Bound by Secrets and Promises

Chapter 1

Alistair Winters didn't seem thrilled about the unexpected twist my life had taken. As the alpha in our little arrangement, he wore his discontent like a heavy coat, a constant shroud over the fragile new life we were supposed to start together. After all, I was the omega who found myself unexpectedly pregnant, and now I was back under his roof, binding our lives together through an obligation that felt more like a contract than a wedding.

“Just lie still. Don’t move. It’ll mess up the doctor’s exam,” he commanded, a firm frown etched on his face as we sat in the sterile, overly bright clinic room, the air thick with antiseptic.

“I’m not moving,” I protested, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Your mouth is moving,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing as though I was a toddler testing boundaries.

In the time we’d been together, the words I heard most often from him were “shut up.” It pierced me deeper than I’d care to admit. Not “I love you,” not even “you matter.” Just “shut up.” A potent reminder of what I had given up to be with him.

“Is it too late to back out of this wedding?” Alistair snapped, glancing away like the prospect of my existence offended him.

His tone barely masked the frustration curling in the corners of his mouth. The procedure was routine, but the tension between us could have made the walls melt. As I lay there, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness, a flare of something like despair. It wasn’t what I’d envisioned when I wandered blindly into this strange arrangement, his brother's shadow now looming over me, and his feelings as elusive as the daylight fading outside.

Back home, my friends would have laughed, teased me about how I ended up here—‘married’ to Alistair, the stoic big brother who inherited the weight of silence like a trophy. I was the upbeat one, always forcing a smile, and here I was, stuck beneath a cloud of his irritation.

“Seriously, Edward, sometimes I swear you enjoy testing my patience,” he muttered, flicking through the latest text on his phone before looking back at me, revealing a cascade of concern hidden beneath his gruff exterior.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” I replied, my heart trying to break free from the lump lodged in my throat. “I didn’t expect any of this, Alistair. I thought we were supposed to be a team.”

“A team?” There it was again—the familiar eye roll as if I were a child stirring trouble in the backseat during a long road trip. “You’re the one who wanted to get knocked up, remember?”

The jab stung. I stifled a sigh, wishing I had a better comeback. Something fiercer, something that would make him see me—the real me, not just the omega carrying his brother’s kid.

I wanted him to care, to come home and slip away the mask of annoyance like one sheds a coat at the end of a long day. But perhaps that was a dream too far-fetched, even for me.

I shifted in the chair, trying to catch him off-guard with a smile. “So, maybe let’s focus on the baby? We could start getting excited for them?”

Alistair’s brows knitted together. “Excited? You really think that’s going to happen with you yapping away?”

His voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it, I saw a flicker of something warmer. I leaned in, hopeful. “Maybe give it time?”

He just scoffed, but I caught his breath hitch slightly, just enough to make my heart flutter.

This mess—this jumbled journey of love and uncertainty—I didn’t know where it would lead, but surrendering to it felt like the only choice I had left.

If only I could make him understand.

As the nurse entered with a smile, I knew this was just the beginning. Our story was only just getting started, and for better or worse, I was all in.

Chapter 2

Edward Rowley was a bar singer and a struggling web novelist, freshly unanchored after breaking up with his boyfriend. With no family to speak of, he found solace in a handful of reckless friends who filled the void.

He lived alone in a rundown apartment in the city, a building where single omegas like him had carved out their little lives. After six months of solitude, the unmistakable signs of his heat hit him like a freight train.

Before a heat cycle arrives, there are often warning signs. Some people experience them intensely, while others feel them more subtly; Edward belonged to the latter group. He was usually careless, chalking it up to fatigue, but that afternoon, he had finally called in sick and slept the day away, only to awaken to an unsettling heat radiating from within.

Something was off. This heat was different, a feverish warmth deep in his bones, and he felt weak, a ball of anxiety twisting in his gut.

Panic coursed through him as he reached behind himself. Where he expected the familiar smoothness of his skin, he encountered a maddening itch, like a thousand ants crawling beneath his flesh.

"Oh no, not now," he thought, dread washing over him.

He’d always been a carefree guy, unbothered about most things — but heat was a different beast altogether.

He had no alpha. In that moment, it struck him just how dire his situation was.

Venturing outside was out of the question. Omegas like him were vulnerable to all sorts of unwanted attention, especially during their heat, and he would rather not end up overwhelmed by an alpha on the street.

