{TRIGGER WARNING FOR RAPE}
The dining room was candlelit, the long table set for two. CeCe had dismissed the staff hours ago; tonight was private. He stepped through the archway at eight sharp, the red silk of his dress catching every flicker of flame. The neckline plunged to the sternum, held together by a single delicate clasp between his collarbones. The fabric clung like liquid sin, slit high on one thigh, every movement a promise.
Liam looked up from his plate and forgot to breathe.
CeCe smiled, slow and sweet, and crossed the room with the grace of a cat who knew exactly where the cream was kept. He didn't sit across from Liam. He slid into the chair beside him, close enough that the heat of his bare arm brushed Liam's sleeve.
"Missed you today," CeCe murmured, fingers trailing along the back of Liam's hand as he reached for the wine. He poured, ruby liquid glinting, then lifted the glass to Liam's lips himself. "Drink."
Liam obeyed, throat working. CeCe's thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, wiping away a stray drop, then slipped between his own lips with deliberate slowness.
Dinner was a slow torture. CeCe leaned in to murmur nonsense about the sauce, letting his breath fan Liam's ear. He fed Liam bites from his own fork, tongue darting out to catch a crumb at the corner of his smile. Every laugh was low, every touch lingering. Beneath the table, his bare foot traced up Liam's calf, silk dress riding higher with each shift.
Liam's responses grew shorter, rougher. His gold eyes tracked every movement, pupils blown wide. CeCe released his pheromones in careful pulses, jasmine blooming thick and sweet, honey warm as melted gold. The air thickened, heady, until Liam's fork clattered against his plate.
"Enough," Liam rasped, but he didn't move when CeCe rose and poured the whiskey.
They migrated to the study, fire crackling low. CeCe pressed a glass into Liam's hand, then another. The alpha's head tipped back against the leather chair, throat exposed, pulse visible beneath stubble. CeCe knelt between his spread knees, refilling, coaxing, until Liam's grip went slack and his words slurred soft.
Perfect.
CeCe rose, silk whispering, and retrieved the folder from the side table. He laid the employment transfer across Liam's lap like a gift.
"Sign this for me, love," he said, voice honey over gravel.
Liam blinked, slow. "What… is it?"
"Nothing important." CeCe climbed into his lap, knees bracketing Liam's hips. The red dress strained as he reached towards his collarbone and unclasped the single hook. Silk slid down his sides, pooling at his waist, baring pale skin and the delicate curve of his chest. He pressed the contract to his sternum, paper crinkling against warm flesh. "Sign, and I'll put it away. You can have all of this instead."
Liam's gaze dropped, fixed. His hand lifted—shaking, but steady enough—and took the pen CeCe offered. The signature was messy, ink bleeding where his fingers trembled, but it was there. Done.
CeCe smiled, small and triumphant, and let the contract flutter to the floor. His arms wound around Liam's neck, bare chest pressing close, jasmine and honey flooding the space between them.
"Good boy," he whispered against Liam's lips.
CeCe eased off Liam's lap, silk sliding back up his sides. The clasp clicked shut between his collarbones, cool metal against flushed skin. He bent to retrieve the contract, folding it neatly into the hidden pocket of his dress. One step toward the door, and the air shifted.
Liam's scent detonated, whiskey smoke and storm-wet steel, alpha pheromones thick enough to choke on. CeCe's knees buckled; slick welled hot between his thighs, instinctive, traitorous. He caught the edge of the desk, breath hitching.
Liam was on him before he could straighten. Hands like iron bands clamped CeCe's waist, spun him, slammed him face-first against the leather couch. The impact drove the air from his lungs. Liam's weight pinned him, chest to back, hips grinding hard.
"No—" CeCe started, but Liam's growl drowned the word. Fabric tore, red silk ripping down the seams, cool air hitting bare skin. CeCe's palms scrabbled for leverage, found the couch arm, and he twisted just enough to shield his nape with one trembling hand. Not there. Never there.
Trousers rasped down. Liam's cock—thick, scalding, bigger than any CeCe had taken—pressed blunt against his entrance. One brutal thrust and he was inside, raw, no prep, no care. CeCe's teeth sank into his lower lip until copper bloomed. He squeezed his eyes shut, counted heartbeats, waited for the rhythm he knew too well.
But Liam's hips stuttered after three clumsy thrusts. A guttural grunt, heat flooding deep, and then—nothing. Liam's full weight slumped, breath sawdust against CeCe's shoulder. Passed out cold.
