The cruise departed under a sky painted in rose and silver, the harbor crowded with cameras and laughter. Liam stayed close at first, hand firm on CeCe's back, introducing him as "my spouse, Charles Mor-Ray Amburdale." The title made CeCe's heart twitch in a strange, painful way.
The yacht itself was almost absurd in its beauty—three decks of polished teak and glass, attendants in white uniforms, champagne that never stopped flowing. Everywhere they turned, there was another smile, another toast, another pair of eyes assessing them.
CeCe slipped easily into his role. He laughed when expected, charmed the guests, and danced with practiced grace. But when Liam's arm looped around his waist in a rare moment of possessiveness, something inside him startled. For once, Liam wasn't just performing.
That night, after too many glasses of wine and too much applause, they found themselves alone on the upper deck. The sea stretched out in endless dark blue, stars scattered like salt above them.
Liam leaned on the railing, jacket discarded, his tie loose. "You looked… happy tonight."
"I looked appropriate," CeCe corrected with a small smile. "There's a difference."
"Then maybe I don't know how to read you anymore," Liam said, voice low and raw from the salt air. "Maybe I never did."
CeCe stepped closer, the wind pulling at his hair. "Maybe you're finally trying."
For a long moment, they just stood there, the waves lapping softly against the hull, their breath visible in the cool air. Then Liam reached for him—hesitant, uncertain.
The kiss that followed wasn't like the ones CeCe shared with Dave. It was heavier, blurred with alcohol and loneliness, tasting of salt and regret.
CeCe let it happen.
When Liam pulled him closer, CeCe felt the tension of months dissolve—not in love, not even in forgiveness, but in exhaustion. They stumbled back to their suite with laughter that wasn't quite real, hands clumsy with too much wine and too many unspoken words.
The yacht's master suite reeked of spilled merlot and salt air, the deck lights flickering through half-shut blinds. CeCe's back hit the mattress with a bounce, silk shirt half-unbuttoned, nipples peaked from the chill and the wine buzzing under his skin. Liam loomed over him, gold eyes glassy, lips wet and swollen from the sloppy kiss on the bow.
CeCe's laugh was loose, reckless from the wine.
'Fuck it.'
He yanked Liam down by the collar, tasting the sour bite of red wine on the alpha's tongue. Liam groaned, clumsy hands pawing at CeCe's trousers, zipper rasping loud in the quiet cabin. CeCe kicked them off, silk pooling on the floor, and spread his thighs wide, slick already dripping down his crack, staining the sheets.
Liam fumbled with his own belt, cock springing free—thick, flushed dark, veins bulging along the monstrous length. CeCe's breath caught despite himself.
'Jesus, that thing's obscene.'
He reached down, fingers barely meeting around the girth, and guided the blunt head to his hole. One push and the stretch burned white-hot, his rim fluttering, slick gushing to ease the way.
Liam thrust in with a grunt, one brutal slide that punched the air from CeCe's lungs.
'Yes—fuck—'
The size was perfect, splitting him open, dragging over every nerve. CeCe's back arched, heels digging into Liam's ass, urging deeper.
But Liam's rhythm was a disaster—two sloppy thrusts, hips stuttering, sweat dripping onto CeCe's chest. On the third, he froze, cock pulsing, and came with a choked groan, flooding CeCe's insides with thick, scalding heat. His eyes rolled back, body slumping sideways, passed out cold before his cock even softened.
CeCe lay there, stuffed full and furious, the stretch still throbbing around Liam's half-hard dick.
'Three thrusts. Again.'
He was too drunk to care about the limp weight pinning him. His own cock ached, leaking against his stomach, untouched.
'Fine.'
He shoved Liam onto his back, the alpha's head lolling, snoring already. CeCe straddled him, knees sinking into the mattress, and sank down hard. The angle was deeper now, Liam's cock dragging against his prostate with every roll of his hips. Slick squelched obscenely, running down Liam's balls, pooling beneath them.
