Chapter Text
It had been years since Daniel had walked the cobbled streets of the English countryside. The county of Wiltshire, straight out of a Victorian dream, held within its corners the villages he had grown up in and from which his family had fled in search of the tranquillity of Australia. Life had been difficult for Omegas in Europe back then, and it hadn’t improved since. Daniel was a Beta, but his parents hadn’t known until he was nineteen and had finally not presented.
The sun was shining brightly in a clear sky, a rare treat at this time of year. October was usually filled with grey clouds and the promise of storms. With a hopeful smile, Daniel walked down the path lined with fruit trees that surrounded the old Leclerc house. Their families had been as close as sisters for as long as Daniel could remember. The air was fresh and sweet, carrying the scent of childhood memories. The humble cottages around him seemed to glow, as if they too were celebrating the brief respite the harsh English weather had granted them.
It had been so many years since he had last visited the cottage with the red doors and large windows that he felt a burst of happiness explode in his stomach.
At last, Daniel reached the doorstep of the charming red-brick house and its once magnificent gardens. Even from the outside, it was clear that the family had seen better days. Where there had once been flowers of every colour, fragrances reminiscent of Monaco, pristine windows and a bright red door, there was now peeling wood, a veranda smothered with more ivy than blossoms, and panes of patched glass.
The door opened slowly, revealing a boyish young man with blond hair. Arthur Leclerc had been barely five years old when Daniel left, and from the defiant look on his face, Daniel was certain he didn’t recognise him. He drew a deep breath to steady the wild thudding of his heart, only to be met by the sharp, distant hint of an Alpha’s suspicion. Had Daniel not been a Beta, the scent might have been unbearable.
"Good morning," he greeted, his body trembling under the weight of all the years that had passed between them.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" Arthur growled, confirming Daniel’s suspicion that he was an Alpha.
Trying not to show his real emotions, Daniel replied,
"I’m Daniel, an old childhood friend."
Arthur stared at him in confusion, as if genuinely trying to dig through his memories to place the stranger in front of him.
"I don’t remember any Daniel."
"You were a child when I left," Daniel explained gently. "I spent more time with Enzo and Charlie."
At the mention of the middle Leclerc, Arthur let out a low, resonant growl. If Daniel had been an Alpha, the sound alone would have sparked a fight; if he’d been an Omega, it would have brought him to his knees. Fortunately, Daniel was a Beta, and his only reaction was to raise an eyebrow and offer a lopsided grin.
Arthur squared his shoulders and held Daniel’s gaze. “What do you want?”
Beyond the door, Daniel could hear the familiar sounds of the kitchen. Mrs. Leclerc had always baked cakes and cookies when they were children. He used to look forward to weekends, when his mother allowed him to have sugar.
“I’ve come to visit,” he said, though his voice faltered.
Behind Arthur, a blonde woman approached the entrance with careful steps. Pascale had always been a beautiful woman, but time had marked her skin, giving her a tired, weathered grace. It was clear life had not been kind to the family.
“Daniel.”
Pascale’s whisper brushed against him like a caress from the past, back when days were simpler, before the things Daniel had tried so hard to forget, but which silence always managed to resurrect.
“Mum! Go back inside,” the younger Leclerc urged, though it came out more as a plea than a command. Pascale smiled softly at her son and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Arthur, darling… it’s Daniel,” she said with a warmth that softened the air.
Arthur immediately deflated, his posture loosening, though his eyes remained fixed on Daniel.
“Come in, please. Don’t just stand there.”
Daniel followed Pascale inside, aware of Arthur’s watchful gaze at his back. The house seemed to slumber, its bare walls and worn floors revealing the scars of time. The air was thick with dust and a lingering gloom.
As he walked down the old corridors, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He fought them back. He could place a memory in every corner: laughing naps on the rug, stolen pastries, summers that smelled of sun and apples. But now everything was cloaked in a shadow of sadness.