CeCe lay pinned beneath him, stunned. That was it? He'd endured worse for hours. Liam's cock was a weapon in size alone; the alpha had no idea how to wield it. Disappointment curdled with disgust.
A slurred mumble against his neck, teeth grazing CeCe's skin: "Kiki… fuck, Kiki…"
The name sliced deeper than the cock had. CeCe's eyes snapped open, emerald gone glassy. He shoved backward, hard. Liam rolled off like a sack of grain, snoring before he hit the rug.
CeCe rose on shaky legs. Slick and seed tracked down his thighs; he wiped it away with the shredded remains of his dress, then let the ruined silk fall. The contract was still in his pocket, crisp and perfect. He smoothed his hair, straightened his spine, and walked barefoot to the mirror over the mantel. A stranger stared back, lip split and raw, eyes flat. He fixed the damage with practiced efficiency: wiped blood, tucked strands, pinched color into his cheeks.
In the hallway, the sconces flickered like nothing had happened. CeCe clutched the contract to his chest and didn't look back.
---
Dave was in the gym at dawn, sweat cooling on his skin, when the envelope slid under the door of his quarters. Plain cream stock, CeCe's looping script across the front: D.G.
He tore it open with a thumb still wrapped in tape from the heavy bag.
The transfer papers stared up at him, crisp and official. Liam's signature sprawled across the bottom line, ink still faintly tacky. Dave's pulse thudded once, hard, against his ribs.
He read it twice. Then a third time, slower, letting the words settle.
Employee: David González. Transfer of contract from Amburdale Holdings to Charles Mor-Ray, effective immediately.
No fanfare. No explanation. Just the cold finality of ownership shifting hands.
Dave's fingers tightened, creasing the corner. The scent of jasmine and honey clung to the paper, CeCe's scent, faint but unmistakable. He pressed the page to his nose without thinking, drawing it in like oxygen. His chest ached with something he couldn't name. Not yet.
He was CeCe's now. Not Liam's shadow. Not the estate's silent sentinel. CeCe's.
The realization hit harder than any punch he'd taken that morning. He folded the contract with military precision, slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket, and—after changing into his uniform—went to find the omega who'd just bought him with a single stroke of a pen.
CeCe was in his room, sunlight striping his bare shoulders through the glass. He didn't turn when Dave's boots sounded on the tile.
"You did it," Dave said, voice rough.
CeCe's fingers stilled on the orchid he'd been pruning. "I told you I would."
Dave stepped closer, close enough to see the faint bruise blooming high on CeCe's collarbone from Liam's teeth, sloppy and drunk. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
"You didn't have to trick him."
CeCe set the shears down. Turned. His emerald eyes were flat, unreadable. "I do what works."
Dave's hand lifted, hovered, then dropped. "You're shaking."
CeCe glanced down as if surprised to find his own fingers trembling. He curled them into a fist. "Adrenaline. It'll pass."
Dave didn't believe him. He saw the split in CeCe's lower lip, the way the omega held himself—too still, too careful. He saw a red dress thrown haphazardly in the trashcan, silk shredded at the seams like confetti.
His voice dropped to a growl. "Did he hurt you?"
CeCe's laugh was sharp, humorless. "He signed, didn't he?"
Dave took one more step. Close enough that CeCe had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. "I'm asking if he hurt you."
Something flickered across CeCe's face, too fast to name. Then the mask slid back into place.
"I'm fine, Davy." CeCe's hand lifted, brushed Dave's chest, light as a moth. "You work for me now. That's all that matters."
Dave caught his wrist before he could pull away. His thumb pressed to the frantic pulse beneath thin skin. "Say the word," he said, low. "I'll break his fucking hands."
CeCe's breath hitched. For a moment, the bedroom was silent except for the drip of water from a cracked watering can.
Then CeCe leaned in, forehead resting against Dave's sternum. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Not yet."
Dave's arms came around him—slow, careful, like CeCe might shatter. The contract crinkled between them, a promise and a chain.
"Whenever you're ready," Dave murmured into platinum hair. "I'm yours."
Dave's arms tightened, not crushing, but absolute. CeCe's breath stuttered against his chest, a fragile thing caught between surrender and fight. The bedroom's humid air pressed in, thick with green life and the ghost of whiskey that clung to CeCe's skin like a bruise.
