That bastard funded a lie.
And he didn't even know it.
The revelation burned into him as various emotions surged through his veins—mainly anger and frustration. His gaze was locked onto the folder before him, his eyes wide, as his mind replayed every nightmare caused by that single white folder. At first, he remained stiff, still processing the information, but he quickly composed himself.
No wonder…
No wonder the largest survival group in his past life—The Haven—had been hostile toward him. The Omega leader definitely knew about this information, and since he himself was a La Cosa, he had been considered an enemy. He tried to recall anything useful about the Omega leader, but his mind was blank. After a few minutes of thinking, he managed to remember her name—Rhea, was it? For now, he wasn't sure if it was her real name, but he made a mental note of it just in case.
His thoughts quickly shifted to something else—another important matter.
His father.
Did he know the true nature of this project? He racked his brain for answers. Was he willingly funding something so twisted, or had he been deceived? He needed answers. He firmly believed in his father's character; his father was a good-hearted man—an upright Alpha. With a fierce look, he snatched the folder from the table and stomped out of his father's private office. To hell with being sneaky—he needed answers now. He resolved himself and planned to tell both his father and mother about the future.
Then he stopped, his swift footsteps coming to a halt.
How would that make sense?
Their prideful, egoistic, and impulsive son… telling them about events that had yet to unfold? Surely, they'd believe him.
He scoffed internally.
How could he convince them without sounding insane? He clenched his jaw, frustration building. He felt like a man climbing out of a hole in the ground, sunlight just within reach—but no matter how hard he climbed, he could never fully bask in its warmth.
"Damian?"
Donna, his mother, called out from behind him, her voice laced with drowsiness.
"What in the world are you doing up at this hour—?" Her words cut off into an audible gasp when she noticed the door to her husband's private office standing open. Her gaze shifted to her son, and she quickly connected the dots.
"Damian?"
Her voice sharpened this time, the drowsiness fading as suspicion crept in. "Why is that door open?"
He turned slowly.
For a split second, he considered hiding the folder behind his back, brushing it off with some careless excuse—something believable—but the damage was already done, and his mother wasn't a fool. He tried to reassure himself—surely, he wouldn't be thrown into a mental hospital, right? He took a deep breath and steeled himself.
This was it.
"There's something you need to see," he said.
His voice came out steadier than he expected. His mother frowned, her eyes flickering from his face to the folder clutched in his grip. "At this hour?"
"Yes."
A tense silence passed between them.
"…It's about Father."
That did it.
Whatever lingering sleep remained in her expression vanished completely. Her posture straightened, her gaze sharpening as she stepped closer. "What about him?"
He hesitated, knowing this was the moment he had been dreading. One wrong word, one misplaced detail, and everything would fall apart before it even began.
He exhaled slowly.
"He's involved in something he doesn't understand," he said. "Something dangerous."
Her brows drew together. "That's a serious accusation."
"I know."
"Then you'd better explain."
Her tone wasn't angry—yet—but there was steel beneath it now. Damian tightened his grip on the folder.
"I found this in his office," he said, lifting it slightly. "It's a project funded under his name."
She didn't reach for it. Instead, she studied him closely.
"Aside from the fact that you had no business being in that office," she said slowly, "you're implying your father is tied to something dangerous… based on documents you barely understand?"
He felt his jaw tense.
"I understand enough."
"Do you?"
Silence fell again. He could see it now—the doubt forming in her eyes. Not fear. Not concern. Doubt. Exactly what he had expected. What he had feared. He let out a quiet, humorless breath.
"This is why it won't work…" he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
He looked up, meeting her gaze head-on this time. The hesitation from before was gone, burned away and replaced with something sharper.
Resolve.
"…Call him," Damian said.
Donna's expression hardened. "Damian—"
"Please."
The word came out firmer than intended, not desperate—but absolute. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, her eyes narrowed.
"…You're serious about this?"
"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't—with documents in hand."
Another pause followed, longer this time. He could practically hear her thoughts turning, weighing, judging. Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned away.
"Fine," she said. "But whatever this is… you'd better hope it's worth waking him up."
Damian said nothing.
As she walked away to call his father, his grip on the folder tightened once more.
Is this decision right?
It has to be, he thought.
The wait felt longer than it should have been. He stood unmoving, the folder still clutched tightly in his hand. His thoughts churned beneath the surface, but outwardly, he forced himself into stillness. He needed control now more than ever.
Footsteps echoed faintly from down the hall.
Efrain, his father, appeared a moment later, already dressed despite the hour, his presence filling the space with quiet authority. There was no visible irritation on his face—no annoyance at being woken. If anything, he looked… amused.
His gaze landed first on Damian, then on the folder, and finally on the open office door. One brow lifted.
"Well," he said calmly, "this is unusual."
"Your son decided to let himself into your office," Donna said, her tone controlled, though the tension beneath it was unmistakable. "And now he's insisting we both hear him out."
"Is that so?"
Damian didn't flinch. He nodded.
"Yes."
Silence settled over the three of them, thick and expectant. His father stepped closer and said, "Then speak."
Damian swallowed, then lifted the folder slightly.
"This project," he began carefully, "the one being funded under your name… what do you actually know about it?"
A flicker of something passed through his father's eyes—brief, subtle, but there.
"I know enough," he replied evenly. "Why?"
"That's not an answer."
Donna shot him a warning look. "Damian—"
"No," Efrain interrupted, his gaze never leaving his son. "Let him speak."
"It involves human experimentation," Damian said.
The words landed heavily. No immediate reaction followed, but the air shifted. Donna's breath hitched softly.
"That's—"
"Continue," his father said, still calm, still controlled.
Damian's grip tightened.
"It's not just experimentation," he continued. "It's genetic manipulation. Altering pheromones, they're creating what seems to be the perfect alpha and omega, but it doesn't work, instead they accidentally create a deadly virus that makes you cannibalistic, and.."
He hesitated briefly. "They won't be able to handle it." Silence followed. Donna shook her head slightly. "That's impossible…" But Efrain didn't deny it. Instead, his eyes narrowed slightly. "…Where did you hear this?" he asked. There it was. Not that's wrong. Not that's absurd. But where did you hear it? Damian felt something cold settle in his chest. "You don't know the full extent," he said quietly.
"I asked you a question."
"And I'm giving you the truth." Their gazes locked. For a moment, it felt less like a conversation and more like a standoff, the tension between them crackling with each passing second.
Then—"How?" Efrain asked.