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Beloved Of Mine

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It took time but he eventually conjured a scheme that would confine the Omega with him for the rest of their lives—no—for the rest of eternity. He was not willing for the boy to escape from his clutches, not in this lifetime and not in another. It would be simply madness because Can needed him, just as he needed the Omega. Without him, Can would be defenseless, bound to fall out of grace (as if he had any, the voice whispered amusingly) and be prey to the vultures of the world. 

It would work, his plan would work.

It was a hefty plan, one carefully crafted by his patience and his desire to lessen the space between them. He spent hours and weeks, tracing every small detail down, every man and woman he would fool into playing their part, every piece of nectar he would drop to lure his boy onto him. It was costly as well, he spent more over thousands for the orchestration of his play and while it would be iffy to anyone to spend this much amount on a common Omega, to him it was a part of the necessary deeds. 

"Young Master?" He's called out of his trance by the house maid and he looks at her wrinkled uneasy face with faint annoyance. 

"What would you like to have for breakfast?" 

He hums and twirls the end of his black tie, finally settling for a simple breakfast of pancakes with honeycombs. 

The maid bowed her head respectfully and minced out of the room, not once looking at him in the eye. It was a rule of sorts, to never gaze him in the eye for they fear for their lives, he was known for being unforeseeable. They all reminiscence the maid with the grey eyes, the one who often brought food over to the young master, the one who walked as if she were flying through the wind. They all remember the day she did not emerge from within the young master's room, of how the man walked out with the scent of blood clinging to his skin. 

No one ever truly knew what she had done to warrant such death, but there were whispers of how she seeked to seduce the young master, or how she said something so unforgivable that she forfeited her life then and there. 

The wrinkled maid was the one to hush down such rumors, and looked after the new ones, she often emphasized on the fact to keep their head down, to never totter around the young master and stay out of his sight unless called upon first. They all listened to her, for she was the only one who served the Medthanan family for more than a generation. 

She once remembers the boy she used to see laughing, the very boy who always went to her for extra sweets from the fridge, the boy who used to adorably call for his older brother. 

But the boy she knew had perished in the high society, who heard those heart-shattering words from the only person he thought that loved him and crushed his own innocence to survive in the faithless world, drifting away to the ice walls he built with his hands. 

From there on, she too drifted away from the young master and she had hoped that she had looked back years back. Perhaps, she might have been able to piece back the boy and molded him better. Perhaps she should have reached out to him while he was still glass, and tell him there was good in the world, and not all sought out to torment him. 

But his wounds were too deep, and his heart too frozen. He became the harsh wind in the cold winter and tore apart any that deemed to destroy him to ashes, never leaving trace of the said person nor leaving their family unscathed. 

She thinks of the late grandmother of the young master, wondering if she would grieve of her darling grandson who turned into such a monster that made every man and woman in the house tremble. 

She looked back too late and regrets. 

Then, in a miracle of starlight, the young master smiled for the very first time. They all remember clear as daylight, when he returned home not with a scowl drawn in his face but with a slight curl of his lips, and the crinkling of his eyes as he stared at the screen of his phone. Their hearts had leapt up in their throats, body alight with hope and anxiousness for the young master never smiled. 

He didn't release any agitated or cold scent, he barely acknowledged any of them and instead typed away on his phone, talking to mysterious person who put the Alpha in a good mood. When the time for dinner came, the young master put on clothes he would never spare a glance at, repeatedly looking in the glass near the main door and trying to fix his hair to near perfection, even as far as going to ask on of the youngest maids if he looked 'presentable' to a person of her social standing. 

It might have been an insult to the beta girl but with their young master, it could have been a real question. So, the girl puffed herself with bravado and spoke out, "Of course, young master! You would blend in right with the others with this outfit, especially with the people of my standard." 

He looked at her with dim eyes, likely to find if she was trying to fool him and when deemed she was not, he gave her the barest of nod and left.

The young master returned with the smell of peaches and citrus, an Omegan smell. His own scent was no longer frosty but instead, warm, content, something they hadn't smelled in over a decade. His posture was loose and not rigid, giving one the impression that he was about to melt away into the floor and forever lie there, basking in the serenity. 

That night, they all slept better. 

Weeks went by and the demeanor of the young master turned softer and softer, until his face was kind as the paintings of young lads swooned by the bewitching maidens. It was easier to breathe around the young master and they no longer had to dance around him in a dangerous waltz. They would often smell that scent once again all over the man, as if the Alpha had wanted to be equally claimed as the other. They all stopped tensing up whenever the front door would open and wonder who would be the one to suffer this time. 

They prayed to the stars—oh, they prayed so much.

