Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Before the engagement

Trevor buttoned the last button of his white shirt and watched the ring on his hand catch the light.

A plain band of platinum, engraved with his house seal, a symbol people barely noticed until they understood what it meant. Trevor noticed it every time. Not because he needed reminding, but because some days demanded it, days where the world tried to turn family into policy and love into leverage.

He adjusted his cuffs and kept his breathing slow.

He was still in love with Lucas.

No. That was too tame. Love implied something gentle and safe. What Trevor felt for his mate had grown past that. It had hardened into devotion with teeth, that didn’t fade with time but became more certain and more willing to destroy whatever tried to take Lucas from him. People loved to talk about loyalty like it was a virtue.

Trevor had always treated it like a weapon.

His thoughts dragged back, uninvited, to Caelan.

He’d gone to see the old man the moment he returned from the delegation with Sebastian, the moment the news reached him that Caelan had tried to collar Dean.

Trevor had walked in prepared to argue. He’d wanted to ask how far Caelan thought he could go before the Fitzgeralts stopped being polite. He’d wanted to ask what kind of grandfather looked at a boy and saw duty before he saw blood.

He hadn’t even opened his mouth.

A scent had touched the room. So subtle that any other alpha might have dismissed it as a draft of air, a residue of someone passing through.

Trevor didn’t have that luxury.

He knew that profile now. Too many hours in the last months, too many meetings where Arion’s dominance had been leashed tight but present and too many moments where the air itself had seemed to obey him.

Arion.

Not a flare. Not a threat thrown loudly across the room. Just… an imprint. The quiet kind of message that sank into instinct before it reached thought.

Trevor’s body had reacted with a single, brutal command.

’RUN’

Not because he feared Arion.

Because whatever Arion had left behind wasn’t meant for Trevor. It was meant for the man standing in it. A warning delivered that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

Caelan had watched Trevor hesitate, confused when Trevor didn’t fight. Confused when Trevor didn’t raise his voice. Confused when Trevor simply told him, with a calm that felt like ice, not to attempt anything else.

Trevor understood, in that moment, that Caelan’s hours were counted.

And Trevor had no desire to save him.

He’d hated Caelan the day he learned Lucas was his son. Not because Lucas needed the blood to be real, Lucas had never needed that. Trevor hated him because Caelan had hesitated. Because the old man had waited, calculated, weighed his own comfort against a child’s survival.

Yes, Caelan had sent Serathine to adopt Lucas. Yes, Caelan had “helped.”

But it had never been mercy.

It had been a gamble. A convenient solution. A risk taken with someone else’s life.

If Serathine hadn’t liked Lucas – truly liked him, chosen him with that fierce tenderness she pretended she didn’t possess – then god knew where Lucas would’ve ended up. Back in the hands that had ruined him. Back where Trevor would have had to dig him out with blood.

Trevor had left Caelan to the consequences of his own arrogance and warned Sebastian afterward, because Sebastian deserved to know what kind of rot still lived in the family tree and that the danger a dominant felt was not for him.

Sebastian’s reply had been one word.

’Good.’

Trevor’s mouth had tightened at the time, because his son wasn’t cruel.

Sebastian was simply Fitzgeralt enough to recognize a long-overdue ending when he saw one.

A knock came at the door.

Trevor turned, already wearing the calm face the world got to see.

“Come in.”

Lucas entered already prepared, dressed like he used when he needed to look unbreakable. He didn’t rush, but there was momentum in him anyway, one that meant his mind was three steps ahead and his patience had been burned down to ash.

Trevor’s gaze swept him instinctively, checking without meaning to: posture, expression, that small tension at the jaw that Lucas got when he was holding anger so tightly it became elegance.

“You’re early,” Trevor said.

Lucas’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I’m not late on days like this.”

Trevor huffed softly. “Dean?”

“He’s fine,” Lucas said. “Annoying and beautiful.” A pause. “Wearing Arion’s collar like it belongs there.”

Trevor let out a slow breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Relief, controlled, and a little resentment, because the collar meant a boundary, a choice, a line Caelan hadn’t been allowed to draw.

“Good,” Trevor said quietly.

Lucas’s eyes held him for a beat longer than necessary, reading him the way mates did when they knew what silence contained. He leaned on the doorframe, green eyes bright with the kind of determination that warned Trevor he wasn’t in the mood for games.

“What are you not telling me?” Lucas asked.

Trevor raised a brow and decided to confess. “Our future son-in-law… decided Caelan has lived long enough. He’ll die, most likely, after he and Dean depart for Alamina.”

Lucas’s brow lifted. “Is he going to execute him?” Then, sharper, “What about the backlash?”

Trevor hummed as he shrugged into his formal military jacket. “He used his pheromones. I don’t know how, but my instincts told me Caelan has hours left.”

Lucas went still for a second, then exhaled through his nose. “Serathine gave him a piece of her mind the other day too.”

Trevor’s mouth twitched. “That sounds gentle, coming from her.”

“She told him,” Lucas said evenly, “that it would be more honorable to kill himself at this point.”

Trevor let out a low, approving breath. “Ah. That’s more like it.”

Lucas’s gaze stayed on Trevor’s hands as he fastened the last clasp, as if he was watching the jacket close over a part of his past he didn’t want to know anymore.

“And Caelan?” Lucas asked after a beat, voice quiet enough to be private. “Did he understand what was happening.”

Trevor didn’t look up. “He understood he was no longer the loudest thing in the room.”

Lucas’s mouth tightened, the closest thing to a smile without warmth. “Good.”

Trevor finished adjusting his collar and turned, the military line of the jacket making him look like he belonged on a battlefield more than at a ceremony.

“We behave today,” Trevor said.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Define behave.”

Trevor’s expression didn’t change. “We smile. We let Dean have his day. We let Arion do what he does without adding more chaos to the air.”

Lucas gave a soft huff. “Yes, Your Grace.” He said mockingly.

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