Chapter Text
The speedometer hit 160, then 170. Diesel's hands were shaking on the wheel, but he pressed harder on the gas anyway.
His phone wouldn't stop buzzing in the cup holder. Dream's name kept lighting up the screen, over and over. Call after call. Diesel didn't even look at it.
"We're just fucking fuckbuddies. That's it. Did you really think—" Lukjan's voice kept replaying in his head, that cruel little laugh at the end. "God, you're so pathetic."
The worst part? She'd said it in front of everyone. Her friends, his friends, random people at the bar. All of them watching as Diesel stood there like an idiot, trying to process what she was saying.
Fuckbuddies
She'd fucked him two nights ago. She'd asked him to, she'd slapped him after, hard enough that his face stung, and he'd taken it because—because that meant something, right? That meant she felt something.
Apparently not.
His phone buzzed again. Dream's call. Diesel grabbed it and threw it into the passenger seat without looking.
The road blurred. His eyes were hot and wet and he hated it, hated that he was crying over this. Over her. Over someone who apparently never gave a shit about him in the first place.
Maybe his suppressants were wearing off. He was due for another dose tomorrow. Everything felt too overwhelming. His skin was crawling and his chest hurt and he couldn't breathe right and—
The intersection came out of nowhere.
Or maybe he just wasn't looking.
Diesel saw the red light for half a second before his brain caught up, and then he was slamming on the brakes, but the car was going too fast, way too fast, and the tires screamed and the wheel jerked in his hands and—
CRASH.
The world went sideways. Glass exploded. Metal crunched. His head snapped forward and back and his seatbelt caught him so hard it knocked the air from his lungs.
Then everything stopped.
Diesel sat there, gasping. His ears were ringing. Something warm was dripping down his face—blood, probably. The airbag had deployed, deflating now against his chest. His hands were still on the wheel.
His phone was ringing again from somewhere in the wreckage.
Dream.
Diesel started laughing. It hurt. Everything hurt. But he couldn't stop.
Of course. Of course this was how tonight ended.
He could hear shouting outside. People running toward the car, yelling about calling an ambulance.
Diesel closed his eyes.
Now his dad would be pissed, he hoped he didn't wake up.
The sharp pain hit him first. A pounding ache that made everything else fade to background noise. Diesel opened his eyes slowly, wincing as the fluorescent lights stabbed into his skull.
His head was wrapped in bandages. He could feel them, tight and scratchy against his skin. When he tried to lift his hand to touch them, his ribs protested.
Right. The crash.
The door opened.
Diesel's entire body went rigid before he even saw who it was. He knew those footsteps.
His father closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, looking at Diesel like he was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
"Look at you," his father said finally. "Pathetic."
Diesel stared at the ceiling. Didn't move. Didn't speak. He couldn't bring himself to.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" His father's voice was quiet. "Videos are already circulating. My son, an omega, crying over some alpha at a club and then crashing his car into a wall like a goddamn idiot."
Diesel's jaw tightened.
"And of course you were off your suppressants, weren't you? I could smell it on you when they brought you in. Probably going into pre-heat, making a fool of yourself. Just like your kind always does."
"I wasn't—"
"Shut up."
Diesel shut up.
His father moved closer to the bed. Diesel could see his hand flexing at his side, like he was deciding something.
"You are a disgrace. An embarrassment to this family. I have spent years—years—managing your behavior, covering for you, keeping you out of the headlines. And this is how you repay me?"
Diesel said nothing. He'd learned that nothing was usually the safest answer.
Apparently, it wasn't safe enough today.
"I asked you a question."
Silence.
The slap came hard and fast, right across the same cheek that still had the cut from the crash. Diesel's head snapped to the side, stars bursting behind his eyes. The bandages pulled. Something warm trickled down his face.
"When I ask you something, you answer me."
"Yes sir," Diesel managed. His voice came out hoarse.
His father straightened his jacket, perfectly composed again. Like nothing had happened.
"You're eighteen now. An adult. Which means I can't cover up your doings by saying he's still a kid." He pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at it, then put it away. "I've made arrangements."
Diesel's stomach dropped.
"What kind of arrangements."
"You're getting married."