CeCe rode him like a toy—fast, punishing, chasing the friction. His hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking in time with the slap of skin on skin.
'Not him. Not him.'
He closed his eyes, pictured Dave's icy stare, Dave's rough hands spreading him open, Dave's voice growling mine as he pounded into him.
The fantasy shattered him. CeCe's orgasm hit hard, cum streaking across Liam's chest in thick ropes, his hole clenching around the unconscious alpha's cock. He kept grinding through the aftershocks, milking every pulse, until he was spent and shaking.
Liam didn't stir.
CeCe collapsed sideways, Liam's softening cock slipping out with a wet sound, seed and slick oozing from his swollen rim. He stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, the taste of merlot and regret thick on his tongue.
'Dave would've wrecked me for hours.'
He laughed, bitter and drunk, and rolled away from the snoring alpha, already reaching for the bottle on the nightstand.
By morning, CeCe woke to sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains, the taste of champagne and wine still on his tongue. Liam slept beside him, one arm draped across the sheets between them but not quite touching.
CeCe stared at him for a long moment. There was a peace on Liam's face he'd never seen before, boyish almost.
He could have reached out—could have made it something tender. Instead, he stood quietly, wrapped a robe around himself, and stepped out onto the balcony.
The sea stretched endless and glittering, indifferent to the ache in his bottom.
For a few days afterward, they played at being happy. They swam, dined, smiled for photographs. Liam gave him pearls at breakfast one morning—delicate, exquisite, impersonal. CeCe wore them anyway.
But every night, when Liam fell asleep to the rhythm of the waves, CeCe stood by the window, thinking of a man with steady hands and blue eyes who remembered how he took his tea.
And when the ship finally returned to port, CeCe's smile for Liam was polished, practiced, perfect—
while the one meant for Dave, waiting at the end of the pier, was real.
---
The days that followed had been a desert of silence, every glance between them loaded, every accidental brush of knuckles a live wire. CeCe's pheromones had thickened with frustration, jasmine gone sharp, honey edged with salt. A mysterious scent always answered in kind, patchouli and cedar, a storm held back by teeth and will.
One day, CeCe and Dave stepped out of the bookstore into dusk, the city's neon bleeding violet across wet pavement. CeCe's fingers snagged Dave's sleeve, silk over steel, and tugged. No words. Just the soft drag of fabric, the heat of Dave's arm beneath. The alley swallowed them, narrow brick walls slick with rain, the air thick with coffee grounds and distant exhaust.
CeCe pressed him into the shadows, back to brick, and rose on his toes. "Just one," he breathed, lips brushing the corner of Dave's mouth, a plea and a dare.
Dave's hands found CeCe's waist, fingers spanning the delicate cage of ribs beneath cashmere. Resolve snapped like a thread. He crushed CeCe to him, mouth slanting hard, teeth clashing in the first desperate collision. CeCe opened on a gasp, tongue sliding slick and hot against Dave's, tasting coffee and want. Dave groaned into it, the sound vibrating through CeCe's chest, and walked him backward until CeCe's spine met the opposite wall.
The kiss turned filthy, open-mouthed, wet. CeCe's thigh hooked around Dave's hip, silk slacks riding high, the hard line of Dave's cock grinding against him through denim and cashmere. Dave's hand slid down, cupping the curve of CeCe's ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. CeCe whimpered, a broken sound swallowed by Dave's mouth, hips rolling shamelessly, slick already dampening the seam of his trousers.
Dave's other hand fisted in platinum hair, yanking CeCe's head back to lick a hot stripe up his throat, teeth scraping the tendon, sucking a mark just below the jaw. CeCe's breath hitched, nails raking down Dave's back, tearing at cotton like he could crawl inside him.
They broke apart only when air became a necessity, foreheads pressed, panting into each other's mouths. CeCe's lips were swollen, glistening, eyes blown with lust and something softer, more dangerous.