Family photographs still lined the shelves: faces once bright with joy and youth, now faded with the years.
Pascale led him into the living room where he used to spend so many afternoons with the family. On long summer days, she would make homemade lemonade while he and Charles talked until sunset. Only Enzo had presented as an Alpha back then.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said, a halo of hopelessness in her voice that her smile couldn’t quite hide. Daniel sighed, feeling a tight knot rise in his throat.
“Can I get you anything?”
Daniel shook his head. He doubted the family had much to offer; the worn furniture and half-empty cupboards made that painfully clear. A spark of anger and uncertainty flashed in his mind. He had known few people more hospitable than the Leclercs. They didn’t deserve what life had done to them.
“How have you been? It’s been so long! The last I heard, you were moving to Australia.”
“That’s right,” he said, forcing away the heavy feeling of helplessness. “We’re doing well. Dad started a company that already has several branches.”
“What wonderful news! And your mother?”
“She’s doing well too. She’s practising medicine again.”
Pascale’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of joy and sadness. “Enzo is in London this week sorting out some paperwork.”
Daniel took her hand gently, giving it a soft squeeze. Pascale attempted a smile, but the melancholy in her eyes betrayed her.
“And how is Hervé?”
Pascale’s gaze dropped to the floor, her lips pressing together. Her expression shifted: raw, hurt, vulnerable in a way that made Daniel instantly regret asking.
Tears gathered in her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice broke.
“Daniel… Hervé passed away a few months ago.”
Shock and grief struck him at once. A sharp pain tightened his chest. He held Pascale’s hand a little more firmly and whispered,
“My God, Mrs. Leclerc… I’m so sorry. Whatever you need…”
The woman shook her head, and this time she managed to force a small smile. “At least we have each other,” she said, her voice threaded with a wistful determination.
“Of course you do,” Daniel agreed softly. “And now… you have me too.”
“You’ve always been a wonderful young man,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too, Mrs. Leclerc. Despite everything, I’m truly glad to see you again.” He hesitated for a second. “Is Charles home? I’d like to say hello.”
A wave of longing washed through him at the thought of the boy who had once been his constant companion. But when he looked back at Pascale, he was surprised to see uncertainty cloud her face.
As Daniel tried to make sense of her hesitation, Pascale bit her lip before speaking.
“Okay… but—” She broke off with a sigh, gathering the strength to continue. “Charles isn’t handling things very well.” The unspoken reference to Hervé’s death hung heavily between them.
She stood and gestured for him to follow. Daniel rose immediately, without a second thought. They climbed to the first floor, stopping before one of the closed doors. In the next room, Arthur watched them with clenched fists and tight lips. There was no mistaking it: he did not approve of his brother being disturbed.
Pascale sighed as her hand hovered over the doorknob, clearly torn between a fierce desire to protect her son and something else Daniel couldn’t yet decipher.
After giving Daniel one last look, Pascale carefully turned the doorknob.
“Charlie? Are you awake?” she whispered, her voice as warm and gentle as Daniel remembered.
“Yes, Mum.”
Charles looked up, his eyes widening, bright with surprise and a flicker of joy when they landed on Daniel.
“Daniel… it’s you,” he murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and something deeper, more fragile.
Daniel stepped closer and sat at the edge of the bed, resting a hand on Charles’s shoulder.
“It’s me,” he said with a sincere smile.
Before he could say another word, Charles threw his arms around him, clinging tightly. Only then did Daniel notice how thin he’d become, the delicate waist, the hunched posture. And there, unmistakable, was the sweet, soft scent only an Omega carried.
A wave of sorrow washed over him as he understood Arthur’s earlier hostility. He only wanted to protect his brother, as if Daniel were a threat. And who could blame him? In times like these, it was hard to distinguish right from wrong when it came to an Omega. The best of men could turn into monsters.
