CHAPTER ONE
Niall POV
I sit at the bar, nursing something bright and sweet I didn't order, watching my twin dance on a table like the absolute menace he is.
Thieran's glittered shirt is halfway unbuttoned—he calls it "tastefully slutty"—and his blonde hair catches the light like he's the damn main character in a music video. I snicker, evil and entertained, as he spins dramatically, bottle in hand, letting some stranger tip it into his mouth like we don't all know how this ends.
Click.
I snap a picture. Then switch to video. The lighting is terrible. The drama is perfect.
Send to: Rami
The typing dots appear within seconds.
I smirk. Predictable.
Without a word, I drop a pin. Location sent.
No need for explanation. Rami knows.
And if the ground starts shaking in about ten minutes?
Well. Thieran did ask for this.
Their relationship is… weird.
No—insane.
Rami is literally my brother-in-law. Like, unofficially. Emotionally. Existentially. Even my father—our father—who would fold any man in half for breathing near his "precious baby," just sort of… shrugs when it comes to Rami.
It's the only time Thorne Alden looks away.
Because he knows. We all do.
Thieran is obviously in love with him. That loud, devoted, obsessive kind of love that drips from every post, every glance, every time he says Rami's name like it's sacred and profane in the same breath.
And Rami?
That brooding, tattooed, glowering, emotionally repressed man?
Yeah, he's in love too.
I know it.
They know it.
Everyone on this island, this planet, this timeline knows it.
Why aren't they together?
Beats me. Divine punishment? Emotional constipation? A curse from the Goddess of Yearning?
Whatever.
I take another sip of my stolen drink.
And—right on schedule—the bar door slams open with the kind of force that makes the walls shudder.
Cue the silence. Cue the heads turning.
Cue Mr. Dark and Handsome storming into the room like he's made of leather, ash, and vengeance. His piercings gleam. His boots are loud. His rage? Palpable.
People part for him like he's gravity itself.
And there, still spinning on a table like a drunken angel, is my idiot brother—completely oblivious.
I lean back on my stool, take a slow, smug sip, and smile.
He's going to kill me tomorrow.
I don't stop smiling.
I watch as Ty turns mid-spin, still laughing—and then he sees him. Rami. And his whole expression shatters like glass.
Eyes wide. Mouth open. Deer-in-headlights level panic.
There are only two people on this planet who can pull that reaction from Thieran.
Dad.
And Rami.
He tries to run. He really does. But he's a drunken mess in club boots, and when he stumbles near the edge of the table—he slips.
He would've face-planted if not for the hand that catches him mid-air.
Rami's hand.
Cool. Steady. Practiced.
He doesn't flinch as Thieran flails like an angry cat, just throws him over his shoulder like a duffel bag full of chaos and guilt. Ty lets out an undignified yelp, kicking weakly as Rami adjusts his grip like he's done it a hundred times.
And then he starts scanning the room.
He's looking for me.
I lift my glass lazily, already bracing.
Sure enough, his eyes lock onto mine. Furious. Flat. Direct.
Storm incoming.
He marches through the crowd like the sea parting for divine wrath, boots heavy on the floor, Thieran still whining over his shoulder.
I keep a straight face.
"Rami," I say with a nod when he reaches me, grinning like I didn't just bait him with a live feed of his soulmate having a meltdown.
"Good to see you."
He says nothing.
Thieran is still struggling—limp, half-laughing, half-horrified. I click my tongue. Even if he's throwing a fit, we both know he likes it.
Ty, for all his drama, doesn't try to get down. Not really.
Because we all know the truth.
He's exactly where he wants to be.
Rami adjusts his grip like Thieran isn't thrashing and swearing on his back.
"I'm heading to the island tomorrow," he says, voice low and even.
"Should the jet wait for you?"
Classic. No hello, no pleasantries. Straight to business like he didn't just crash through a bar wall like an angry god.
"Uhm... nah," I reply, twirling my straw with exaggerated calm.
"I'll come by in a week."
He nods, simple and short.
Typical Rami.
Curt. Efficient. Borderline mute.
Just like Mirelle. I swear, the two of them could build an entire language out of eye contact and grunts. Maybe they already have.
As he turns to leave, the hurricane over his shoulder finally explodes.
"You fucking traitor!" Thieran screams, kicking again.
I grin and stick out my tongue, even though he can't see me do it.
"Love you too, little brother."
Rami doesn't even slow down.
"Niall!" Ty screeches.
"Don't leave me with him! He's going to lock me in the greenhouse again!"
I raise my glass in a toast, unbothered. "See you soon, little brother."
Just a blur of blonde hair and muffled cursing disappears into the night, carried away by the only person who could manhandle an omega Alden and live to tell the tale.
Honestly?
They're made for each other.
I sigh, not for the first time tonight, and slide my card across the counter.
"That should cover the door. And… the drinks. And emotional damages."
The bartender doesn't even blink. This isn't the first time an Alden's blown through the place. Probably won't be the last.
I glance at my phone.
11:37 PM.
3rd May, 2030.
I tuck the card back into my wallet and step out into the night.
The air hits like a sigh—cool, damp, full of city lights and mana mist. Somewhere far off, a dungeon hums like distant thunder.
I didn't want to take care of a drunk Thieran tonight. That's what Rami is for.
But now… I'm bored.
And boredom is dangerous.
Especially for someone like me. Someone please take away my boredom.