CeCe's fingers curled into Dave's shirt, knuckles white. "I hate that I needed you to say it," he whispered, voice cracking on the last word. "I hate that I wanted you to say it."
Dave's hand slid up, cupping the back of CeCe's skull, thumb stroking the fine hairs at his nape. "Then hate me," he said, rough. "But I'm still yours."
CeCe's laugh was wet, broken. He pressed closer, face buried in the hollow of Dave's throat, and the tremor that ran through him wasn't from cold. Dave felt it in his bones: the omega's pride splintering, the fear he'd never name, the desperate, clawing need to be chosen instead of taken.
"I can still smell him on me," CeCe rasped. "I scrubbed until my skin bled and I can still—"
Dave's grip turned fierce. He lifted CeCe clear off the ground, arms locked beneath thighs and back, and carried him to the chaise beneath the skylight. CeCe's legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, ankles crossing, heels digging in like he'd vanish if he let go.
Dave sat, CeCe straddling his lap, and cupped his face with both hands. Thumbs swept across cheekbones, smearing away tears CeCe hadn't realized were falling.
"Look at me," Dave ordered, voice low, lethal soft.
CeCe's lashes lifted. Emerald eyes glassy, pupils blown wide with too many things at once.
"You are mine to protect," Dave said, each word deliberate. "Not his. Not anyone's. Mine." His forehead pressed to CeCe's, breath mingling. "Say it."
CeCe's lips parted. A sob caught in his throat, turned into a whisper. "Yours."
The word shattered something in Dave's chest. He crushed CeCe close, one hand fisted in platinum hair, the other splayed across his spine, feeling every shuddering inhale. CeCe clung back, nails digging into Dave's shoulders, face tucked into the beta's neck like he could hide there forever.
Outside, a cloud passed over the sun. The room dimmed, shadows pooling around them. Neither moved.
---
Liam came to with his cheek pressed to the study rug, mouth dry as sandpaper, temples throbbing in slow, dull pulses. The fire had died to ash; gray morning light leaked through the curtains. He groaned, rolled onto his back, and froze.
His cock lay half-hard against his thigh, trousers shoved to his knees. The leather couch beside him was a crime scene: dark streaks of slick and seed cooling into a sticky mess, the air thick with jasmine, honey, and his own whiskey-steel musk. A torn scrap of red silk clung to one cushion like a battle flag.
Memory flickered—CeCe in his lap, silk sliding down pale shoulders, the warmth of bare skin against his rough hands. Then nothing. Blackout.
Liam sat up too fast; the room tilted. His stomach lurched, but the betrayal hit harder. Kiki. His name was a bruise behind his ribs. He'd never touched CeCe sober, never meant to. Yet here was proof, obscene and undeniable.
He dragged a hand over his face.
He seduced me.
The thought burned. CeCe had poured whiskey down his throat, released those damned pheromones, waved skin like a red flag. Liam's fists clenched. He should be furious. He was furious.
But beneath the anger, something else coiled—hot, greedy, alive. He remembered the heat of CeCe's body, the way slick had eased his way, the broken sound CeCe had made when he'd thrust inside. Liam's cock twitched, traitorously eager. He wanted it again. Wanted to pin CeCe to a bed, fully aware, and watch those emerald eyes go wide and glassy. Wanted to hear him beg, "Liam, please," until the name Kiki was burned out of his memories.
He stood, swaying, and yanked his trousers up.
Another trick.
Another victory for CeCe.
Liam's jaw worked. He hated him. He wanted him. The two truths tangled like barbed wire around his heart.
He left the study without cleaning the couch. Let the mess stay. Let it remind him what CeCe could do to him and what he intended to do back, next time with clear eyes and no whiskey between them.
Liam braced a hand against the study doorframe, the wood cool under his palm, grounding him against the nausea. His reflection in the hallway mirror was a stranger—gold hair wild, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen like he'd been kissed or punched. He looked like a man who'd lost a fight with himself and hadn't decided if he wanted to win the rematch.
'He knew.'
The thought detonated behind his eyes. CeCe had known about Kiki. Had seen the look Liam gave him before, as if looking—searching—for a semblance of Kiki in CeCe. He knew Liam still hasn't completely let go of his first love, the one who had helped him through his first rut. And yet, CeCe had smiled at him across dinner tables, poured whiskey like poison, and still climbed into his lap with that red dress and those lying emerald eyes.
'He wanted me to break.'
