The birth of an omega in the House of Vaelora sent shockwaves through the aristocracy. What should have been the proud announcement of an alpha heir had become a scandal—a fracture in the foundation of a dynasty that had stood unshaken for centuries.
An omega.
Born into this bloodline.
It was unthinkable.
The Vaelora family had only ever produced alphas—warriors, rulers, conquerors. Their bloodline was said to be blessed by the gods, destined to lead and to dominate. Strength was not just expected; it was law. To be born anything less was not merely an anomaly.
It was a curse.
The news spread like wildfire despite Alaric's best efforts to contain it. Whispers curled through noble halls like smoke, slithering through lips that had long envied Vaelora supremacy. The distant branches of the family—those with diluted power but unyielding ambition—came flooding back, drawn not by loyalty but by the scent of weakness.
And they were furious.
"An omega? In the Vaelora line?" a cousin sneered over dark wine. "It defies reason!"
"It's Evelyn's doing," another whispered. "She has tainted the bloodline. What other explanation is there?"
"It's biology," a noblewoman remarked coldly. "Vaeloras do not birth omegas. Unless—"
The implication hung heavy in the air.
Unless Evelyn had been unfaithful.
She felt the weight of their accusations like knives to the spine, their stares sharper than any blade. They would not speak their poison to her face—no, the Vaeloras were far too refined for that—but they did not need to. Their disdain was carved into every stolen glance, every hushed conversation that fell silent when she entered the room.
And Alaric?
He said nothing.
He stood among them, silent as the whispers branded her a traitor. He let their doubt fester, let the weight of their scorn settle upon her shoulders alone.
That night, Evelyn confronted him, her voice a blade's edge, thin and shaking beneath the weight of unshed tears.
"You're letting them blame me."
Alaric stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the silver glow of the moon. His hands were clasped behind his back, the perfect image of control. Detached.
"They need a reason," he said flatly.
Evelyn's nails bit into her palms. "A reason?" she hissed. "They are accusing me of dishonoring this family."
Alaric did not turn. "I never said you were unfaithful."
"But you haven't said I wasn't," she spat. "You let them believe it."
For the first time, his gaze flicked toward her, dark and unreadable. "It shouldn't have been possible," he said, voice colder than the night air. "But it happened. That is a problem."
"He is your son," Evelyn whispered.
Alaric's jaw tightened. "No." His voice was low, cutting. "I have no omega heir."
Something inside Evelyn cracked.
"You'd let them cast him out?"
"If it protects this family, yes."
Evelyn's breath caught. The weight of his words crushed the air from her lungs.
"He is just a child," she whispered.
"He is an omega," Alaric corrected, his voice devoid of emotion. "A weakness."
"You don't mean that," she breathed, shaking her head.
Alaric's gaze hardened. "I do."
Evelyn stared at him—at the man she had once believed could be more than this, the man who had once touched her with something that almost felt like warmth.
"So that's it?" her voice broke. "You'll throw him away like he's nothing?"
Alaric's lips parted—but in that moment, he hesitated. His fingers curled behind his back, his throat bobbed with something unsaid.
But then he turned away.
"He's not mine."
Something inside Evelyn shattered.
"You're a coward," she whispered. "You would rather destroy your own son than admit that this family is not as untouchable as you pretend."
Alaric did not answer.
She turned sharply, her breath ragged as she stormed from the room, her footsteps echoing like gunfire in the empty hall.
From the shadows, Margus Vaelora watched.
His gaze lingered on Alaric, unreadable but calculating. "She's making a mistake."
Alaric's jaw tensed. "She's protecting a mistake."
Margus stepped closer, his presence cold and looming. "If you let her keep that child, this family will fall. The Vaelora name will be weakened. And when our enemies see the cracks, they will strike."
Alaric exhaled slowly, his pulse thrumming with something heavy, something dangerous.
"I know."
Margus's gaze sharpened. "Then deal with it."
But Alaric did not move.
And somewhere, beneath the glow of the moon, Evelyn sat curled in the nursery, her arms wrapped tightly around the fragile weight of her son.
She ran trembling fingers through his dark hair, his tiny frame pressed against her chest as he slept, blissfully unaware of the war raging beyond the walls of his crib.
"They won't take you from me," she whispered fiercely.
Her blue eyes sharpened through the haze of tears.
"I don't care what they say. You are mine."
Her grip tightened, her heart pounding with something deep, something unbreakable.
"They will never touch you."
Beyond the nursery, the Vaelora estate loomed in the darkness, its halls echoing with whispers of betrayal and ruin.
The birth of an omega had already changed everything.
And the House of Vaelora would never recover.