He had no suppressants, the kinds of meds you had to apply for well in advance at the hospital.

With trembling hands, he grabbed his phone, flicking through his contacts, unsure who to call.

The symptoms intensified, the urge to touch himself becoming impossible to ignore. The relief never seemed enough, his body driving him crazy, barely keeping him anchored to sanity.

There was no avoiding this.

As for the kind of alpha he needed to find, he hadn't even thought about it. He’d had boyfriends before, but those relationships never lasted long, fizzling out for one trivial reason or another. Dealing with alphas had drained him; eventually, he’d found peace in being single. It was great to be responsible only for himself, to feel whatever he felt without worrying about someone else’s feelings. His time was his own, free from any obligations.

It seemed perfect to him, just as it was.

So if he had to find an alpha, who it was or what they looked like didn’t really matter. Their financial status or the presence of a shiny car was inconsequential.

They weren’t going to be together anyway.

He took a deep breath, swiping through his calls again, thinking, Well, let fate decide.

“Hello, this is Edward Rowley. Who is this? Oh, Guardian Assurance? Wrong number, never mind.”

“Hey, I’m Edward Rowley. Who is this? The property management? Do you have any alphas available? No? Okay, forget it.”

“Hello, are you an alpha? I’m an omega. No thanks.”

“Hey, alpha? You are? Awesome. What's your height? 5’7”? Yeah, I had a feeling. Bye.”

“Hello, alpha? Can I get your stats? Cool, got it. I’m at xxxx; can you come over? Abroad? Go to hell, then.”

……

“Hello, are you an alpha?”

“What do you want?”

“You've got a nice voice. Do you have an omega?”

“No, what’s going on?”

“I’m at xxxx. Want to drop by?”

“What do you need?”

“I’m in heat.”

“...Wait. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Sure thing, babe. Counting on you!”

After hanging up, Edward collapsed onto his bed, waves of heat crashed over him, each pulse matching the frantic beat of his heart.

He couldn’t help but grind against the sheets, beads of sweat pooling around him as the itch consumed him. Desperate for relief, he stormed into the bathroom and took a cold shower, hoping the chill would ground him.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. He struggled to his feet, rushing to answer the door in nothing but his bare skin.

Before he could make out the person standing there, he launched himself at them, drawn to the intoxicating scent of alpha, instinctively craving closeness.

He vaguely heard the stranger call his name, but his clear thoughts blurred into a haze of need, leaving him focused solely on tearing that alpha’s clothes off.

He clung to the man, ignoring the way he tried to push him away, kissing his lips, cheeks, neck — desperate for intimacy, for release.

The alpha finally managed to throw him onto the bed, securing the doors and windows before slowly shedding his clothes. Edward moved closer, only to be kicked back as if he was a nuisance, his instincts teasingly rejected.

The alpha pinned him down, restraining his wrists and ankles with a strength that rendered Edward utterly helpless. Sweaty and panting, he gazed into the alpha’s eyes, filled with a mixture of lust and disdain. “Is this all you’ve got?”

With those words, the alpha pressed his lips against Edward's, igniting a feverish exchange where they fed off each other's need.

After a night of reckless passion, Edward lay exhausted, his limbs too heavy to move. The first day of his heat completed, he turned to glance at the stranger beside him.

Staring at the man’s face, he squinted, recognition dawning. “Wait a second, who are you? You look vaguely familiar.”

“Alistair Winters.” The alpha enunciated his name slowly, as if ready to sink his teeth into Edward’s flesh with each syllable.

“No way. I just slept with Benjamin’s brother.” Edward was in shock, nearly tumbling off the bed.

“Oh my God, I... I...”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously? Isn’t this a problem? What if he kills me? He’s my ex! I just slept with his brother; what the hell!”

Alistair pressed his fingers against his brow, ignoring Edward’s panicked ramble as he strolled into the bathroom.

With a mix of dread and exhilaration, Edward stared at the beautiful stranger beside him, taking in the stunning physique that seemed like a win he didn’t deserve.

So he had found his alpha after all.

It was all an unexpected incident, but maybe, just maybe, this was fate.

Chapter 3

Monday morning, ten o'clock at Silvercrest Apothecary—a small conference room hummed with a mix of tension and anticipation.

