CHAPTER 17: _ YOU LIKE HER

Amias’s chest contracts painfully as the Alpha’s eyes narrow, sweeping over the scene with disapproval already etched into his brow. "What the hell is going on here?"

Before anyone can answer, Darien steps forward.

"It was nothing, Father," he says, smoothing his shirt like it wasn’t nearly torn. "I-It’s just a misunderstanding. We were just talking."

"You call that talking?" Grayson scoffs.

"It’s true. I said something I shouldn’t have. Amias was reacting. It’s over now." Darien insists.

Inés’s eyes trail toward her son. It’s subtle, but unmistakably proud and Amias sees it. Fucking Inés is proud of her son. And that’s when Amias loses it, because of course, Darien would protect him. Would "be the bigger man." Would hand him a way out and look like a saint doing it. The same way he’s always been. Always smooth. Always righteous.

And in this silent theater, where his own father has never looked at him without the shadow of disgust, that—Darien’s goodness is more suffocating than any hatred.

The Alpha nods slowly. "Good. Because this house has enough history of scandal without its sons tearing into each other in broad daylight."

Amias flinches like he’s been slapped.

The twins’ mother glides forward with a serene smile, resting her head on the Alpha’s shoulder as she surveys the courtyard. "Honestly, I think it’s sweet they’re so... passionate."

Her tone is patronizing. Grayson and Morgan chuckle behind their hands at their stupid mother’s unfunny joke.

Inés only nods once, turns to Darien, and hands him the forgotten item; a watch. "You left this."

"Thanks, mom," he says softly, pocketing it.

And there it is; no dramatics, no scolding or tears. Just a quiet, perfect reunion between mother and son. And everyone sees it; the contrast and comparison.

And Amias?

Amias stands there... the unwanted child of chaos, his hands still shaking from where they nearly drew his brother’s blood. Every eye burns into him, from the staff’s pitiful glances to his father’s disappointed gaze, down to Lira’s wary concern.

He hates it.

Hates how everyone clutches their pearls like they didn’t force him into this corner. Like he is the monster they all whispered about. Like Darien was the saint who offered peace, and he spat on it.

He wants to scream, Why is it always me?

Why is he the one who has to keep pretending? Why is he the one who shoulders the weight of his mother’s mistakes, of alliances formed in lies, of a life he didn’t choose?

He doesn’t want Lira. He doesn’t want this family. He doesn’t want to be the mold his father keeps trying to shape with ridicule and threats. But no one hears that. No one ever hears that.

They only see the boy with the fists. The cheating Luna’s son. The angry one. The broken one.

"Come, darling. Let the kids be kids." the third wife coos, tugging at the Alpha’s arm. "We’ll be late for the luncheon."

Thus, they leave like nothing happened. The crowd dissipates slowly, like dust after a storm. Even the twins go into the car, whispering jokes and grinning like they’ve watched their favorite soap opera play out live.

Lira says nothing and reaches for Amias again. He pulls away.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look back. His legs carry him away, down the path, toward the woods at the edge of the estate, where he can punch a tree until it splinters or scream without anyone twisting his pain into a performance.

And behind him, Darien stands silently, rubbing his throat.

He doesn’t follow. He knows they need to go to school. He knows they all go together, but he needs some time alone. Because what waits for him at that school is even more frustrating than the one biting him at home.

Heidi’s there and he’s got not the faintest idea what to do with her. He’s not sure if any of his brothers do too.

"Well, I have just the perfect idea what we HAVE to do with her, Amias." Vark chirps in.

"I don’t want to hear it, Vark!" Amias punches a tree over and over again.

The bark scrapes his knuckles, splinters dig in like teeth, but the pain is welcome. It feels real. Not like the sugar-coated lies and bleeding smiles back at the estate.

Darien’s face... so calm, so fucking noble, it continued to haunt his mind. The pride in Inés’s eyes. The weight of the Alpha’s disappointment. Lira’s worried silence.

He wants to rip out his own throat.

"You’re being dramatic," Vark drawls in his head, lazy as ever. "A little strangling and suddenly everyone’s a philosopher."

"Shut up," Amias growls, pressing his bloody knuckles against his jeans.

"I’m just saying you might’ve, maybe, overreacted a tiny bit. Like... just a hair." Vark continues regardless.

"Shut. Up."

Vark whistles, and Amias can picture him pacing in his mind. "You know, if you’re this heated over Darien, maybe it’s time to stop playing the martyr and actually do something."

Amias chuckles bitterly, finally slumping against the tree. "Like what? Choke him harder?"

"Sure. Or better yet, beat him to Heidi."

What the hell is that supposed to mean?!

That rips a startled laugh out of Amias. "What?"

"You heard me. Get to her first. Mark her. Mate her."

What the actual fuck? Amias wonders. Vark has got to be kidding him.

"Are you insane?" Amias scoffs. "Do you think claiming a lowly omega is my ticket to rising above Darien? That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said, and you’ve said a lot of dumb things."

Vark gasps in a playful outrage. "Excuse me! I am the voice of reason here."

"You’re the voice of psychosis."

"All I’m saying is, you like her. Don’t roll your eyes, I felt it. The bond tugged and you flinched really hard, buddy." Vark finishes, ignoring Amias’s jab.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the most absurd thing Amias has ever heard in the entirety of his shitty existence.