Liam's fist slammed into the wall. Plaster cracked; pain flared bright and clean up his arm. Good. Pain was honest.
But the memory of CeCe's body—slick, tight, perfect—slithered in behind the pain, uninvited. He could still feel the clutch of heat around his cock, the way CeCe's spine had arched even as he'd gone still, enduring. Liam's breath hitched. He'd taken without asking, without remembering, and the shame should have drowned him. Instead, it fed the hunger.
He wanted to storm upstairs, drag CeCe from whatever bed he'd crawled into, and demand answers.
"Why did you make me do this? Why did you let me?"
He wanted to pin those slender wrists above platinum hair and fuck the truth out of him—slow, deliberate, until CeCe's voice cracked on "Liam" instead of silence. He wanted to erase Kiki's ghost with every thrust, every moan he'd missed in the blackout.
His knees buckled. He slid down the wall, forehead pressed to his forearms. The scent of jasmine lingered in his shirt, mocking.
'I hate you.'
The words pulsed with his heartbeat.
'I hate you for making me want you more than I ever wanted him.'
He laughed, a raw, ugly sound. Kiki had been soft light and promises he'd never kept. CeCe was a blade wrapped in silk, and Liam was bleeding out, thrilled and furious and falling. He didn't know which truth would kill him first: that he'd forced CeCe, or that he'd do it again sober just to watch those eyes shatter for him alone.
He stayed on the floor until the grandfather clock chimed six, every strike a countdown to the moment he'd face CeCe again—angry, hungry, and terrifyingly in love with the omega who'd just rewritten his soul in red ink and torn silk.
---
The dining room smelled of coffee and warm brioche. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, catching on the crystal and the faint dust motes that always danced above the table. CeCe sat at the far end, delicate in an oversized cream cashmere sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing the livid crescent of teeth marks Liam had left the night before. The bruise bloomed purple against porcelain skin, half-hidden by the sweater's neckline, half-exposed like an accusation.
Liam paused in the doorway, freshly showered, hair still damp at the ends. The sight of the mark hit him low in the gut—pride, possession, shame, hunger. He wanted to add more. Wanted to drag his tongue over it until CeCe whimpered. He curled his fingers into his palms and walked in.
Dave stood behind CeCe's chair, arms folded, expression carved from granite. The moment Liam crossed the threshold, the beta shifted then a scent seemed to spill out from somewhere—patchouli and cedar—alpha aggression barely leashed. Liam's nose twitched.
'Impossible.'
He only hired betas. Yet the air crackled with it. Perhaps it was the cologne of a servant…
"Morning," Liam said, voice rough. He took the seat opposite CeCe, close enough to see the faint split in the omega's lower lip, the careful way he held himself.
CeCe smiled, bright and brittle. "Sleep well?"
Liam's gaze flicked to the bruise, then to CeCe's eyes. "We need to talk about last night."
Dave's shoulders went rigid. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
CeCe tilted his head, lashes lowering. "Do we? I thought it was rather straightforward." He reached for the honey, drizzling it over a slice of brioche with deliberate slowness. "I wanted my husband. We're married, after all. I was curious how you'd feel inside me."
Liam's fork froze halfway to his mouth. Heat crawled up his neck. "You got me drunk."
"You let me get you drunk." CeCe's smile sharpened. "And then you fucked me on the couch like you'd been starving for it. I'd call that a success."
Dave's knuckles whitened where they gripped the back of CeCe's chair. The wood creaked.
Liam leaned forward, voice low. "Was it good for you?"
CeCe's inward sneer was vicious: 'Three thrusts and a nap, darling. You've got the cock of a god and the stamina of a teenager.'
Outwardly, he sighed, dreamy. "Fantastic. Best I've ever had. You ruined me for anyone else."
Liam's chest swelled—pride, suspicion, something dangerously soft. "You're… not serious…right?"
"Am I?" CeCe licked honey from his thumb, slow. "You'll have to try again sober to find out."
The scent spiked, sharp and electric. Liam's head snapped toward Dave. The beta's face was a mask, but his icy blue eyes promised violence.
Liam frowned. "You smell like—"
"Coffee?" CeCe interrupted, pushing a cup toward him. "Drink. You're hungover."
Liam took it, but his gaze stayed on Dave. The beta didn't blink. The air between them thrummed with unspoken threats.
CeCe buttered another slice of bread, humming. The perfect spouse. The perfect lie.
Dave's pulse was a war drum behind his eyes.
