The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist

[Armoire Estate]

Lucien lounged on the emerald velvet couch in the Armoire estate’s grand meeting hall, legs crossed, posture the very image of aristocratic indifference, and expression thoroughly unimpressed. Moonlight poured in from the tall glass windows, casting him in a divine glow that clashed violently with the conversation.

Across from him stood Dr. Faelan Hawke, a man with the permanent expression of someone who’d just discovered a new species and named it after himself.

"Daily, one pill, my lord," Faelan instructed, carefully placing a small amber bottle into Lucien’s waiting palm. "This will help regulate your pheromones. Especially since you seem to be leaking them like a cracked perfume bottle in a heatwave."

Lucien squinted at the bottle as if it had personally offended him. "It won’t harm the little bean, right?"

Faelan blinked. "Little bean, my lord?"

Behind him, Marcel—the ever-loyal, ever-stressed butler—frowned deeply. "Little bean...?"

Lucien exhaled, long and suffering. "My baby. The one who took over my stomach and built a house there. Possibly added a porch. Might be planting tomatoes. I’m not entirely sure."

Faelan let out a delighted laugh and patted Lucien’s shoulder like a proud uncle. "Oh! That little bean! Don’t worry, these are perfectly safe for your baby. No porch damage, I promise."

Marcel, however, had gone alarmingly still.

"M-My lord..." he croaked. "What do you mean by... baby? Built a house? What, baby?!"