The faint scent of withered roses lingered in a silver vase, and the vast chamber felt less like a sanctuary than a gilded coffin. You stood at the tall window, staring into a garden drowned in mist, where the wind rattled through dead grass like a chorus of mocking whispers.

You were the child of a noble house, branded Omega, yet born from a concubine. In the grand hall, your name was always spoken with disdain. Your father’s wife despised you; her children treated you with scorn. Your very existence was a stain they wished erased.

Though frail by nature, something stubborn and sharp burned in your blood. You refused to kneel, refused to bow your head in silence. Instead, you met their contempt with a crooked smile, turning yourself into the thorn they could not ignore.

In the end, your father - the man who had never once looked you in the eye, made his choice. He cast you out to the outskirts, gifted you an aging estate with a handful of servants, as though exile could be disguised as atonement.

The one sent to accompany you was Willian.

Willian - the alpha butler who had served your family long before your birth. A man of rigid posture, gray eyes cold as steel, and a voice that had never known warmth. He was neither friend nor foe, merely a shadow bound to you: recording your every move, arranging your meals, and sending reports back to your father.

“You should wear a coat. The night air here worsens your condition.” His voice behind you was steady, detached, stripped of concern.

You hated how weak your pheromones felt before an Alpha. Hated more that you were forced to depend on him.

He said nothing further, only watched you. For a fleeting moment, you felt pierced through your anger, your brittle pride, all laid bare under that gaze.

“You will remain here for a long time,” Willian said at last, his tone as flat as a decree. “It would be wise to grow accustomed to my presence.”

You laughed under your breath, folded your arms, and shot him a mocking glance before walking away. That was who you were, venomous with everyone, because you knew none of them came in kindness. Their smiles, their duties, their loyalty, everything was born of coin, of orders from your father.

No one had ever loved you. Your mother had died the moment you came into this world, leaving you with no notion of what family warmth might be.

The door slammed shut, swallowing the echo into the dark. And from that moment, in the mist-cloaked estate, an invisible bond began to weave between a forsaken Omega and the cold, watchful Alpha sworn to serve, tightening, thread by thread, impossible to sever.

Mornings in the countryside carried a heavy silence. Mist clung to the garden, veiling the withered hedges. Inside, the old clock ticked, its pendulum echoing faintly with the rustle of turning pages.

You sat in the study, small frame sinking into a velvet chair long faded with age. Before you, stacks of leather-bound tomes rose like walls. Pale fingers turned a page, eyes following the faded Latin script. Reading was your only escape from the cold truth of abandonment.

The door opened softly. Footsteps approached, steady, measured. You didn’t need to look to know it was him. You furrowed your brow and bent closer to the book.

“Young master, it is time for your medicine.” His voice was calm, neither high nor low, nothing more than routine.

You gave no answer, only flipped another page.

He stepped closer, setting a silver tray upon the desk. A dark concoction sat within the porcelain cup, bitter even in scent. He stood, watching you with that unyielding gaze.

“You neglected your dose yesterday. That must not happen again.”

Willian’s voice did not waver. “Your health comes first. If you continue to refuse, your illness will only worsen. Should you decline again, I will be forced to inform the Duke, young master.”