Alex felt a rare flicker of relief knowing Damien would be gone for a few days. The idea of seeing him—of enduring the subtle tension that lingered every time their eyes met—felt unbearable. He welcomed the space, craved it even. With Damien temporarily out of sight, the weight pressing on Alex's chest lightened just a little.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Alex made his way to the bathroom, letting hot water cascade over his skin like a temporary balm. Steam curled around him, soothing tense muscles but doing little to quiet the storm inside his head. Afterward, still damp and emotionally frayed, he collapsed onto the bed without bothering to draw the curtains. The dim light filtering in did little to chase away the heavy fog of exhaustion.
His meeting with Leo that day had left an acidic aftertaste, a sharp bitterness he couldn't quite swallow. Yet, amid the discomfort, something unexpected had surfaced—a memory he hadn't revisited in years, a flicker of childhood half-buried beneath layers of pain and time. A man with amber eyes had come to mind. William Hartfield—that was the name.
Alex had met him once, long ago, when he was no older than seven. The memory wasn't crystal clear, but it had survived the years because of one unshakable image: the way that man had looked at him. Teary-eyed. Grief-stricken. Like someone mourning the loss of something precious. His mother had taken him to a quiet little café in another town, and although Alex could no longer recall the substance of their conversation, the emotion etched in William's face had left a lasting imprint. When they parted, William had pulled Alex into a tight embrace, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.
It wasn't until much later—after years of emotional warfare at the hands of the Mastersons—that Alex began to question the past. In quiet moments, tucked away from the noise of everyday survival, he had wondered: what if Richard Masterson wasn't his biological father?
That question had felt ridiculous once. Dangerous, even. But now? Now it seemed less like a fantasy and more like a puzzle piece that might explain so much.
Alex hadn't known then that William Hartfield was a dominant alpha. It was Leo who had helped him put that piece of the puzzle in place. And with that knowledge came a cascade of implications. Dominant alphas had a high probability of passing their traits to male offspring—an inconvenient truth that could easily explain his mother's obsession with him manifesting as an alpha, despite already having two alpha children. But what if her obsession wasn't rooted in ego or status alone? What if it was desperation—an attempt to produce a dominant alpha child that could not be denied or overlooked?
And if William was his father, that changed everything.
Richard Masterson had always treated Alex like an unwanted intrusion, a blemish on the family's polished image. His cruelty—emotional, verbal, physical—had felt personal in a way it hadn't toward his siblings. Perhaps it was personal. Perhaps Richard had always sensed something was amiss. Perhaps, at some primal level, he had known that Alex wasn't his. He would never have willingly raised a child not of his blood, not under the Masterson name. But if he'd been tricked into doing so, that would explain the undercurrent of resentment that had flavored every interaction between them.
Driven by a strange mixture of curiosity and dread, Alex opened his laptop and typed William Hartfield into the search bar. He expected nothing. Maybe an old obituary or a name buried in unrelated records. But to his surprise, the name returned a hit almost immediately: Hartfield Garden, a flower shop nestled in a small seaside town. On the shop's website was a picture—a recent one—of a man with familiar amber eyes and weathered features softened by time and sun.
Alex stared at the image, stunned. The flower shop was located in a town very much alike the one he had been considering for a quiet future life. Fate or coincidence, he wasn't sure. But it felt significant.
His heart beat a little faster as he scrolled down and found an email address. Fingers trembling slightly, Alex typed out a short message. He kept it simple. His name. A brief note that he would like to meet. He gave William the choice.
He hadn't expected a reply so soon—certainly not one that arrived in less than ten minutes. William wanted to see him. As it turned out, he was already in the city and could meet as early as the next day. The swiftness of his response sent a strange thrill through Alex's chest. It felt like the start of something—unraveling or rebuilding, he didn't know yet.
Over the years, Alex had considered getting a DNA test, but never followed through. The truth had stopped mattering. Whether he carried Masterson blood or not, it didn't justify the cruelty he endured. No child deserved what had been done to him.
Still, the idea of looking into William's eyes again—of perhaps finally understanding something about himself that had long been shrouded in silence—held a quiet, tremulous weight. He agreed to the meeting, unsure of what would come next, but ready to step into whatever truth might be waiting.
************************************************************************************
The morning air was cool and crisp, the park wrapped in a gentle mist that hadn't yet been chased off by the sun. Dew still clung to the grass, and birds sang softly in the trees above—softer, perhaps, out of respect for the stillness that blanketed the world. Alex arrived early, but not early enough.
William was already there.
He stood beneath an old oak tree, its branches wide and shadowed, dressed simply in a beige wool coat and dark slacks. He looked... like someone who had carried too many years alone. His shoulders were broad, posture tall, yet there was a weariness behind the composure—an ache that had settled into the way he held his hands, clasped neatly in front of him. His amber eyes, the same shade as Alex's own, lifted as Alex approached, and for a long moment, neither spoke.
