CHAPTER 26: WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

The call rang three times before it cut to voicemail.

Lucien stared at the phone in his hand, Mason’s name glowing on the screen before fading into black. The dial tone still echoed faintly in his ears, replaced by the hollow silence of the evening crowd around him.

He sighed, slipping the phone into his jacket pocket as he muttered under his breath,

"Why are you mad now?"

I thought you understood me Mason, but each time you show me a side that i dont understand

The words came out smaller than he intended. His voice was almost drowned out by the sound of traffic, laughter, and the distant thrum of music from a nearby café. Every step he took felt heavier than the last. It wasn’t just the exhaustion , it was the weight of everything pressing down on him: his father’s voice, his own endless attempts to be enough.

"Maybe the only mistake I ever made," his father had said once , sharp, cold, and deliberate "was making an omega."

Those words refused to leave him. They weren’t just remembered, they lived inside his chest, replaying over and over again like a curse.

He had stood there that day, quiet, pretending it didn’t sting. Pretending he was fine. Pretending he hadn’t spent years trying to earn a look , a smile ,any kind of acknowledgment from his father. But after his designation, even that small hope had been stripped away.

The reagents.

That was supposed to be his redemption , the one thing that would make his father ,finally look at him with pride. But now that was gone too. Stolen from him. The one dream he thought might fix everything.

Lucien kicked at a loose pebble on the sidewalk, watching it skitter across the road before disappearing under a passing car. His throat tightened.

He didn’t know where to go anymore.

Home didn’t feel like home. Mason wouldn’t pick up. Ethan...

No. He couldn’t go there again. They were no longer together and that was a mistake

He kept walking, lost in thought, until something caught his eye , a poster on a glass wall outside a boutique. A familiar face smiled back at him.

Tracy

He stopped.

So it was true. She was a model.

The photo was polished , her hair sleek, her eyes fierce and confident, her smile daring the world to challenge her. The camera had captured something real about her , something Lucien didn’t have. Strength. Presence. A purpose.

I can see why father chose her , at least unlike me , you would be adored for being an omega

He stared for a long time.

"Where do I even go now," he murmured, "when the world feels so damn heavy?"

Just then, his phone buzzed again.

He looked down , not Mason this time.

Old Man Harris.

A message flashed on the screen:

oii, need me some tasty treat, sharp.

Lucien blinked, confused.

Then another message came in.

don’t buy, and your baby will get punished.

He groaned, rubbing his temple. "That old—"

With a sigh, he turned around and made his way to the garage.

The familiar smell of oil, grease, and burnt metal greeted him as he walked in. The old man sat hunched on his stool, slurping noodles noisily from a plastic container, a satisfied grin spreading across his wrinkled face.

Lucien set down the brown paper bag of food beside him and crossed his arms.

"Do you always threaten the people you work with?" he asked dryly.

Old Man Harris didn’t even look up. "Nope," he said between mouthfuls. "Only the ones that value their bikes more than their lives."

Lucien rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile. "You’re unbelievable."

"Damn right," the old man said proudly, licking sauce from his thumb. "You’d starve without me giving you something to do."

Lucien leaned against a nearby workbench, watching the sparks flicker from a welding torch across the room. The garage was dim, lit by yellow bulbs and the occasional flash of fire. It smelled like sweat and steel ,oddly comforting.

"So," Harris said after a while, setting down the empty container, "why ain’t you training these days? You and your brother always made this track your second home."

Lucien’s shoulders stiffened. He looked down, fiddling with the edge of his jacket. "He’s busy," he said quietly.

The old man grunted. "Busy, huh? That code for avoiding you or playing family puppet?"

Lucien didn’t answer.

Harris gave a small chuckle, reaching for a rag to wipe his hands. "Oii, then why didn’t you say that boy was getting married? Nearly choked on my tea when I saw that post. You kids keep too many secrets."

Lucien’s lips thinned. "Even I was as shocked as you."

"Rude," Harris muttered, shaking his head as he went back to cleaning up.

Silence settled between them , heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just the hum of machines and the faint hiss of air through the vents.

After a long pause, Lucien spoke. His voice was soft, distant.

"Have you ever felt like... you don’t have any purpose in life?"

Harris didn’t look up immediately. Then he grinned. "Purpose? Nah. I just wake up, eat, fix bikes, and yell at idiots like you. Works fine for me."

Lucien sighed, exasperated. "This is why I never come here," he muttered.

The old man laughed, the sound rough but oddly warm. "Then stop asking questions you already know the answer to, kid."

Lucien stared at the ground, feeling the weight return to his chest. His eyes flicked to his bike parked nearby , sleek, silent, and dust-covered from disuse.

The reagents used to be my safe haven, he thought bitterly. Now it’s just another reminder of how much I’ve lost.

He spent another hour in the garage, listening to Harris hum off-key to an old song, before finally deciding to head home. The streets were colder now, the moon veiled by thin clouds. His footsteps echoed softly against the pavement.

The Dastin estate loomed ahead ,too big, too perfect, too quiet.

Lucien hesitated at the gate before pushing it open.

Inside, the lights were still on. As soon as he stepped into the entryway, a voice called out.

"Lucien?"

He looked up to see Merida rushing toward him, her face a mix of relief and scolding.

"Oh, goodness, Lucien — where were you all this time? We were worried sick!"

Her voice trembled slightly as she took his arm, her maternal instinct battling with her frustration.

Lucien stared at her blankly, too tired to respond.

Merida sighed, softening. "Come on, let’s go inside. You must be hungry."

He nodded numbly and followed her through the hallway ,until a voice floated from the living room.

"Well, look who’s back. Brother-in-law."

Lucien froze.

That voice , sharp, teasing, and smugly familiar.

He turned his head slowly, and there she was.

Tracy.

Dressed casually but effortlessly elegant, she leaned against the couch with a cup of tea in her hand. Her eyes met his , a spark of amusement flickering within them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension stretched thin between them, invisible but palpable. The last time they’d been this close, things hadn’t exactly gone well, well to be more precise insulted her for mistaking her for a fan

Lucien swallowed hard.

"Tracy," he said quietly.

She smiled, tilting her head. "Missed me?"

Why was she doing here?