Chapter 138: Chapter 138: Fix it. [Win-Win]

Andrea’s jaw clenched. “I expected you to understand your place.”

Dean nodded once, as if grateful for the clarification.

“Ah,” Dean said. “So this is a kink.”

Andrea’s eyes widened. “What?! No!”

Dean looked genuinely thoughtful. “Because the heels. The bridal dress. The nipple as a weapon. The private room. The dramatic monologue. It’s either a kink or you’re trying to start a civil war.”

Andrea’s voice went sharp. “This is not…”

Dean lifted the finger again.

Andrea stopped mid-word like the finger had a remote control.

Sylvia’s eyes went wide.

Dean kept smiling. “Don’t interrupt your own analysis.”

Andrea stared at Dean like he might actually combust.

Dean glanced toward Sylvia without turning his head, as if checking her current stability.

Sylvia’s face had gone red. She was shaking with the effort of not laughing out loud.

Dean’s eyes softened, affectionate for one second, then sharpened again as he turned back to Andrea.

“Anyway,” Dean said brightly, “which number are you?”

Andrea’s mouth tightened. “I’m not a number.”

Dean shrugged. “Okay. Which rut assignment are you?”

Andrea flinched.

Sylvia did not survive that. She let out a sound that was half laugh and half choking.

Andrea’s eyes snapped to her. “Why is she here?”

Sylvia wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and smiled sweetly. “I’m his emotional support beta.”

Dean added, helpfully, “She’s also my witness.”

Andrea’s expression tightened. “Witness to what?”

Dean looked him up and down again with infuriating calm.

“Your attempt to cosplay as my fiancé’s unresolved past,” Dean said.

Andrea’s face went pale with fury. “Arion cared about me.”

Dean’s brows rose. “Did he?”

Andrea stepped forward, trying to crowd Dean.

Dean didn’t move.

Instead, Dean leaned back slightly like he had all the space in the world.

“Be honest,” Dean said softly. “Did he care about you… or did he care about the fact that you were convenient?”

Andrea’s jaw clenched so hard Sylvia could almost hear his teeth.

“You’re cruel,” Andrea hissed.

Dean’s smile didn’t change. “Yes.”

Andrea stared, thrown.

Dean continued, as if explaining a schedule. “I’m in suppressed pre-heat; I’m in a closed room with an ex of my fiancé who showed up dressed like a tragic bride, and you’ve decided you want to test me.”

Andrea’s voice shook with rage. “I didn’t come to test you.”

Dean nodded once. “You came to humiliate me.”

Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “Because you don’t deserve—”

Dean’s finger went up again.

Andrea stopped.

Dean’s tone stayed polite. “See, this is why you were removed from consideration. You talk too much.”

Andrea’s face went truly murderous.

Sylvia had to bite her own cheek to keep from laughing.

And then, because timing in palaces was always theatrical…

The door opened and Arion filled the doorway.

Seven feet three in formal black, broad chest, sharp jaw, golden eyes dark with focus. The scar on his cheek caught the light for a second, making him look carved out of consequence.

His gaze swept the room in one cold assessment.

Dean, perfectly composed and smiling like he’d just finished a pleasant conversation.

Sylvia, red-faced and vibrating like a kettle.

Andrea, flushed with fury in bridal white, flowers in his hair, heel pointed like a weapon.

Arion’s eyes paused briefly on Andrea’s dress, then on Dean’s smile.

Then Arion looked back at Andrea with slow, lethal recognition.

“Andrea,” Arion said, voice calm.

Andrea’s posture straightened instantly, face softening into practiced elegance as if none of the last two minutes had happened.

“Arion,” Andrea replied, his voice suddenly sweet. “I…”

Dean cut in, voice bright and expression innocent. “Arion, I asked him which number he is, but he keeps avoiding the answer.”

Sylvia made a sound behind Dean that might’ve been a laugh or a prayer.

Arion’s gaze flicked to Dean’s raised finger, the one Dean had used to shut Andrea up, then back to Andrea.

“Dean,” Arion said quietly. “Why?”

Dean’s answer was immediate. “Because he came in bridal white with his nipple visible and a speech prepared. I needed context for how offended I’m allowed to be.”

Andrea went scarlet.

Arion’s gaze dropped to the dress. “Fix your gown,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Andrea’s jaw clenched. “I only wanted to see you. To see who you chose.”

“You’ve seen,” Dean said, smiling. “Congratulations.”

Arion’s voice went cold. “You forged a request in my name. That is treason, I remind you. The only thing keeping you alive right now is the fact that you are a dominant omega. Leave. Now.”

For half a second, Andrea looked like he might argue out of sheer pride.

Then he remembered where he was.

And who Arion was.

Andrea’s expression smoothed again into something elegant and venomous. He lifted his chin, adjusted the veil at his shoulder with exaggerated grace, and turned.

At the door, Andrea paused just long enough to look back, eyes landing on Dean like a promise.

“This isn’t over,” he said softly.

Dean’s smile didn’t move. “It is for you.”

Andrea’s mouth tightened.

Then he left.

The doors shut behind him with a quiet finality that made the room feel suddenly too still.

Arion didn’t watch the doors for long. His attention snapped to what mattered.

“Phone,” Arion said.

Sylvia blinked. “What?”

Arion didn’t look at her. He looked at Dean, eyes dark with control and irritation. “Dean’s phone.”

Sylvia fumbled in her clutch, pulled it out, and handed it over like she was surrendering a weapon.

Arion took it, thumb moving immediately as he checked the screen – messages, time stamps, and the contact name Dean had apparently saved him under.

Arion’s mouth twitched once, humorless.

Then he locked the phone and slipped it into his coat pocket like it belonged there.

Sylvia cleared her throat, trying to reclaim dignity. “So. Do we…”

“No,” Arion said, calm and immovable.

Sylvia paused. “No?”

Arion’s gaze finally lifted to her. It wasn’t hostile. It was… too sharp. The look of a man who appreciated her instincts and still needed her out of the way.

“You did well,” Arion said evenly. “Now leave.”

Sylvia’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

Arion’s voice remained calm. “Sylvia.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was the same tone he used on guards and ministers: this is a decision, not a debate.

Dean, standing beside Sylvia, looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Sylvia turned her head slowly toward Dean. “Are you just going to let him dismiss me like furniture?”

Dean’s smile was bright and unhelpful. “Yes.”

Sylvia stared. “Dean.”

Dean shrugged, still glowing with that mean, suppressed-heat satisfaction. “He’s going to say something annoyingly intimate.”

Sylvia’s face went flat. “Gross.”

Arion didn’t deny it.

He simply opened the door and gestured with minimal patience.

Sylvia inhaled, then exhaled, accepting defeat with the grace of a woman who planned to commit revenge later.

“Fine,” she muttered, stepping toward the exit. “But if you bite him again, I’m telling your brother.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Sylvia flipped him off on her way out because tradition mattered.

The doors closed behind her, and Arion, now alone with Dean, turned fully toward him – golden eyes dark, posture controlled, the calm of a man who had purposefully removed the last witness.

“Now,” Arion said, voice low, “you fix your attitude.”

Dean’s grin brightened like he’d been waiting for that exact line.

He tilted his head, slow and shameless, and his posture changed immediately, less diplomat and more weaponized desire. Heat didn’t make Dean soft and pliable like with the other omegas. It made him bold and cruel about it, like he’d decided if the palace was going to try to corner him, he might as well choose the corner that pleased him.

“Fix it yourself,” Dean said, voice warm and lazy on purpose. “I’ll be waiting.”

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