"That's enough to last a lifetime," he whispered, voice wrecked.
Dave's answer was a growl, rough as gravel. "Not for me." His thumb swept across CeCe's lower lip, smearing saliva and the faint taste of blood where teeth had nicked. "Never for me."
Every shared glance, every brush of fingertips, every stolen breath between them from thereafter became a secret rebellion—a small, fragile act of ownership in a life that wasn't theirs to live.
And somewhere back at the Amburdale estate, Liam watched, unaware that the screens meant to protect his home had become unable to be silent witnesses to its undoing.
CeCe and Dave lived in those stolen seconds outside the estate—defiant, reckless, and heartbreakingly alive.
Back at the mansion, Liam sat before the monitors each morning, convinced he was seeing everything.
He watched CeCe smile politely over dinner, watched Dave open doors with mechanical precision, watched the two of them drift through the halls like strangers.
"See?" he murmured to himself one morning, sipping his drink. "Everything's fine."
But beneath the words was a hollow he couldn't name—an ache that no footage could quiet.
Because the house might have been silent again, but the emptiness in it was louder than ever.
---
Meanwhile, far from the reach of those hidden lenses, CeCe and Dave sat together beneath the blooming magnolias of a public park, the city lights dimming into evening haze.
CeCe rested his head against Dave's shoulder, eyes closed. "He thinks he's clever, you know."
"I know."
"He thinks the distance means I'm his."
Dave's hand hovered, then settled carefully over CeCe's. "Then we'll let him think so."
CeCe smiled faintly, voice barely a whisper. "Let him have the cameras. He can't film what's in my heart."
The wind carried the scent of rain again. Dave squeezed his hand once, gently.
And for the first time in months, CeCe felt free—if only for a moment.
The park had gone quiet by the time the sun began to sink. The last joggers were gone, the air smelled of rain and grass, and the lamps along the path blinked on one by one, pools of gold against the dusky blue.
CeCe and Dave had been sitting together on the same weathered bench for nearly an hour, speaking only in pieces—small things about the city, about the clouds, about nothing that really mattered.
It was the kind of silence that felt safe.
CeCe drew his knees up slightly and hugged them, his oversized cardigan slipping from one shoulder. He was watching the petals fall from the magnolia tree above them, pale and slow, landing in his lap. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than Dave had ever heard it.
"You know," CeCe murmured, "I'm not very good at this. Being honest."
Dave turned toward him. "You've been honest with me."
CeCe shook his head, a small laugh leaving him. "Not really. You know the version of me that jokes and flirts and talks too much. The one everyone expects."
He hesitated, eyes on the petals in his hand. "That's my armor. It keeps people from seeing that I'm… actually terrible at this whole feeling things business."
The wind tugged at his hair; a strand fell across his cheek. Dave reached out instinctively, brushing it back, his fingers pausing when they touched his skin.
CeCe didn't pull away. "You see? That's the difference. I don't have to pretend with you."
He swallowed, breath catching. "I think that's why I'm scared."
"Of what?" Dave asked quietly.
"Of this." CeCe met his eyes. "Of liking you the way I do."
The world seemed to still at those words.
"I've been with Alphas before," he continued, voice trembling just slightly. "They all wanted something. Possession. Power. A showpiece. And I played along because it was easier to be the fantasy they wanted than admit I wanted something real."
He gave a nervous laugh. "But you're not an Alpha. You never tried to own me. You just… stayed. Protected me. Listened."
He looked down again, cheeks warming. "So, yes. I like you, Dave González. And if you'd let me, I'd like to try being with you. Properly."
Dave stared at him, the words sinking in like light through glass. "You mean—"
CeCe's smile was shy, uncertain. "You'd be my first Beta boyfriend."
For a long moment Dave didn't move. His chest felt too tight to hold breath, too full of everything he couldn't say. Then he reached out, covering CeCe's trembling hands with his own.
