In the luxurious, immaculately organized office that echoed with wealth yet lacked warmth, Kang stood motionless by the window. His eyes tracked the figures of Davey and Jain as they receded into the distance, disappearing into the curve of the street. The earlier moment—fleeting but piercing—played back in his mind. The child's laughter, Davey's awkward composure, the strange use of the word "Mother." It didn't add up.
Behind him, Ron was quietly organizing the small medical kit, moving with a calm familiarity that belied the storm beginning to build inside the alpha at the window. Ron, usually quick to read his Master's moods, remained oblivious to the charged silence. The idea that Jain could possibly be Kang's child seemed absurd—impossible, even. He had noticed the boy's features earlier, found them oddly familiar, but Kang's detached courtesy toward Davey had made him dismiss any such suspicion. Surely, if there was a connection, Kang would have sensed it. Wouldn't he?
But then—
"Ron," Kang said, voice low and dangerously smooth.
Ron stopped mid-motion, the sterile cotton in his hand forgotten. Slowly, he turned to face his Master.
Kang held up a sealed plastic bag. Inside it rested a bloodied cotton ball—small, innocuous, but suddenly heavy with implication.
"Send this for a DNA test," Kang instructed coldly. "Priority. I need results as soon as possible."
Ron blinked, momentarily stunned. "Master? A DNA test?" He looked at the bag again. "But… I don't understand. You can't possibly think Davey… Davey wouldn't—"
He paused, lost in the enormity of what was being implied.
"I've known him for seven years, Master. He's not capable of…" Ron trailed off. He wasn't even sure what he was defending against.
Kang's eyes, usually calm and composed, now smoldered with something primal—an alpha's fury, restrained but volatile. The shift was almost violent. His posture remained poised, but there was nothing peaceful about him now.
"Enough, Ron," Kang said, his tone razor-sharp. "I have given you an order. Fulfil it."
Ron swallowed his protest. He had seen this side of Kang before—once decisions were made, they were immovable. There would be no point arguing.
"Yes, Master," he replied softly, bowing his head and accepting the plastic bag with both hands.
He turned toward the door, but Kang's voice stopped him again.
"And Ron," the alpha said without turning, "how do you know Davey?"
Ron froze. The question hung in the air, heavy, pointed, and unavoidable. He had known it was coming. He'd rehearsed a version of the truth—a carefully sculpted narrative that left out the most dangerous parts.
He turned slowly, choosing his words with care.
"We were… acquaintances, Master. Seven years ago. Before I joined the Yakuza," he said. "We were friends, of sorts. After I joined, we drifted apart. Haven't spoken in years."
He left out everything that mattered: the starlit nights, the tentative smiles, the shared vulnerability, the touches that lingered too long, and the kisses exchanged in secrecy. All of it had belonged to another life—one that could not exist in Kang's world.
Kang studied him for a long, unsettling moment. Ron held his breath.
Then Kang nodded, curt and dismissive. "Very well. Go now. Bring me the report as soon as it's available. I want it, and I do not want to wait three days."
Ron bowed again and left swiftly. His thoughts were a whirlpool of dread and conflict. He knew the lab wouldn't be able to produce results overnight—not even for Kang. But he would try. He would pull every string, make every call. Because while he owed Kang loyalty, a part of his heart—a foolish, stubborn part—still belonged to Davey. And the thought of Davey being pulled into Kang's unforgiving world as his mate filled Ron with a sense of unease… and something deeper. Jealousy.
---
Back at the modest, cluttered apartment, Davey knelt before Jain with a forced smile and trembling hands.
"Honey," he said softly, "remember what I told you earlier? About not telling Mom about… about Uncle Kang?"
Jain, always eager to please, nodded with wide, solemn eyes. "Yes, Uncle Davey. Secret."
Davey gently ruffled his hair, his smile bittersweet. The day had been too close—far too close to disaster.
As the hours passed and the golden haze of afternoon deepened, Davey paced restlessly. The encounter haunted him—Kang's voice, his expression, and especially the intensity in Ron's gaze. Had Kang suspected? Had he noticed the resemblance? Davey's lies had held, but only just.
The past pressed heavily against the walls of his mind. And then—he felt small arms around his waist.
"Uncle," Jain's voice was muffled against his shirt, "will you tell me Dad's story now? Like you promised?"
Davey exhaled shakily. He had promised.
He sat on the worn couch, pulling Jain into his lap.
"Okay, little man," he said, his voice low. "Your father… he was a brave man. He went away on a very important mission. A mission with many people. Very powerful people."
Jain listened intently.
"Your father, he worked under their leader," Davey continued. "And… there was an uncle there too. A very handsome uncle."
His voice faltered. His mind slipped, confused by memories. He was speaking of Ron now—of someone who had once meant everything to him.
"This uncle… he was very kind to me. So kind. But now… he doesn't talk to me anymore. And I… I liked that uncle very much…"
"Davey!" Shan's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
Davey looked up, startled.
