pride kept him away. And so, even as he fled, he knew: the farther he ran, the more he risked losing Eren for real.