A storm came again that night—the kind that rattled the old windows of the Amburdale estate and painted every wall in flashes of silver and shadow.
Liam Amburdale wasn't supposed to be home.
His meeting had ended earlier than expected, and a rare, sharp instinct had told him not to send word ahead.
It wasn't mistrust, he told himself as the car climbed the winding drive.
It was curiosity.
It was concern.
But as the gates swung open and the mansion came into view, warm light glowing through the front windows, Liam realized how much he'd missed this sight.
He wanted to see him.
He wanted to see CeCe.
---
Inside, the house was alive with quiet.
Liam slipped through the foyer, coat still damp, his footsteps silent. From down the hall came faint music—soft jazz, playing low, accompanied by a hum he recognized instantly.
CeCe.
He followed the sound.
The music came from the sitting room, where the firelight flickered and shadows danced over the furniture. CeCe sat on the couch, hair loose, robe untied at the throat, laughing softly at something Dave had said.
The Beta was standing close—too close.
He wasn't touching CeCe, but the distance between them was charged, fragile. The kind of closeness born from trust. Intimacy.
Liam's hand tightened on the doorframe.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
Both heads turned. CeCe froze. Dave straightened instantly, his professional mask snapping back into place.
"Liam!" CeCe recovered quickly, rising from the couch with a bright, practiced smile. "You're home early."
"So it seems." His tone was calm, but his eyes didn't leave Dave. "I didn't realize my house had become such an entertainment hall."
Dave bowed slightly. "Sir. I wasn't aware you'd returned."
"I can see that," Liam replied.
The air in the room shifted—something invisible, electric.
CeCe stepped forward, placing himself between them, voice light but controlled. "Darling, don't be cross. We were just talking."
"Were you?" Liam's eyes flicked to the empty glasses on the table. "Because it looks like you've been doing more than that."
Dave's jaw tensed. "With respect, sir, you're misinterpreting—"
"Am I?"
The temperature seemed to drop—slowly at first, then all at once. A stillness swept through the room like the moment before a storm.
It began with a shift, almost imperceptible: a tightening in the air, the faint prickle that raised the hairs on CeCe's arms. Then came the scent.
It was subtle at first, a trace of something that had always been there beneath the surface of Liam Amburdale's carefully contained composure—an Alpha's pheromones breaking free from restraint. The air grew heavier, thicker, edged with a quiet dominance that made the space feel smaller, charged.
Liam's scent wasn't sweet or cloying like some of the Alphas CeCe had known in passing. It was precise. Controlled. Like the man himself.
It carried the warmth of whiskey and the faint metallic tang of rain against steel—clean, disciplined, undeniably masculine. Beneath that sharpness was something darker and richer, something CeCe hadn't noticed before: the low hum of amber and musk, faint but steady, a scent that felt older than reason. It filled the air, suffocating it, a quiet command that whispered of authority and possession, not noise or violence.
CeCe's breath caught without meaning to. The scent pulled at something primal, some small, hidden part of him that still recognized the hierarchy of nature even when his mind rebelled against it.
Across the room, Liam stilled. He hadn't meant for it to happen—it was instinct more than choice. The long months away, the slow unraveling of discipline since his return, the sight of CeCe standing there in the soft lamplight with that guarded defiance in his eyes—all of it combined until the restraint he prided himself on slipped.
His pheromones lingered, low and steady, like the echo of a heartbeat that refused to fade.
And CeCe, standing amid the fading tension, realized that for the first time since they'd met—Liam wasn't just the man who owned the house, the marriage, or the contract.
He was an Alpha.
And the room trembled with the proof of it.
Dave stiffened. CeCe's smile faltered.
"Liam," CeCe said quietly. "Stop."
But Liam wasn't listening. "You forget your place, González." His voice was low, dangerous. "You work for me."
Dave's eyes met his—steady, defiant. "I protect him."
That defiance was the spark. The moment the air broke.
The Alpha's pheromones flared stronger, pressing into the space like a weight. The smell of dominance and steel filled CeCe's lungs, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. His chest tightened, instincts clawing beneath his skin—every nerve screaming to submit, to kneel, to escape.
"Liam—stop—" CeCe choked, hands clutching his robe. His vision blurred.
Dave saw it immediately. The color draining from CeCe's face, the trembling in his fingers.
"Enough!" Dave snapped, stepping forward.
The word carried authority similar to an Alpha's nature, but also of sheer will. He dropped to his knees and bowed—just enough to placate the hierarchy written into their biology—but his voice didn't waver. "You're hurting him. Stop it."