The heart monitor beeped faster. Diesel tried to process the words, but they didn't make sense. Didn't fit together right.
"You're—what?"
"You heard me. I've found you a husband. An alpha who's agreed to take you off my hands and get you under control." His father's expression didn't change. "This is happening, Diesel. The contracts are being drawn up. When you're discharged, you'll come home, and you will meet him. And then you will do exactly what he tells you to do."
"You can't—"
"I can. I have." His father turned toward the door. "Your husband will make you get your act together. God knows I've tried and failed. Maybe an alpha with actual authority over you will have better luck."
"I'm not—"
"This isn't a discussion." His father opened the door. "Three days. Then you come home and start acting like the obedient son you should have been all along."
The door clicked shut.
Diesel lay there, breathing too fast, his cheek throbbing where his father had hit him. The bandages on his head felt soaked. Everything felt too tight.
Married.
No, it wasn't a marriage.
He was being sold off to some alpha he'd never met because his father couldn't stand having a son who didn't know how to behave.
His phone had to be here somewhere. In his belongings. He needed to call Dream. Needed to talk to someone who didn't look at him like he was a failure.
But he couldn't move. Couldn't do anything except stare at the ceiling and feel his suppressants wearing off, feel that familiar crawling sensation under his skin that meant he was overdue for his next dose.
He wondered if his new "husband" would hit him too.
Probably.
Diesel closed his eyes and waited for the pain medication to kick in.
The three days crawled by.
They gave him some medical suppressants on day two, the kind you only take after a prescription from the doctor since they are very strong, after a nurse noticed his scent starting to sweeten. Diesel took them without complaint and felt the numbness settle back over him like a blanket.
His phone sat on the table next to his bed, screen cracked from the crash but still functional. The nurses had brought it with his other belongings. Wallet. Keys. The shirt he'd been wearing, cut open by the paramedics and stuffed in a plastic bag.
Diesel didn't touch the phone for the first day and a half.
When he finally picked it up, the screen lit up with notifications. Fifty-three messages. Twenty-two missed calls. All from Dream.
He scrolled through them slowly, his chest getting tighter with each one.
14:00
11/02
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
Dream
1d
The messages went on. She'd called the hospitals. She'd apparently threatened to come to the hospital if he didn't respond. The last message was from this morning.
Dream: i know youre reading these. i can see you online. if you dont want to talk thats fine but just let me know youre okay please
Diesel stared at the message for a long time.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He should respond. Should tell her he was fine, that he was sorry for ignoring her, that everything was just—
But then he'd have to tell her about the marriage. About his father. About all of it.
And he couldn't. He didn't have the words. Didn't even know how to start. So he locked his phone and put it back on the table, screen down.
Dream kept messaging. He watched the notifications light up the back of the phone, over and over. She was worried. She cared. She was probably the only person in his life who actually gave a shit if he lived or died.
And he still couldn't bring himself to answer.
By day three, the messages had slowed down. Just one in the morning.
Dream: okay. i get it. but im here when youre ready.
Diesel read it and felt something crack in his chest.
He put the phone in the drawer of the bedside table and didn't look at it again.
The room was quiet at night. Just the hum of machines and the occasional footsteps of nurses in the hallway outside.
Diesel couldn't sleep.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd find out who the fuck his father had sold him to.
His head didn't hurt as much anymore. The bandages had been changed. His ribs were still sore but manageable. Physically, he was healing.
Everything else felt like shit.
He kept replaying it. Lukjan's face. That little smirk she'd had when she said it. Just fuckbuddies. Like it was obvious. Like he was stupid for thinking it was anything else.
Maybe he was stupid. Maybe that was his problem.
He'd thought—God, he didn't even know what he'd thought. That when things got rough between them it meant she felt something? That the intensity meant it mattered? He'd taken every touch, even the ones that hurt, as proof that she wanted him. That she cared.
Turns out it wasn't even want. Just convenience.
Diesel had never understood love. His parents sure as hell didn't love each other. They stayed married for appearances, for his father's reputation, for his mother's career. His mother loved her work more than she'd ever loved him. His father loved his image.
And Diesel? Diesel had thought maybe Lukjan was it. That finally someone saw him as more than just an omega, more than just a problem. But she'd seen him as exactly what everyone else did. Something to use and throw away. And she made it very clear from the start but—fuck! Why did he act so blind in love?