That it would not end, that their master would be happy and delirious in the face of mysterious Omega (surely it was an Omega, who else would have such supple scent?). That they would be able to stop counting their numbered days, that they would be able to be free of this day-to-day anguish. 

But of course, their prayers went unanswered. 

The young master returned with a bone-chilling aurora, his eyes red as the day he presented and his teeth bared. He looked half-feral and half out of his mind, a madman—the perfect picture of hell unleashed on earth. Each step he took, sent needles prickling endlessly onto their skin, burying the sensation deeper than any could. 

He stumbled on his way to his room, and they looked on with held breath, as he slammed the door so hard that the wood cracked around the edges. Their smell of distress was overwhelmed by the scent of pure agony and sorrow and anger, blanketing over as they were the trapped water underneath the heaviest of ice. No one of them moved, all bound to kneel in the face oppressing force. 

They waited and waited until the Alpha emerged again from his abode, this time his eyes dark as the deepest night with no stars in the sky for them pray to. They were watched, each one of them and they trembled, hoping that this would not be their end. The Alpha of the house was mad with blood lust, and someone would atone the price.

(Oh, someone please, help us—)

They all buried more than thirteen bodies that day, with the warmth of blood still sliding over their whole being and choking on the heady air of death. 

His footsteps are heavy as he descended the long stairs. His mood turned sour as soon as he saw his mother munching on a sweet (She never loved us, the voice snarled out), and he for a brief moment, weighed the option of simply not eating breakfast but quickly wiped it out. 

Be the monster you are.

Donning a sly smirk, he pulled out a plush golden chair and dropped next to his mother, who was startled put of her deep thoughts. She coughed for a moment, red faced and wide-eyed, and smiled uneasily at him with eyes that screamed she wanted to run away from him. It made his smirk wider to see her squirm under his watch. 

"Tin, I did not know you would be coming for breakfast." Her voice was unsteady and he sensed the fake cheerfulness. 

"Oh, I was not going to but then I saw my lovely mother sitting all alone. I could not very well leave you this way, hm?" 

She stared at him, wide eyed with a look that indicated he should have. She made no reply, instead whipping her head back to her food and almost awkwardly picking it. He watched her, gliding his eyes over the satisfying look of fear.

He trailed his fingers over the fine golden dinning cloth, making his way towards his mother's plate where the fork and the knife rested, and then wrapping them around the knife. The silver glinted in the morning light, the sharpness of it more prominent. He leaned closer to his mother, his breath ghosting a dusted cheek. 

Pointing the edge of the knife underneath her chin, slighting grazing it with a chilling smile, he asked, "Do you want a son-in-law, mother?" 

The question was simple, and he asked it in the most normal of voices yet her smell of Omegan distress and fear wafted into his nose. He made no move to pull her into his embrace and scent mark her to ease her. He felt elated instead, the woman who hurt him and pushed him over to the edge now sat submissively, her eyes downcast as her lower lip trembled. 


He pressed the knife deeper underneath her chin, almost impaling her, "Don't you, mother?" 

She gasped and gripped the table cloth tightly at the sudden pain flaring in her chin, her shoulder's shaking with trepidation and managed to choke out a simple "Yes." 

He held the knife there for a moment, eyes blank and mouth pulled to a small shark-like grin. He bathed in her distress and her anxiety, drinking it all up like a starved man deprived of water. 

"Good. Very good, mother. You should want a son-in-law, because I have found my pair." 

She turned in shock and spluttered like a gaping fish out, he was almost disappointed at how pathetic she looked. Gone was her precious facade of grace, gone was her wits and smarts for which she was renowned for and instead now, she was just the wife of the famous Medthanan family, just a piece of pawn bought by the promises of riches and fame to produce an heir. 

She was played like a fiddle by her family, by her husband and now she was being played with by her own son.

He almost felt sad for her. Almost.

"That's—that's great! I never thought that you would—" 

He cut off her nervous rambling with his own sharp tone, "Never what? Never would have found love? You think I'm a monster, don't you?" 

He curled his lips once she began to deny vehemently that no, I never thought you were a monster, you are my son how could I?

"But you did. You always, always, thought of me as some kind of an abomination, a black stain in your life. Do not forget that I know what you did to me." He sneered out, "So, for your own sake mother, once I bring my Omega here, you will do your duty as the lady of the house and welcome him with a smile." 

Gently removing the knife from underneath her chin, he kissed her cheek and grinned when she flinched away from the touch, "Tell the maid I won't be having breakfast anymore, I have more pressing matters to attend to." 

And with that, he stood up and left, leaving his unsettled mother behind to mull over his words.

He will bring his Omega home, no matter how many lives he will have to ruin in the process.