For a moment, Liam didn't understand. Then he saw CeCe's trembling hand pressed to his neck, his shallow breaths, his eyes glassy with strain.
The Alpha scent faltered—collapsed entirely.
"CeCe," Liam said quickly, crossing the room. "I didn't mean— I didn't realize—"
CeCe straightened, forcing his breathing steady, every inch of him the image of composure though his knees threatened to give out. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely.
"CeCe—"
"I said I'm fine."
His voice was quiet but sharp, a thin blade drawn between them. "Don't blame Dave. He didn't do anything wrong. You let your temper do the work your mouth couldn't."
Liam froze.
"Honestly, Liam," CeCe continued, swallowing hard. "Stop acting like an animal. You're going to make this house unlivable again."
Silence followed—thick, ashamed, raw.
Finally, CeCe turned to Liam, his voice soft but strained. "Come on. You're tired. Let's get you upstairs."
Liam hesitated. Then nodded, still pale. "Right."
CeCe offered him a small, practiced smile. He brushed past Dave—just briefly, his fingers brushing the Beta's sleeve, a silent—
'I'm all right.'
Dave's eyes softened, but his jaw stayed locked, holding back everything he wanted to say.
CeCe led Liam out of the room, his steps calm, his breathing still uneven.
Dave watched them go, every muscle in his body screaming to follow—but he didn't.
He stood in the doorway long after the sound of their footsteps faded, the weight of the moment pressing heavy in his chest.
He could still feel CeCe's warmth in his sleeve.
And he could feel, painfully, that CeCe's heart hadn't left with Liam.
---
Upstairs, Liam sat on the edge of the bed, hands trembling slightly. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," CeCe said quietly, pulling the blanket up around him. "It's all right."
"I lost control."
"You're human," CeCe said with a faint, weary smile. "Even Alphas are allowed to make mistakes."
Liam looked at him—really looked—and for the first time saw the faint flush on CeCe's skin, the way his fingers still twitched from the aftershock of pheromonal pressure.
Guilt sank deep. "I'm sorry."
CeCe reached out, placing a delicate hand on his arm. "Don't be. Just… don't do it again."
He smiled softly, brushing it off with practiced charm. "Now get some sleep. You'll need your strength."
Liam tried to smile back, but something in him twisted. CeCe was gentle, forgiving—but distant. There was a wall between them now, invisible but absolute.
For days, Liam had felt it growing—the way CeCe's laughter no longer reached him, the way his eyes drifted somewhere else when they spoke. Every polite nod, every soft word was a reminder of how much space had opened between them.
He wanted to break through it. Wanted, for once, to feel like CeCe was his again.
When CeCe turned to leave the room, Liam's restraint finally cracked.
He caught CeCe's wrist—too quickly, too roughly—and pulled him back inside, shutting the door with a thud that startled even him.
"Liam," CeCe began, breath unsteady. "What are you—"
CeCe's spine hit the wood with a thud that rattled the hinges. Liam's body caged him instantly, whiskey and hot steel flooding the air until CeCe's lungs burned.
"Look at me," Liam growled, fingers digging into CeCe's jaw. "You think you can smile at me like nothing happened? Like I didn't feel you clench around my cock in the study?"
CeCe's lashes fluttered.
'Dave's hands would be gentler. Dave would ask.'
Out loud he breathed, "I smiled because I wanted you to remember, alpha."
Liam's mouth crushed down, teeth scraping, tongue shoving past CeCe's lips. CeCe opened, soft moan muffled. 'Dave's tongue would taste like coffee and cedar.'
"Fuck, you're so small," Liam rasped against his throat, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against CeCe's belly. "Gonna remind you who you belong to."
CeCe's cashmere tore under frantic hands. Buttons pinged across the floor.
"Say it," Liam snarled, shoving trousers down, palming CeCe's bare ass. "Say you're mine."
CeCe's voice came out breathy, practiced. "I'm yours, Liam… only yours."
'Dave would never need to ask.'
Liam spun him, slammed him chest-first to the door. The blunt, dripping head of his cock nudged CeCe's slick entrance.
"Beg."
"Please," CeCe whimpered, arching back, thighs trembling. "Please fuck me, alpha… I need it."
'Dave would already be inside, slow and deep, whispering my name like a prayer.'
Liam thrust in—one brutal stroke, stretching CeCe wide, the burn exquisite. CeCe's breath punched out.
