Alex sat at the edge of the plush leather couch in Eric's apartment, his best friend and only friend, his fingers nervously tapping the side of his knee. Sunlight filtered through the large bay window, casting soft golden light across the modern space. Eric's apartment was sleek and tastefully furnished, all muted greys and polished glass — not exactly cozy, but distinctly Eric.
Eric sat across from Alex, legs crossed beneath him on the couch. He wore a loose, black sweater that hung off one shoulder, exposing a pale line of collarbone. Eric had all the traits of a dominant omega — delicate yet strikingly captivating, with fine-boned features, soft skin, and a petite frame that made him stand out even in a crowd. His beauty was the kind that turned heads effortlessly, drawing attention without him even trying. His silver-blond hair fell in gentle waves around his face, and his pale blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes, seemed to shimmer under any light. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, the kind that made it clear he knew exactly how much power his looks and status gave him.
Eric's appearance sometimes caused misunderstandings when he was with Alex. Since Alex had a more neutral, beta-like appearance — taller but not particularly broad, with soft, understated features and an air of quiet reservation — people often assumed they were a couple. It wasn't uncommon for betas to date omegas, even though they couldn't produce offspring together. Only an alpha could impregnate an omega male.
But Eric knew Alex was an omega too. In fact, Eric had insisted on various occasions that even if Alex were a beta or even an alpha he would still not feel attracted to him because all he could see him as was a friend. Alex felt the same way about Eric.
"You look like hell," Eric said bluntly, breaking the silence.
Alex sighed. "Thanks. I feel like hell."
Eric's eyes narrowed. "Is this about that guy you were seeing? Damien?"
Alex dragged a hand through his hair. His shoulders sagged. "Yeah."
Eric leaned forward. "What happened?"
Alex hesitated. His chest tightened at the memory. It felt raw, too recent to touch without pain. "We… spent a week together," Alex began, his voice low. "It was… intense. Passionate. The kind of thing you think only happens in books or movies."
Eric's brow lifted. "Intense how?"
Alex's lips quirked upward despite the ache in his chest. "The kind of intense where you don't want to leave the bed for days. The kind where you talk all night and still feel like you haven't said enough. He made me feel things I have never felt before. You know I only sleep with guys when I have my heat, but he made me want to be with him all the time."
"Damn!" Eric marvelled. "So, what happened?"
Alex's expression darkened. "He…just disappeared."
Eric's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Did he say why?"
Alex shook his head. "No. He just…stopped answering my calls. My texts." He leaned back against the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. "I left my information with the hotel in case he came back. But it's been a few days."
"Maybe he's busy," Eric suggested. "He could've had an emergency."
"Maybe." Alex's hands tightened into fists. "Or maybe he didn't care as much as I thought he did."
"You don't believe that," Eric said, studying his expressions.
Alex's throat tightened. No, he didn't. Damien had looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He had touched him like he was afraid Alex would disappear. None of it had felt like a lie.
"I'm actually kind of worried about him," Alex admitted. His voice was quiet, almost fragile. "What if something happened to him?"
Eric watched him carefully. "What are you thinking?"
Alex exhaled slowly. "I'm thinking about hiring a private detective."
Eric's eyes widened. "Seriously?"
Alex nodded. "Yes. I… I don't know what else to do. I just need to know he's okay and understand why he disappeared like that."
Eric sat back, crossing his arms. "Do you even know enough about him for that?"
"No. That's the problem."
Eric raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know his last name," Alex admitted, his face heating with shame. "I don't know where he lives, what he does for work, or if he has family. We… talked a lot, but not about things like that. We never even took a picture together."
Eric let out a low whistle. "So you're telling me you spent a week with this guy, practically attached at the hip, and you don't even know his full name?"
Alex's lips tightened. "Yeah."
Eric sighed. "Well, that's not great."
"I know." Alex's shoulders slumped. "I just… I need to find him."
Eric looked him for a long moment, then said. "I know someone who can help you."
Alex's head snapped up. "Really?"
Eric nodded. "Yeah, but he's overseas right now. Won't be back for another two weeks."
Alex's heart sank. "Two weeks?"