“After a year of hard work, we’re excited to announce that our omega scent concealment agent, developed in collaboration with Havenbrook Research Institute, has outperformed existing market alternatives,” Gabriel Chen, the assistant manager of R&D, stated confidently, tapping his laptop to bring up the latest figures. “Its duration has increased from six hours to an impressive twenty-four, ensuring one hundred percent effectiveness with a minimized health risk of just 0.01%. That said, it won't be suitable for omegas during their heat or pregnancy. During these periods, an omega's alpha scent naturally intensifies, functioning as a protective mechanism.”

As murmurs of interest rippled through the room, Morgan Jackson, the marketing manager, leaned forward. “But given current market demands, there’s still a solid demand for agents that can alter one’s natural scent. So, this concealment agent won't completely replace the concealment market.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “The two products are certainly different. How you choose to position and sell them will be up to your team.”

“According to our initial timeline, we aim to launch this product next quarter, but the R&D team has run two weeks behind schedule. I’m concerned about whether our manufacturing team can catch up,” Morgan continued.

“I doubt it,” countered Lin Zhao, head of manufacturing. “The second marketing team made production requests last month, and—”

Ding!

A sudden notification sound interrupted his explanation, causing everyone to glance at Alistair Winters, the company’s CEO, who looked slightly embarrassed.

“Sorry, go ahead,” Alistair said, fumbling a bit to maintain his professionalism.

Lin resumed discussing logistical concerns while Gabriel sat back, observing the exchange. Generally, the managers would engage in the debate, but today was different. Morgan’s frequent absence left the floor to others, and though Alistair usually stepped in as the resolver, he was preoccupied.

Ding!

Another text alert sounded from Alistair's phone. Frowning at the screen, he swiftly silenced his device.

“Let’s continue,” he said, steeling himself for the next hour and a half of the meeting. His phone vibrated on his lap several more times, but he steadfastly ignored it until the meeting finally wrapped up.

As he stood, ready to bolt from the room, he was halted by Gabriel’s voice.

“Alistair, wait a moment.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s about our initial project with the research institute. We aimed for omega suppression agents, but it turns out Crown Authority got involved. Now, we’re obliged to collaborate with Crown on that research, while also looking into some other aspects of the ao relationship,” he explained, purposefully leaning closer as if to share a secret.

Alistair narrowed his eyes slightly. “Let me guess—Harry is on to something else?”

Gabriel managed a tight grin. “Seems you know our manager well—long-time friends and all that.”

“Please tell me he’s not pushing us towards another rabbit hole.”

“Actually, Harry wants to explore the ao relationship from a beta standpoint. Being a beta himself, he thinks that angle might yield better results.”

“A fresh perspective, I can’t fault him for that. Let him give it a whirl.”

“Doesn’t it sound a bit... unfeasible? Most drugs available for betas are casual use, if you consider that they don’t have a heat phase. Yet Harry is considering developing a product to help betas resist false heats triggered by alphas. We’d be stepping into uncharted territory here, Alistair. No existing references, no successful case studies. I can’t say it seems promising. He’s got potential, but this… I just don’t see how—”

“Let him pursue it,” Alistair interjected, brushing off Gabriel’s concerns. “I trust Harry’s capabilities.”

“But…”

“Not an issue. Let him figure it out,” he said before striding quickly out, leaving Gabriel frustrated and rooted in place.

With a resigned sigh, Gabriel pulled out his phone and dialed Harry’s number. “Hey, sleepyhead, you awake?”

Harry Hawthorne was still nestled in bed, bleary-eyed and mumbling through the call. “Mmm…”

“You’re still in bed? It’s nearly noon! Get your butt to the office already.”

“Didn't the meeting wrap up without me?”

“It did, but we still need your input on several matters. Is it too much to ask you to actually show up for a meeting once in a while?”

“That’s totally reasonable,” Harry replied, his tone lazy. “Just handle it for now, okay? I’ll catch some more Z’s.”

With that, he ended the call, leaving Gabriel shaking his head in disbelief.

As he walked towards his office, a passing manager chuckled. “What’s up? Is Harry still snoozing at home?”

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile at the all-too-familiar sight of his absent-minded manager.

Chapter 4

Alistair Winters slammed the door to his office and pulled out his phone, diving into the endless stream of messages buzzing on his screen.

“I want spicy duck feet. Bring me back a pound.”

“By the way, what time are you coming home? Noon or evening?”

“Hey, did you see my texts? Reply when you can.”

