Kieran looked between his father and Owen.
He had to stop Albert before he hit the wall.
Owen could hold his alcohol.
But he and any of his family members were the worst drunks.
He cleared his throat.
“She’s awake. She’s lucid. Wants to see you both. And neither of you has spoken to her directly about what she wants.” Kieran said, protectively.
The unspoken truth echoed in the silence: their intense rivalry and protective instincts had overshadowed the one question that mattered most.
Albert froze.
The carefully constructed armor of his position, the patriarch, the strategist, shattered.
His silver-gray eyes widened, disbelief warring with a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion.
“She… she asked for me?” Albert’s words were quiet, dreamy, raw, and vulnerable.
He turned to Kieran, his silver-gray eyes desperate.
“What is she ‘like’?” he rasped.
“Beyond the pain… beyond the poison… who is my daughter?”
Kieran sighed softly, adjusting his cuff with precise, economical movement.
“Father, I spoke with her for perhaps thirty minutes total. She’s… very guarded and verbose. Her work is pragmatic. She is observant. Perhaps it is hypervigilance. I am guessing she is very hurt and confused?”
Kieran met Albert’s searching gaze squarely.
“She hides her grief well from what I can see. She hasn’t cried. But the betrayal? It’s a wound she carries deep, so kind of like you?” Kieran finished, frowning.
“Ah, so it is a family curse.” Albert groaned, dropping his head back against the wall with a soft thud.
“How do I fix this, Kieran? Twenty years… the movie, the hatred they taught her of her own kind?” His voice cracked.
“How do I undo that?”
Owen moved forward, his earlier tension softening into something approaching empathy.
It surprised him.
He placed a hand briefly on Albert’s shoulder.
Albert flinched under his touch.
“You can’t ‘fix’ it, you know that,” he said, his voice low but firm.
“Not like a broken micro converter. You correct the misunderstandings. You treasure what you have ‘now’. You take it slow. Earned trust isn’t built overnight.”
Albert lifted his head, the despair momentarily shifting to weary contemplation.
He straightened, pulling a small, polished wooden box from his inner jacket pocket.
It was unadorned, elegant.
“I just wish I knew more about her. My daughter is a stranger to me, and I to her.” he said, setting the whiskey down in his hands.
“I brought a gift, but I am so nervous.”
Owen watched him palm the box, he felt pity grow in his heart.
He saw, then added quietly, “From what I have gathered, she loves plants. Flowers especially. Tea – chamomile, no sweetener. She’s naturally assertive, but quiet about it. Intelligent. Keeps her wits under pressure.” A faint, genuine warmth touched Owen’s icy blue eyes.
“She seems… like a Rose. Your blood.”
Albert let out a shaky breath as memories of Yvette filled his mind, she liked flowers and recounted collecting fallen petals of daisy planters when she child.
So she passed her love of nature along to her.
He wondered if she continued painting or danced with her.
A smile filled his face briefly.
“She is like her mother.” Albert said.
“I’d probably hold off on discussing her ‘old life’ for now. ” Owen advised; he remembered how upset she looked.
She had to face a complete change of circumstances.
He would never had expected her to be an Omega, because she looked like a Beta.
He did not know how they suppressed her growth or changed it.
But they did.
“Did you see her face when I told her, or were you both still arguing?” Kieran asked, but neither man answered, preferring to go at each other’s throats instead.
Could he blame Owen or Albert for having animosity with each other?
He was a reluctant peacemaker himself.
His brows shot up.
“I have raised twenty-three other children, Thorne. I can be delicate with her.” Albert retorted as he poured himself a glass of water.
“Or, hear me out, after she’s healthy, she sees a psychologist?” Kieran said as his gaze flicked to Owen, a rare warmth and deep appreciation softening his sharp grey eyes.
“Good idea, there.” Owen hooked a grateful grin at Kieran.
He was letting emotion blind him there.
As Owen’s friend, his omega assistant, he cared.
That fierce loyalty was why leaving the Rose estate hadn’t been a hardship, despite his father’s fury.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that some of Albert’s hostility towards Owen stemmed from the way Kieran had chosen his path – and how Owen had fiercely defended his right to walk it.
The unspoken understanding hung between the three men: Cait was the fragile center, and navigating her world required patience none of them were accustomed to.
Albert stared down at the small box in his hand, his thumb tracing the smooth wood.
In it sat the heir’s ring.
Once his mother’s.
