AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 71: The other twin

Timothy stepped onto the stage, boots thudding against the wooden platform as the stadium lights washed over him. The cheers rolled like thunder, loud and proud, but his attention narrowed only to his team clustered at the side. He moved toward them with practiced confidence , shoulders back, chin slightly raised , yet made it painfully obvious that he was not looking at Ryven. Not once. Not even by accident.

The presenter’s voice boomed across the arena.

"And here are the remaining survivors, ladies and gentlemen! Let us give them a round of applause!"

The crowd erupted again, a sea of flashing lights and waving hands. Timothy let the sound soak into him like warm sunlight. This was what he lived for , recognition, validation, the illusion of dominance. His gaze slid sideways until it landed on Hunter.

A slow grin stretched across his face.

"This is only the beginning of the destruction to your fall, Dastins," he muttered under his breath, lips barely moving. The words weren’t meant to be heard, they were meant to be felt. A private declaration of war wrapped in the satisfaction of seeing Hunter stand there without a trophy.

Honestly, I don’t even care if that Ryven guy was the reason we won, he thought bitterly. Seeing Hunter lose... that alone patches the crack in my pride.

Hunter didn’t react.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

He simply faced forward, posture steady, expression unreadable, a wall Timothy couldn’t climb or break. And somehow, that calm irritated him more than any insult ever could.

Then his eyes drifted into the audience.

For a split second, the world dulled, the roaring cheers turning into a distant hum. Among the countless faces, he spotted one he would recognize anywhere ,the familiar hairstyle, the way her shoulders curled slightly inward when she was anxious.

Mother?

His brows knit together. Surprise flickered across his face before he quickly masked it.

What is she doing here? he wondered. Shouldn’t she be in the VIP section?

She wasn’t clapping.

Wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t even watching the stage properly.

Her eyes moved restlessly from left to right, scanning the crowd as if searching for something ,.... or someone. Her fingers clutched her handbag tightly against her chest, knuckles pale under the stadium lights. Even from this distance, Timothy could sense the tension radiating from her.

A strange unease crept into him. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Lately, she had been... different. Distracted. Too quick to change topics. Too slow to meet his gaze. Small things he had brushed aside before now lined up in his mind like puzzle pieces forming an unsettling picture.

What are you hiding, mother?

The applause surged again, pulling him back to the present, but the seed of suspicion had already taken root. Victory suddenly felt less triumphant, the stage less glorious. Beneath the dazzling lights and roaring crowd, a quiet question lingered in Timothy’s chest , one that refused to be silenced.

For the first time that evening, the celebration around him felt... off.

Mrs. Gray paced along the corridor, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, each step louder than the music still echoing faintly from the arena. She didn’t spare the stage a single glance. The cheers, the lights, the celebration ,none of it mattered right now. There were bigger things clawing at her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Her phone vibrated.

A message lit up the screen.

"Oh, it’s so great seeing your fake son on stage, im sure you must be so proud for him hmmm?"

Her heart plummeted so fast it felt like she’d missed a stair in the dark. The word fake burned into her eyes. Her fingers trembled around the phone, nails pressing into the case as if she could crush the sentence out of existence.

Another message appeared before she could even breathe.

"But wait... where is the other twin? Oh, I know , the holding room."

Mrs. Gray froze.

What did he mean by that?

Time didn’t just slow , it stopped.

The hallway blurred around her. Conversations passed by like distant echoes underwater. A full minute slipped away with her standing perfectly still, eyes locked onto the glowing screen, mind scrambling yet finding nothing to hold onto.

The phone dimmed.

For a brief second, darkness reflected her own pale face back at her.

Then it lit up again, another message

"Found him."

A picture followed.

Lucian.

Head bent slightly, eyes focused on his tablet, unaware ,completely unaware , that a storm had just located him. He looked calm. Safe. Ordinary. And that normalcy pierced her like a blade.

Another text arrived.

"I wonder if I should break the news to him first?"

Her breath hitched. The world snapped back into motion with violent force. Sound rushed into her ears, her heartbeat thundered, and panic flooded every vein. It wasn’t just fear anymore , it was terror mixed with guilt, regret, and the crushing weight of years of buried truth.

No.

Not him.

Not like this.

Her mind screamed louder than the arena speakers ever could.

She didn’t think.

She didn’t plan.

She moved.

Her heels turned into a frantic rhythm as she hurried down the corridor, nearly colliding with passers-by who blurred into obstacles rather than people. Her hand clutched the phone so tightly it hurt, but the pain grounded her , reminded her this was real, not a nightmare she could wake from.

I have to reach him first.

I have to.

Her throat tightened as if invisible fingers were closing around it. Every turn in the hallway felt too long, every door too slow to pass. The thought of Lucian seeing that video?, and learning that Timothy is his biological brother?, it twisted her stomach.

If he learned the truth from a stranger...

If his first reaction wasn’t her voice but a cold text on a screen...

No the only time he had learnt the truth could have been day he was buried 6 feet on the ground....

She pushed faster.

The celebration music faded behind her, replaced by the pounding of her own heart ,loud, relentless, unforgiving. For years she had feared this moment in abstract, like a distant storm on the horizon.

Now the storm had her name.

And it was already knocking on the door Lucian sat behind.

Lucian was still at his desk, sliding his tablet into his bag with slow, practiced movements. The distant cheers from the arena trembled faintly through the walls, but in here everything felt sealed off , calm, controlled, almost peaceful. For the first time that night, his shoulders loosened.

Knock.

He paused, fingers hovering over the zipper.

Maybe he imagined it.

Knock. Knock.

This time it was sharper, urgent , the kind of knock that carried impatience and panic all at once

That’s weird ,im not expecting anyone

Outside, Mrs. Gray stood stiff before the door, her knuckles pale from how tightly she had clenched them. Her breathing came in short bursts, eyes flicking down the hallway as if someone might appear behind her at any second. She hadn’t even checked the number beside the frame. Her mind was racing too fast, screaming only one thought: I have to get to him first.

Inside, Lucian frowned and straightened. No one was supposed to be here now. The event was ending. Staff usually sent messages, not knocks. A faint unease crawled up his spine as he stepped toward the entrance.

He reached the handle.

For half a second, he hesitated.

Then the lock clicked.

The door swung open.

Mrs. Gray’s eyes widened.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed in confusion.