Fuck her. Fuck all of them.
He wondered what kind of alpha would agree to this arranged marriage bullshit.
Someone his father picked. Someone willing to take on a mess like Diesel. That alone told him everything he needed to know. No decent alpha would agree to marry someone they'd never met unless there was something in it for them.
Money, probably. Or connections. His father had plenty of both to offer.
Would this asshole hit him too? Probably. Alphas liked obedient omegas, and Diesel had never been obedient in his life. Maybe that's what his father was counting on. Someone who'd beat him into submission since dear old dad couldn't manage it himself.
Or maybe the guy would be worse. Cold. Indifferent. Just lock Diesel up somewhere, keep him drugged on suppressants, and only drag him out for public appearances. A trophy omega to parade around at events.
Either way, Diesel was fucked.
Legally bound to some random alpha who saw him as a problem to solve. A broken thing to fix.
He thought about running. He had some savings. He could get on a plane right now, go somewhere his father couldn't reach him.
But where? And for how long? His father had connections. And Diesel was an omega. Unclaimed, unmated, eighteen years old. He'd be a walking target. Everyone would either want to drag him back to his family or take advantage of him themselves.
He was screwed either way.
The suppressants made everything feel flat. Distant. Like he was watching his own life happen to someone else. Maybe that was better. Maybe feeling nothing was better than feeling this.
Dream's message sat in his phone, unanswered.
She'd be disappointed in him. She was always saying he deserved better, that he was worth more than how people treated him. Dream didn't have it easy either, he knew that. Beta or not, she had her own shit to deal with. But at least she hadn't been sold off like fucking livestock.
Diesel rolled onto his side, careful of his ribs, and stared at the wall.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd know who it was. What kind of alpha had agreed to take his father's worthless omega son off his hands.
Tomorrow his life would officially stop being his own.
He wondered if it would hurt less than this.
Probably not.
The hospital discharged him in the morning. A nurse wheeled him to the entrance even though he could walk fine, hospital policy or whatever. It's obvious his dad just didn't want him running away. His father's chauffeur was waiting outside, holding the car door open.
Diesel got in without a word.
The drive back was silent. The chauffeur didn't try to make conversation, which was fine. Diesel stared out the window and watched Bangkok pass by. People going about their normal lives. Must be nice.
When they pulled up to the house, his stomach twisted. The gates opened automatically and they drove up the long driveway. Diesel had grown up here. Hated every corner of it.
The chauffeur opened his door. Diesel got out, his ribs protesting slightly, and headed for the entrance.
His father's car wasn't in the driveway. Not home yet, apparently.
Two of the maids were waiting in the foyer when he walked in. They both gave him polite smiles, the kind that didn't reach their eyes.
"Khun Diesel," one of them said. "Welcome home. We've been instructed to help you prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"Your bath, khun. And we have clothes laid out for you. Your father wants you ready by two o'clock."
Diesel stared at her. "I can shower by myself, thanks."
"Your father insisted—"
"I said I can do it myself." His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. "I don't need help bathing like I'm five years old."
The maids exchanged glances. The older one stepped forward. "Khun Diesel, please. We have our orders. If you would just—"
"No." Diesel backed up a step. "I'm not—I don't need you following me into the fucking bathroom. I can handle it."
"Your father was very clear—"
"I don't care what he said." His heart was beating too fast now. They were going to follow him. Watch him. Treat him like he couldn't even take care of himself, like he was some helpless omega who needed supervision. "Just—just leave me alone."
The younger maid pulled out her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, khun. But we need to inform your father if you're refusing."
"Don't—" But she was already dialing.
Diesel's chest tightened. No. No no no. She was calling him. His father was going to know he was already causing problems and he wasn't even home five minutes and—
The maid spoke quietly into the phone, too low for Diesel to hear. Then she held it out to him.
"He wants to speak with you."
Diesel's hand shook as he took the phone.
"Hello?"
"What did I tell you about getting your act together?" His father's voice was cold. "You've been home for less than ten minutes."
"I just—I don't need help showering, I can—"
"You will do exactly what the staff tells you to do. They are there to prepare you for your meeting. You will let them help you, you will wear what is selected, and you will be downstairs at two o'clock. Am I understood?"
