Acheron stared at his sister’s daughter while coughing loudly into his sleeve, failing miserably to hide a snort.

Kai closed his eyes. “We were going to tell you all after dessert…”

“Oh my goodness,” Acacia gasped. “You’re pregnant ?”

Camlo covered his red face with both hands.

“Congratulations!” Ivy cried, immediately beaming as she rose from her seat to squeeze Camlo’s shoulders.

Oaklen stood too, pulling Kai into a proud, albeit slightly teary, father hug. “You’re going to be a dad.”

Kai patted his back, laughing. 

Alen slapped both hands to his face. “YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?!”

“You’re going to be cousins!” Acacia told the twins excitedly.

Nia let out a high-pitched squeal. “Can I help name it?! What if it’s a girl and we call her Rainbow Sparkle Rose?!”

Acheron snorted into his cup.

“Absolutely not,” Kai muttered.

“Why not?” Acacia asked. “She sounds like a warrior princess. I vote Rainbow Sparkle Rose, too.”

“I’m naming it,” Camlo said, holding up a firm finger. “No vegetables, sparkles, or magical horses involved.” Lightly glaring at Acacia, who only laughed in return. 

“Oh, come on,” Lena teased. “You’re no fun.”

Alen tugged on Camlo’s sleeve. “Uncle Camie, if the baby’s in your belly now, can it hear us?”

“Probably not yet,” Camlo said with a gentle smile, “but soon.”

“Then tell them I’m going to teach them how to draw dinosaurs,” Alen said solemnly.

“And I’ll teach it how to do a cartwheel!” Nia added, attempting to do one next to her chair and nearly knocking over the salad bowl.

“Sit down, Cirque du Soleil,” Acacia laughed, catching her daughter mid-roll.

The whole table erupted in giggles.

Through the noise, Camlo glanced sideways at Acheron, who still had bits of paint on his wrists and a bit of blue on his temple, and saw his quiet smile as he watched the chaos unfold.

Camlo felt his heart lift.

This family. This loud, loving, occasionally ridiculous family had been his safe place from the very beginning. And today, Acheron, who had gone so long being quiet and curled inward, was finally letting some of that light touch him again.

The front door swung open with a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable clatter of sneakers being kicked off and landing nowhere near the shoe rack.

"Someone's home," Kai muttered, raising an eyebrow just as Ivo’s voice rang through the house.

"Don’t yell at me, I brought dessert!" he shouted from the hallway.

Acacia, without looking up, called out, “Is it edible this time?”

“Excuse you, it’s from an actual bakery. I spent money, Acie.”

Ivo finally appeared at the kitchen entrance with wind-tousled hair, one earring missing, hoodie halfway zipped, and holding a suspiciously dented paper box.

Behind him, his spicy pheromones mixed with the smell of street food and just a hint of alcohol, not enough to raise alarms but enough to make Oaklen narrow his eyes in a ‘father knows everything’ way.

“You’re late,” Ivy said, pointing at the clock with a spatula.

“And yet somehow, still fabulous,” Ivo replied, ducking under her arm to kiss her cheek quickly and then stealing a piece of roasted potato off her plate. “What’d I miss?”

“Camie has a baby,” Alen blurted out helpfully between mouthfuls.

Ivo blinked, processing. “Wait, what? Camlo's pregnant? I’m gone for one afternoon, and suddenly I’m going to be an uncle again?! Is there a newsletter I’m not subscribed to?”

“You’d ignore the newsletter anyway,” Kai said, already holding out a chair.

Ivo dramatically flopped into the seat next to Eron, slinging an arm over the back of his chair. “Congratulations, Camie! I always knew you were baking something more impressive than croissants.”

Camlo, ever patient, smiled. “Thanks, Ivo. We waited until the right moment to tell everyone.”

“And that moment just happened to be when I was out heroically supporting the local nightlife with my friends?”

“You were at a gaming café eating loaded fries,” Eron deadpanned, not even looking up.

“You wound me, baby bro.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“See? No gratitude,” Ivo sighed dramatically, turning to Alen and Nia, “You two are the only ones who truly appreciate me, right?”

Both twins shouted something incoherent but enthusiastic, mostly because they’d spotted the mystery box Ivo brought.

“Oh no,” Ivy warned. “Do not let them eat anything until I know what that is.”

