29 - Family Secret

It was barely morning when Mia’s eyes cracked open, her nose twitching first—something was different.

The hallway smelled faintly of sandalwood and spice, warm and just a little sharp, like someone had opened a door that should’ve stayed closed.

Ezra’s.

Her heart stuttered.

No. Not today. Not after everything.

She sat up too fast, the cool air slapping her bare thighs. Her black sleep shorts clung to her like a second skin, and her neon green sports bra twisted uncomfortably under her ribs. Sebastian always groaned when she wore this outfit to work outside, muttering things about "taste" and "decency" and "you’re still fourteen, Mia, stop giving me gray hairs."

She didn’t care. There were bigger issues.

She crept into the hallway, and there it was—confirmation. Camden and Caleb were parked like sentries outside Ezra’s door, eyes drowsy, cheeks flushed with warmth and mischief.

One twin’s hand was already on the doorknob.

Mia sprinted, whisper-hissing, “Hey! Stop!”

Camden leapt back like she’d zapped him, and Caleb looked over innocently. “What? We weren’t doing anything.”

“You’re not going in there,” she said, low and firm, herding them away like rebellious ducklings. Her senses were still spiked—the hallway still clung to Ezra’s scent, and beneath it, faint but potent, was lavender, familiar and comforting, though oddly heavier than usual.

Sebastian.

That door had definitely been opened.

“But—” Camden began.

“We wanna cuddle,” Caleb whined, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. “Daddy’s soft in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Camden chimed, “and Dad sings when he wakes up.”

“Well, they’re both asleep,” Mia snapped gently, herding them toward the stairs. “And you’re not about to go in there and ruin it.”

“I’m a tiger,” Camden said, deadpan.

“No, I’m the tiger,” Caleb argued.

“You’re the worm,” Camden shot back.

“Boys,” Mia warned, trying not to grin. “Move.”

Downstairs, golden morning light slanted through the windows like honey. Dust drifted lazily in the air.

The kitchen looked like a war zone of domestic chaos—Toys. A sock on the counter. An empty juice box that hadn’t made it to the bin. The coffee machine was blinking, mid-brew, forgotten.

She grabbed bowls and poured cereal in practiced silence, not needing to ask what kind—the marshmallow dinosaur one that Sebastian hated buying.

“Sit,” she commanded.

The twins clambered onto their stools, bleary-eyed and compliant. She set the bowls in front of them and leaned against the counter with her own, silently crunching.

Then Caleb, spoon mid-air, asked, “Did Daddy sleep in Dad’s bed again?”

Mia choked on her cereal.

“Um.” She swallowed with effort. “Yes. But—you can’t tell anybody that, okay?”

“Why?” Camden asked, milk dotting his chin.

She glanced toward the window like someone might be eavesdropping, then leaned in with wide, conspiratorial eyes. “Because if people find out, the love police will come.”

Caleb gasped.

“Like, real police?” Camden whispered.

“Worse,” Mia intoned gravely. “They drink bitter coffee and wear beige and hate cuddles and they also throw glitter until you cry.”

Horrified delight bloomed across their faces.

“Glitter bombs?” Caleb asked in awe.

“And crocs,” Mia said solemnly. “Beige plastic crocs.”

Camden looked ready to weep. “Oh no.”

“So it’s a family secret,” Mia said, tapping her spoon like a gavel. “No one outside this house hears about Dad and Daddy sleeping together. Swear it.”

“Swear!” they chorused.

She relaxed. “Good.”

A few minutes passed in slurps and crunches, then Camden said thoughtfully, “You look like a superhero.”

Mia raised a brow. “Is that code for ‘you look electrocuted’?”

“Nooo,” Caleb said through a mouthful. “You look like a girl boss.”

She smiled.

The truth? She did feel kind of like a girl boss lately. The group chat she’d started with some girls from school had exploded with gifs, outfit photos, playlists, and chaotic in-jokes. Yesterday, someone asked if they could hang out at her place.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed: “Gotta ask my dad first.”

