Back at Kingsmere.
Eamon shut his laptop with a quiet click, the sound far too soft for how loud his thoughts had become. The dull ache behind his eyes had grown into something sharper, pressing insistently at his temples, threading its way down into his jaw. Each pulse made it harder to focus, harder to think straight lines instead of fractured ones.
The entire morning had blurred into one relentless task. Filing defamation clauses, contacting platforms demanding that they take down the articles and shutting down forums before they could grow stronger and more out of hand.
After doing all of that, there were still more. For every post removed, two more surfaced. For every thread silenced, another branched out, louder and uglier. It felt like he was battling a hydra.
He had tried to stay detached and professional, but each time his eyes caught on another comment, another violation dressed up as curiosity, his jaw would lock, tight enough to hurt. Tight enough to send a sharp spike of pain straight through his skull.
The most likely cause of his headaches. That… or the fact that he hadn't slept in nearly a full day.
Eamon exhaled slowly and pushed himself up from the couch, rolling his shoulders back in a futile attempt to ease the tension coiled through his body. His hand reached automatically for his coffee cup.
He found it empty, of course.
He stared at it for a moment before setting it aside, already turning toward the machine like it had become some kind of lifeline. It had been running almost non-stop, a quiet, overworked accomplice to his stubborn refusal to rest. He almost felt bad for it.
Almost.
The machine hummed to life again.
Eamon leaned against the counter, closing his eyes just for a second, just long enough to let the noise in his head settle, but it didn't because, without realising it, his hand had already reached for his phone. Unlocked it and opened the last conversation he had with Acheron.
The screen glowed faintly in his palm. The message was simple, ordinary even. It was of Acheron informing him that Aviv would be visiting.
At the mention of Aviv, Eamon's chest tightened. This reaction was immediate, unwelcome, and entirely familiar. He knew exactly why the name unsettled him.
Because Aviv could be there.
Because Aviv was there.
Because Aviv could sit beside Acheron, make him laugh, offer comfort without hesitation, without restriction, without the suffocating weight of professionalism tying his hands.
Eamon's jaw tightened again. He hated it, hated the sharp, quiet jealousy that curled beneath his ribs. Most of all, he hated that he wasn't allowed to be the one Acheron reached for.
His grip on the phone loosened slightly. This was dangerous and completely inappropriate; he is Acheron's legal representative, his responsibility.
His case.
Yet his thoughts kept slipping, blurring lines that should have remained immovable.
The worst part was actually that there might be a chance his father had noticed, that thought alone was enough to send a colder kind of tension through him.
"Have you slept at all?"
Eamon's eyes opened.
Alessia Sauveterre stood in the doorway, one shoulder resting casually against the frame, a faint smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
Eamon looked away almost immediately, a pointless reflex as Alessia had spent years perfecting the art of reading him. There was very little he could hide from her and even less that she would allow him to.
She crossed the room with measured ease and placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm as she gave it a small, grounding squeeze.
"Look at me."
It wasn't loud; it didn't need to be. Eamon complied immediately.
"Have you thought this through?" she asked, her gaze steady, unyielding.
"I don't know what you mean," he replied, though his voice lacked conviction. His eyes flickered, searching for an escape that didn't exist.
Alessia's expression didn't change.
"You can try to fool yourself," she said calmly, "but you won't fool me."
Before he could respond, she guided, no, more like pushed him down onto the stool by the kitchen island. She needed him to be clear-headed and honest.
"I know you, Eamon," she continued, her voice sharpening just slightly. "I've watched you grow your entire life. I have never seen you this devoted, this affected, by a client."
Her gaze held his, unwavering.
"Not like this. Not like you have been with Acheron."
Eamon swallowed.
"I know I shouldn't. I just—" The words caught, tangled somewhere between thought and admission.
Alessia lifted the finished coffee cups from the machine and set them down in front of him, the quiet clink of porcelain punctuating the moment.
"This isn't a reprimand," she said, more softly now. "If this were anyone else, any subordinate or even your brother, I would have shut it down immediately."
She turned slightly, leaning against the counter beside him.
"But it's you." There was something heavier in that statement. Not permission, but understanding.
"I've always said you take after me far too much," she added, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. "Which is exactly why I know this isn't fleeting." She lowered her voice, just enough to make the moment feel more intimate, more precise.
"Tell me, Eamon… do you feel it?"
His brow furrowed slightly.
"That pull," she continued. "Something you can't explain. And when you're apart…" She paused, watching him closely. "Does it feel like something has been torn from you?"
The words landed with unsettling accuracy. Eamon's eyes widened, just slightly. Because he had felt every word of it.
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
Alessia nodded, as if confirming something she had already known.
