It was done.
The moment Rayan said, "I want her dead,"
Kael left without asking why.
Without confirming.
Without smiling.
As if he had been waiting years to hear those words from Rayan's mouth.
The next morning, Kael was gone again.
No note.
No message.
Just a white envelope on Rayan's nightstand.
Inside it: a sealed button.
Discreet. Sleek. Blood-red.
"If she comes before I do, press this."
That was all it said.
Rayan stared at it for hours.
He didn't eat.
Didn't drink.
He sat in the corner of the balcony with the button in his palm, rolling it between trembling fingers.
The wind tugged at his scarf.
Somewhere far below, the city moved on like none of this mattered.
He hadn't cried for long.
But today… he wanted to.
Because he didn't feel victorious.
He felt empty.
His comm rang once.
A private channel.
Kael's voice filtered in low, encrypted:
"She'll be out of the country tomorrow. That's when it will happen. It won't come back to you."
"No evidence. No guilt. Just peace."
But Rayan didn't feel peace.
He felt like something had cracked deep inside him—and this time, it didn't hurt.
It just felt… quiet.
Too quiet.
He found himself in the mirror that night.
Staring.
His eyes were dull. Pale.
He thought of his mother's words:
"You're disgusting, Rayan."
Then Kael's:
"I'll burn the world for you."
And now… his own.
"I want her dead."
He backed away from the mirror, breath catching.
Not because he regretted it.
But because he didn't.
And that terrified him.
When Kael returned that night, bruised but whole, he said nothing.
No blood. No proof.
Just walked in and stood beside Rayan, holding a bottle of painkillers and a bandage roll.
Rayan looked up slowly.
"…Did you kill her?"
Kael met his eyes.
"No."
A beat.
"I sent someone else."
Rayan nodded.
"Is it done?"
Kael's voice didn't waver.
"Tomorrow. She'll be in an unmonitored airspace over neutral territory. The jet will fail mid-flight."
Rayan felt his heart beat once.
Then slowly, again.
"Will it hurt?"
Kael studied him carefully. "No. Instant. Painless."
Rayan exhaled.
Then whispered:
"You're not doing this for me anymore, are you?"
Kael's expression didn't change.
But his silence was answer enough.
He wasn't doing it for Rayan.
He was doing it because of him.
Because Rayan asked.
Because Rayan gave the order.
And that… changed everything.
That night, Rayan couldn't sleep.
He paced the penthouse like a ghost.
Sat beside the fireplace with the red button in his hand and stared at the flames.
And thought:
"If I become him…
Will anyone save me?"
The news came at 6:42 a.m.
A "malfunction" in the private jet carrying Isabelle Ardent.
Flame.
Steel.
Ash.
No survivors.
Rayan stared at the screen.
The headlines were fast. Cold.
"Omega Matriarch Killed in Mid-Air Incident—Investigations Ongoing."
"House Ardent Silent—Heir Unreachable."
Kael stood behind him, quiet.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
Just waiting.
Rayan's hand was steady on the remote.
His voice, when it came, was flat:
"She's really gone."
Kael nodded once. "Yes."
Rayan didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
Didn't whisper thank you.
He turned off the news.
And went back to bed.
He lay still for hours, eyes wide open.
Waiting for something.
Anything.
Tears.
Panic.
Guilt.
Relief.
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
That night, Rayan stood on the balcony again.
The air was cold.
Clear.
He watched the lights flicker in the distance, the world continuing like nothing had changed.
He wondered if this was peace.
Or just the eye of another storm.
His comm buzzed once.
A message.
Anonymous, untraceable.
Just two words.
"Good job."
He deleted it without reading further.
Then turned off the device.
For the first time in years.
Kael found him still standing there an hour later.
He didn't speak.
But this time, Rayan reached out first.
His fingers found Kael's hand.
Clung tight.
"I don't feel human anymore," Rayan whispered.
Kael's voice was rough. Gentle.
"You never stopped being human. You just stopped being theirs."
That night, Rayan stood on the balcony again.
The air was cold.
Clear.
He watched the lights flicker in the distance, the world continuing like nothing had changed.
He wondered if this was peace.
Or just the eye of another storm.
His comm buzzed once.
A message.
Anonymous, untraceable.
