AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 59: The hate

" So you can also smell it?" Ethan said, amusement dancing in his eyes while Hunter stood rigid in front of him. "Lucian’s pheromones... so only you and I can smell it." The smirk that followed wasn’t just confidence it was provocation carefully wrapped in charm.

What the hell is he on about? Hunter thought, irritation prickling beneath his skin.

Ethan leaned back against the wall as if the corridor belonged to him, arms loose at his sides. "I don’t know why you’re so agitated about it," he continued lazily. "Or do you wanna punch me again? Like last time?"

Hunter’s jaw tightened. His response came out in Spanish, sharp and cutting. "Hablas demasiado para un bastardo como tú ."

The words were low, but the air shifted as his pheromones slipped free, subtle at first, then heavier, filling the narrow hallway with a tense, metallic edge.

"Listen here, bastardo," he added, voice rough. "Just because Lucian saved your sorry ass doesn’t mean you’re back together."

Ethan chuckled, unfazed. His own pheromones answered instinctively, warmer, heavier, colliding with Hunter’s in an invisible clash that made the space feel even smaller. "Yet he still came to me, Spanish boy," he teased. He pushed Hunter’s shoulder just enough to be insulting rather than aggressive, then straightened his jacket like he had all the time in the world. "Why don’t you focus on your own love life? I’m sure poor Tracy is waiting. Stop playing the victim." His eyes flickered with something sharper. "Don’t forget, Lucian is only suffering because of you."

The words hit like a spark near gasoline.

Hunter’s fingers twitched, every muscle in his arm ready to swing. The urge to wipe that smirk off Ethan’s face burned hot in his chest

—but a crackle of static cut through the tension.

"Hunter? ...Hunter? Where are you? ...Hunter?" The voice in his earpiece echoed faintly, distorted by distance and interference. "Can you hear me?"

Lucian.

Hunter’s glare remained locked on Ethan’s infuriating grin as he fished the earpiece from his pocket and slid it in. "Yes," he answered evenly, though his eyes still promised violence. "I can hear you loud and clear."

"Where are you? You should be on your bike by now heading to the spawn point," Lucian said. Then, after a brief pause, his tone shifted. "And why does this room smell like your pheromones? You can’t just leak them whenever you want."

Ethan clicked his tongue, clearly entertained. "See you at the spawn points, Spanish boy," he murmured, giving Hunter a mocking wink before turning and walking off, boots echoing down the corridor like a deliberate taunt.

"...Who are you with?" Lucian’s voice returned, quieter now, edged with suspicion.

Hunter exhaled slowly, forcing the tension down his spine to settle. He turned in the opposite direction, jaw still tight. "Don’t worry about that, chiquitín," he replied. "It was just a blobfish."

The line was casual, dismissive,but the fury simmering behind his eyes said otherwise.

I will destroy you, Ethan Steel, he thought as he walked, each step measured, controlled. Outside, the engines roared and the crowd screamed for the race to begin.

Inside Hunter, another competition had already been declared,and he had no intention of losing.

The camera lights flickered across the massive screen as the presenter’s voice boomed through the speakers, energetic and theatrical as ever.

"And we are back, ladies and gentlemen!" he announced, the crowd erupting in cheers that rolled like thunder through the stadium. "And now—now we can finally see all the riders heading to their spawn points. And would you look at that... even one of our top dogs has finally made an appearance—Ethan!"

The screen shifted, zooming in on the red bike slicing through the track with practiced ease. Ethan’s helmet reflected the floodlights, his posture steady, confident, like he had never been late, never hesitated, never almost quit. The audience roared louder, chanting his name as if he were already the victor.

From the couch near the back of the lounge, Mason watched in silence.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the cushion, nails digging into the fabric without him realizing. The glow from the television painted his face in shifting colors, red, blue, white, each flash reflecting the storm quietly brewing behind his eyes. He wasn’t really watching Ethan. Not entirely.

He glanced sideways.

Lucian stood a few steps away from the screen, shoulders slightly forward, gaze locked onto the image of the red bike. There was relief there, subtle, almost invisible

but Mason saw it. The small exhale Lucian released. The way his posture softened, just a fraction. The way his eyes followed Ethan’s every movement like a reflex he hadn’t unlearned.

And something twisted inside Mason’s chest.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t explosive. It was quiet, tight, suffocating, like a knot pulling itself tighter and tighter with every second Ethan remained on that screen and every second Lucian kept looking.

So he came, Mason thought bitterly. Of course he did. And of course... Lucian looks like that.

The cheers from the stadium bled through the speakers, filling the room with celebration, but to Mason it sounded like mockery. Like the world was applauding the exact thing he feared most. His jaw clenched. He swallowed, but the irritation didn’t go down with it, it only spread, hot and restless under his skin.

Lucian didn’t notice him. Didn’t notice the shift in the room. Didn’t notice anything except the race... and Ethan.

That hurt more than Mason expected.

Without a word, he pushed himself off the couch. The sudden movement was sharp enough to creak the leather beneath him, but still Lucian didn’t turn. Didn’t ask where he was going. Didn’t even blink.

Mason’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Of course you wouldn’t notice, he thought, a hollow laugh echoing only in his mind. Why would you?

He turned and walked out, each step quiet but heavy, the noise of the broadcast fading behind him as the door swung shut. In the hallway, the cheers became muffled echoes, distant and dull,like a celebration happening in another world entirely.

He paused for half a second, staring at the blank wall in front of him, fists curling at his sides.

The anger wasn’t just at Ethan.

It wasn’t even just at Lucian.

It was at the growing realization that no matter how hard he tried to stand between them, no matter how many times he interfered or schemed or pretended indifference... the space Ethan occupied in Lucian’s heart had never truly been empty.

And Mason hated how clearly he could see it now.