CHAPTER 132: NOT MY BABY ( KILLIAN’S POV )

"Do you really have to go?"

"I left a shirt with my pheromones behind. Although I don’t know how much that will help."

"Killian, is your child."

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. How much longer until this act ends?

At least be honest with me.

At least tell me you made a mistake and you regret it.

At least tell me that whoever is growing in you is not mine.

"If you have any cravings or want anything, one of my guys is at the door. Just talk to him."

"Can’t you stay?"

"I have work to do."

He started to sob again.

Which means I had to comfort him again.

Since the cardrive a week ago, his heath became more and more unstable.

Taking care of Damian was just one more obligation on an already unbearable list.

He wasn’t a person anymore—just a liability with a pulse, slouched around my apartment in silk robes and varying states of physical disrepair.

Every day brought a new complaint: nausea, dizziness, pressure, tears. His body was unraveling in slow motion, and I was expected to stand witness like it meant something.

I got that pregnancy was harsh on him.

But I was not the one that got him pregnant in the first place. Hopefully.

Now, on top of having to take care of him, my dear aunt put me in charge with making a new drug.

The drug was more interesting. Lucrezia had delivered the assignment without ceremony: induce glandular overload in test subjects, push the limits of secondary-gender expression, and observe the collapse.

Basically, a bioweapon that kills.

I didn’t ask what she wanted it for.

I didn’t care, either.

Unlike Damian, the drug didn’t cry, didn’t interrupt my sleep, didn’t leave clumps of hair in the drain.

And it let me fantasize about Luther.

Peacefully.

I keep telling myself - four months. Four months of pregnancy. Then the wedding.

That’s how much I have to suffer.

Thank God, omega pregnancies are shorter than normal ones, because I would not have pulled through nine months of this constant nagging and crying.

Damian needed hand-holding just to keep down a glass of water. He was losing control of his body, and for some reason, everyone looked to me like that was my problem to fix.

It wasn’t. I’d already done my part.

He could rot quietly, so long as the baby stayed alive.

No, I didn’t mean that.

It’s just—

I am so tired of this all.

"Killian? You’re crying..."

Huh?

I-I guess I am. Hah. How pathetic.

Why am I even crying?

I am a grown man.

Damian moved slowly, carefully, as if afraid I’d shatter further if he stepped too loud.

He knelt beside me without saying a word, laid a trembling hand on my back. I froze. His skin was too warm, clammy with sweat, the scent of hormone shifts clinging to him like rot.

I hated how soft his fingers felt through the fabric. I hated the quiet desperation in the way he touched me.

It made my stomach turn.

And still—I didn’t move.

There was nothing else.

No one else.

Just him, in his fragile, broken state, trying to give what little comfort he had to offer. I wanted to recoil, to peel him off me, but I didn’t.

His presence, disgusting as it felt, was grounding. Not healing. Just there.

He leaned his head against my shoulder, and I let him. Silent. Motionless.

Not because I wanted him.

But because I had nothing else.

"I am sorry."

"A little too late for that, D. How could you? Why?"

"I—"

I could hear him gulping his own fear.

I knew everything that was about to come out of his mouth will be nothing but egotistical excuses.

But what could I do, but listen?

"Remember when we were kids? And you would bully and push me every time I followed you around?"

"Is this revenge for then? We are grown men, D. I am sorry that I treated you that way. It wasn’t your fault you were forced into being Lucrezia’s spy."

"No, that’s not it."

Damian clung to me on the narrow hallway sofa, arms wrapped tightly around my chest, his body trembling against mine.

His curls brushed my jaw, damp with sweat and tears. I could feel his breath stuttering, shallow and quick, each exhale catching on a sob he was trying to swallow.

He didn’t wail—just cried quietly, like it had been building for hours. His small frame shook with every breath, the roundness of his stomach pressed between us. His fingers gripped my shirt like he thought I might vanish. His tears soaked through the fabric, warm and fast, like he couldn’t stop.

I just let him.

What’s the point in hurrying now?

I am either dealing with it or designing a mass poisoning weapon. This seems a bit less cruel.

Not for them.

For me.

Guess I needed this crying to be heard.

He gained his breath and talked. Whimpered.

"Since we were kids, you keep pushing me and I keep following you. Nothing changed. I-I thought that a baby might stop your pushing. Might nail you in place for me to finally be able to reach you."

"That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard."

Damian chuckled between the sobs.

"Don’t you see the dramas on TV? People that hate each other are forced into marriages and they end up falling in love. I already love you, Killian. All that is left is for you to love me too."

"The TV is the TV. Reality doesn’t work by looking at it with rose-colored glasses. I will never love you."

"I know. Is that bad that I believe that might change?"

"Yeah."

As my tears dried, another headache threatened to take over.

I am so tired of this.

Damian was still sobbing on my arm. This much crying might bring him a fever later.

Another headache for me.

"You doomed a child, D. You won’t love this child if I don’t start loving you. I will always silently resent this kid for being a living memory of what you did to me. Poor guy wasn’t even born, yet he will grow up in hate and regrets."

