* * *
“‘The young master of Carlisle rides away, his platinum hair flowing like silk. All who see him are captivated, and he always greets them with a smile. His shining eyes resemble amethysts, and his curved lips are redder than rose petals.’ It’s a line from a bard’s poem, written to honor a hero. It was famous enough to linger in my memory.”
“Hah. So you recognized me the moment you saw my face. Why pretend you didn’t?”
Chester asked, smiling softly.
The omega looked a little flustered and dropped his gaze.
“The directions were urgent… I figured if I made it obvious, you might refuse to help.”
Chester nearly burst out laughing. ‘
This bold little thing.’
He’d faked ignorance just to get directions?
Most people wouldn’t even dare meet the Duke’s gaze—and this one used him as a guide?
Chester wasn’t annoyed.
If anything, he was amused.
“And your name is?”
He deliberately lowered his head to meet the other’s gaze.
As he leaned in closer, the omega’s lips parted slightly.
Chester thought those lips, tinted by the orange glow, were quite beautiful.
“Adam Ross.”
“Good fortune to you, Adam Ross. I’ve suddenly found myself wanting to speak with you a little longer.”
About the garden, about what he’d heard of him… and maybe even a different kind of conversation—one with their bodies.
Chester spread his hand and gently pushed Adam back.
It was a subtle signal for him to leave.
Adam looked a little taken aback.
Moments later, Adam gave a careful bow and turned to walk away.
Chester crossed his arms and kept smiling. The feeling that his brother would like that omega grew stronger.
‘My instincts are usually spot on. I wonder if I’ll be right this time, too.’
Chester watched until Adam’s figure disappeared from view.
The unexpected amusement kept the corners of his lips from dropping.
The room where omegas were selected had a unique structure.
A small window was set at the center of the room, veiled with a thin curtain.
Around the window frame, adorned with floral carvings, were various ornaments—vases carved from red jade, candlesticks made of gold…
Behind the veiled window, a man sat.
e was blond, with red eyes—beautiful, yet exuding a cold aura.
The furrow of his brows added to his sternness, making it difficult for anyone to approach him lightly.
This room was specially designed for choosing a potential partner.
The man sat silently, observing those who passed by the window.
As the sun dipped and stars began to dot the sky, the man thought to himself:
‘What am I even doing here?’
Fatigue weighed on him, and irritation began to stir.
He had been thorough for hours, yet no one had satisfied him.
The man—Duke Isaac Carlisle—found his thoughts drifting to his younger brother, who was conspicuously absent from this ordeal.
It was Chester who’d first suggested bringing in an omega to bear an heir.
He’d said things like avoiding external power blocs and cutting off internal family strife—nonsensical ideas that, oddly enough, were also quite persuasive.
After careful thought, Isaac had accepted the suggestion.
And when he did, Chester had flashed his usual sunny smile and said:
“Pick someone you like, brother. I don’t mind whoever it is.”
At first glance, it sounded like he was being considerate.
But now, with fatigue piling up, Isaac could only think that Chester had simply dumped the responsibility on him.
“Perhaps a short break would help,” came a cautious suggestion.
It was Harry, the butler—and also David’s father—who spoke.
Isaac responded without changing his expression, his lips barely moving.
“No need. Taking a break won’t make it disappear.”
His flat tone was as hard as stone.
Harry instantly realized just how displeased Isaac was.
Having served him since his youth, Harry also knew what to do in moments like these: keep quiet and focus on the task at hand instead of chirping like a bird.
So what Harry did was bring over a scroll, tied with silk ribbon.
Isaac, reclining in his chair, lifted a scarred hand with a flick of his fingers and took the scroll.
“How many are left?”
“Eleven, sir. They’re waiting outside as we speak.”
Isaac read the writing on the scroll with a detached gaze.
Seeing his emotionless face, Harry quietly sighed.
Serving the two brilliant Carlisle brothers had always been his pride.
Arrogant because of their talents, sure—but it didn’t lessen Harry’s affection for them.
Watching them grow into men, he often dreamed of seeing them married to wise and beautiful ladies.
Just imagining it brought tears to his eyes.
But Isaac and Chester thought differently.
They saw marriage as nothing more than a political contract—one that could just fan the flames of power struggles. Isaac had added, to the stammering butler:
‘What we need isn’t marriage or an alliance with another house. We just need a clear successor.’
And so, here they were. Harry’s gaze moved to the scroll that contained the stories of potential omegas.
Isaac had set extremely strict criteria for selecting a bearer of his heir: they had to be a graduate of a good university or of noble blood.
No flaws in appearance or health.
And most importantly—they had to be an omega.
It was said children born of alpha-omega pairings were exceptional.
‘They’ll receive a large sum of money in exchange for giving birth and relinquishing all rights to the child. They mustn’t desire power from the Carlisle family or claim the child as their own. Hm… cold-hearted, these men.’
At that moment, Isaac murmured softly:
“Adam Ross… Who brought this one in?”
Harry quickly searched his memory.
Sharp and seasoned, it didn’t take him long to find the answer Isaac was looking for.
“Recommended by Madam Simone, sir.”
“Ah, Simone…”
Isaac’s expression softened—just a little.
There was a reason why people respected him despite calling him arrogant.
On the battlefield, he always took care of his comrades, regardless of whether they were from a humble rural house or commoners.
If they died, he sent generous compensation to their families. If they survived, he’d invite them to his estate or villa.
“Her husband caught an endemic disease after the Battle of Cavendish… eventually passed away. I remember sending compensation. So it was Madam Simone who sent him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Check how she’s doing. Find a suitable gift as well. Still… for someone from the Simone family…”
Isaac lightly tapped the scroll with his finger.
“He was attending Charlotte Academy but dropped out. Reason: a sick younger sister. Apparently, he came here to save her.”
“…That’s quite unfortunate.”
“Not bad,” Isaac said quietly and slowly.
“If we give him enough money, he’ll give up the child without issue. The more desperate he is, the more obedient he’ll be. I like him.”
“……”
“Let’s have a look at his face.”
There wasn’t a shred of sympathy in his voice.
Though Harry served the man faithfully, even he had to admit: the Duke was as cold as a blade.
Still, he followed the order.
Isaac leaned back and stared forward.
Soon, a man appeared behind the veil.
Isaac peered through a gap in the curtain.
The glimpse he caught showed pale, flawless skin.
The young man’s eyes were cast downward awkwardly, revealing a clear shade of green—and those eyes, in particular, held Isaac’s gaze.
But more striking than anything was the scent—an omega’s scent.
It reminded Isaac of a lush bouquet filled with countless kinds of flowers.
He tilted his head as he breathed it in.
Oddly, it felt like he could see colors swirling before him—amethyst, pearl, silver, rose—washing over the space around him.
He was intrigued.
Rising from his seat, Isaac gave Harry a look.
It meant: ‘Leave us.’
Harry couldn’t hide his surprise.
‘Leave? He never did that with the other candidates…’
‘Did that omega catch the Duke’s eye?’
Harry, puzzled, quickly stepped out.
As the door shut behind him, Isaac rose from his seat at a leisurely pace.
The first thing he did was open the window to let the breeze in.
“Ah.”
A low sound escaped from the man beyond the veil, as if he’d felt the night wind.
Isaac turned his head toward the veil, which had begun to flutter slightly.
“Take off all your clothes.”
He spoke words that should’ve provoked shame, yet his face remained emotionless.
Stepping closer to the veil, Isaac studied the man, who kept his eyes cast to the floor.
The man gripped the hem of his white shirt and took a deep breath.
* * *