"CeCe…" His voice broke on the name. "You don't know what that means to me."
"Maybe I do," CeCe whispered. "Maybe that's why I'm saying it."
Dave leaned in then, slow enough that CeCe could pull away if he wanted. He didn't. The distance between them vanished by degrees—the warmth of Dave's breath, the faint smell of rain, the soft brush of noses before their lips met.
The kiss was careful at first, a promise instead of a claim. CeCe's fingers curled into the fabric of Dave's jacket, grounding himself. When they finally drew apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathless, both smiling like it hurt to stop.
CeCe's voice came out as a whisper. "You're different, Dave."
Dave's thumb traced the back of his hand. "And you're not as unfeeling as everyone thinks."
CeCe laughed softly, the sound fragile and real. "Then maybe we're both a little broken in the right places."
Above them, another petal drifted down, landing on the bench between their hands. Neither moved to brush it away.
For the first time in years, CeCe felt no need to perform, no urge to hide behind charm or perfume or masks.
Just the steady heartbeat beneath his palm, the night air, and the quiet certainty that, at last, he was exactly where he wanted to be.
---
Back at the Amburdale estate, the house was quiet again—too quiet.
It was past midnight when Liam Amburdale leaned back in his office chair, the glow from the monitor throwing pale light across his face. For weeks, he'd been checking the footage sporadically, usually a morning ritual he told himself was just habit but tonight, he chose to switch it up. Because tonight, something nagged at him—a detail, a pattern he couldn't quite name.
He clicked through the timestamps.
12:00 p.m. … 1:00 p.m. … skip … 3:00 p.m.
A full two hours missing.
His brow furrowed. "That can't be right."
He rewound, cross-checked another camera feed. The same gap. No footage from the west corridor. No footage from the sitting room either. The log labeled the missing block simply as 'data loss due to power fluctuation.'
Except there hadn't been a power fluctuation. Not once in weeks.
Liam's jaw tightened. He clicked again.
Then he saw another—four hours missing on a different day. Another gap two days later. Always the same pattern: midmorning to late afternoon, right before dinner. Every time CeCe and Dave had gone "out for errands."
He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You clever little bastard."
The phrase wasn't even angry—it was weary, laced with something darker than rage. Disappointment. Hurt.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
He wasn't a fool. He knew CeCe's history—knew how easily the Omega drifted toward affection, toward attention. But this… this was something else.
CeCe had changed since he'd returned. Polite, distant, immaculate. Too immaculate. And Dave—always a shadow, but now a careful one, deliberately unnoticeable.
They'd built walls made of silence, and he'd let them.
Liam's hand tightened into a fist. "What are you hiding from me?"
---
Unbeknownst to him, two floors below, Dave had already anticipated this.
It had taken him weeks to quietly reroute the internal surveillance—enough to keep the house feeds running but replace every "compromised" window with loops of harmless footage: CeCe reading, Dave standing at his post, the sun falling predictably across the same rug.
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
Enough to erase the quiet smiles.
Enough to hide the way CeCe would brush past him a heartbeat too close.
Enough to keep their moments—those rare, stolen hours—from the eyes of the man who held both of their fates in his hands.
By dawn, Liam was still awake. The realization sat heavy in his chest, coiling tighter with every minute.
He could have confronted them right then. He could have ordered Dave into his office, demanded answers, watched CeCe squirm under his calm interrogation.
But he didn't.
Because beneath the anger was something he didn't want to admit: fear.
Fear that if he looked too closely, he'd find what he already knew.
That his Omega wasn't his anymore.
The knock came midmorning—three sharp raps. Liam straightened his tie, masking his exhaustion as his assistant entered, eyes wary.
"Sir, there's been an issue with the European branch. The board is requesting your immediate presence. They've arranged a flight for tonight."
Liam's hands stilled over the desk. "Tonight?"