"That's how it was for me," she said. "With Edmun, more so each year." She lifted her coffee, taking a slow, appreciative sip before continuing.
"It's a sign of extreme pheromone compatibility." Her gaze returned to him, steady. "More commonly known as a fated pair."
The words settled between them. It was heavy and felt almost impossible. Eamon let out a quiet breath, his fingers tightening slightly around his cup.
"I thought that was a myth," he said.
And yet… nothing about this felt imaginary.
"Not a myth," Alessia replied, almost idly. "Just… rare."
She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other as if discussing something far less significant.
"The higher the compatibility, the stronger the pull. It isn't just attraction; it becomes instinct. A need." Her gaze flicked toward him. "Anything above ninety percent is considered a fated pairing."
"If you want the technical explanation, you should ask your father. It's his field of expertise."
Eamon said nothing. He leaned back in his seat, his thumb tracing slow, repetitive circles along the rim of his coffee cup. The warmth had already begun to fade, but he didn't seem to notice.
Seconds stretched. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face before pressing his fingers against the frown forming between his brows.
"What do I do?" The question slipped out quieter than he intended.
Alessia watched him for a moment, something thoughtful settling behind her eyes."Your father wouldn't agree with me," she said eventually, her tone calm but certain. "But you should chase him."
Eamon looked up, startled.
"Yes," she continued before he could speak. "He's been through something devastating and healing matters. Time matters." Her voice softened, just slightly. "But so does knowing that someone is waiting for you at the other end of it."
She held his gaze.
"That kind of certainty… it doesn't hinder healing. It gives it somewhere to go."
Eamon stared at her, caught somewhere between disbelief and something far more dangerous...hope.
Alessia stood, smoothing her sleeve as if the conversation had been nothing more than routine.
"I raised you to take what you want," she added, almost offhandedly. "Don't start hesitating now."
Just like that, she left him there, with his thoughts, with the weight of her words, with something shifting quietly but irrevocably inside his chest.
She made her way up the stairs and down the hall, her steps quieter now. The main bedroom door opened with a soft push. Inside, the room was dim, the curtains drawn just enough to let in a muted wash of light. A large, unmoving shape rested beneath the covers.
Alessia approached slowly, her expression losing its earlier sharpness. She sat at the edge of the bed and gently pulled the blanket down from Edmun Sauveterre's face. He was still asleep deeply.
Maybe too deeply.
His features were softer in rest, but the evidence of last night's meltdown lingered, puffy skin around his eyes and faint redness along his cheeks. The aftermath of a storm that had taken everything out of him.
Alessia's fingers moved through his bangs, careful and slow. She hadn't seen him like this in a long time, not since the incident at his work.
Her jaw tightened faintly at the memory.
Her pheromones had helped at first, easing the edge of his distress… but as the night dragged on, even that hadn't been enough. Carefully, she reached for the collar of his pyjamas and pulled it back.
The marks were still there. One older and already faded, a permanent mark. A bond etched into skin from years ago. The other is new, still swollen from the night before; she hadn't meant to bite that deeply. But it had been the only way to calm him. To pull him back when nothing else worked.
The direct flood of her pheromones had done what gentleness could not; it had forced his system into stillness and straight into sleep. Her fingers hovered briefly over the mark, checking for any sign of infection.
Finding none, she exhaled quietly.
She pulled the covers back up, tucking him in with more care than she would ever admit aloud, and pressed a brief kiss to his temple before standing.
When she returned to the kitchen, Eamon was exactly where she had left him.
Still seated and still thinking.
"Mom?" he asked, glancing up, his voice steadier now. "How is he?"
"He had a rough night," Alessia replied, pulling her laptop onto the table and opening it with practised ease. "He's always been sensitive to Omega-related cases. This one…" She shook her head slightly. "It hit too close."
Her tone shifted back into something more neutral.
"I had to give him a temporary mark to calm him down. He'll be a little out of it today."
Eamon froze, not necessarily due to the content but because of how casually she said it. Alessia glanced at him, catching the reaction immediately.
"Why are you surprised?" she asked, arching a brow. "Do you know how to do it properly?"
Eamon cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of his posture, his hands and even his existence.
"I—yes. I mean… theoretically."
He turned his head slightly, as if the wall had suddenly become fascinating.
Alessia hummed, clearly entertained.
"Good. It's a useful skill." She didn't elaborate further.
Which somehow made it worse.
"Anyway," Eamon said quickly, dragging the conversation back to a safer ground, "what are our next steps? I managed to get the video taken down, but it's already been downloaded. It'll resurface anytime."
"It will," Alessia agreed easily.
"But we're not chasing it."
Eamon frowned. "What?"
"Leave the articles. Leave the video," she said, her tone sharpening. "They were never the main attack."