Diesel closed his eyes. His throat felt tight.
"Am I understood, Diesel?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. And Diesel?" His father's voice dropped lower. "Your future husband will be here in three hours. If you embarrass me today, there will be consequences. Don't test me."
The line went dead.
Diesel stood there holding the phone, his hand still shaking. The maids were watching him, waiting.
He handed the phone back.
"Fine," he muttered. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."
The older maid nodded, her expression looked pitiful. "Thank you, khun. If you'll follow us upstairs."
Diesel followed them up the stairs, feeling like he was being led to his own execution.
The maids led him to his bathroom where the tub was already filled, steam rising from the water. They'd added something to it. Oils, maybe. It smelled expensive.
"We'll help you undress, khun."
"I can—" Diesel stopped himself. His father's voice was still echoing in his head. Don't test me. "Fine."
He let them help him out of his clothes, gritting his teeth through the humiliation. Stood there naked while they guided him into the tub like he was a little kid who didn't know how to do anything himself.
Maybe he was.
The water felt hot. But Diesel sank into it anyway and tried very hard not to think about what was coming in three hours.
The bath didn't last long. The maids scrubbed him down efficiently, like they were preparing a doll for display. Diesel sat there and let it happen, staring at the tile wall and trying to detach himself from his own body.
When they finally let him out, wrapping him in a towel, he thought maybe he'd get a minute alone.
He didn't.
They led him to his bedroom where more staff were waiting. Someone had laid out clothes on his bed. A suit. Pastel blue, perfectly pressed. Soft and delicate colours.
Diesel stared at it.
Is this something his mother would choose? Probably did choose, knowing her eye for this sort of thing.
Did she even know? That her son was getting married off to some stranger?
Had his father told her, or did she just not care enough to ask?
When was the last time she'd even called him?
Diesel couldn't remember.
Had she ever cared? Really?
"If you'll sit here, khun," one of the maids said, gesturing to the chair at his vanity.
"For what?"
"Your makeup."
Of course. Because apparently he couldn't even meet this alpha looking like himself. Had to be prettied up first. Made presentable.
Diesel sat down.
An older woman with a makeup kit stood in front of him. She started working on his face without asking, tilting his chin up, dabbing something under his eyes. Foundation. Concealer to hide the bruising that was still fading on his cheek.
The maids moved around him, one of them working on his hair with a blow dryer. The noise filled his head, made it hard to think.
All Diesel wanted was for them to get the fuck out. Just leave him alone for five minutes so he could lock the door and scream. Or cry. Or both. Break something. Throw shit around his room until his throat was raw and his hands hurt.
He wanted to lose it. Completely. Just start shouting until they all backed away.
For a minute, he actually considered it.
Just standing up. Shoving them all toward the door. Locking it behind them and letting himself fall apart the way he needed to.
But then he thought about his father. About that phone call. About the look on his face in the hospital and the slap that still stinged.
If you embarrass me today, there will be consequences.
Diesel would die. He'd actually die. His father would kill him, or close enough to it that the difference wouldn't matter.
So he sat there. Let them paint his face and style his hair and turn him into whatever version of himself was acceptable enough to present to his future—
He couldn't even think the word.
The makeup woman stepped back, examining her work. "Perfect," she said softly.
One of the maids helped him into the suit. Buttoned his shirt. Adjusted his collar. The fabric was soft and expensive. It fit perfectly because of course it did. His father wouldn't half-ass this.
They stood him in front of the mirror.
Diesel looked at himself and didn't recognize what he saw.
The bruise on his cheek was gone, hidden under layers of makeup. His hair was styled, swept back from his face. The pastel blue suit made him look softer somehow.
He looked exactly like an alpha's wet dream.
Diesel's hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Beautiful, khun," one of the maids said. "Your father will be pleased."
Diesel said nothing. His throat felt tight.
They started gathering their things, preparing to leave. The makeup woman packed up her kit. The maids smoothed down their uniforms.
"Do you think I'm pitiful?"
The words came out before Diesel could stop them.
Everyone froze.
The maids looked at each other. The older one's expression softened slightly, something like sympathy crossing her face.