The Rose legacy wasn’t just power and pheromones; it was responsibility.
And his daughter, lying fragile in the room behind him, was the most precious, complicated responsibility of all.
He took a slow, deliberate breath, squaring his shoulders.
Slow.
Earned.
Treasure.
The former Admiral in him was strategizing again, but this time, the battlefield was his daughter’s shattered trust.
He glanced towards Cait’s room, then back at Owen, a flicker of reluctant acceptance replacing the raw anguish.
“Slowly.” Albert echoed, the word heavy with newfound resolve.
He slipped the box back into his pocket, his gaze hardening with purpose.
The game had changed.
Owen watched the exchange, his own tension momentarily forgotten.
He met Kieran’s gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between them.
“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” Owen stated firmly, his voice low but resolute.
He turned his attention back to Albert.
“Take your time. See your daughter.” There was no challenge in Owen’s tone now, only a quiet acknowledgment of the fragile moment unfolding.
“She needs her father. A father.”
Kieran nodded, a subtle warmth softening his sharp features.
“She’s waiting,” he murmured, gesturing toward the door leading to the hallway.
Honestly, he ripped it off like a bandage on a wound.
He would have hugged her if she were not in such a bad condition.
Albert took a shuddering breath, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for battle, yet his steps were hesitant, almost reverent, as he moved toward the threshold.
The tension in his face eased, his silver eyes becoming gentler.
He paused, hand hovering over the door panel, his gaze fixed on the smooth metal surface.
For a heartbeat, the hardness in his facade vanished, replaced by a man trembling on the edge of a long-denied dream.
Inside the sterile room, Cait lay propped against pillows, her mercury-silver eyes wide and watchful.
The visual hallucinations swam.
The detox was awful.
It felt like her skin was crawling.
Like she was still boiling hot, the shivering was new.
Albert inched the door open.
The harsh hospital lights softened the stark angles of her face, highlighting the exhaustion etched beneath her composed stillness.
She looked like a ghost and her.
Yvette, with his colouration.
Her gaze tracked Albert as he entered, wary but unflinching.
The air crackled with unspoken history – twenty years of absence, betrayal, and poisoned lies hanging thick on her.
She didn’t speak, didn’t move, simply observed him with the unnerving quiet intensity Owen recognized from her primal phase.
An Omega dominant was leagues above the average Omega, and this was her at her weakest.
Her small hands lay folded atop the crisp sheet, knuckles pale.
The faint scent of Gardenia, muted but distinct, mingled uneasily with the antiseptic air.
Albert stopped a few feet from the bed, his imposing frame suddenly seeming uncertain.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.
“Finally.” It was barely a whisper, laden with a lifetime of longing.
‘Don’t break down.
Don’t you dare cry.’ Albert coached himself.
His hands reached down and found hers clutching the bed sheet, she was sallow, jaundiced and so thin that it looked like she could break.
“Hello?” her voice was rough and raspy.
Barely audible.
Her eyes didn’t waver.
“Who are you?” she asked.
She was assessing him, Owen realized, with the same pragmatic scrutiny she’d once used on complex logistics reports.
Calculating the threat.
Measuring the man against the ghost of the father she’d never known.
The silence stretched, taut and fragile.
“I’m your father. Your biological one.” Albert said and shifted his weight, his body jittery.
He seemed to shrink slightly under her quiet scrutiny; the formidable retired Admiral was momentarily eclipsed by a man utterly out of his depth.
“I…” He faltered, his aristocratic composure crumbling.
“I don’t know where to begin. I’m sorry.”
His silver-gray eyes, mirrors of her own, held a desperate vulnerability Owen had never witnessed before.
Cait’s breath hitched and she hiccuped nervously.
“Me neither, Ben probably doesn’t know you found me.” Cait said as she licked her dry lips.
Even though their time so far had been brief and they had barely spoken together, he had seen her at her most fragile and confused state.
She reminded him of a first sprout with a seed still hanging off it, yearning to grow but ever so fragile.
Something hit his heart next, it was nervousness and pain.
“You are safe.” Owen said.
He watched her shoulders jerk as he picked up her fear and sadness.
“It’s been twenty years…” The words choked him.
He looked away, raking a hand through his silver-streaked hair, his shoulders slumping.
“I failed you. Before I even knew you existed.”
Cait remained silent, but her gaze flickered – a subtle shift Owen caught.
Not softening, not yet, but perhaps… listening.
