Nyxen saw it—the flicker beneath Riven's composure. The breath that hitched. The way his body braced, instincts coiled against Rowen's pheromone surge. Riven was stronger. Higher-class. But the weight of their history pressed harder than blood ever should.
He was holding. Barely.
Nyxen's voice dropped into command, low and absolute.
"Seren."
"Yes, Emperor," the AI answered, its tone smooth as glass.
"Activate NPSP. Level Three Suppression."
No motion. No gesture. He ruled the tower with a whisper. The defense grid had been lowered on purpose—bait for Rowen's inevitable tantrum. And now, with a word, Nyxen tightened the leash.
"Level Three engaged," Seren confirmed. "Dominant pheromone signatures neutralized. Aggression nullified. Order restored."
The effect rippled through the hall like a storm cut short. The crushing weight in the air thinned. Shoulders loosened. Breaths returned. The secretary's trembling slowed. People blinked in sudden clarity, as though waking from a nightmare.
And Rowen—Rowen staggered. His face contorted, fury twisting into confusion. He pushed again, trying to unleash his dominance, to reclaim the air. Nothing. His power—his weapon—was gone, stripped with the flick of a switch.
The silence that followed wasn't relief. It was humiliation.
Nyxen leaned back, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips. He hadn't just silenced Rowen; he'd turned the proud Alpha into a man clawing at shadows, impotent in front of the world.
But his eyes never left Riven.
On stage, he drew a breath and straightened, calm now, radiant in his stillness. To the audience, he looked unshaken, sovereign in his composure. Only Nyxen knew how close he'd been to breaking. Only Nyxen had caught him before the fall.
You're safe, he thought, the smile curving sharper. Even if you never know it's me who keeps you standing.
"Thayer," Riven said, his voice low, steady, controlled. "Better if you escort everyone out of the conference room. Start the tower tour."
Thayer didn't argue. He caught the shift in tone, the tension beneath the composure. One curt nod, and he moved quickly, ushering staff and guests into neat groups. Murmurs rose, shoes scuffed, the door whispered shut.
Silence followed. Heavy. Absolute.
Only Riven remained—along with Rowen and Robin.
Riven descended the stage, each step deliberate, echoing against marble.
Rowen's voice snapped through the stillness.
"You really have no shame. Of all the banners to stand under—you chose Nexus? The company that erased Paragon, that buried our bloodline?"
Riven didn't answer. His jaw tightened, but his stride was unbroken.
Inside, though, everything flared raw.
The locked room.
The reek of pheromones clinging to the walls.
Hands on his shoulders, shoving him in.
Their laughter.
The scorn when his body betrayed him.
The spit in his hair, the word weak carved into the air.
And then, worse—the silence when the truth came out. Pregnant. A disgrace. Their disgrace.
Riven's breath hitched, but his body held steady, shoulders squared as he closed the distance.
Far above, in a private suite, Nyxen watched from his phone. Calm, intent, eyes never leaving the feed.
"Seren," he murmured.
"Yes, Emperor."
"Deactivate NPSP suppression. Limit it to the conference hall."
The command wasn't sharp. It didn't need to be. It landed with the weight of inevitability.
"Confirmed. Suppression field deactivated. Alpha signatures unlocked. Room isolated."
Nyxen leaned back, one finger tapping against the edge of the phone. His expression unreadable, a slow curve at his lips.
Not joy. Not cruelty. Something in between.
Let them feel it, he thought. Let them taste what they tried to erase.
But under the surface, something else lingered. He wasn't just protecting Riven. He was testing him. Measuring how far he'd go once unbound. Whether he'd rise, or whether he'd burn.
On the floor, the shift was immediate. Riven's pheromones unfurled—controlled, honed, sharp as glass. Not a flood, not a roar. A blade unsheathed.
Rowen staggered, his own dominance faltering against the weight pressing back at him.
Robin's jaw clenched. His eyes flicked from Riven to Rowen, realization dawning too late.
The brother they thought broken wasn't here to cower. He was here to claim.
And above it all, Nyxen watched—steady, shadowed, dangerous in his silence.
Riven stopped just a breath away from Rowen, eyes cold, spine rigid, his pheromone signature beginning to unfurl like a gathering storm.
The air snapped. A low hum of pressure crawled across the room, thick enough that Thayer stumbled back a step, throat tightening. The secretary clutched her chest, hands shaking as if gravity had doubled.
"Are you insane?" Rowen spat, voice raw, unrestrained. "Releasing pheromones this strong against your own blood? Against your family?"
Riven's lips curved—half snarl, half smile. His voice, when it came, was low and trembling with restrained fury.
"Family?" His fists clenched, knuckles whitening. "You don't get to say that word to me. You don't even know what it means."
The memories hit like fire—walls that reeked of heat-sick Omegas, the laughter when his body betrayed him, the cold verdict when they branded him unclean. An S-Class Alpha, pregnant. A specimen. A disgrace.
And they had been the ones who engineered it.
Robin stepped forward, his tone smoother, but laced with venom. "Look at you. All dressed in black, standing on Nexus's stage as if a suit could erase what you are. Do you really think a title makes you untouchable? You're still filth beneath the polish. You'll always be the bastard S-Class Alpha who crawled back from exile."
Rowen's pheromones surged hotter, flooding the room with raw dominance. His voice dripped scorn. "S-Class Alpha?" He barked a humorless laugh.
"You mean S-Class Shame. You're no different from your whore of a mother. Trash breeds trash."
The words sliced. Riven's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening until it ached.
"Take that back."
The words weren't loud, but they landed like a blade against bone.
Rowen sneered, nostrils flaring, but Riven took another step forward—calm, deliberate. His own pheromones rose with quiet precision, pressing back against Rowen's torrent. Not wild. Not reckless. Controlled. Unyielding.
"I stayed silent once," Riven said, voice steady now, each syllable laced with steel. "Out of fear. Out of respect. But never again."
His gaze sharpened, colder than glass. "You spit on my mother's name like it's dirt. But what's shameful about surviving? About giving life?"
The room seemed to contract, every breath thick with power and rage.
"She gave me more than any of you ever did," Riven whispered, deadly calm. "And you tried to erase it. Erase me. But here I am. And it isn't my bloodline rotting under the weight of disgrace—it's yours."
Rowen sneered, his voice cutting like glass.
"Your mother was nothing. An Omega whore. And you—don't kid yourself. Alphas don't carry. You're just—"
He stopped. The air shifted. Thickened. Pressed down on their lungs like a storm breaking over the room.