Every breath he dragged in tasted of Liam's whiskey and CeCe's jasmine, the two scents braided so tight they strangled him. His hands, locked behind his back, trembled with the effort of not reaching across the table and snapping the alpha's neck.
Liam's voice, lazy and smug, scraped over Dave's nerves like broken glass.
Best I've ever had.
The lie sat on CeCe's tongue like ash, but Dave tasted blood. He knew what that bruise looked like fresh. Knew the shape of Liam's teeth because he'd memorized every inch of CeCe's skin in the dark, tracing it with eyes and fingertips and the kind of reverence Liam would never earn.
His vision tunneled. The room narrowed to the column of CeCe's throat, the way the sweater slipped lower with every breath, exposing the mark like a brand. Dave's jaw flexed so hard a molar cracked. The sound was soft, swallowed by the clink of Liam's coffee cup, but CeCe's shoulders stiffened—he heard it.
The mysterious scent rolled out before it could be caged: it hit the air like a storm breaking—patchouli, dark and earthy, grounding yet suffocating in its intensity, tangled with the sharp edge of cedar, dry and cutting like splintered wood. Together they carried a restrained fury, the kind that didn't roar but coiled, heavy and primal, warning anyone nearby to tread carefully. It flooded the dining room, thick enough to choke on. Liam's head snapped up, nostrils flaring. CeCe didn't flinch, but his fingers tightened on the honey spoon until the silver bent.
"Damn servants, you give them an inch and they take you for a ride. Someone thinks it's cute to go around doused in cologne! I'll be speaking to Hensley about this!"
Liam slammed the table, open palm. CeCe merely continued eating but spoke up nonchalantly.
"Oh Liam, let them have their fun. I find the smell pleasing. Besides, it's not like you're here, anyway. I'm the one who's going to be smelling it all day."
This made Liam quiet down but he still made a note to speak with the head butler about future use of perfumes and cologne products used by the staff, especially ones that mimic pheromones.
Dave didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, a statue carved from rage, every muscle coiled to strike. The air around him shimmered with heat. If Liam took one more breath in CeCe's direction, if he so much as smiled again, Dave would tear him apart with his bare hands and bathe in the wreckage.
CeCe's voice cut through the haze, light and teasing. "Dave, darling, you're scowling. You'll scare the croissants."
The words were a leash. Dave's lungs seized. He forced his grip to loosen, forced the storm back into his ribs where it belonged. The scent didn't retreat—it couldn't, but it banked, smoldering.
Liam's eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening. Dave met them, unflinching.
Try me.
CeCe laughed, soft and sweet, and the moment stretched, taut as a wire. One twitch, one wrong word, and it would snap.
CeCe's smile never wavered, but inside his skull was a riot.
Best I've ever had.
The lie tasted like ash. He wanted to spit it out, wanted to scream that Liam had fumbled through him like a drunk boy with a new toy, that the only thing best about it was how quickly it ended. But the words stayed locked behind his teeth, because the truth would shatter the fragile glass cage he'd built around himself.
He was furious—at Liam for taking, at himself for letting it happen, at Dave for standing there like a loaded gun he wasn't allowed to fire. The bruise on his collarbone throbbed with every heartbeat, a brand he couldn't cover. He hated that it made his stomach twist with something darker than pain. Hated that part of him had responded, slick and ready, because biology didn't care about consent.
The mysterious scent was a blade at his back, sharp and electric. CeCe felt it slice through his pheromone-neutralizing perfume, felt it protecting him even as it threatened to burn the room down. He wanted to lean into it, wanted to turn and bury his face in Dave's chest and let the beta's rage swallow his own. But he couldn't. Not here. Not with Liam watching, suspicious and smug and oblivious.
'You don't get to want me,' CeCe thought, staring at Liam over the rim of his coffee cup. 'You don't get to mark me and call it love.' But the wanting was there anyway, a treacherous heat low in his belly, because Liam's eyes were gold and hungry and fixed on him like he was something precious. It was a lie, but it was a lie CeCe had sold a thousand times before. He knew how to play it.
He just hadn't expected it to hurt this much.
His fingers trembled around the spoon. He hid it by stirring honey into nothing, slow circles that matched the spiral in his chest. 'I'm not yours. I chose who gets me.' But the contract he signed said otherwise, and his heart said otherwise, and Liam's teeth on his skin said otherwise.
He was drowning in otherwise, and no one could see the water rising.