"Do you want help or not?"
Alex hesitated. Two weeks felt like an eternity, but he didn't have many options.
"Fine," Alex said, even though the idea of waiting two more weeks made his chest tighten.
Eric smiled. "Good. Now stop stressing. You'll drive yourself crazy."
Alex laughed quietly. "Too late."
Eric grinned. "Yeah, well, you've always been a little dramatic."
Alex smiled faintly, but the ache in his chest remained. Two more weeks. He would survive.
Maybe.
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Alex's family had been surprisingly quiet since he returned home. He wasn't included in the business meetings or the dinners with Mr. Sandbrook. That suited him just fine.
He knew very little about Mr. Sandbrook — only that he was a wealthy alpha, ruthless in business, and nearly thirty-five. Alex didn't want to get involved with this man in any way so he was relieved to be left out.
But staying home all day, thinking about Damien, was driving him insane.
So, he decided to find a job.
Alex had always loved cooking — it was the one thing that made him feel like himself. His dream had been to become a chef, but his family's expectations had crushed that early on.
But, he had found his way back to his old dream once he left to study in a different city. And now he was decided to pass the interview as a waiter at this new and hot restaurant, Magnolia.
The restaurant was sleek, and highly exclusive. Since he rarely socialized with his family and almost never attended parties or public events with them, Alex had been certain that none of the wealthy patrons frequenting the restaurant would recognize him. His family's presence at high-profile gatherings was well known, but Alex had always preferred to stay in the background, unnoticed and unimportant.
What truly excited him about the restaurant was the chef. The head chef had a reputation for being one of the best in the city, known for innovative dishes and an uncompromising standard in the kitchen. Alex had dreamed of working under someone like that, learning firsthand from a true master of the craft. He knew it wouldn't be easy — chefs of that caliber demanded perfection — but Alex was ready for it. He would first start working as a waiter and then make his way into the kitchen!
Determined to avoid any association with the Masterson name, Alex had applied for the job under the name Alex Smith. The Masterson name was too well-known, tied to wealth, power, and influence. If anyone connected him to his family, they would undoubtedly treat him differently — either with exaggerated deference or cold suspicion. Alex didn't want any of that.
When he walked into the interview, nerves churned in his stomach. The restaurant itself had a chic vibe, with dark wood paneling and soft golden lighting that gave it an understated elegance.
Alex sat across from the restaurant's manager, his hands clasped on the table.
"You have experience?" the manager asked, glancing at his résumé.
"Yes," Alex said calmly. "I've worked in a few kitchens and waiting tables before."
"Why did you leave your last job?"
Alex's mouth twitched. "Personal reasons."
The manager studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled. "Well, your background is solid. And we're short-staffed. And on top of that you are a beta."
Alex's heart jumped with excitement.
"You start tomorrow," the manager said, standing.
Alex stood, too. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," the manager said. "This place is hell during dinner service."
Alex smiled. "I'll survive."
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Two weeks passed.
Alex adjusted quickly to the pace of the restaurant. The work was brutal — long shifts, demanding customers — but he thrived under the pressure.
He started on the floor, waiting tables, but he knew his goal was the kitchen.
The head chef took notice of him after a week. Alex stayed late, watching the kitchen, asking questions. Slowly, he started helping with prep work.
He found solace in the rhythm of it — chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, tasting spices. Cooking grounded him, made him feel like he was in control.
But Damien lingered at the edges of his mind.
He dreamed about him. Waking, sleeping — it didn't matter. He saw Damien's smile when he closed his eyes. Heard his laugh when things were quiet.
Damien had left a hole in his life. And Alex wasn't sure how to fill it.
After the dinner rush one night, Alex sat at the back of the restaurant, having a cup of tea. His feet ached, and his arms were sore from carrying heavy trays all night.
Eric's message buzzed on his phone:
My guy's back in town. Can meet tomorrow. Let me know.
Alex's heart pounded. Tomorrow.
He stared at the message for a long moment before replying:
Yeah. Let's do it.
He set the phone down and leaned back, closing his eyes. His pulse hammered beneath his skin.
He would finally get answers.