"Yes, sir. The situation's… delicate. They're calling it a crisis."
For a long moment, he didn't speak. His mind was still on the missing footage, the careful smiles, the distance that had crept between the lines of his home. He wanted to refuse. To stay and tear every truth from the walls.
But he couldn't.
An Amburdale Alpha didn't abandon duty—not for suspicion, not for emotion, not even for love.
"Very well," he said finally, his voice even. "Rearrange the transport for midnight."
That evening, he told the staff to prepare a special dinner.
The table glowed under candlelight, a rich array of CeCe's favorite dishes spread across fine porcelain: citrus-glazed salmon, truffle risotto, strawberry tarts. The wine was a rare vintage from the Amburdale family cellar.
And in his pocket, in a small velvet box, lay the ring.
White gold, sleek and modern, with a single emerald cut to match CeCe's eyes. It would gleamed beneath the chandelier like a drop of captured light.
When CeCe entered the dining room, he paused, visibly startled. "What's all this?"
Liam stood from his chair, smoothing the line of his jacket. "A proper dinner. Before I leave again."
CeCe blinked. "Leave?"
"Europe. Tonight."
The Omega's expression shifted—something tight flickered in his eyes before it vanished behind a practiced smile. "Of course. Business calls."
Liam nodded toward the table. "Sit. Please."
CeCe did, his movements graceful, careful. The conversation began politely—work, travel, the weather—but it didn't last. There was too much unsaid between them.
Halfway through dinner, Liam reached into his pocket and set the small box on the table between them.
CeCe froze. "What's this?"
"A gift," Liam said quietly. "An apology. And… a reminder."
He opened it, the emerald catching the candlelight.
CeCe's lips parted. "It's beautiful."
"It's meant to be."
Liam's gaze softened. "You and I—we might not have started the way people dream about. But that doesn't mean I don't care, CeCe. That I don't—" He stopped himself, his throat tightening on the word. "—want this to work."
For a moment, CeCe couldn't look at him. He stared at the ring instead, the reflection of the flame dancing inside the gem like something alive.
"Liam…" he began carefully. "You don't have to buy my loyalty."
"I'm not buying it," Liam said evenly. "I'm keeping it."
That landed like a quiet blow. CeCe looked up, the faintest tremor in his expression. "You're leaving tonight?"
"Yes. I'll be gone two weeks, maybe more."
CeCe smiled—beautiful, practiced, false. "Then you'd better eat before the food gets cold."
They finished the meal in silence, two actors reading their lines to an empty theater.
When dessert was cleared, Liam slid the ring box across the table.
"Keep it," he said softly. "For when I'm gone."
CeCe hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing the velvet. "You really do try, don't you?"
"I do," Liam murmured.
CeCe smiled again—sad, polite. "Then I'll wear it."
He slipped the ring onto his finger, the metal cool against his skin.
Liam exhaled, tension easing just slightly. "Thank you."
But as the night stretched on and he prepared to leave, CeCe stood by the door watching him, the candlelight catching the emerald at his hand.
"Safe travels, husband," he said softly.
Liam bent, pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, and whispered, "When I return, we can spend some time together, properly, as husbands."
CeCe smiled, the same way he'd smiled so many times before. "Of course."
He closed the door behind Liam's car and waited until the sound of the engine disappeared down the drive. Then, and only then, did he look down at the ring.
Beautiful. Heavy. Cold.
He turned it once between his fingers, then slipped it into his pocket instead of wearing it.
Dave was waiting by the stairs.
"Is he gone?" Dave asked quietly.
CeCe nodded, his voice barely audible. "For now."
Dave reached out, his hand brushing CeCe's knuckles. "Then let's not waste the time we have."
CeCe's gaze softened. "No cameras this time?"
Dave's faint smile held both sorrow and promise. "Not where we're going."
And as they stepped into the night together, the stars above them hid behind clouds, as if even the heavens understood that some truths were never meant to be seen.