Pascale slipped out of the room to give them privacy, mumbling something about making tea and biscuits. Daniel thanked her with a faint smile, even as the heavy aura of sadness settled around them like dust.
“Times are hard,” Charles sighed. “Ever since Papa died…”
“I’m terribly sorry, Charlie.”
Charles nodded weakly. “So am I.”
Daniel let the silence stretch, giving his friend space. It didn’t take long before Charles spoke again.
"You know… Mum was approached with the idea that I should marry Mr. Marko," Charles said quietly. "He has a lot of money."
Daniel shivered, a cold wave running through his body. Marko had already been an old man when Daniel left England, one known for collecting young Omegas and doing God knows what to them.
Charles’s next words made him exhale in relief.
“Mum refused.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from Pascale,” Daniel said firmly.
“I know, but…” Charles looked away, curling in on himself, a deep frown pulling at his features. “It would have helped. Enzo wouldn’t have had to renegotiate with the bank in London, and Arthur could go to university…”
“Charles,” Daniel cut in, horrified, “none of that matters more than you do”.
Charles looked away, his fingers worrying at a frayed seam on the blanket draped over his lap. His shoulders curled inward, as if bracing for the weight of his own words.
“I wish I could agree with you,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, “but I’ve already made my decision… When Lorenzo returns, in three days, I’ll tell them I’m going to accept Marko’s proposal.”
“No.”
The word tore from Daniel in a low, instinctive growl—raw, immediate. He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the mattress as if steadying himself, his mind recoiling at the life that awaited his friend should he go through with it.
“Give me three days to find another solution,” he pleaded, reaching for Charles’s arm, his thumb brushing the thin fabric of the blanket.
“Daniel, there is no other solution.”
Charles withdrew slightly, though his eyes softened with sorrow rather than rejection. A tremor travelled down his hands.
“Three days, Charles,” Daniel insisted, tightening his jaw. “That’s all I’m asking.”
The air between them pulsed with tension, fragile as glass.
Almost as if the sky wished to anticipate what was about to unfold, the English weather turned somber by mid-afternoon. Heavy black clouds drifted across the heavens, watchful and threatening, laden with the dark promise of an approaching storm. Daniel stepped outside, pulling his coat tighter around himself as the wind slapped at his face with icy fingers. Though he had had the prudence to dress warmly, the cold seeped through every seam with pitiless determination.
At the end of the street, in the farthest corner of the village, stood an old tavern, beside the apothecary and the Letterman bookshop. Daniel paused a moment beneath the creaking sign, recalling how, in his youth, Alphas had gathered here with effortless entitlement. Omegas were strictly forbidden, Betas tolerated only at the margins. The establishment had once been run by a surly man whose name now eluded him; rumor had it the poor fellow had succumbed to drink when the worst years of the crisis came knocking.
Dying in the open was not an option, nor was walking back to the inn where he was staying. And, frankly, he felt the need for something strong enough to steady his thoughts.
He pushed the door open.
The warmth of the room wrapped around him like a time-worn embrace. The tavern teemed with bodies and voices, its air thick and almost tangible. Small groups clustered in every corner, their conversations low and rumbling. The scent of so many Alphas hung heavy in the space; a few Betas dotted the crowd, but not a single Omega was in sight. Some things, Daniel thought as he shrugged off his coat, seemed destined never to change.
“What can I get you?” asked a friendly voice.
Daniel turned toward the bar. Behind it stood a young Alpha, polishing a glass with an easy, unhurried rhythm. His gaze was warm, his smile open, and the lazy slouch of his posture spoke of someone unaccustomed to hostility.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the young man added, leaning forward slightly, curiosity softening his features.
“A beer,” Daniel replied, holding the Alpha’s gaze for a moment before deciding he liked him. “I lived in the area many years ago, but now I’m just passing through.”
“Alex,” the young man introduced himself as he filled the glass. He slid it across the counter with a practiced hand. “I arrived a few years back, bought the place, and never left.”
“And what happened to the previous owner?”
