The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist
Chapter 67: The Bonk of Love & The Chamber of Hormonal Doom

Chapter 67: The Bonk of Love & The Chamber of Hormonal Doom

[Inside Rynthall Estate—Hallway of Hormonal Doom]

The grand marble corridor of the Rynthall estate was glowing.

Not with candles.

Not with magic.

With pheromones.

Thick. Potent. Tangible in the air. Like someone had sprayed cologne and heartbreak across the entire west wing.

Seraphina gagged the moment she stepped in. "Oh. My. God."

She stumbled slightly, bracing herself against the wall. Her knees wobbled. Her entire spine protested. "It’s like... I walked into a beach made of lust and longing!"

Callen, already pale from two straight hours of emotional crisis management, rushed to her side. "My lady!" he caught her before she could slide to the marble floor like a stunned swan. "Please, the pheromone density is extremely volatile."

Seraphina took a deep breath, slapped her cheeks, and stood straighter. "I’m fine. I’m—fine. I’ve been through wars. Tea parties with idiots. I can survive this."

Lucien stepped forward, his hand cradling the curve of his belly, eyes sharp as a dagger dipped in milk tea. He looked at the massive double doors at the end of the hall.

"Did you clear every omega from the estate?" he asked firmly.

Callen nodded. "Yes, my lord. Everyone. Even the staff. We’re down to two terrified maids, a rabbit, and me."

Lucien gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Then I will handle—"

"NO!" Seraphina barked like a panicked general in a perfume war.

She gripped Lucien’s hand tightly, her expression equal parts horror and big-sister fury. "Are you insane? Do you even know what an alpha in rut does?! It’s like locking yourself in a room with a hungry dragon in heat!"

Lucien blinked calmly. "But he is my husband."

"And you’re pregnant!" she shrieked.

Lucien didn’t flinch.

But Callen tried to step in with diplomacy. "My lady, forgive me, but Lord Lucien is the only person—"

BONK.

Callen saw stars.

Because Seraphina smacked him on the head with her fan.

"Shut up, you idiot! You’re making this worse!" she hissed.

Callen was surprised and rubbed his scalp. "She...she hit me...she hit..."

Lucien turned to Seraphina, voice soft but unwavering. "Sera... this isn’t a joke. I know what I’m doing."

Seraphina looked like she was about to combust. "Lucien... Physicians will be here soon. They’ll sedate him. Or at least tie him to the bedposts—"

"I know," Lucien said quietly.

"Then why?! Why walk into a storm wearing nothing but stubbornness and silk?!"

Lucien reached forward, gently taking her hands in his.

"Because he needs me. My husband needs me, Sera..."

Her breath hitched. "But he betra—"

"I know, and I’m angry at him," Lucien admitted. "I’m furious, and I feel like punching him. He hid things from me. But not to harm me. To protect me. To protect our child. Everything he did... it was for us."

Seraphina’s lips trembled. "But—he’s in rut. what if he... what if he hurts you—"

"He won’t." Lucien’s voice was iron and velvet. "Even in rut, even drowning in instincts—Silas would never hurt me. Not me. Not Wobblebean."

Then...

"Alright, just don’t do anything reckless," she muttered.

Lucien gave her a soft, crooked smile. "I am something reckless."

And with that, he stepped forward, his silk robe swishing, baby bump, and pheromones swirling around him like the sea parting for its moon. "I will handle everything from here."

The heavy doors closed behind Lucien with a soft, ominous thud.

Like a fairytale ending.

Or the beginning of a hormonal apocalypse.

Seraphina stood there for a long moment, eyes glued to the sealed chamber like she could somehow will it to behave. Her fingers were clenched so tightly her knuckles had turned aristocratic white.

She exhaled slowly. Her shoulders dropped.

And then...

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. A swaying, dazed sort of movement—like a ghost who’d just woken up from a three-hour nap and hadn’t figured out where reality was.

It was Callen.

Still rubbing the exact same spot on his head.

Still blinking like he was trapped between dimensions.

"Callen?" Seraphina asked cautiously, narrowing her eyes. "Are you dazed from the pheromones or just... just broken?"

Callen turned to her slowly, as if rotating on invisible hinges. His face... dreamy. His eyes? Glazed. His mouth? Slightly open in a dumb smile that screamed, "I have thoughts, and they’re mostly stupid."

"My lady..." he whispered reverently.

Seraphina took a step back. "Y-yes?"

Callen placed a hand dramatically over his heart, as if he were about to recite an epic poem that didn’t rhyme.

"No one has ever hit me like that."

Seraphina blinked. "Pardon?"

Callen’s eyes sparkled. "That fan strike? On the head? It was like destiny hitting me with a shooting star made of noble fury."

Seraphina frowned deeply. "I hit you because you were being dumb."

"I know!" he beamed. "And it was the most beautiful moment of my life."

"...Are you—"

"My lady," Callen said suddenly, stepping forward like a man possessed. "I believe I have fallen in love with you."

. . .

. . .

The hallway went silent.

Even the dust in the air paused.

Seraphina stared at him like he’d just proposed to her using mashed potatoes.

"...Excuse me?"

"I’ve fallen in love with you," he repeated with a dumb little bow, like he thought this was a scene from a romantic play and not whatever this mess was.

