Page 3 of Angel Boy
Two months since he got scent-matched to Ryker fucking Morrison, my goddamnbrother.
I should be happy for Angel. That's what I keep telling myself. Scent matches are supposed to be this huge, life-changing thing, especially for Omegas. It's supposed to be this perfect compatibility, a soul-deep connection, all that romantic bullshit that makes people write poetry and shit.
I'd always known there was an expiration date on whatever Angel and I had. Friends with benefits, nothing more. I'd made that crystal clear from the beginning, even when every instinct I had was screaming at me to claim him, to make him mine in every way that mattered.
But scent matches are rare as fuck, and Angel deserved his happily ever after. So, when the company announced they'd found his perfect match, I smiled and congratulated him and tried to ignore the way my chest felt like it was caving in. Because how could fate be so cruel as to match Angel with Ryker?
I tried to move on. Really fucking tried. But being stationed beside Angel every day, watching him slowly fade from this vibrant, confident person into someone who barely recognizes himself—it's killing me.
Outside of public appearances where they play the perfect couple for the cameras, my brother doesn't spare Angel a glance. No real conversations. No meaningful phone calls. They haven't even slept in the same goddamn space, let alone the same bedroom.
And I know from experience that Angel is touch-starved. He'd never admit it, but I can practically feel his pain and anguish through some bond that definitely shouldn't exist between us. Every time he flinches away from casual contact, every time he curls up smaller in his nest, every time he gets that lost look in his eyes—it's like someone's taking a knife to my chest.
Angel starts his final set, chest heaving slightly as the crowd loses their minds. He flashes that megawatt smile that's made him famous, but I can see the effort it takes. How his shoulders sag the second he thinks no one's looking.
"Did our pretty boy eat today?"
I glance over as Carter, Angel's manager, sidles up beside me. The guy's always been decent enough. He pushes Angel hard but genuinely seems to care about his well-being, even if he sees dollar signs first and person second.
I nod, keeping my expression neutral. "Yes. And I'll make sure he eats something before he goes to bed."
Carter claps me on the shoulder, a wild smile spreading across his face. "I knew your brother hired a good one when he brought you on board."
I twist around to fully look at Carter, confusion creeping into my voice. "What are you talking about?"
I remember getting hired a few years back—the usual security screening, background checks, all that standard shit. It was a few months before I exclusively started working with Angel, though. I'd assumed Ryker had some input in the process since he’s the CEO, but being handpicked by Angel's scent match? That feels... strange.
I know I shouldn't push, but the unasked question will nag at me. I’m not even sure why it’s the question I feel I have to ask, but I don’t believe in coincidences, and Angel finding his scent match in the CEO of the entertainment company seems odd. "When did Ryker find out he was Angel's scent match?"
Carter rubs his beard thoughtfully, like he's trying to pull up some old memory. "I'm not sure... maybe three years ago? A few months after our pretty boy signed on. Ryker mentioned it this morning in one of the board meetings."
My blood runs cold. Three fucking years ago? "Why did he wait so long?"
Carter shrugs, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in my head. "You'll have to ask the boss that. I assume he had his reasons, or maybe he wanted Angel to thrive on his own first? Who cares, right? They're both together now, Angel has never looked better, the money is pouring in—what's not to love?"
Angel has never looked better? The guy's clearly fucking blind. Angel's been fading for months, but no one wants to believe that the money maker of the company is losing his touch. No one wants to see Angel as aperson, as anOmega.If they did, they would realize how little face time Angel even gets with his own Alpha.
My jaw clicks as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see "Head Office" flashing on the screen, and my stomach drops.I have the worst luck.
"Xavier." Ryker's smooth voice fills my ear the moment I pick up. "I need you to come to the back room for a few minutes." Of course, he’s here and not watching Angel’s performance. He never does, really.
"Yeah, sure," I manage, keeping my voice level. The line goes dead, and I shove my phone back into my pocket. "Excuse me," I tell Carter, who's already moved on to chatting up some potential sponsor.
I make my way through the backstage area, past crews breaking down equipment and lingering fans hoping for another glimpse of Angel. The back room is tucked away from all the chaos, one of those private spaces venues keep for VIP meetings and shit.
I step inside to find Ryker lounging back on one of the leather couches, one leg crossed over the other, the Alpha perfectly composed as he always is. Everything about him screams control and money, from his expensive suit to the way he holds himself like he owns every room he walks into.
Which, he probably does.
While I enjoyed staying behind the scenes, Ryker was always the more boisterous one. He wanted to own the entire fucking world when we were kids. We grew apart, and while I had been hired onto the company first before I even met Angel, Ryker easily assumed his position when his last company bought this one. It didn’t matter to me. We barely crossed paths, even if he dictated what was in my contract.
However, now knowing that Ryker knew he was Angel’s scent match this entire fucking time pisses me off.
I manage a small head nod, keeping my expression neutral. "You called for me?"
Ryker laughs, the sound grating against my nerves. "Loosen up a little, Xavi. We’re brothers, after all."
My jaw tightens at the nickname. Nobody calls me Xavi anymore, and hearing it from him feels like a violation. "That was back then, and this is now. You're my boss." It’s the only real relationship we have, and I hate staring at someone who has my face but couldn’t care less about the people he employs.