Ivo smirked. “Relax, Mother of Doom. It’s a dozen cream puffs. Lactose-free. I made sure, because someone”, he glanced at Camlo, “acts like I’m trying to assassinate him every time dairy is involved.”

Camlo stuck out his tongue at him.

Just like that, Ivo’s whirlwind energy was folded into the fabric of the evening.  A mix of chaos and laughter, sarcasm and genuine warmth, the kind that only a close-knit family can balance without tipping over.

Outside, dusk turned into night, and fairy lights blinked on over the garden like fireflies. The younger kids drifted to sleep in laps, the tea was refilled, and someone played soft music from an old speaker that had survived three family moves and one kitchen fire.

*** 

The fire crackled softly in the sprawling hearth of the Blackwell estate's private study. Oil paintings loomed on the walls, all depicting ancestral Alphas staring down with the pride of an untouchable legacy. Thick velvet curtains were drawn tight, muting the hum of the outside world. The room smelled of aged scotch and cigar smoke, with a sharp undercurrent of fear masked as control.

At the head of the long, polished table sat Thaddeus Blackwell, patriarch and CEO of the Blackwell Holdings Group. Also, Hadeon Blackwell's Grandfather. A silver-templed Alpha with sharp, calculating eyes. His wife, Marianne, a Beta with steel in her posture, perched at his right. Their personal legal advisor, Mr. Langford, sat with an open binder thick with documents. Another man stood near the window, checking something on a secured tablet, the logistics coordinator, not part of the family, but still trusted.

Thaddeus finally broke the silence.

“How far along are we with getting Hadeon out?”

The man by the window looked up. “The private charter is ready. Papers are being finalised for a quiet transfer under a corporate scholarship program. The country in question doesn't have an extradition treaty.”

“Good,” Thaddeus muttered. “We’ll tell the press he’s entering a rehabilitation institute abroad. Emotional instability, therapy sabbatical. Let them chew on that.”

Marianne took a sip of her wine, her voice ice-cold.

“He’s not built for prison. If that Sauveterre boy pushes through with this case—”

“He will,” Langford interrupted. “Eamon Sauveterre’s record is clean. Obsessively clean. He takes only what he thinks he can win. He smells blood.”

Thaddeus slammed his fist onto the table, but it was a quiet, restrained slam. “Then bleed him dry. I want every skeleton in his closet. Talk to the media assets. If you can’t find a scandal, create one.”

Langford nodded, making notes.

“And the Omega?” Marianne asked, a note of disdain in her voice.

“Acheron Desrosiers,” Langford replied. “Seventeen at the time of the incident. Raped in early autumn. Medical records confirm the collar had been cut off, but he was not marked.”

“So he wasn’t claimed,” Thaddeus said thoughtfully. “Unfortunate, it would have been easier to hide all this if they were bound.”

Langford could only nod and finish his report. “He's in a fragile state. He has attended several therapy appointments; however, we have been unable to obtain any notes on the sessions. Dr. Pace and the Desrosiers’ parents are all cooperating with Sauveterres. Also, Mrs Desrosiers is…relentless.”

“Can we buy her?”

“No,” Langford said. “Ivy Desrosiers has money of her own and a grudge the size of a mountain. Former prosecutor before she became a housewife. She’s not easily shaken.”

“Then break her son,” Thaddeus snapped. “Legally, for now, and make sure it's untraceable.”

He turned to Marianne.

“You know people in Omega health circles. Get something leaked. Maybe hint that he was unstable, had a history of obsession, maybe hormone imbalance, whatever will make the public second-guess him.”

“What about the lawyer?” she asked.

Langford smirked. “We’re looking into Eamon’s personal relationships. He has a spotless record. But his mother, Edmun Sauveterre, an Omega, used to work in pharmaceuticals. There are some early patent disputes… we’re digging.”

Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. “I want him pressured. Every inch he moves forward, we move to block him. File motions, call in favours with the prosecution office. If the case moves to court, we delay until Hadeon is long gone.”

There was a moment of silence.

“If all else fails?” Marianne asked.

Thaddeus looked into the fire. “Then we take it underground. Permanently.”

The quiet weight of those words hung in the room like thick smoke.

“Make no mistake,” he added. “I don’t care what we have to burn. No promiscuous Omega is taking down this family.”