She turned the laptop toward him, fingers moving across the keyboard.
"This was designed to provoke a reaction, to keep us occupied. Cleaning up the noise while something else moves unnoticed."
Eamon's jaw tightened. "So we just let it spread?"
"I know it sounds harsh," she said, meeting his gaze evenly. "But public interest burns fast, and it will fade. And right now, our time is more valuable elsewhere."
Eamon's frustration lingered, but it wavered. Because he knew she was right.
"And Acheron?" he asked, quieter now.
"This doesn't help him," Alessia said. "But bringing down the people behind it will."
Eamon exhaled slowly, forcing himself to let go of the immediate anger, to think as she did. With a cold strategy.
"We're targeting the Blackwells," he said. "Not just Hadeon."
"They targeted us first," Alessia replied. There was no hesitation in her voice. Only certainty.
She opened a series of files— Some contained documents, records and others photographs, but each one slid into place like pieces of a puzzle. Then she clicked on a single image.
It was of a small, clear vial, filled with a fine white powder. Eamon's eyes narrowed slightly.
Alessia turned the laptop slightly, angling the screen toward him.
"This," she said, tapping the image, "is the heroin Hadeon gave to Acheron."
Eamon leaned in, eyes narrowing as he studied the vial more closely.
"The label," she continued, "matches the batches currently circulating through clubs and the broader market."
A beat of silence settled between them.
Eamon straightened slightly, frowning. "So… you want to track the dealer?" he asked. "What would that accomplish?"
Alessia's lips curved, just enough to be called smug.
"To confirm what I've always suspected," she said. Then, tilting her head, she added, "I'm surprised you haven't made the connection yet."
Eamon blinked, caught off guard.
His gaze flicked briefly before turning back to the screen. His mind moved quickly, sorting through facts, timelines and patterns, but whatever conclusion Alessia had already reached remained just out of grasp.
Alessia let out a soft, amused breath.
"I've told you before," she said, leaning back slightly, "you're too set in your ways. Too… faithful to the rules."
Eamon's frown deepened.
"You don't account for people who don't operate within them."
Eamon's eyes sharpened. "Are you suggesting the Blackwells are behind the importation and distribution of heroin?"
"Yes," Alessia replied simply. "Among other things."
She reached out, patting the back of his head in a gesture that was equal parts affection and quiet approval.
Eamon leaned back, absorbing everything.
"You can't approach Hadeon the way you've handled previous clients," she continued. "He's not an isolated problem. He's a piece of something much larger." Her gaze held his.
"You need to understand the whole network. Where the money flows. Who benefits and who protects it."
Eamon nodded slowly, the pieces beginning to align.
"Playing by the rules is good," Alessia went on, her tone measured, "but knowing how to move in the grey areas? That's just as important."
She lifted one of her shoulders slightly.
"I'm not telling you to get your hands dirty. But you can't afford to be naïve about the people who already have."
Silence followed. It wasn't heavy, just… slightly unsettling. Eamon exhaled quietly; he knew she was right.
"I'm not criticising you," Alessia added, softer now. "In fact… I'm proud of you."
Eamon turned to her, genuine shock breaking through his composure.
"…Are you alright?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You don't have cancer, do you?"
Alessia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "No. Just… perspective." She waved the thought away dismissively, though the faintest hint of something thoughtful lingered in her expression.
Eamon studied her for a moment. This case wasn't just shifting the ground beneath him, but it was shifting her, too.
"Will the dealer lead us back to the Blackwells?" Eamon asked, returning his focus to the screen.
"Unlikely," Alessia replied. "The chain is probably compartmentalised. The dealer may not even know who he's working for."
Eamon nodded, thinking.
"But Acheron's medical report…" he murmured. "The substance in his system was significantly purer."
Alessia's gaze flicked to him, sharp with approval. "Yes."
"Which means Hadeon had access before it was cut," Eamon continued, the logic clicking into place. "Before it was diluted or mixed."
"Exactly."
Eamon leaned forward slightly, energy returning to his posture.
"So Hadeon isn't just a consumer," he said. "He's close to the source."
"Directly connected," Alessia confirmed.
Eamon's mind moved faster now, mapping possibilities.
"That narrows it," he said. "The supply didn't reach him randomly. It came through someone in his immediate circle."
"Bodyguards. Assistants. Anyone with proximity and trust," Alessia added.
Eamon nodded once. "So we build from there."
Alessia's lips curved faintly. "And once we have enough…"
"We hand it over to the anti-drug unit," Eamon finished. "If they open a formal investigation into the Blackwells, I can legally tie it into our case."
He leaned back slightly, something steadier settling into him now.
"And question Hadeon under oath."
For a brief moment, there was something almost like admiration in his expression as he looked at his father.
