Chapter 10
Min-ho
The next day and a half unfolded in fragments of conversation and silence.
We talked in bed, tangled together under the white sheets, Dalvin's head on my chest and my fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder.
We talked over meals delivered by discreet staff who never lingered.
We talked in the deep hours of the night when sleep wouldn't come, our voices soft in the darkness, filling the years of absence with words we should have spoken long ago.
Dalvin told me about Vernon in detail I hadn't asked for but needed to hear.
The escalating control. The isolation. The calculated cruelty designed to break him without leaving marks.
He told me about the night he'd decided to run, about the fear and the hope and the desperate gamble of trusting Rosa with his son's life.
In return, I told him about my mother.
"She came to my dorm room the night they took you," I said. "I was packing, ready to go after you. She told me that if I left, I would no longer be her son."
Dalvin's hand tightened on my chest. He was tense against me, a flare of protective fury rising in his chest.
"I told her I didn't care. That I'd rather lose my family than lose you." I stared at the ceiling. "She said that was the problem. That I was sick, that what I felt for you was a perversion. I graduated the next morning. She didn't come. I haven't spoken to her since."
"All that time." Dalvin's voice was barely a whisper. "You haven't spoken to your mother since Ashworth."
"She made her choice. I made mine. I would make the same choice again."
We lay in silence, the weight of shared grief settling around us.
"The headlines are going to be ugly," Dalvin said. "You know that. 'Senator's Omega Claimed by Step-Brother in Chase Scandal.' Vernon's lawyers will use it."
"I know." My jaw tightened. "I've already talked to Garrett.
He's connected with a media attorney and a family law firm that specializes in omega custody cases.
The step-sibling angle is uncomfortable, but it's not illegal.
We were never blood-related. The marriage between our parents lasted two years and ended over a decade ago. "
"That's not how the headlines will frame it."
"No. But headlines aren't legal arguments.
And Vernon has bigger problems than our story.
" He paused. "Garrett's been feeding information to a journalist. Financial records, staff testimony, things I've collected over the years.
By the time Vernon tries to use our relationship against us, he'll be too busy defending himself to fight a custody battle. "
Then Dalvin asked the question I'd been dreading.
"The investigators you hired. How much did you spend?"
"Over the years? Close to two hundred thousand dollars."
Dalvin went still against me.
"I built my business from nothing after my mother cut me off," I continued. "Lived in a studio above a rented workshop for three years. Every commission that came in, I set aside a portion for the search. Finding you was all that mattered."
"Two hundred thousand dollars." He pushed himself up on one elbow, staring at me. "Why?"
The question was absurd. The answer was obvious. But Dalvin was looking at me with genuine confusion, with the bewilderment of someone who had never been valued, who had learned to see himself through Vernon's eyes as worthless, disposable, a burden to be managed rather than a person to be loved.
I reached up and cupped his face in my hand, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone.
"Because you were everything," I said simply. "Because losing you was like losing a limb. Because I spent over a decade walking around with a piece of myself missing, and no amount of success or money or comfort could fill that hole."
He closed his eyes. Tears slipped from beneath his lashes and tracked down his cheeks, warm against my fingers.
"I thought you forgot me," he whispered. "I convinced myself you'd moved on, found someone else, built a life that didn't include me. It was the only way I could survive. Believing that what we had wasn't real."
"It was real. It was the most real thing I've ever felt."
He lowered himself back against my chest, and I held him while the tears came, while years of grief and loneliness found their release. We lay together in the aftermath, hollowed out and lighter for it.
On the second morning, I told him about the house.
"It's in the mountains," I said. We were sitting at the breakfast table, Dalvin working through another stack of pancakes while I nursed a cup of coffee.
"About an hour from my forge. Four bedrooms, three baths.
A workshop in the back where I do smaller projects. More space than any one person needs."
"Why so big?"
"I told myself it was an investment. Property values, resale potential, practical considerations.
" I set down my coffee cup and met his eyes.
"The truth is, I built it for a family I didn't have yet.