The raw pain in Albert’s admission seemed to resonate in the stillness of the room.
He took a tentative step closer, his hand hovering uselessly at his side.
“Your mother… Yvette… she was…” Albert stopped, unable to finish the sentence, the old wound bleeding fresh grief onto the sterile floor.
Cait’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly.
The mention of her mother, the betrayal she’d lived with, was a palpable trigger.
“Please don’t,” her voice husky.
“Please..”
“Cait, I loved her. Just know that for now…” Albert said, his voice wavering with emotion.
A tear ran from his eyes.
Owen watched from near the door, Kieran a silent presence beside him.
He saw the tremor in Cait’s folded hands, the slight tightening of her jaw.
She wasn’t ready for grand apologies or explanations.
She needed acknowledgement.
Albert seemed to sense it too.
He drew a ragged breath, forcing his gaze back to hers.
“Benjamin Agneau, or whoever he is.” he stated, the name dripping with venomous contempt.
“What he did… hiding you, starving you… letting you believe…p-poisoning you…” Albert voice cracked.
“That rage you feel? Towards him? Towards the lies? It’s justified. We will get him.”
Albert leaned forward slightly, his intensity focused solely on her.
“But the shame? The feeling of being… less? That’s his poison, Cait. Not yours. Never yours.”
Albert’s voice dropped, thick with conviction.
“You are a Rose. My daughter. An Omega like me and your brothers. Your strength… It terrifies men like him. You aren’t a tool or dirty like in those propaganda movies. You are a gift.”
“Hic, huuh.” Cait’s breath hitched into gentle sob.
A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her pale cheek.
She swiftly wiped it away with the back of her hand, as if it were trash.
Her expression hardened again, but the stoic dam had shown a small crack.
Albert saw it.
His own eyes glistened.
“I don’t expect you to immediately embrace your life and the legacy. Please do not be afraid or ashamed.” Albert, his voice raw.
“I only ask… the chance to prove, I’m not the monster your mother feared. Or your other father taught you to hate. I am not a man who would ever abandon any of his children, no matter what they were. What they did, or how long they were gone.”
Albert slowly, deliberately, extended his hand towards her, palm open, empty – an offering, not a demand.
It hovered in the charged space between them, a bridge across twenty years of darkness.
Cait stared at his hand, then lifted her gaze back to his face.
The silence deepened, heavy with the weight of a shattered past and the terrifying possibility of a future.
Her mercury eyes searched his storm-gray ones, looking for the truth beneath the pain.
Slowly, hesitantly, her own small hand began to uncurl from the sheet.
It trembled slightly as she reached out, inch by inch, across the sterile void separating them.
Her fingertips brushed the air just above his open palm and flopped into his hand weakly.
“I used to stare in the mirror,” Cait said, pausing to wet her very cracked lips.
“and wonder who I could take after. I don’t look like ‘Ben’…I look like you, Father.” She licked her lip once again, a sniffle escaping her lips.
“So, okay. I will trust you.”
Albert held utterly still, barely breathing, his entire world narrowing to that fragile point of almost contact.
A choked sob escaped him, quickly stifled, as her fingers finally, tentatively, settled against his smooth skin.
The touch was feather-light, hesitant, yet it sent a visible shudder through his powerful frame.
Tears welled freely in his eyes now, tracing paths through the carefully maintained facade.
He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare close his hand around hers, terrified of shattering the moment.
“Thank you.” he whimpered.
Cait’s gaze remained locked on their joined hands – hers pale and small against his larger, weathered one.
Her expression was unreadable, a tumult of confusion, grief, and a dawning, terrifying flicker of something else.
Recognition?
Hope?
The sterile room seemed to hold its breath.
She looked up at him, the rims of her eyes red and watering.
A fear gathered and coursed its way down her face.
She sobbed, a tremor shook her small frame as she pulled back fractionally, hesitated and let her small hands sit in his.
“You look like her.” Albert said, “I thought you would not make it. But you did, you grew up.” The tears started to fall.
Cait winced at ‘her’.
She loved her mother, but had mixed feelings about the woman.
It was a mind fuck when Kieran broke the news to her.
Now the Traverse Lord was standing in front of her.
It felt surreal.
It would be one thing if she was some trafficked kid.
‘Wait, was I trafficked?’ Cait’s mind went blank as her heart started to pound.
The holo-display turned orange.
“My baby.” Albert choked.