"What are you doing?" Shan asked, his tone sharp. "What are you telling Jain?"
Davey froze. His tongue felt heavy, dry. He'd stumbled. Spoken too freely. Jain looked from one adult to the other, nervous.
"Mom, don't be mad at Uncle Davey," he said quickly. "He's telling me about Dad. And… and you know, Mom? Today, when we met Uncle Kang…"
Davey's heart stopped.
"…it made me think of Dad," Jain continued, innocently. "Wouldn't it be nice if Dad was like Uncle Kang? Uncle Kang was strong, and… and he helped me."
Shan sat down heavily beside them, pulling Jain into his arms.
"Jain…" he whispered. "What did you say? Who did you meet? Who is Uncle Kang?"
Jain's eyes widened. He bit his lip.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Davey," he said. "Did I mess up? Did I tell Mom?"
Davey sighed. The damage was done.
"It's okay, honey," he said gently. "It doesn't matter. Why don't you go do your homework now?"
Jain nodded and scampered off, leaving the two adults in a silence thick with anxiety and unspoken truth.
"Don't scold Uncle Davey, okay?" Jain called back. "He was just telling me about Dad!"
The door to the next room clicked shut.
Davey looked at Shan. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
The truth was now trembling at the edge of exposure.
And time—three days, perhaps less—was no longer on their side.
Scene: Kang's Private Office – Late Evening
The room is dimly lit, the amber light of the setting sun casting long, dramatic shadows over the sharp lines of Kang's office. The silence is thick, almost reverent, broken only by the faint rustle of paper as Ron enters, holding a manila envelope close to his chest.
Ron (softly, respectfully):
"Master Kang. The results are in."
Kang stands facing the tall window, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the cold glass. He doesn't turn.
Kang (calmly):
"Read it."
Ron opens the envelope with practiced fingers, but when his eyes scan the contents, his breath catches audibly.
Ron (after a long pause):
"The child… Jain… he's yours."
Kang doesn't move. His silhouette remains still, a towering figure etched in dusk.
Kang (quietly, almost to himself):
"I thought so."
Ron (carefully):
"Do you… do you know who the mother is?"
There's a long silence. Then Kang turns slowly, his expression unreadable. He walks to his desk, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface like he's grounding himself.
Kang (with clipped honesty):
"I have no idea who I slept with that night."
Ron (confused, startled):
"You don't…? But—"
Kang (cutting in, voice sharp but cold):
"I was in a rut. A brutal one. I remember the heat, the scent of an omega… but everything else was fog. No voice, no name, no face. When I woke up—nothing. Just an empty bed and a lingering absence."
Ron (softly):
"But what if it was Davey…?"
Kang's eyes darken—not in anger, but in deep thought. He leans against the desk, folding his arms, speaking slowly.
Kang:
"If it was Davey… I wouldn't mind."
That statement makes Ron freeze. His hand tightens around the envelope. He doesn't respond right away.
Kang (tilting his head, voice thoughtful):
"He's beautiful when he's scared. Do you know that? Not fragile—resilient. But there's something about the way he holds Jain… Like he's built an entire life around protecting that boy. There's a softness in him I didn't expect."
Ron (quietly, trying to mask his feelings):
"You think he's the one?"
Kang (shrugs):
"I'm not sure. He's hiding something, that much is obvious. But is it his truth, or someone else's?"
He steps closer to Ron now, closing the distance between them until they're almost face-to-face. His voice drops to a near whisper.
Kang:
"But if it was him… if that night, that omega, was Davey… then I don't regret it. I wouldn't regret any of it."
Ron looks away, jaw clenched. The past claws at his insides—memories of whispered laughter, hidden kisses, long nights tangled in dreams they never had the courage to make real.
Ron (forcing neutrality):
"Master… I don't think it's him. He's not… that type."
Kang (coolly):
"Is that what you want to believe? Or what you hope?"
Ron flinches.
Kang (soft but firm):
"You were close to him, weren't you? Before. Before all this. I've seen the way you look at him."
Ron bites the inside of his cheek, hard.
Ron (lowly):
"It doesn't matter anymore. That's in the past."
Kang:
"Is it? Then why do you look like that when I mention his name? Why does your voice change when you talk about him?"
Ron looks away, unable to meet his eyes.
Kang (stepping back, more composed now):
"But that past is irrelevant now. If Jain's mother is truly someone else… hiding out there… I will find them. No one hides my blood from me."
Then, as an afterthought—one sharp enough to cut:
Kang:
"And if Davey is the one I slept with… if he is the one who carried my child… then he belongs to me now."
Those words land with deliberate cruelty. Ron stiffens, every emotion he's buried clawing up his throat.
Ron (quietly):
"I understand, Master."
Kang (turning back to the window):
"Good. Then prepare the car. I'm going to see Davey."
Ron bows slightly, his face blank. But inside, something shatters.
As he turns to leave, he doesn't see the flicker in Kang's eyes—the mix of doubt, hunger, and something dangerously close to longing.