“Got your message, hurry up and reply.”

“Oh, and grab me two duck necks.”

“Don’t forget hand-grabbed pancakes.”

“And some sauced ribs.”

“Forget the duck necks, switch them for ten duck bones.”

“Make sure it’s from the third stall across the street. The others can’t compare. Don’t mess it up.”

“Reply when you see this. Seriously.”

Alistair sighed, exasperated by the never-ending barrage of requests. He typed back slowly, “Got it.”

Ugh, why did getting food have to be this complicated?

He tore off a piece of notepaper, jotting down the laundry list of items needed.

Once done, he called out to his secretary. “Please get these and have them delivered to my house. ASAP.”

As she took the paper, she grinned. “This must be for Edward Rowley, huh? You treat your omega really well.”

Alistair nodded, his face unsmiling, but inside, he felt a flicker of satisfaction.

But just a minute later, his phone buzzed again. “Please don’t let your secretary deliver for me. I’d feel so bad.” It was topped off with a blushing emoji.

Now Alistair was annoyed. This little brat knew how to push his buttons.

“Forget the delivery,” he told his secretary.

“Do you want me to order it for you to pick up on your way home?” she offered.

“No need. Don’t give in to him. The more you cater to him, the more demanding he’ll be. He’s always ordering people around.”

“I remember my cravings when I was pregnant—couldn't stop eating for a minute,” she said with a chuckle.

Alistair shot her a look but didn’t reply.

He was firm about not coddling the guy, but despite his resolve, he found himself making the stops to grab everything on the list.

As soon as he walked in, he was met with Edward’s dramatic wail. “Why are you so late? I’m starving!”

“There’s stuff in the fridge. Didn’t I stock it full last night? Why don’t you eat something before complaining?”

Edward waved a handful of fries at him. “I ate everything I could find.”

Alistair snatched the junk food from him immediately. “You really polished off every snack? This week’s goodies and you wiped them out in one sitting?”

Edward pouted and shrugged. “Fine. I’ll just save the rest for tomorrow. Just seal it up for me.”

As Alistair rummaged for a bag, Edward followed behind him, chattering away. “You better seal it tight. If it loses air, you owe me a bag. No, a whole tub.”

He shot Edward a look. “Why don’t you go eat your dinner instead? I bought you stuff besides those ribs. There’s rice and a few dishes, too. The soup is already made.”

Edward reached for the duck feet as soon as Alistair stepped away to fetch the soup. Alistair smacked his hand away. “Eat dinner first!”

Once Alistair came back, soup steaming in his hands, he noticed Edward’s face scrunch up. “Did you hire Agatha Foster just to make ribs? It’s all ribs every day! I’m going to puke from this.”

Alistair didn’t engage, focusing on his own meal. Edward bitched a bit longer before he dug in as well.

After dinner, with no time to waste, Edward was back at those duck feet, chomping away while grumbling, “Didn’t I ask for them spicy? Did you screw that up again?”

“Just don’t eat too much spice,” Alistair replied while clearing the table and washing dishes.

“Without spice, can you even call them duck feet?”

“Then toss them if they’re so disappointing.”

“Why would I waste them?”

“Hey, I finished the next chapter today. When can you type it up?”

Just seeing the draft paper in Edward’s hands made Alistair’s headspin. With that drivel he called writing, somehow managing to post updates daily? It was crazy, and he was still being dragged along for the ride.

But he also knew if he didn’t help Edward out, his partner would holler at him, especially with Edward’s not-so-typical pregnancy energy. So, resigning himself, he reached for the draft.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the pages. “Wait, why does this suddenly turn… h?”

He’d picked up that shorthand from Edward. Initially, he’d resisted adopting that kind of slang, but compared to saying “heat” or “sex,” it was definitely a step up. Still, worrying about being “assimilated” into this quirky lingo left him feeling tense.

“I’ve been laying the groundwork for ages! It had to get to h eventually.”

“But didn’t you already hit h in the first five chapters?”

“It’s five chapters now.”

Well, alright then. It seemed Edward’s thinking was on another level altogether.

Chapter 5

Alistair Winters found himself second-guessing his decision to let Edward Rowley become his omega more than once. Some people just needed to keep their distance, and he was starting to think Edward was one of them.

Last night, Alistair had been swamped, helping him untangle a baffling article to meet a deadline. But now, right before bedtime, he was about to endure another round of Edward's theatrics.