"Khun Diesel—"
"Never mind." He turned away from the mirror. "Just get out."
They hesitated for a moment, then quietly filed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them.
Diesel stood there in front of the mirror, perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, and felt something hot building behind his eyes.
He wanted to scream.
But his father had probably come home by now. And in less than an hour, some alpha he'd never met would walk through the door and Diesel's life would be over.
So he took a breath. Blinked back whatever was threatening to spill over. Smoothed down his suit jacket even though it didn't need smoothing.
And told himself he could fall apart later.
If there was a later, that is.
Diesel made his way downstairs at exactly two o'clock. Each step felt heavier than the last.
His father was waiting in the sitting room, the formal one they only used for important guests. He was on his phone, scrolling through something, but looked up when Diesel entered.
His father's eyes swept over him, assessing. Looking for flaws.
"Come here."
Diesel walked closer, stopping a few feet away.
His father stood, circling him once. Diesel kept his eyes straight ahead, jaw tight.
"Acceptable," his father said finally. "Though I expect you won't need this much makeup to cover your mistakes in the future."
Diesel said nothing.
His father moved to stand in front of him, adjusting Diesel's collar even though it was already perfect. "Listen to me very carefully. Khun Theerakit will be here in thirty minutes. When he arrives, you will greet him politely. You will sit where I tell you to sit. You will speak when spoken to. You will not cause a scene."
"I won't—"
"I'm not finished." His father's hand tightened on his collar. "You will be respectful. Polite. Everything a proper omega should be when meeting their future husband. You will not embarrass me the way you embarrassed me at that club. You will not throw a tantrum. You will act like you have some semblance of self-control."
Diesel's hands were shaking. He put them behind his back, pinching the skin on his wrist.
"This is your chance to show that you can be salvaged. That you're not a complete waste." His father let go of his collar, smoothing it down. "Khun Theerakit is doing me a considerable favor by agreeing to this arrangement. He has a reputation to maintain, and he's willing to take on a damaged omega with a public scandal already attached to his name. The least you can do is show some gratitude."
"Gratitude," Diesel repeated flatly.
"Yes. Gratitude." His father's voice dropped lower. "You know what will happen if you fuck this up, don't you?"
Diesel's throat went dry. He nodded.
"Say it."
"I know."
"You know what?"
"I know what will happen if I mess this up."
His father studied his face for a long moment. "Good. Then we understand each other." He checked his watch. "Twenty-five minutes. Go sit by the window. Look pleasant. And for once in your miserable life, try to act like you were raised properly."
Diesel moved to the window seat, the one that overlooked the front drive. His father returned to his chair, picking up his phone again.
The room was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Diesel sat there in his pastel blue suit, makeup covering his bruises, and waited for his future to arrive.
Khun Theerakit.
At least he had a name now. Not that it meant anything. He still didn't know who the hell this person was, what he looked like, what he did. But his father was speaking about him like he was someone important and influential. He wouldn't speak with that kind of respect in his voice unless the person had real power.
Which meant Diesel was even more fucked than he thought.
Fuck.
Was this really it? Was this actually how his life was going to go?
Sitting in expensive suits waiting for some alpha he'd never met to show up and claim him like property? Pretending to be grateful for it? Playing the good little omega while his father sold him off to the highest bidder?
Diesel stared out the window at the empty driveway.
Twenty-five minutes until his life stopped being his own.
Twenty-five minutes.
Diesel tried to focus on that. Twenty-five more minutes before—
A car pulled into the driveway.
His stomach dropped.
It was early. Way too early. The meeting wasn't supposed to happen for another twenty minutes at least.
But there it was. A Bentley, sleek and black, rolling up the drive. Behind it, two more high-end cars followed. Mercedes, maybe. Diesel couldn't tell from here and he didn't care.
Of course they were early. Of course they couldn't even give him the full twenty five minutes. Fuck them. Fuck all of this.
He couldn't look. Couldn't bring himself to watch whoever it was step out of that car. If he didn't see them, maybe it wasn't real yet. Maybe he could hold onto these last few seconds before his life became someone else's property.
He heard the car doors opening and closing. Voices outside, muffled through the windows.
His father stood up abruptly.
