Arion didn’t answer, didn’t smile, and didn’t even slow down.

The distance between the door and the window vanished in a fraction of a second. Before Andrea could fully register the movement, before his arrogant smirk could even decide whether to remain on his face, Arion’s hand locked around his throat.

Arion lifted him.

Andrea gasped, a wet, choked sound, his hands flying up to claw instinctively at Arion’s wrist. His expensive leather shoes kicked uselessly as they left the carpet. The pale gray fabric of his collar crumpled under the crushing, unbreakable force of Arion’s grip.

The room instantly flooded with the suffocating weight of Arion’s pheromones, cold, sharp, and entirely merciless. It was a predator’s aura, powerful enough to knock a weaker omega to the ground and violent enough to instill stark, primal terror in Andrea’s wide eyes.

There he was.

Not the beautiful creature trained for court, nor the rare dominant omega polished by generations of family ambition.

Just a body raised from the floor by the throat after he discovered the edge of someone else’s restraint and discovered it had teeth.

Arion watched him struggle with a calm so absolute it looked inhuman.

"You were warned," he said.

Andrea tried to speak, but nothing came out except a broken rasp.

Arion’s grip tightened by one careful degree.

"After the dress," Arion continued, voice low. "I warned you not to turn Dean into a surface for your resentment. You chose to make his engagement party your stage."

Andrea’s nails scratched against his wrist. Arion did not feel them.

"After the field, I warned you again. I told you not to mistake rarity for immunity. You chose to risk soldiers, civilians, Thomas, and the central line because your pride could not bear duty without applause."

Andrea’s face flushed, then paled, breath dragging thinly past Arion’s fingers.

"And now," Arion whispered, "you put Dean’s name on a leak."

Andrea’s eyes watered. His mouth opened, gasping for air, for words, for the clever little technicalities that had once kept him alive in rooms where people cared about manners.

Arion had no manners left for him.

"You thought the documents made you powerful," Arion said. "You thought Caelan’s rot was ammunition. You thought if the public heard Dean had been offered, evaluated, discussed, and placed in drafts beside men twice his age, they would laugh at him. Pity him. Doubt me. Doubt Thomas."

His thumb pressed lightly beneath Andrea’s jaw, forcing his head higher.

"You are stupid."

Andrea’s eyes flashed through the fear.

Even now.

Even choking.

Pride still tried to breathe before he did.

Arion almost admired the persistence.

"You are right about one thing," Arion said. "The dominant omega within you will not lose much."

Andrea stilled as much as he could.

Arion’s mouth curved.

It was not a smile.

"Not personally. Not immediately. You are still rare. Still useful to someone. Still politically salvageable if stripped of field access and moved far enough away from this palace. Your designation will protect parts of you that your judgment no longer deserves."

Andrea’s fingers trembled against his wrist.

"But your family?"

The terror sharpened.

Arion saw the exact moment Andrea understood that immunity did not extend as far as blood.

"Well," Arion said softly. "That depends on whether your family matters to you."

Andrea tried to shake his head. Or nod. Or speak. The motion was useless and frantic.

Arion lowered him an inch, just enough for a thread of air to pass more cleanly.

Andrea dragged in a ragged breath.

"Your family concealed sealed foreign drafts," Arion said. "They held them through a multi-country inquiry. They attempted to route cropped fragments through media intermediaries to destabilize a royal wedding and damage the future consort of Alamina."

Andrea choked around a word.

Arion leaned closer.

"That is treason."

Andrea’s lips parted. "Arion—"

The use of his name was a mistake.

Arion slammed him back against the glass.

The window shuddered under the impact, reinforced panes humming faintly through the frame. Andrea’s breath broke on a cry, the sound strangled under Arion’s hand.

"Your Highness," Arion corrected.

Andrea’s eyes widened.

"All those years in court, and you forgot etiquette at the worst possible moment."

Andrea’s hands clawed harder, but panic had made him clumsy. The polished dominant omega, who had once believed he could slice people apart with implication, had nothing left but fingers against Arion’s wrist and feet searching for a floor he no longer touched.

Arion’s pheromones pressed lower.

Andrea’s body reacted despite him. Dominant omega or not, rare or not, he was still an omega trapped under an alpha’s controlled violence, and there were old biological laws beneath all the pretty language of modern monarchy.

His throat worked under Arion’s palm.

Arion saw humiliation enter the fear and grinned.

"Thomas canceled the bond agreement," Arion said.

Andrea froze.

For a moment, even his struggling faltered.

Arion watched the sentence cut deeper than the hand at his throat.

"Yes," he said. "He is done with you. Did you think he lied?"

Andrea’s breath hitched.

"That means Rohan will not be receiving you as Thomas Lancaster’s mate," Arion continued. "You no longer have him to punish, no longer have his patience to hide behind, no longer have his honor to twist until it looks like obligation."

Andrea stopped fighting as Thomas’s name hit harder than the glass.

The struggle drained out of him in ugly, disbelieving fragments. His hands remained locked around Arion’s wrist, but the frantic violence behind them faltered into trembling disbelief.

"No," Andrea rasped.

The sound barely existed.

Arion studied him with terrifying calm.

"No?" he repeated softly. "You think Thomas owes you a future because he tolerated you longer than others would?"

Andrea swallowed painfully against the hand at his throat.

"He—" His breath broke. "He wouldn’t—"

"He already did."

Arion watched the devastation land.

Arion tilted his head slightly, observing the fracture spreading through Andrea’s expression.

"You mistook restraint for weakness," he said. "Thomas loved you enough to keep trying long after any sane person would have walked away."

Tears started falling from those beautiful deep blue eyes, but Arion didn’t feel anything.

"He blames himself for your actions," Arion said.

Andrea made a small, broken sound around the pressure of Arion’s hand.

Arion looked at him for another second, then released him.

Andrea hit the floor like a sack.

His knees struck first, then one hand, then the rest of him folded down with none of the elegance court had spent years teaching into his bones. He coughed violently, one hand flying to his throat, red hair falling forward to hide his face as he dragged air into his lungs in ragged, humiliating pulls.

Arion looked down at him.

"Well," he said, adjusting his cuff with slow care, "there are other matches waiting for you. I’m sure your family, if they survive, will know what to choose for you this time."

Andrea’s head snapped up.

The terror in his eyes sharpened into something more naked.

"No."

Arion’s mouth curved slightly.

"Do not look so offended," he said. "You taught everyone exactly how you understand value."

Andrea’s lips trembled. "You cannot assign me like—"

"Like what?" Arion asked softly.

Andrea went silent.

A wise choice made far too late.

Arion took one step closer. Andrea flinched back on instinct, one hand still around his throat, his body folding away from the shadow Arion cast over him.

"Say it," Arion said. "Say the word."

Andrea’s jaw tightened.

"Like property?" Arion continued. "Like an asset? Like a stabilizing solution with a body attached? Like a rare designation to be moved where it benefits a family most?"

Andrea’s breathing shook.

Arion’s eyes remained cold. "Interesting. You understood the obscenity perfectly when you imagined yourself beneath it."

"I am not Dean," Andrea whispered.

"No," Arion said. "You are not."