"My Lord," Ren began.

Zayden’s brow furrowed, his chest tightening. It had been a while since Ren had called him that—so cold, so distant.

He pursed his lips, lowering his gaze, unsure how to respond.

"Yes?" he finally asked, voice quiet, cautious.

"You shouldn’t have behaved like that with Eiran."

Zayden said nothing for a moment.

"But... lying is wrong."

Ren let out a faint scoff, almost mocking.

"You really think the world is perfect, don’t you?"

"I never said so," Zayden replied.

"Really? You think omegas are getting all their rights, when in reality, there are barely any who are treated fairly in the empire." 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Zayden narrowed his eyes, trying to follow, but failed.

"Life isn’t a book," Ren continued. "Rules aren’t followed. If anything, they are constantly broken, My Lord."

"Zayden," the alpha corrected, his voice cracking. He reached for the omega’s hand, fingertips trembling as if afraid of being pushed away—or that Ren might walk out. "It hurts... when you call me that, so coldly."

Ren didn’t flinch. He went on.

"You can’t hold onto ’this is wrong’ and expect people to never, ever do those things. No one is perfect. Not even you. Following rules is good—but—" He paused, catching his breath, chest heavy.

Lies had been what he relied on most over the past few years. And yet, Zayden hadn’t once gotten mad at him when those lies began to surface.

But he got mad at Eiran for a small lie?

That only showed how patient the alpha had been with him. Otherwise... Ren’s first thought would have been true: Zayden would have killed him.

"But?" Zayden, who had been waiting for Ren to finish, whispered, holding tightly onto the man’s hand like a child afraid of letting go.

Ren blinked. His mind went blank for a moment. Words, thoughts—everything scattered. He looked around, trying to recall what he wanted to say, but in vain.

He swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of Zayden’s hand against his own. That simple touch anchored him, and slowly, words began to flow once again.

"...I just—" Zayden started, voice barely above a whisper. "...I just wanted him to understand. I never meant to make anyone upset. Not you, not Eiran."

Ren’s gaze softened, though Zayden’s hold on his hand didn’t waver.

"I know," the omega said quietly. "I know you didn’t."

Zayden’s chest heaved.

"...It’s just... I always follow the rules, to do what’s right. I don’t want to be like people who speak of demons. But sometimes, doing the right thing hurts those close to me. And sometimes, even when I am careful... I fail as well. I just... didn’t want Eiran to grow up spoiled and someone who would lie to us, at the very least."

Ren nodded slowly, his thumb brushing over the back of Zayden’s hand.

"Life isn’t all about rules and principles. Sometimes, you need to let things flow naturally," he murmured.

Zayden’s lips twitched into a small, uncertain smile.

"So it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try, right?"

"Of course you should," the omega replied, a faint grin tugging at his own lips. "Perfection isn’t required, Zayden."

Zayden’s heart skipped.

Zayden.

Finally, Ren had called out his name with tenderness. Less distance. More trusting.

***

Enzo stepped into the guest room, guided by a maid. Once she showed him around the room, she exited, closing the door softly behind her.

The man tossed his cane onto a chair and ran a hand through his hair, still dry, although it had been damp from the snow a while ago.

The hall smelled faintly of roses and wood polish, a contrast to the cold air outside.

Without wasting another moment, he stepped into the shower, limping. He could have asked the servants for help, but he had grown used to bathing by himself.

The hot water cascaded down, washing away the cold, but it couldn’t reach the ache in his chest.

Once he finished, he stepped outside, wrapping a towel around his waist. He dried himself and reached for fresh clothes from the luggage that had already been brought to his room.

Just then, faint voices drifted in from the hallway. The maids’ chatter, unaware that they could be heard by anyone, carried through the slightly ajar door.

"...did you see the way he limps? Poor thing," one said.

"He’s carrying that cane everywhere," another replied. "I wonder... if he will ever fully recover."