She hadn’t told them about the house. Or the twins. Or the scent of sandalwood and lavender that clung to every hallway lately.

“Why don’t you ever have sleepovers?” Camden asked suddenly.

“I do,” Mia said. “Just not here. Yet.”

“Because of the glitter police?” Caleb asked, suspicious.

Mia snorted. “No, because I like hanging out with you two goblins.”

Camden blinked. “What’s a goblin?”

“Look in the mirror.”

He giggled.

She stood, scooping bowls with flair. “Clean up. Then cartoons. But first—you’re brushing your teeth.”

Groans echoed.

“I brushed yesterday,” Camden moaned.

“That’s not how teeth work, doofus,” Mia said, hip-checking him gently. “March.”

As they barreled upstairs, laughter trailing behind, Mia paused in the kitchen’s center. The air still smelled faintly of Alpha musk and Omega lavender, softened by morning light.

Upstairs, Ezra stirred, breath dragging deep into his lungs like his body knew what it was reaching for before his brain caught up.

Sebastian was already there.

Curled on his side, facing away, knees tucked in, his scent bloomed rich and floral under the covers—lavender with an edge of something sweeter, sleepier. Ezra reached, instinctive, fingers brushing the soft cotton of Sebastian’s shirt and finding the warm curve of his waist.

Sebastian didn’t move.

Ezra watched the slow, deep rise of his breathing, then slid his hand upward, letting his palm coast over the familiar slope of ribs and the subtle indent where Sebastian arched the most.

A soft noise escaped Sebastian’s throat.

“Don’t start,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and dreamy, “if you’re not gonna finish.”

Ezra smirked, nuzzling in. “Not everything’s about sex, you know.”

“You told my throat a different story.”

Ezra let out a low, pleased growl and pressed his face between Sebastian’s shoulder blades. The scent there was stronger, and he inhaled deeply, almost greedily.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, voice muffled.

“I’m tired,” Sebastian replied. “Different thing.”

Ezra’s fingers flexed slightly, resting on the curve of Sebastian’s hip. “I didn’t like what she said yesterday. Rachel.”

Sebastian rolled onto his back, curls flattened on one side, eyes half-lidded and bloodshot from sleep. Ezra’s scent was already clinging to him, marking him even if there was no bite.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t know how.” Ezra scrubbed his hands over his face. “I froze.”

Sebastian’s gaze drifted up to the ceiling. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“You didn’t deny me. You denied us.”

Ezra sucked in a breath. The air between them pulsed, pheromones pressing close like heat from a fire. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

Ezra shifted, propped on one elbow, his body half-covering Sebastian’s now. He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then his jaw. Then the warm patch of skin just behind Sebastian’s ear.

Sebastian trembled.

“You’re not a secret to me, Sebastian,” Ezra whispered, voice low and unguarded.

“But you want me to be a secret to everyone else?”

Ezra didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nuzzled into the curve of Sebastian’s neck, exhaling warm breath against his scent gland.

Sebastian’s fingers curled into Ezra’s shirt, knuckles white. “They’ll smell it, Ez. They already smell it. Everyone at work keeps saying my Alpha smells good.”

Ezra’s voice turned rougher. “Then we’ll make sure they don’t.”

“See or smell?”

“See.”

Sebastian laughed once, breathless and fragile, then whispered, “Ezra?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

Ezra’s lips brushed the top of his head. “Me too.”

They stayed like that, curled together in morning hush, warm bodies tangled beneath the scent-slick sheets.

Downstairs, a thump echoed, followed by high-pitched giggles and what sounded suspiciously like a cereal box being emptied onto the floor.

Sebastian cracked one eye open. “You think they’re burning the house down?”

Ezra didn’t move. “If they’re not yelling my name, I don’t care yet.”

Sebastian grinned into his chest.

And for now—just now—the rest of the world could wait.