I kept thinking that someday, somehow, I would find you.
And when I did, I wanted to have a home ready. "
Dalvin's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "You built a house for me."
"For us. For whatever life we might build together." I hesitated, then pressed forward. "There's a room that faces the sunrise. Good light all day. I thought it might work as an art studio, if you ever wanted to paint again."
The fork clattered against the plate. Dalvin's eyes went bright with unshed tears.
"I haven't painted in eight years," he said. "Vernon considered it a waste of time."
"Vernon was a fool. I've seen the sketches you did at Ashworth. You had talent. Real talent." I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. "The room is there when you're ready. No pressure. No expectations. Just space for you to be whoever you want to be."
He turned his hand over beneath mine, lacing our fingers together.
"There's a room for Eli too," I said quietly. "If you want. A proper child's room, with space for toys and books and whatever else he needs. I can have it furnished however you think is best. Or we can do it together, if you prefer. Whatever makes him most comfortable."
Dalvin was silent for a long moment.
"He's afraid of alphas," Dalvin said finally. "I told you that. But I need you to understand what that means. He doesn't just get nervous around alphas. He panics. Hides. Cries. Vernon made sure of that. Made sure my son associated alpha scent with anger and pain and punishment."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Dalvin's eyes searched my face. "Because this isn't going to be easy. He might not warm up to you for months. He might never fully trust you. I need to know that you can handle that. That you won't resent him for being broken by the same man who broke me."
"I would never let Vernon near him," I said, and heard the edge in my own voice too late. Not protective. Possessive. Claiming ownership of a child I'd never met, a child who wasn't mine, because his father belonged to me now and I'd already drawn the circle of what was mine too wide.
Dalvin went still beside me. I felt it through the bond — a flicker of something cold. Recognition. He'd heard that tone before.
"I mean—" I started.
"I know what you meant." His voice was careful. Neutral. The voice of a man who had learned to manage alphas. "But Min-ho? Eli is mine. Not yours. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And if you can't hear the difference between protecting him and claiming him, we have a problem."
The words landed like a slap. I sat with them. Let them sting. Because he was right, and the fact that I hadn't heard the edge in my own voice until he pointed it out was exactly the kind of thing I needed to hear.
"You're right," I said. "I'm sorry."
He watched me for a long moment. Measuring. Then some of the tension left his shoulders.
I tightened my grip on his hand. "He's not broken. He's a three-year-old who learned to protect himself in the only way he could."
"Min-ho."
"I'm not going to expect him to love me," I said.
"I'm not going to push myself into his life and demand affection he isn't ready to give.
I'm going to be patient. I'm going to be consistent.
I'm going to show him, day after day, that I'm safe.
That my voice doesn't mean pain. That my presence doesn't mean fear.
" I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles.
"However long it takes. Whatever he needs. I'll learn."
Dalvin went quiet. Something shifted in the bond between us, some final wall crumbling, some last defense giving way.
"I want you to meet him," he said. "Before the trial period ends. Before you accept the bond officially. I need you to see what you're signing up for."
"Okay."
"I'll call Rosa. She can bring him here."
"Okay."
He stared at me for another moment, searching for something in my expression. Whatever he found must have satisfied him, because he nodded slowly and reached for his phone.
The call to Rosa was brief. She would arrive that afternoon with Eli. There was a family room on the second floor of the facility, Dalvin explained, designed for situations exactly like this. Neutral ground. Safe space.
After he hung up, Dalvin spent the next hour preparing me.
"Don't approach him directly. Let him come to you, if he wants.
Keep your voice low and soft. No sudden movements.
No direct eye contact until he initiates it.
" He ticked off each instruction with quiet intensity.
"Don't crouch down to his level. For Eli, an alpha getting on his level means an alpha getting in his face.
Stay standing or sitting. Let him control the physical space. "
I nodded, committing each instruction to memory. This was like learning a new technique at the forge. Every material had its own requirements, its own tolerances. Eli was no different.
"What does he like?" I asked. "What makes him feel safe?"