“Calm down, sweetie.” he continued as his eyes guiltily looked at the display.
She was upset.
So was he.
Her frame was swallowed by the hospital gown.
He traced the delicate bones of her wrist, she shouldn’t look like this.
No girl her age should.
“So you are my real father.” she croaked.
He nodded.
“Yeah.”
“You are much more handsome than my Da-” she stopped.
“It’s okay.” Albert smiled softly, his right hand leaving his to grab his handkerchief.
He wiped his eyes.
Clearing his throat, he forced a lightness into his voice he didn’t feel.
“I know,” he bolstered, his silver-gray eyes warming with genuine affection as he looked at her pale, striking features.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
It sounded like hers.
The scar on his heart opened painfully.
A gentle smile bloomed his face, softening the harsh lines etched by worry.
“We were going to name you Catherine, after my grandmother.” Albert said.
“She went by Kate. Fate is funny in the way it worked.”
Cait’s mercury eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through her guarded stillness.
She didn’t pull her hand away.
‘She probably chose it because of convenience, the family whose lives were stolen by whoever orchestrated all of this were already dead.’ She thought.
She did not have the heart to speak out the bitter truth.
“Yeah, fate is funny in the way it works.” she rasped, licking her dry lips.
She picked up her hands to wipe her eyes.
Albert moved suddenly fumbling to pick up some facial tissues.
He wiped her face like a new mother, gently dabbing her face.
“Don’t cry.” Albert cooed.
Kieran exchanged a glance with Owen, a silent understanding passing between them.
This was just the start.
The fragile connection sparked, but the path ahead was littered with thorns – and the suffocating weight of the Rose legacy.
Both would try their hardest to keep it from consuming another.
Owen’s jaw tightened, he had felt the emotion coming off of her.
It was palpable to him.
Her shock and happiness felt like a ripple in his chest.
He felt this profound need to protect Cait’s fragile peace.
He watched her fingers resting on her father’s hand, the tentative bridge forming, and knew the real battle for her trust, her safety, and her future was only just beginning.
‘He’s going to get worse.’ Owen thought to himself.
‘I nearly ended up fighting him, like last time.’
Owen unclenched his jaw, and rolled his shoulders .
He was admittedly pissed off from the conversation.
But that was Albert Rose.
Needlessly arrogant and possessive, steeped in whiskey and beloved by female Alphas around the world as a ‘romantic’.
‘The circumstances, it would be better if she was not his daughter.’ he thought bitterly.
He would have taken her home with him if it weren’t for this damn familial connection.
But Europe, and the Rose family had skilled people in its employ that he could not risk the chance of them rejecting her.
Even if it was not for the faint strange feelings he had grown for her, the obligation under the contract bound him to help her.
The poison was still in her veins, her body decimated, meaning Remy Dubois’s presence was necessary.
He was compatible with Michael.
He knew in his heart that somehow she would mark him too.
He had to set aside his possessiveness, because if he felt hurt coming from her because of him.
It might just decimate him.
“There, there. We’ll get you better,” Albert continued to comfort Cait, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.
“Strong. Healthy. And then… we get to know each other. Properly.”
Albert paused, choosing his next words carefully.
“When we move you back home. An Alpha named Remy Dubois. He has… unique abilities.”
“Yes Kieran, mentioned him already.” Cait said.
Her eyes flickered to her brother remembering the warning he gaves about ‘alliances’ that her father had made in her name.
She could not help wondering what Dr.
Dubois’s family was promised.
Cait’s gaze instantly darted, locking onto Owen, who stood near the door, a silent, watchful presence.
He was still largely a stranger, yet she felt a confusing pull towards him – a faint echo of his tension, protectiveness, his possessiveness, and a warmth she couldn’t explain filled her heart.
“So, a special doctor?” Cait asked, her voice raspy but clear, her attention snapping back to Albert.
“Do we all have ‘powers’?”
Owen stepped smoothly forward from his position near Kieran, his voice calm and informative.
“Only some of us. We all exhibit enhanced athleticism and intelligence, but the more powerful us have tremendous strength, healing, and projectiles. Some of the strongest have mental powers like enchanting, telepathy, and precognitive abilities. Some of the abilities can strengthen after mating.”
Owen thought about his half brother’s ability.
He was one of the dozens she had across the globe.
The old witch had some strong whelps.
Kieran met Cait’s wide, curious gaze.
“It works both ways.