Just two words.
"Good job."
He deleted it without reading further.
Then turned off the device.
For the first time in years.
Kael found him still standing there an hour later.
He didn't speak.
But this time, Rayan reached out first.
His fingers found Kael's hand.
Clung tight.
"I don't feel human anymore," Rayan whispered.
Kael's voice was rough. Gentle.
"You never stopped being human. You just stopped being theirs."
The Ardent estate went silent after Isabelle's death.
No funeral.
No statement.
No heir.
Just quiet.
It should have felt like the end of something.
Instead, it felt like the middle of a new game.
Kael became more watchful.
He didn't return to his obsessive behavior, but there was a coldness to him now.
Like he was expecting the next threat.
And it came quietly.
Wrapped in sweet cologne and polished teeth.
His name was Cyris.
An Omega.
Beautiful. Soft-spoken. Perfect manners.
And dangerously in love with Kael.
They'd grown up together in elite social circles.
They'd shared rooms during academy training.
Cyris had been there when Kael's first heat suppressant deal collapsed—before Kael had found Rayan, before obsession had redefined him.
And Cyris had always believed one thing:
Kael would eventually choose him.
But Kael never did.
Because Kael had seen Rayan in an alley, bleeding and defiant and trembling like he could still bite the world—
And something in him had snapped.
Cyris had been furious ever since.
He returned like a ghost wearing silk.
Found Rayan in the library alone.
Offered a polite smile.
"You're the reason he left me, aren't you?"
Rayan looked up slowly. "I didn't even know you existed."
Cyris's smile widened.
"How convenient. Neither did he—until you started bleeding all over the concrete like some tragic stray."
Rayan said nothing.
He was learning, now, to recognize the scent of unstable people.
Cyris stepped closer.
"You know he'll throw you away eventually, right? Once he realizes you're just a broken shell pretending to be whole."
Kael found them moments later.
Saw Cyris standing too close.
Saw Rayan's stiff shoulders.
And stopped smiling.
"Leave," Kael said coldly.
Cyris blinked, wounded.
"You're really doing this?"
"You have three seconds."
"I was there before him—"
"I didn't want you," Kael said, tone flat. "I never did."
Cyris's eyes filled with rage.
He turned to Rayan.
"I hope you know what kind of monster you're sleeping next to."
Rayan met his gaze.
Deadpan.
"He knows."
That should've been the end.
But Cyris wasn't done.
That night, Rayan went to the rooftop greenhouse for quiet.
He liked the roses there.
Liked the quiet.
He didn't notice the scent until it was too late.
Suppressant gas.
Subtle.
Engineered.
Heat-triggered.
He staggered backward, choking. Panic rising.
And Cyris stepped from behind the trellis, holding a gas canister.
"You think he loves you because he hasn't touched you," Cyris whispered, wide-eyed. "But what if I change that?"
Rayan stumbled.
Fell.
The gas was in his lungs now.
His scent bloomed—uncontrolled. Vulnerable.
And Cyris leaned closer.
"He'll smell it. He'll come running. He'll think you lost control."
And Kael did come.
Not because of the scent.
But because of the tracker he never stopped carrying in Rayan's scarf.
He burst through the rooftop doors like a storm.
Saw Rayan collapsed.
Saw Cyris hovering over him with bloodlust.
And lost it.
What happened next was not a fight.
It was a massacre.
Kael didn't touch Rayan.
Not once.
He went straight for Cyris.
And when it was over—
Rayan couldn't look.
There was too much red.
Later, when the greenhouse had been cleared and the blood scrubbed from the marble, Kael knelt beside Rayan's bed.
Not touching.
Just speaking.
"I didn't want to kill him."
Rayan didn't answer.
"I waited for proof. I let him speak. But when I saw your face…"
He looked down at his hands.
"I couldn't stop."
Rayan's voice was quiet.
"You didn't force yourself on me. Not once. Not even now."
Kael raised his eyes.
"Why?"
Kael's voice cracked.
"Because I'd rather die than make you fear me again."
And just like that, something shifted in Rayan again.
Not because of what Kael did.
But because of what he didn't do.
Even in heat. Even in danger.
Kael stayed in control.
Because Kael—the monster, the killer, the obsessive—was still trying to be worthy.