Alex shrugged, as if the matter held no particular importance.
“When I got here, the tavern was already for sale.”
Daniel parted his lips to respond, but the scrape of wood against wood made him turn. Someone lowered themselves heavily onto the stool to his right, the kind of weight that expected the world to shift and make room.
“I’d recommend the whisky, son,” the newcomer declared. By his tone, it was less a suggestion than a command.
Daniel didn’t need to turn his head; the voice alone was enough.
Helmut Marko: unmistakable, unbearable.
“Well, well,” the old man murmured, his eyes fixed on the bottles at the far end of the bar as though they held more secrets than spirits, “haven’t heard from you in years, Ricciardo.”
“Fortunately,” Daniel replied with razor-edged courtesy, “I can say the feeling is mutual.”
Marko barked out a coarse, exaggerated laugh, empty of real amusement.
“A Beta, eh? Always thought you’d turn out an Alpha. But we can’t all have everything in life.”
Daniel straightened, refusing to shrink under any Alpha’s scrutiny. He accepted the whisky Alex quietly set before him and lifted the glass with unhurried insolence.
“A shame about Jos,” Marko added, feigning indifference, though his deliberate tone carried a dangerous undertone. "You must have heard".
“Sorry?”
“You didn’t hear? It was quite the scandal.”
“I’m afraid news doesn’t always make it as far as Australia,” Daniel said with a mocking smile. Marko could be intimidating, he relished it, but Daniel was not so easily impressed.
“Shut up, old man,” growled someone from a few stools down. “If Verstappen hears you’re talking behind his back, you’re finished.”
Verstappen.
A surname Daniel hadn’t uttered in years, yet its echo reverberated through him, stirring memories he thought he’d left buried.
Marko continued, oblivious, or indifferent, to the tension coiling through the tavern.
“Old Jos raised a monster, and the monster ended up eating him.”
“Helmut, enough,” the same man insisted, this time with fear bleeding into his voice.
“I’m even proud,” Marko chuckled darkly, his grin sickeningly smug. “But he did screw me over. Jos had promised me a pretty Omega, but… well, Max doesn't share, it seems. Nevermind, The Leclercs will end up selling me theirs.”
Daniel felt his fists tighten. He recognized a provocation when he saw one, and he refused to give Marko the satisfaction. He clenched his jaw, forced his shoulders to remain still, and kept his gaze steady.
“Well then, I’d better be off,” Marko announced, letting out a gravelly laugh. “I’ve drunk too much, and it seems my presence bothers some people.”
“Wait,” Daniel growled, unable to let him leave without an answer. “What happened to Jos?”
Helmut released a laugh — not cruel out of habit, but genuinely amused, as if Daniel had just delivered the punchline to some absurd joke.
“When lions grow old, they either kill their young… or they’re cast out,” he said, his tone mocking, almost satisfied. “That’s why I’ve never wanted cubs.”
With that, he let a small bundle of notes fall onto the counter, with the same indifference one might use to scatter crumbs, and staggered toward the door, leaving behind a silence as heavy as the storm gathering in the sky.
“I’d advise you,” Alex whispered, voice low and conspiratorial, “not to say that name again. People don’t speak of the Verstappens around here.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re dangerous.”
Jos had been dangerous. Terrifyingly so.
Max…
Daniel refused even to entertain the idea that he might have followed in his father’s footsteps.
Max had been the closest thing to a brother Daniel ever had. They had shared endless laughter, far too many tears, and entire nights built on the naive promise of a better future. Daniel had wiped his blood, stitched his wounds, tended to the bruises Jos left him during those so-called lessons.
It was no surprise the little lion had eventually rebelled. Jos was, without exaggeration, the most despicable creature anyone could have the misfortune of encountering.
Daniel had always resisted seeing anything of Jos in Max, always, even when the signs were there, even when everyone warned him, even when Max presented as an Alpha… and ruined everything.