"God, yes… so big," he gasped, rolling his hips. 'Dave would fill me better, last longer, make me scream for real.'
Liam's rhythm was savage—five hard snaps, each one punching a grunt from CeCe's throat.
"Take it… take every inch," Liam panted, fingers bruising CeCe's hips. "Gonna breed you so full you'll feel me for days."
CeCe clenched deliberately, milking the thick cock. "Harder… please, alpha, ruin me—"
'Dave would ruin me slow, wreck me until I forgot my own name.'
On the fifth thrust Liam buried deep, hips stuttering. "Fuck—CeCe—" He came with a roar, flooding CeCe's insides with pulse after pulse of heat.
CeCe cried out, high and shattered, faking the clench of orgasm, cock spurting weakly against the door. "Liam… oh god, Liam!"
'Dave. Dave. Dave.'
Liam slumped, forehead pressed between CeCe's shoulder blades, breath ragged.
"Mine," he whispered, spent.
CeCe's smile was soft, distant, cum and slick trickling down his thighs.
"Of course, darling," he murmured. "All yours."
When CeCe left the room that night, Liam lay awake staring at the ceiling, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.
What they just did, what he just did, should have been the be all, end all but it still didn't quell the burning suspicion in Liam's chest.
And this time, he intended to find out why.
---
The next morning dawned pale and cold, fog still clinging to the hills that surrounded the Amburdale estate. CeCe, radiant even in the muted light, was dressed for the city in a dove-gray coat and gloves of soft leather, his silver blonde hair pinned loosely beneath a beret.
Liam had met him briefly in the foyer, his expression unreadable as he handed over his black card.
"Get whatever you want," he said, voice smooth but distant. "Consider it… an apology for last night."
CeCe's lips curved, a practiced, graceful smile. "For losing your temper or for fucking me against the door?"
Liam's gaze flickered. "Both."
"Then I'll spend generously," CeCe murmured, and turned away before Liam could answer.
Outside, the car waited, engine idling in the morning mist. Dave stood by the open door, silent and steady as always. He nodded once as CeCe approached, and CeCe smiled at him—a small, real thing that Liam had almost forgotten how to receive.
That smile stuck with Liam long after the car disappeared through the wrought-iron gates.
When the sound of tires faded down the long drive, the house fell silent again. Too silent.
Liam stood at his office window for a long moment, the view of the gray, sprawling gardens blurring at the edges. His reflection in the glass looked composed—handsome, controlled, powerful—but his chest felt hollow, his pulse a steady, uneven rhythm of things unspoken.
Then, quietly, he rose.
He crossed the hall, his shoes soundless against the carpet, and summoned the estate's private security team.
They gathered in the study—three men in tailored black suits, eyes sharp and discreet. Liam stood behind his desk, every inch the commanding Alpha again, though the faint shadow under his eyes betrayed how little he had slept.
"I want cameras installed," he said evenly. "Discreetly. Every main hall, the garden, the sitting room. No one tells CeCe. No one tells Dave."
The head of security nodded, no hesitation in his voice. "Understood, sir."
"Do it by tonight."
They moved quickly, efficiently—tools unrolled, cables and tiny lenses concealed beneath paintings and chandeliers. The sound of faint drilling echoed through the halls, masked beneath the rhythm of rain that began to fall again outside.
From the top of the grand staircase, Liam watched them work. His face was carved from calm, but his eyes followed every movement—every quiet installation, every hidden wire disappearing into the architecture like veins in a living body.
He told himself, again and again, that it wasn't distrust.
It was protection.
CeCe had become a part of this house in ways Liam hadn't expected—too bright, too soft, too essential. And with that came risk. There were whispers of thieves in the outer estates, of reporters desperate for gossip, of opportunists eager to catch a glimpse of the Amburdale heir's unconventional marriage.
That was what he told himself.
But as he turned away, the lie faltered.
Because when the workers left and the house grew still again, he could still feel it—that slow, twisting ache beneath his ribs that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with want.
The faint memory of CeCe's laughter echoed somewhere downstairs, sweet and distant. He imagined Dave there beside him in the car now, hands steady on the wheel, CeCe leaning too close as he spoke, smiling that same soft, unguarded smile Liam hadn't seen since before the wedding.
His throat tightened.
He pressed his fingers to the edge of his desk until the wood bit into his palm, grounding him.
The last of the cameras disappeared into the corners of the ceiling, their small red lights blinking once before fading into invisibility.
Liam stood in the silence they left behind, his reflection caught once more in the glass of the study doors—tall, immaculate, utterly alone.