"This is my article! Who do you think you are, changing it like that? You might as well be a typewriter—what do you know about writing? Have you ever seen a typewriter spit out a two when you type one?" Edward was fuming, his round belly protruding as if it were a rebellious balloon. Alistair couldn't fathom why so many pregnant folks turned into exhausted sloths, while Edward seemed to bounce around endlessly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The fiery disputes made Alistair want to yank up his shirt just to verify whether Edward was carrying a watermelon or their unborn child.

"You wrote it like a child! It doesn’t even make sense," Alistair retorted, feeling the regret bubble up in his chest. Why did he even care enough to intervene? Edward had too much time on his hands, and he was the one inviting this kind of trouble.

"It’s my writing! Whether it makes sense to you is irrelevant! I’m happy with it as it is," Edward shot back, rage flooding his voice. Everyone tipped him off about how a pregnant man's temper could escalate, but when it came to Alistair, Edward's irritation surged like a river—uncontained and relentless.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Fine, go ahead and write your little masterpiece. I’m not going to stand over your shoulder anymore. If you want to throw a tantrum over it, be my guest."

Edward blinked, suddenly confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means I’m on strike as your typewriter."

"What the hell?"

Alistair chose to ignore Edward’s shocked look as he grabbed a glass of water and headed toward their room. Edward scampered after him, not ready to let him off the hook.

"Hey, wait! You can’t do this—this isn’t how we agreed!" Edward called out, hustling to keep pace.

"Oh? Then what exactly did we agree on?"

"Come on, don’t play dumb with me! We said I’d write while you’d type it up and publish it! And I even told my readers I wouldn’t ghost them!"

Alistair leaned against the doorway, smirking slightly as Edward’s voice trailed off.

"Oh, you remember that? Then allow me to add to our agreement: you don’t just get to write; you’re supposed to stay home and behave."

Edward sulked, muttering under his breath, "See? This is the problem."

"Say that again? A little louder, maybe?"

Edward had a retort ready, but Alistair cut him off. "Last month, we had to fix the rice cooker and the induction stove. The month before that, it was the washing machine and the AC. Just yesterday, it was the oven again. And let's not even get started on the computer—I’ve lost count how many times I've had to repair that thing."

"That’s because your appliances are ancient! Why are you so stingy? It’s just a few broken gadgets; you’re loaded!"

"Shut it while I’m still talking."

Edward pouted, realizing he couldn’t win this one. Maybe it was just that none of Alistair's stuff was compatible with his parenting style—maybe even Alistair himself was simply a bad fit.

"You fired the nutritionist I hired, just because she wasn’t what you expected. And the cleaning lady? How many of those did we go through, huh?"

"I can cook just fine! I don’t need others meddling!" Edward fired back, exasperated.

"Right, sure. Just as long as you don’t burn down my kitchen in the process."

"Don’t even start—"

"And don’t you dare eat crabs while you're pregnant! Do you even know what you’re not supposed to eat? If the cleaning lady comes to me tomorrow and tells me you ate junk again, you better hold yourself responsible," Alistair snapped before striding away, leaving Edward behind to sulk.

Here they were, arguing about an article and somehow ending up on an entirely different subject. How had it turned into a critique session on his domestic habits?

With a heavy sigh, Edward trudged into Alistair's room and crawled under the covers.

The reason he ended up spending nights here was simple: Alistair had discovered that the seemingly unbreakable Edward Rowley suffered from the occasional night cramp, waking in pain and enduring it all alone. Out of sheer kindness, Alistair had offered to share his room to help ease Edward’s suffering—and that had quickly devolved into Edward taking full ownership, bringing in all his things.

As soon as he nestled into bed, Edward playfully kicked Alistair’s leg. "Hey, you’re not really going to flake on me now, are you?"

“Oh, so now you’re mad about me changing all your precious little words,” Alistair said, barely glancing up from the book he was reading—completely unfazed by Edward's sulking.

"Look, let’s be real. Sure, your changes are a disaster, but—"

"Uh-huh."

"Actually, they’re not that bad now that I think about it," Edward pressed on, forcing the words out as he smiled tentatively.

“Really?”

"Yeah, I mean, maybe... um, you know, there’s potential."

"Is that so?"

“Hey, don’t get too cocky on me. I’m still trying to flatter you here.”

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