Diesel had never seen his father look nervous before. Ever. But there it was—something tense in his shoulders, the way he straightened his tie, smoothed down his jacket. Like he was the one being inspected.
Who the hell was this guy that even his father looked worried?
"Stand up," his father said quietly.
Diesel stood. His legs felt unsteady. He wanted to tell his father to go fuck himself. Wanted to stay in his seat and make this as difficult as possible.
But his father's voice from earlier echoed in his head. You know what will happen.
Yeah. He knew.
"Look presentable."
Diesel kept his eyes on the floor. The polished marble. He could see his own reflection in it, distorted and blurry. He looked pathetic. He felt pathetic.
Footsteps approached the front door. The staff would be greeting them, leading them inside. Any second now and Diesel would have to look up and see the face of whoever had agreed to take his father's fucked-up omega son off his hands.
This was it.
The door to the sitting room opened.
Diesel forced himself to look up.
Three people walked in.
The first was a woman. She was striking, the kind of beautiful that didn't fade with age. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. She moved with the grace of someone who'd spent their whole life being watched. There was warmth in her smile, but it was practiced.
Behind her came a man who looked like he could end someone's life with a phone call. Sixties, maybe older, with silver threading through his dark hair. Everything about him screamed power—the way he stood, the way his eyes scanned the room like he owned it. The air felt heavier when he walked in.
And then.
Him.
Tall. Easily over six feet. Broad shoulders that filled out his black suit perfectly. His face was sharp, defined. High cheekbones, strong jaw. His dark hair was styled back, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes were fixed directly on Diesel.
He was definitely older. Not very old, but there was something in his face that said he'd lived more years than Diesel. The way he carried himself, the confidence that came with age and experience.
This was Khun Theerakit.
This was who his father had picked.
"Khun Thara," the woman said warmly, moving forward. "Thank you so much for having us."
Diesel's father returned her smile, the public one. "Khun Natlada, the pleasure is ours. Please, sit."
They all settled into the sitting area. Diesel's father gestured for him to sit on the smaller sofa. Diesel did, hands folded in his lap.
Khun Theerakit took the armchair across from him. He still hadn't said a word. Just stared at Diesel with an intensity that made him want to crawl out of his skin.
Diesel could feel the weight of it.
He dug his nails into his wrist beneath his sleeve. The pain helped.
"Your son is beautiful," Khun Natlada said, her eyes on Diesel. There was genuine warmth there, or at least a good imitation of it. "I've always wanted an omega child, you know. Someone I could really connect with. But both my boys turned out to be alphas." She laughed lightly. "So this feels like a blessing."
Diesel's throat was tight. "Thank you, khun."
The words came out automatically. Years of training.
The older man—Thee's father—leaned back in his chair. "We should discuss security arrangements."
Diesel's father nodded. "Of course. I'll have additional bodyguards assigned to Diesel immediately. They'll stay with him until after the wedding."
"Good. Can't be too careful, especially with the media attention."
"And the shares?" Diesel's father asked.
"Fifteen percent of Arseni upon marriage."
Arseni.
Diesel's brain caught on the word. He knew that name. Arseni. The perfume brand. The luxury one that had stores in every high-end mall, that celebrities wore to events.
Were they—were they part of that company?
"The contracts will be ready by next week," the older man continued. "My lawyers are finalizing the details."
Shares? Contracts?This wasn't just about marriage. This was more like business.
Diesel's nails pressed harder into his skin.
Khun Natlada turned to Diesel, still smiling. "I hope you like our perfumes, dear. You'll be representing the brand soon enough."
Diesel managed a nod. His wrist was starting to sting where he'd been scratching.
Khun Theerakit still hadn't said anything. Just watched. His expression was impossible to read.
The fathers kept talking, something about mergers and timelines and public announcements. Diesel tried to follow but the words were blurring together. His head felt light.
"Perhaps," Khun Natlada said suddenly, "we should let the boys talk for a while? Get to know each other?"
Diesel's father's expression tightened. "I'm not sure that's—"
"I think that's an excellent idea," Thee's father said. His voice was firm.
Diesel's father looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn't. Couldn't, apparently.
"Of course," he said. Then his eyes cut to Diesel.
The glare lasted half a second but Diesel felt it in his bones.