Seraphina’s soul momentarily tried to vacate her body.

"Are you serious? You fell in love with me... because I hit you?"

Callen nodded, starry-eyed. "Love can happen at any moment, my lady. A breeze... a look... a noblewoman nearly fracturing your skull with a jeweled fan..."

Seraphina stared into the metaphorical camera of life.

"...I should’ve aimed harder."

But Callen wasn’t done. Oh no.

He took another step forward like a lovesick golden retriever with a thesaurus.

"My lady... Would you do me the honor... of accompanying me on a date?"

Seraphina turned away, already walking.

"Shut. Up."

"Tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow? Morning? Afternoon? How do you feel about rooftops and soup?"

"STOP FOLLOWING ME, YOU IDIOT!"

"Lunch? Brunch? I’ll bring a knight helmet in case you want to hit me again—"

BONK.

Another fan strike to the head.

Callen saw stars again.

Real ones. He may have even named one after her in that exact moment.

"My lady..." he slurred with a lovesick smile, wobbling slightly. "You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry..."

Seraphina didn’t even dignify that with a response. She simply picked up her skirt and stormed down the hall like a thundercloud in heels.

"EVERYONE IN THIS ESTATE IS CRAZY!" she yelled as she disappeared around the corner. "I SWEAR TO THE GODS—NEXT TIME I’M BRINGING A NET!"

Callen clutched his heart and sighed dreamily.

"...That’s a yes. That was definitely a yes."

***

[Rynthall Estate – Inside the Rut Chamber]

While Callen fell in love with a single BONK outside...

Inside the chamber of chaos, another kind of storm was brewing.

Lucien wobbled as he stepped in, one hand braced against the thick door. The moment it sealed shut behind him with a soft, echoing click, he knew—he felt—he wasn’t just walking into a room.

He was walking into a cyclone.

The air was thick.

Blue breezes floated in swirling, slow-motion spirals—cold, fragrant, unnaturally soft—and yet somehow they hit him like waves. Like he had opened the door to the sea itself.

His breath caught in his throat.

Too rich.

Too heavy.

Too Alpha.

Pheromones rolled through the air like invisible lightning, humming across the floor, brushing over Lucien’s skin, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand tall.

Even for a bonded pair, it was overwhelming.

But for a pregnant, unmarked omega?

It was a trial by fire wrapped in flowers.

Lucien staggered for just a second, clutching his belly and whispering, "Easy now, Wobblebean... we’re okay... we’re fine... mama’s got this..."

His gaze lifted—

And there he was.

Silas.

A mess of sweat, muscles, and wrecked composure sprawled across the center of the bed like a fallen god. His shirt was gone, tossed somewhere during the storm. His breathing was wild. Uneven. Like each inhale cost him the last of his willpower.

And his eyes—

Red.

Blazing.

Beautiful.

Deadly.

They locked onto Lucien the second he entered.

And for just a flicker of a moment... Silas looked like he forgot how to breathe.

"Si..." Lucien whispered, stepping in slowly. "Si—Silas..."

Silas turned sharply toward him, every muscle in his body tensing like a bowstring pulled too tight. His voice came out hoarse—torn between warning and plea.

"Luce... leave."

Lucien flinched. Just slightly.

But he didn’t stop walking.

"I SAID LEAVE," Silas growled again, this time louder—rougher. His voice cracked halfway through, almost like he hated hearing himself say it. "I... I can’t control it right now. My instincts—they’re... louder than me."

Lucien’s steps slowed, but they didn’t stop.

"I’ll be fine," Silas huffed, eyes already glowing too hot. "Just a few days—just until this passes. I won’t forgive myself if I hurt you... or our child. So please—for the love of all that’s holy—just go."

But Lucien moved forward anyway. And then he did the most outrageous thing a pregnant omega could do in front of a rutting Alpha:

He plopped down on the bed.

Right beside him.

Silas practically levitated.

"LUCEIN—!"he barked, voice caught somewhere between agony and desperation.

But Lucien held up a hand. Calm. Firm. Unshakable.

"No," he said. "I’m not going anywhere."

"Lucien..." Silas warned, his body trembling now—his fists clutching the bedsheets to keep himself grounded. "Don’t do this. Please. I’m begging you."

"I trust you," Lucien said quietly, like a spell.

Silas’s breath stopped.

"I know what this is. I know you’re in rut. And I know what that means. But even like this—even now—you would never hurt me."

Lucien’s hand gently pressed to his own belly. "You’d never hurt our child."

Silas closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

Lucien leaned in, his voice a little shaky, a little breathless—but brave.

"I can handle you, Silas Rynthall. Rut and all." He exhaled. "Just be... gentle. Please."

Silas’s eyes snapped open.

Dark red and glowing like wildfire. And then—with a sound that was half a growl and half a surrender—Silas reached forward and grabbed Lucien’s wrist.

In one smooth, fevered motion, he pulled him into his arms.

Lucien fell against him, breath hitching, their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces made from heat and history and heartache.

"You chose this," Silas muttered into his hair, voice broken, raw, aching. "You chose this, Lucein. Do’t regret."

Lucien, his heart racing but steady, his hand still protectively over his belly, whispered back into his chest—

"I won’t regret it."

The air crackled.

The chamber pulsed.

And outside the door... all was still because the night is longer.