The silence was thick. Awkward. Unfamiliar.
"You came," William said softly.
Alex gave a small nod.
William studied him—his eyes, his hair, the curve of his jaw—like he was trying to memorize every detail, reconcile what had been lost to time with what stood before him.
They stood like that for a while—two strangers sharing a bloodline and a complicated history. And then Alex finally spoke again.
"My mother told me everything," he lied, testing the waters. "About you. Who you are."
William blinked, visibly taken aback. "She did?" His voice trembled slightly. "I… I can't believe it. After all this time…" His brow furrowed in disbelief, a mixture of shock and wonder creeping across his face. "She made me sign a legal agreement—swore I'd never contact you, never speak of it. I honored that, even when it broke me. I'm just… I'm glad she finally told you."He shook his head, bitter amusement flickering across his face. "I always thought I'd just be a ghost to you. Watching from a distance, wondering if you were happy, if you were safe."
Alex looked down. "She thought I'd need you," he murmured. "Things haven't been great with the family. She said maybe you'd be another shoulder to lean on. A backup plan."
William's mouth opened, then closed again. "I… well, I don't know what she expected. I'm not the kind of alpha she'd be proud of, that could offer you a life of luxury," he said looking down, a tinge of shame and regret and shame flashing across his face, "I lost my business years ago—twenty-five, to be exact. Tried to rebuild for a while, but eventually, I just… let it go. Decided I didn't want the cutthroat life of a businessman. In return, I wished for something more peaceful. So I opened a little flower shop by the sea. It's quiet, simple. I think I needed that."
Alex gave a soft, sardonic laugh. "That sounds like a dream, honestly. The Masterson life doesn't suit me either."
He paused.
"Especially now."
William tilted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"
Alex's throat felt dry. He hadn't planned to say it yet—but the words tumbled out, heavy and unignorable.
"I'm pregnant."
The wind stilled for a second, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
William blinked. "You're… what?"
"I'm pregnant," Alex repeated, a little more firmly. "Six weeks."
"But… you're a beta, aren't you?" William asked, stunned.
Alex met his gaze, voice quieter now. "No. I'm an omega. But my family kept it secret. From everyone."
William stared at him, disbelieving. "Why would they… why hide something like that?"
Alex inhaled slowly. "Because it didn't fit their image. Because they expected me to be something else. My mother probably thought I'd be a dominant alpha like you, and when I wasn't… I was a disappointment. An embarrassment."
A flicker of something sharp passed through William's eyes.
"They treated me like I was defective," Alex added. "Not just ignored me, but actively made me feel like I was less than. I was useful when they needed to show off the 'pretty son,' but anything more? Anything real? They buried it."
William took a step closer, his hands twitching slightly at his sides. "Alex, I… your mother promised me—swore—that you'd have everything. That you'd grow up happy. Loved. Cared for."
He shook his head, eyes stinging. "I told her I didn't care about the money, or the reputation. I insisted that I wanted to be part of your life, even from the shadows. But she told me to stay away. That she didn't want me tainting the Masterson legacy by having people find out you were actually my child."
"I never had a legacy," Alex said flatly. "Just… expectations I could never meet."
William's voice thickened with emotion. "If I had known… if I had any idea… I would've fought harder. I didn't want to interfere, but if I had known you were suffering—"
"You couldn't have known," Alex said gently. "They made sure no one would ever know how they really treated me."
He hesitated, then took a breath.
"And… there's more. I need to come clean about something too. I lied earlier. My mother didn't tell me you were my father."
William stilled.
Alex looked away. "I figured it out. I remembered you from when I was little. Your voice. Your eyes. I saw your picture again recently—just for a second—and everything clicked. The resemblance… the way I always felt like there was someone missing…"
He looked at William, vulnerable in a way he hated being. "The father of my child doesn't know I'm an omega. He… he hates my family and I'm scared," Alex confessed, voice cracking."
William reached out hesitantly, placing a warm hand on Alex's shoulder.
"You're not alone," he said, voice low and steady. "Not anymore. I missed so many years, but I'm not going to miss this. I'll help you, Alex. I'll protect you. I'll do everything I should've done the moment you were born."
Alex's lips trembled, the weight in his chest finally starting to lift.
"Thank you," he whispered.
William's eyes softened. "You don't need to thank me. I'm your father. That means something. And I'm going to prove it."
In that moment, standing beneath the pale morning sky, Alex felt something break open inside him—something old, aching, and long buried.
It had been a leap of faith. A letter sent on a whim. A hope too fragile to name.
But William had answered. And for the first time in his life, Alex felt like he had a place to run to. Someone to call home.