Alessia chuckled softly.
"You're still missing the best part."
Eamon raised a brow.
"When law enforcement starts circling," she said, tapping her fingers lightly against the table, "the Blackwells will have to split their attention and their resources."
Her gaze sharpened. "They may be wealthy, but not all wealth is liquid. Pressure them from two sides, and something will give."
The tension that had been coiled tight in his chest since this morning… easing.
"They'll be too busy to keep pushing this narrative," he said quietly.
"To keep targeting Acheron."
"For now," Alessia corrected. "But it buys us time."
"And if needed," she added, almost casually, "we can always leak Hadeon's involvement with the drug trade."
A faint, dangerous smile touched her lips.
"Let the public decide what to do with that."
Eamon let out a slow breath, some of the colour finally returning to his face. For the first time in hours, he could feel like he could breathe again.
Alessia smiled, glad to see colour returning to her son's face.
"Compile everything we have so far and pass it along to Detective Lemaire at the ADF," Alessia said, already turning on her heel. "I'll check on Edmun. He should be waking soon."
She didn't wait for a response. By the time her words settled, she was already gone, her presence lingering only in the quiet authority she left behind.
Eamon exhaled slowly, then pulled her laptop closer.
"Right," he murmured.
Back to work, something he could control. As he began sorting through the files, structuring timelines, and cross-referencing evidence, he found himself, once again, impressed.
Not just impressed. Completely humbled.
Alessia's work was meticulous. Every document placed with intention, every connection already half-formed, waiting for someone perceptive enough to follow it through. There was no wasted motion, no excess—just precision.
It was… formidable.
Eamon leaned back slightly, eyes scanning over the screen. There was a reason he had always looked up to her and a reason he still wasn't ready to stand where she stood.
Not yet, at least.
He had come far, far enough that others sought him out, trusted him, but this… this level of strategy, of foresight…
He still had ground to cover if he wanted to inherit not just the firm, but everything that came with the Sauveterre name.
The thought settled quietly at the back of his mind as his fingers resumed their steady rhythm across the keyboard. Piece by piece, the chaos became something usable.
His phone rang just as he finished, the sharp vibration cut cleanly through the silence. Eamon glanced at the screen, then answered immediately.
"Luka," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."
"I didn't realise you were this insecure in our relationship," Luka replied, a faint laugh threading through his voice. But it didn't last.
"Our private investigator has been tracking Hadeon for the past few weeks," Luka continued, his tone shifting into something more businesslike. "We've placed him at an elite university. The Blackwells paid a considerable sum to secure his admission."
Eamon's expression hardened slightly.
"Academically, he's… average," Luka went on. "But socially? He's well known and popular, the kind of person people gravitate toward."
Of course he was.
"I've sent you a file," Luka added. "Photos, timestamps, everything we've gathered. Take a look."
Eamon pulled the email up immediately, opening the attachments. There was a brief pause as images loaded onto the screen.
"As you'll see, he frequents clubs and private houses. Out almost every night."
Eamon enlarged the first photograph.
Hadeon sat in a dimly lit booth, posture loose and careless. His shirt hung half-open, exposing his chest like an invitation. The table in front of him was crowded with bottles, glasses and thin, deliberate lines of white powder. Cocaine, Hadeon's drug of choice.
None of that was the cause for Eamon's expression to darken.
It was the omegas gathered around him who stood too close and were too comfortable, but also looked too similar.
Eamon's fingers stilled on the trackpad. He clicked to the next image, then the next and next. All different nights and different faces, they had the same build. Slender, soft-featured and fragile in a way that made something in Eamon's chest tighten.
They weren't identical, but similar enough.
Similar enough to Acheron.
The realisation settled like ice beneath his ribs.
The final image loaded. It's of Hadeon, leaning in, his lips nibbling against the neck of a slender omega, his expression sharp, eyes half-lidded but still holding that same predatory intensity.
Eamon's gaze dropped. Spotting faint bruises visible along the omega's upper arm. His jaw clenched; he had seen marks like that before.
On Acheron.
That same placement and the same shape. Indicative of a controlled grip, definitely not accidental.
Eamon's hand tightened around his phone, the tension in his body intensifying. A sharp pulse of pain flared behind his eyes, but he barely registered it.
Hadeon needed to be locked up.
"Eamon."
Luka's voice cut through the rising noise in his head.
"Try to stay calm."
Eamon inhaled slowly, deliberately, forcing the air into his lungs and forcing his thoughts back into alignment.
"Proceed," he said, his voice steadier now.
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"We lost him," Luka said.
Eamon's grip tightened on his phone again.
"He slipped out of our surveillance radius about twenty minutes ago," Luka continued. "Based on his pattern, he's most likely heading home."