AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 72: Confrontations

Mrs. Gray’s eyes narrowed the second the door opened.

But it wasn’t Lucian.

Old Man Harris stepped out instead, adjusting his glasses as he peered at her with mild confusion. The warm light from inside the room spilled into the hallway, framing his puzzled expression.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

"Huh?... This isn’t Lucian’s room?" she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him.

"Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?" Harris asked politely, though suspicion flickered faintly in his aged eyes.

Mrs. Gray forced a tight smile, one that didn’t reach her trembling gaze. "Oh— no, no, no. I simply got lost. I’ve got to go now." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

She didn’t wait for his reply. Didn’t even allow him the courtesy of confusion. She turned sharply on her heel and walked away faster than dignity allowed.

Only when she rounded the corner did she exhale.

A shaky breath escaped her lips.

’One number off.’

’One small mistake.’

Her heart was still pounding violently against her ribs, her thoughts racing ahead of her steps. She needed to get to the right room , now.

Her phone vibrated.

The sudden buzz nearly made her drop it.

She stopped walking.

Slowly, as if bracing herself for impact, she lifted the screen.

A message.

’Still looking for me? Don’t worry, it was fun playing a game of tag with you.’

Her stomach dropped.

Before she could even process it, another notification appeared. A photo loaded.

Mrs. Gray’s fingers tightened around the device.

It was the person

A picture taken from inside a cab , dim interior lights, blurred city streets through the window.

Another message followed immediately.

’But it’s time for me to head home. We’ll play some other time.’

Her vision blurred slightly as heat rushed to her face.

She was too late.

Again.

The game had never been about her finding Lucian.

It had been about proving that she couldn’t.

Her jaw tightened as she stared at the image, mind spinning with a thousand worst-case possibilities. Whoever this person was, they weren’t just watching.

They were orchestrating.

And they were enjoying it.

Mrs. Gray didn’t know whether she wanted to yell, scream, or break down right there in the hallway.

Her chest felt tight. Her pride , toyed with. Her control ,slipping through her fingers like sand. All day she had been chasing shadows, reacting instead of leading. And she hated that feeling more than anything.

Her fingers tightened around her phone.

"Mother?"

The sudden voice snapped through her spiraling thoughts like a whip.

She gasped and whipped her head around.

Timothy stood a few steps behind her, still in his riding gear, helmet tucked under his arm. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his temple, but his posture was proud , victorious. The echoes of applause still seemed to follow him like an invisible crown.

"Oh— it’s you." She let out a short, breathy laugh, far too high-pitched to be natural. In one swift motion, she slipped her phone behind her back as if that small gesture could hide the storm raging inside it. "You scared me for a bit."

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

He knew that laugh.

He’d heard it before , at business galas, during press scandals, whenever his mother needed to wear a mask quickly.

"What are you doing here, mother?" he asked slowly, studying her face. "Wandering up and about?"

"Huh? ... Oh, about that..." Her eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before she forced a smile. "No need to worry about it. I was just exploring this mesmerizing place."

She gestured vaguely down the hallway as if she had been admiring architecture instead of hunting down a threat.

"Anyways," she continued quickly, stepping closer, shifting the attention away from herself, "congratulations on being first place, son."

Her hands came up to adjust the collar of his jacket , an unnecessary gesture, but something to occupy them. "I’m so proud of you. Keep doing the same thing, and soon you will yield the title of the Regents."

Her voice was smooth now. Controlled. Ambitious.

"Now why don’t you go to your room and freshen up, hmm?" she added, gently but firmly nudging him toward the corridor.

Timothy didn’t move immediately.

He looked at her.

Really looked at her.

Her smile was there, yes , but her eyes were elsewhere. Distant. Guarded. Almost... afraid.

"Okay, alright, mother. I get it," he said lightly.

But instead of walking away at once, he reached out and grasped her hand.

The gesture was simple.

Grounding.

"But please," he added, his voice softening in a way it rarely did, "if there is something bothering you... just tell me, okay, mother?"

For a split second, her composure nearly cracked.

She could tell him.

She could admit that someone was circling their family. That she was in danger. That this victory, this pride, this dominance , it might all be part of someone else’s design.

But no.

If she spoke, she would be admitting she had lost control.

And Mrs. Gray never lost control.

She squeezed his hand back, smile steady.

"There’s nothing to worry about," she said gently. "Focus on your success."

Timothy held her gaze for one lingering moment longer ,as if trying to read what she refused to say ,before finally letting go.

As he walked away, the hallway seemed to stretch wider between them.

Mrs. Gray’s smile slowly faded the second his back turned.

Her phone vibrated again behind her.

And this time...

She was almost afraid to look.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he opened the door.

"Hunter?" he said, stepping aside. "Why did you knock? You could’ve just entered."

He closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Hunter didn’t answer immediately.

He moved deeper into the room, silent, controlled. He shrugged off his jacket slowly, deliberately, and tossed it over the back of a chair. The fabric slid down just enough to reveal the tattoo winding along his arm ,dark ink against pale skin, sharp lines curling like something alive.

Lucian’s gaze lingered on it for a second too long.

Hunter walked toward the desk where the screen still replayed the victory ceremony , flashing lights, roaring cheers, Timothy on the podium. The word WINNER glowed boldly across the broadcast.

Hunter stared at it without expression.

"I... I’m sorry I never told you about that plan," Lucian said, his voice quieter now. "If I had told you, you might’ve started focusing on Ryven and potentially ruin the whole—"

"Do you still care about him?"

The question cut through the room like a blade.

Lucian froze.

The unfinished sentence died on his tongue.

Hunter didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t clench his fists. His face remained almost unnervingly neutral as he turned to look at him.

"Ethan," he said evenly, using the name like a reminder of something buried, "do you still care about him?"

The air shifted.

Lucian’s heartbeat thudded in his ears.

Care?

What did that even mean anymore?

Care about the boy who used to share headphones with him at 2 a.m.?

Care about the rival who now stood on the opposite side of every plan he made?

Care about the person who would destroy them if given the chance?

Lucian swallowed.

"That’s not relevant," he said carefully.

Hunter’s jaw tightened , just slightly. Barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him.

"It’s very relevant."

Lucian looked away first.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Outside, distant cheers still echoed from the event hall. Celebration. Triumph.

Inside this room, it felt like something fragile was cracking.

"I don’t have the luxury to care," Lucian finally said, his voice steady but hollow. "Not anymore."

Hunter took a slow step forward.

"That wasn’t what I asked."

Their eyes locked.

And for the first time since he walked in, there was something in Hunter’s gaze ,not anger.