บททั้งหมดของ One Night With An Alpha (Omegaverse Series #3) | SPG: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

It had been weeks since I first saw him again, standing across the room like some towering figure out of my past. Jiro Fujibayashi. Even now, I could still feel the pulse of recognition every time I saw him, though I did everything in my power to avoid him. He didn’t seem to remember me—at least, not in any immediate way—but that didn’t mean I could relax. Not when he still looked the same, still had that same powerful presence that made everyone gravitate toward him. It wasn’t like I had a choice. We were working in the same company now, albeit in different departments. I worked in a lower position, focused on project management, while Jiro, as the CEO, hovered above it all. The building, sleek and polished, had a professional air that I tried to keep up, even as I felt my world slowly unravel. Every time I walked through the corridors, the tension in my chest grew tighter, like some invisible force pulling at my heartstrings. At first, it was easy to keep my distance. I made sure

Jiro stood there in the hallway, his eyes instinctively drawn to the child Haru had brought with him. The boy, a toddler, was clutching Haru’s hand tightly, his curious gaze scanning the unfamiliar surroundings of the office. But it wasn’t just the boy’s innocence that caught Jiro’s attention. No, it was something far deeper than that. The child’s features were strikingly similar to his own—more than a mere resemblance, it was almost uncanny. The curve of his jaw, the color of his eyes, even the way his hair framed his face. Jiro felt a strange, unsettling tug in his chest as he stared at the boy, trying to piece it together. His mind raced, but the connection remained elusive. Then there was the scent. The familiar, comforting, and yet strangely intoxicating scent that hung in the air. It wasn’t just Haru’s scent, which Jiro had recognized the moment he walked into the building, but something more, something mingling with it. It took Jiro a moment to realize it: the boy’s scent was

I hadn’t been prepared for this. No one tells you what it feels like when your child is suddenly fighting for their life, when their tiny body is wracked with a fever that burns like fire, when the doctors look at you with that sympathetic, helpless gaze that tells you they’re out of answers. Hibiki had been sick for days. At first, I thought it was just a common cold, something simple that would pass with rest and fluids. But as the days wore on, his condition only worsened. His fever spiked to dangerous levels, and his tiny body became frail, his usually bright eyes dimming with exhaustion. I tried everything I could—medicine, cool compresses, the soothing touch of my hands—but nothing helped. When he collapsed in my arms one morning, I knew something was horribly wrong. I rushed him to the hospital, my heart pounding with fear as I clutched his small form to my chest. The doctors immediately admitted him, running tests, and I felt the panic start to rise in my throat as they mu

Jiro sat in his expansive office, the cold, polished surface of the desk reflecting the quiet hum of the room. It was a rare moment of stillness, but even then, his mind refused to settle. Thoughts of Haru and the boy, Hibiki, had been circling in his mind ever since the unexpected encounter at the hospital. The questions gnawed at him, unanswered, but it was the sense of something deeper—a pull, an undeniable connection—that troubled him most. There was something about the child that felt... familiar. Too familiar. And the way Haru had reacted, so desperate, so fearful... it all pointed to something bigger than a simple coincidence. As he leaned back in his chair, the door to his office creaked open, and his secretary, Tanaka, entered with a folder in hand. He had been waiting for this. Tanaka had been tasked with a delicate mission—gathering all the information he could about Haru Tanaka and his son, Hibiki. It was time to find out the truth. Tanaka placed the folder on Jiro’s des

The transition from a life I had so carefully constructed for Hibiki to this new, unnerving reality felt like I was walking on a tightrope. One wrong step, one moment of weakness, and everything I’d worked so hard to protect could come crashing down. Jiro had promised he wouldn’t disrupt our lives, but watching him in action—how effortlessly he became part of Hibiki’s world—made it harder to stay distant. I couldn’t help but feel the delicate balance slipping from my grasp. It wasn’t long after our conversation, where I had finally agreed to let Jiro see Hibiki, that he began spending more time with him. At first, it was awkward, almost like he was testing the waters. Hibiki, who had grown so used to my presence, was wary of Jiro’s at first. But something in Jiro’s approach was different. He wasn’t forceful. He didn’t try to take control or insert himself in our routine. Instead, he took the time to learn Hibiki’s quirks, his likes and dislikes, the way his eyes sparkled when he was