It wasn't distrust, he told himself again.
It was protection.
But beneath that brittle reasoning, a darker truth pulsed quietly.
Jealousy.
The kind that didn't roar but bled—slow, constant, impossible to ignore.
Because in the long silence after the storm, one truth had become painfully clear:
CeCe no longer smiled for him.
And though Liam didn't yet know what he'd find on those recordings—the long nights, the balcony whispers, the touches that lingered just a little too long—he couldn't shake the fear that the man waiting for him every evening with a glass of wine was already gone.
His body here.
His laughter echoing faintly through the halls.
But his heart—his heart already stolen by the Beta who'd once sworn to protect him.
---
The mall gleamed with the soft gold of late morning light filtering through the vaulted glass ceiling. Everything was polished, expensive, humming faintly with the quiet luxury of people who never had to look at price tags.
CeCe fit perfectly into that world.
He drifted through boutiques like a bright current of color and perfume, silk and laughter trailing behind him. His hands fluttered over displays of jewelry, over racks of cashmere and lace, as though he were touching memories instead of fabric.
"Dave, darling, do you think this scarf makes me look distinguished or just dramatic?" he asked, holding up a long strip of emerald silk.
"Both," Dave said before he could stop himself.
CeCe smiled, delighted. "Excellent. I'll take it."
By now Dave's arms were full—four glossy bags from high-end labels, two smaller ones filled with cosmetics and perfumes, another heavy with jewelry boxes that clinked faintly when he moved. He carried them easily, content, his expression calm even as passersby gave the pair curious glances. CeCe's brightness drew attention wherever he went, but Dave had learned to let it wash over him, to focus instead on the sound of CeCe's voice.
"Do you know," CeCe said as they walked toward the next store, "I think shopping is my spiritual calling. I could bring peace to nations with the right pair of shoes."
Dave chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You already bring enough peace to one house."
CeCe glanced at him, teasing. "Flattery, Mr. González? I didn't think you had it in you."
"Not flattery," Dave said. "Just truth."
CeCe turned back toward a window display, but a faint blush rose at the tips of his ears. The moment settled softly between them—comfortable, glowing. The world outside the glass storefronts might as well not have existed.
Then Dave's phone buzzed.
He shifted the bags in one arm and checked the message, half-expecting a routine update from the estate. Instead, a name flashed across the screen that he hadn't seen in years: Lang.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen before opening it.
González,
the message read.
You once dragged me out of that warehouse and saved my life. I owe you. Consider this repayment. Amburdale ordered the installation of new surveillance at the estate this morning—main halls, garden, sitting room. No one told you because no one was supposed to, either of you two. Be careful. For both your sakes.
The words hit him like a blow.
For a heartbeat, the polished mall blurred. He could hear CeCe still talking beside him—something about perfume notes and how bergamot made him feel "dangerously clean"—but the words faded beneath the rush of his pulse.
Cameras. Secret cameras.
Liam.
His fingers tightened around the phone until the plastic creaked. He could picture it perfectly: the quiet efficiency of the security team, the soft click of concealed lenses sliding into place. Every corner. Every hallway. Every room where laughter and whispers had once belonged only to them.
He'd failed.
The realization burned cold through his chest. He had sworn to protect CeCe—not just from threats, but from the suffocating weight of control that men like Liam Amburdale carried like birthright. And now he'd let that control creep back into the walls of the only place CeCe had begun to feel free.
"Dave?"
CeCe's voice snapped him back. The Omega had turned toward him, a faint crease of concern between his brows. "You look like you've just read the end of a tragedy."
Dave forced a small smile. "Just work," he said quietly. "Nothing that can't wait."
CeCe studied him for a moment, then smiled again, letting it go. "Then let's finish what we started. I've decided we both deserve something reckless and unnecessary. Perhaps matching watches?"
He turned toward the next store, his laughter light again. Dave followed, the motion automatic, his mind anything but still.
Inside, CeCe tried on sunglasses and joked with the saleswoman, radiant in a way that made the whole room bend toward him. Dave stood nearby, silent, the bags at his feet, watching him like a man caught between duty and something far more dangerous.
He wanted to tell him right then. To take him aside, to say "They're watching us. You're not safe. He's taking back what you made yours."
But CeCe looked so alive. So free in a way that the estate could never allow now.
And Dave couldn't bring himself to break that. Not yet.
He took a slow breath, forcing his heartbeat to steady. After, he decided. After the city, before home.