"Killian..."

Then the phone rang. Sharp. Loud. Out of place.

Damian flinched. His fingers dug in. His sob caught mid-breath.

The moment cracked.

The screen made my heart drop.

It was the clinic.

"Hello, Mister Killian Akna?"

"Yes."

"We call you on the matter of your blood analysis."

"Go on."

"Seems like whichever traits of omega you had in your blood are gone. You are confirmed to be an alpha."

"So your first analysis was wrong."

"No, sir. It seems like some enabler made your secondary gland stressed. That caused it to produce both alpha and omega pheromones. Now that the enabler is gone, it seems like everything came back to normal."

"Did you trace what the enabler was?"

"We can’t know for sure, sir. You told us that you had intimate intercourse with a toxic omega and then initiated your rut chemically forced by Mister Damian."

"So what are you saying that Damian might be the cause?"

"I doubt that, sir. Given your history of multiple intercourses with him along the years, it’s very unlikely that Mister Damian was the cause of your gland stress. Either was the toxic omega or another person at the moment of your rut."

"Another person?"

"We traced another man’s alpha pheromones on Mister Damian and yourself when you first came in for your analysis."

"Why didn’t you say anything then?"

"If the matter is not relevant in the topic of a patient’s health, we are legally obliged to a non-disclosure clause about anything related to the sexual preferences of the patients."

"Can you find out who this other person is?"

"The pheromones were rather faint and altered with a powerful drug from the black market. We can’t know for sure."

This little f-cker had a threesome with me.

No wonder why the mark is mine, but the baby isn’t.

He was marked by two alphas at the same time!

"Thank you."

"Of course. Please come to redo the analysis in a week to see how your state is developing. Have a good day, Mister Akna!"

And so the call was over.

And the comfort was gone.

The hallway fell silent again. The sound of Damian’s breathing was still against my shoulder, unsteady and damp. I shifted under him. His arms tightened for a second, like he thought I might stay.

I stood.

His hands slid off me slowly, falling into his lap. I didn’t look at him. I turned toward the end of the hall, toward the exit, toward anything that wasn’t him. My steps were heavy. The floor creaked. My shirt was wet with his tears. I didn’t care.

I reached the end of the hall when he called my name.

"Killian? What happened?"

I didn’t stop.

My fist went straight into the mirror. The glass cracked in a clean line, then shattered. Bits flew to the floor, across the console, against the wall. My knuckles split open fast. Blood dripped instantly, down my wrist, into the broken pieces. I stood still, breathing hard. My reflection was gone. Only the wreck remained.

Damian screamed.

He ran toward me. His slippers slapped the tile. His hands grabbed at my arm, trying to pull me back toward the living room. He reached for the wound. His fingers were shaking.

I yanked my hand out of his grip.

He froze.

His hands hovered near me. He didn’t move.

I turned and looked straight at him. His eyes widened. His lips parted, still wet from crying. He didn’t step back, but he didn’t speak. He stared up at me, chest rising and falling too fast. My blood dripped onto the floor between us.

I just looked at him.

He looked like he didn’t know what to do. His curls were a mess. His robe had fallen open slightly at the shoulder. His breath hitched.

I hated him in that moment. Every inch of him. His weakness. His need. His voice. His hands on me.

I walked past him, stepping over the glass.

"You had another alpha there with us when I was in my rut."

"What?"

Damian’s face twisted in fear, lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy. His hands flew to his belly, cradling the small bump like it might shield him.

His shoulders tensed, breathing sharp and shallow. He didn’t move, just stood there frozen, caught between panic and instinct, clutching.

"Killian, I-I didn’t cheat on you!"

"Cheat? How could you cheat? We were not together to begin with! So you just dragged a random guy off the street? Why? Worried I shot blanks?"

"I didn’t sleep with him!"

"Oh really?"

"He was there to protect me!"

"Protect you? From me?"

The sound came out harsh, broken—dry laughter tearing from my throat without warning.

It didn’t feel real.

It scraped against my chest, raw and empty, echoing off the walls like something dead trying to sound alive.

Damian flinched, still holding his belly, eyes locked on me like I’d lost my mind.

"Killian?"

"Why did you force me to sleep with you if you were afraid of me? Why would you be afraid of me in the first place?"

"Look at your hand!"

I looked down at my hand. Blood was leaking fast, running over the skin and dripping from my knuckles.

Glass was stuck deep in the flesh, some pieces barely visible under the red. The cuts were open, sharp, messy. My fingers moved slightly. Pain shot through.

I didn’t look away.

"So, what happened?"

"I-I don’t know. Your rut forced my heat. It’s blurry for me too. But I am sure he didn’t do anything to me!"

"Why? Is he a eunuch? Or are you gonna sell me a sad pick-me story about how you are not pretty enough?"

"He was under orders!"

"Under orders? Hah, like you could order— you didn’t..."

It suddenly dawned on me.

F-ck.

Hah.

"This was all Lucrezia’s plan, wasn’t it, D.?"