Enzo froze mid-motion, the shirt slipping slightly from his grip. The words hit him harder than he expected.

A sting of shame pricked at his chest, bitter yet familiar. He had trained himself to hide it, to carry on despite the handicap—but hearing it spoken aloud like that made him feel... small, flawed.

His hands clenched into fists, the muscles in his jaw tightening. A mix of frustration and sorrow swelled inside him. How could they think so little of him? Of what he had endured? Of what he had survived?

And yet... a part of him recognized the truth in their words. His gaze flickered toward the cane. It wasn’t just for show. His leg would surely never be the same. His body carried the scars of battles he had fought, sacrifices he had made. And that—alone—was a bitter truth he couldn’t run from.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply, anger and self-reproach mingling. He hated that he felt weak, hated that the sight of pity or whispers could make his chest tighten as it had. He wasn’t this sensitive.

"Get a hold of yourself," he muttered under his breath, tugging at his shirt and adjusting the sleeve to hide the faint tremor in his arm. "The physician said it will heal."

Even as he said it, the words rang hollow. But the act of saying them aloud, however quietly, gave him a small sense of control.

After dressing, he sank into the chair by the window, staring out at the snow-draped grounds. The mansion was quiet, peaceful—but his thoughts roared like a storm inside him.

He wasn’t sure if he was more frustrated at himself, at the maids, or at the cruel twist of fate that had left him with this imperfection.

A knock on the door made him stiffen.

"Lord Enzo? Are you alright?" came Hannah’s voice, cautious but kind.

He let out a bitter laugh, leaning back.

"Yes, of course. I am fine," he said—though even to his own ears, it sounded forced. "Just... thinking."

And in that moment, he wondered if anyone could truly understand what it meant to carry the weight of being strong—fighting even when people labelled him as flawed.

Hannah lowered her gaze.

Surely... he heard those maids, didn’t he?

When she had been on her way to make sure Enzo had settled into the guest room, she’d overheard a few maids talking. Their words had been quietly hurtful for the one concerned. She had told them off immediately, sending them away, hoping the subject of their whispers remained unaware.

Those servants need to be taught a lesson...

She shook her head at her own failure to keep their mouth in check. Before, they wouldn’t have dared speak a word.

However, now that Zayden had been absent for a while, it seemed they had taken it upon themselves to break every rule already established in the mansion.

"You haven’t visited in a long time," Hannah said, hoping that changing the subject would lift the young man’s spirits.

Her attempt had the opposite effect.

Enzo’s forced smile faded instantly, his expression darkening as if she had stepped somewhere she shouldn’t have.

He didn’t reply—not for a long moment.

Of course, Hannah wouldn’t know. How could she? Zayden despised the capital’s gossip; he made sure no newspaper filled with rumours ever entered his mansion. Only the authenticated ones—those free of scandal and slander—were delivered weekly.

"I was married."

"Oh, dear!" Hannah gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. Then she let out a soft, flustered laugh. "Look at old me. I’ve surely aged. To forget you are married—"

She stopped mid-sentence, eyebrows slowly knitting together.

"Was?" she repeated, tilting her head.

Enzo nodded, his gaze drifting toward the window.

"I divorced recently." He exhaled, a humourless smile tugging at his lips. "And if that isn’t shocking enough, let me add this—" He turned his eyes back to the elderly woman. "I am also a widow. My ex-husband died while breaking the bond."

Hannah froze. She didn’t know how to react, nor what expression to offer. She simply bowed her head slightly, careful—so careful—not to show even a hint of sympathy.

Demons were far too prideful.

They despised pity more than anything.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?" The young man asked, slightly amused by her reaction. It was evident she was fighting for her life to not react strongly to his words.

Tempted to test her further, Enzo continued.

"You see this leg?" He pointed at the limb he could barely feel or move. "It was caused by the bond breaking."

Hannah simply exhaled. This man hadn’t changed much.