For now, he would let CeCe have this: the soft laughter, the smell of new perfume, the illusion of a day untouched by shadows.
He shifted the weight of the bags in his arms and said, quietly, "Whatever you want, CeCe."
CeCe turned, smiling over his shoulder, silver blonde hair catching the light.
"Of course, Davy," he said. "You have excellent taste in following orders."
Dave smiled back—barely—but his eyes were darker now, watchful, already planning.
By the time they returned to the estate, CeCe would know. And this brief, fragile peace would end.
But for now, he carried the weight of silk and gold in his hands, and the far heavier weight of truth in his chest.
Late afternoon light stretched long across the parking lot, soft and golden—the kind that made everything look gentler than it was.
Dave moved with quiet precision, loading the last of CeCe's shopping bags into the trunk. He handled each one as if it were glass—careful, deliberate. A bag from Cartier, two from Burberry, a delicate white box tied in red silk from a boutique perfumery. When he finally shut the trunk, the satisfying click of the latch echoed faintly through the cooling air.
CeCe leaned against the car, humming under his breath, twirling his new sunglasses between his fingers. "You know," he said, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were enjoying this. Most men would have broken under the weight of my fashion by now."
Dave smiled faintly as he wiped his hands on his jacket. "I've carried worse."
"Hmm. Not prettier, though," CeCe teased, tilting his head, sunlight catching in his silver hair.
Dave didn't reply. Instead, he moved around to open the back passenger door. "After you."
CeCe blinked, pausing. "The back? Since when am I chauffeured like some boring aristocrat? I like sitting up front with you."
"Please," Dave said quietly.
The word—gentle, not commanding—stopped CeCe cold. He turned fully toward Dave, intending to argue, but then he saw the look in his eyes.
Those icy blue eyes—usually steady, disciplined, unreadable—were trembling at the edges. There was something raw in them, a fragile kind of plea that CeCe had never seen before.
Without another word, CeCe nodded and slid into the back seat. Dave waited until he was settled, then carefully closed the door, checking twice that it had locked securely before walking around to the driver's side.
The car started with a soft hum. Neither spoke at first. The city blurred past in streaks of amber and gray, traffic weaving like threads in the fading light.
CeCe leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the back of the front seat. His voice was tentative, almost small. "Did I do something wrong?"
Dave's grip on the steering wheel tightened. His jaw flexed, the muscle working beneath the skin. "You could never do anything wrong," he said finally, voice low and steady. "But we… need to be careful now."
CeCe frowned. "Careful?"
Dave's eyes stayed fixed on the road. "I just got word—from someone I trust. Liam's had new security cameras installed at the estate. Secret ones. In the halls. The sitting room. The garden."
For a heartbeat, CeCe didn't move. Then his entire body went still, rigid with disbelief. "He—what?"
"After we left this morning," Dave continued. "He ordered the security team not to tell us."
CeCe's face flushed with anger, a sharp, wounded kind of fury that burned beneath his skin. "That bastard. I should—" He fumbled for his phone, eyes flashing. "I'll call him right now. He has no right to—"
"Don't."
Dave's voice cut through the car, soft but firm. CeCe froze mid-motion.
"If you confront him, it'll only make him suspicious," Dave said quietly. "If he thinks you know, he'll find a way to tighten control. We can't afford that. Not now."
CeCe's hand trembled slightly around the phone. He looked out the window, jaw set, the reflection of city lights skating over his eyes. For a long moment, only the sound of tires on asphalt filled the silence.
Then Dave spoke again, and this time, his voice was softer—softer than CeCe had ever heard it. "CeCe…"
The Omega turned his gaze toward him.
Dave's hands flexed on the wheel. His breath caught once before he found the words. "What are we?" he asked quietly. "You and me. What is this… whatever we've become?"
CeCe blinked, startled.
"I need to know," Dave continued, his voice steady but threaded with pain. "If this—what we have—is something you want to keep. Because if it is, then everything changes. We'll have to move differently. Hide differently. Think ahead. But if it's not—if you don't…"
He trailed off, eyes still fixed on the road ahead, the setting sun painting the dashboard in bands of fading gold.
CeCe leaned back slowly, heart pounding.
Outside, the city lights began to flicker on one by one, reflections glinting off the car windows as silence stretched thin between them.
Dave's question hung in the air—heavy, fragile, impossible.
What are we?
The answer trembled at the edge of CeCe's lips, unspoken.
And before he could give it, the car turned down the long, shadowed road that led back to the Amburdale gates.