Omegas can develop latent powers too, often suppressed without strong Alpha contact.
Especially…” Kieran paused delicately, “…especially through a lot of pheromonal exchange.
Bursts of connection unlock potential.
But mastering it takes time.
Training.”
“This is giving me a headache.” Cait smiled weakly.
She absorbed this, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed the implications.
Powers.
Healing.
How would someone even do that?
It felt alien, overwhelming.
“Do I have some sort of power?” she asked.
“Dr.Jameson said I would be dead if I was any other Omega?” Cait asked.
She glanced again at Owen, a question forming in her eyes she couldn’t articulate,’Did my Dad turn me into a freak with poison?’ then back at Kieran.
Slowly, she nodded, exhaustion washing over her like a wave, making her eyelids heavy.
The sheer effort of processing her father’s tentative affection.
Owen cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
His ice-blue eyes locked onto Cait’s weary face, intense and unwavering.
“It is possible,” he stated, his voice low and resonant, cutting through her fatigue.
He raised his left hand, palm facing her.
There, stark against his skin, lay a rose-shaped emblem – not ink, but a raised, intricate brand, silver-white flesh.
“You were able to imprint on ‘me’,” Owen continued, his gaze never leaving hers.
Owen pulled down his shirt collar, a somewhat healed mark that looked like the Rose of Venus laid on his neck.
It looked just like the one she saw in the astrophysics books in the advanced courses library.
Her eyes widened as she recognized it, and hazy memories came back to her.
“You commanded my submission during your collapse, Cait. You bound me to you with a force only an Alpha should wield.” His expression was grave, stripped of its usual sardonic edge, replaced by raw honesty.
“My guess? Your latent abilities… they’re probably passive like the doctors.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, he corrected himself.
He did not want to scare her.
“If they are not an ability,, then they are not. No big deal.”
“I see.” she rasped, her voice thin, “…what ‘is’ an imprint, the doctor mentioned breeding compatibility?” Her gaze flickered between the mark and Owen’s face, searching for understanding, her confusion palpable.
“It is more sacred and special than just breeding or even compatibility.” Owen smiled and buttoned his collar slowly, his gaze softening as he saw the genuine bewilderment mixed with dawning fear in her eyes.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the edge of her bed rail, bringing himself closer to her level.
“An imprint,” Owen began, his voice gentler now, but still precise, “is the deepest bond possible between an Alpha and an Omega. It’s… biological destiny made manifest.”
Albert snorted, “Sounds like a fairy tale. An old myth.” he spat.
“Then why does our family use it as our family sigil?” Kieran retorted and shook his head at Albert.
“I have been to the research institute. They are really rare. It would not have happened if very special conditions were met. There’s history you don’t understand.” He said as he turned to Cait.
“So you learned the religion of cult of the early tribes. They think this way of life is mystical, and not some type of curse.” Albert countered.
“Like the ancient peoples monotheistic gods. It’s just a natural mark, she is not the first. Another meaningless archaic trait handed down by our gracious ancestors.”
“You know my roots go back to the Tribes.” Owen said, glanced briefly at Albert, whose face was a mask of conflict and paternal concern,.
Giving him a look that could strip paint off the hull of a transport.
Owen sighed, unballed his fists and gave Cait a gentle look.
“I’ll continue, and we’ll discuss the other stuff after your father finishes his visit.” Owen said.
Cait weakly shrugged, “I don’t know anything about all of this, but I am willing to learn. I’m responsible. I marked you, I owe it to you.” she rasped back between breaths.
“Fine.” Albert huffed, and gave Owen a look of apologetic submission.
“When we imprint,” Owen explained, “it’s a conscious or subconscious command forged in profound connection. It marks the bearer ‘permanently’, binding his instinct, his loyalty, his very essence to the other.”
Owen tapped the rose emblem on his neck.
“This isn’t just a scar. It’s a beacon. It tells every Alpha I meet that I belong to ‘you’, Cait Rose. That I have been chosen for a lifetime. If you were to choose to leave, I could not receive pheromones from another. I would go into the same collapse you felt but with no one to help me.”
Owen paused, his intense blue eyes holding hers.
“It’s rare. Incredibly rare gift. And it’s irreversible.” He saw the tremor run through her, the way her small fingers clenched the sheet.
“You didn’t just survive a poisoned collapse that morning,” Owen added quietly, a note of fierce pride entering his tone.
“You claimed your birthright and you claimed ‘me’.”