Don't fuck this up.
Diesel's nails bit deeper. He felt skin break.
"Wonderful," Khun Natlada stood, smoothing her dress. "Take your time, boys."
The parents left. The door clicked shut.
Diesel sat there, alone with Khun Theerakit, and tried very hard to keep breathing.
Diesel stayed quiet, his posture refusing to relax even though his dad was out of the room.
Maybe because the presence in front of him felt even more intense than his father's. Different, but just as suffocating.
The man stood up.
Diesel's entire body went rigid.
He watched as Thee crossed the space between them, each step deliberate and measured. Before Diesel could process what was happening, Thee reached down and took his wrist.
Diesel yanked back immediately out of pure instinct. Get away, get away, get away—
But Thee's grip didn't budge. It wasn't painful, not like when his father grabbed him, but it was firm. Unyielding. His large hand wrapped completely around Diesel's wrist, holding it steady.
Thee's eyes moved to the red marks there. The scratches Diesel had been making. Some of them were bleeding slightly.
"What the—What are you doing." Diesel's voice came out sharper than he meant it to.
Thee didn't answer. He reached for the glass of water on the table, lifted it, and poured it directly over Diesel's wrist.
The water was cold. It stung like hell on the broken skin.
Diesel hissed but didn't pull away this time. What the fuck was this guy doing?
"If it hurts just cry," Thee said, his voice flat. Matter-of-fact. "Don't pretend to be strong."
Diesel stared at him.
What the hell was this guy blabbering about?
"Let go of my hand."
Thee's grip didn't loosen. His thumb brushed over one of the scratch marks, almost clinical. Like he was examining it.
"Please."
The word came out before Diesel could stop it. He couldn't believe he was saying please. He'd never said that to anyone—not Lukjan, not his father, not anyone. And here he was saying it to this alpha he'd just met.
Thee's eyes lifted to meet his. "Don't act so put together. It doesn't make me like you."
Diesel's brain stuttered.
Does this guy not know how to talk normally? What the fuck is he saying?
"I wasn't..I wasn't trying to do that..?" Diesel said, confusion bleeding into his voice.
"Right, sure." Thee finally let go of his wrist. "I just want to let you know that I'm not excited for this marriage either. Just in case you're under the illusion that I wanted to get married to you."
Diesel stared at him.
What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?
His dad had told him not to embarrass him. To be respectful, demure, all that bullshit. But how exactly was he supposed to reply to this guy just flat-out saying he didn't want to marry him?
'Yeah, I'm also being forced into it. I don't want to marry some old dude either.'
That would probably piss him off, right? Make him angry? And then he'd tell Diesel's father and—
No. Bad idea.
Diesel kept his mouth shut.
He looked down at his wrist where the water was still dripping onto his pants, the scratches red and stinging.
If he didn't say anything, he couldn't fuck it up. That was safe. Silence was safe.
Thee was still standing there, looking at him. Waiting for something, maybe. A response. An argument.
Diesel gave him nothing.
The clock ticked in the corner. Seconds stretched out.
"You're not going to say anything?" Thee asked finally.
Diesel's jaw tightened. He wanted to. God, he wanted to say so many things. But every word felt like a potential landmine.
So he just shook his head slightly.
Thee made a sound that might have been amusement. Or annoyance. Diesel couldn't tell.
"Interesting," Thee said, more to himself than to Diesel. He moved back to his chair, sitting down like nothing had happened.
Diesel stayed frozen on the sofa, hands now folded in his lap again, careful not to touch his injured wrist.
What the hell kind of person was this?
Who just grabbed someone's wrist and poured water on it? Who said shit like "it doesn't make me like you" to someone they were supposed to marry? Was this guy fucking insane?
And he wasn't excited about the marriage either? Then why the hell did he agree to it? Nobody forced alphas to do shit. He could've just said no. Could've told his parents to fuck off and find someone else.
But no, he agreed, and now he was sitting there acting like Diesel was the problem. Like Diesel had any choice in this.
Asshole.
Rich, weird, socially incompetent asshole who didn't know how to have a normal fucking conversation.
Fuck, he kind of described himself..
Diesel dug his nails into his palm—the one that wasn't scratched up—and tried to keep his face neutral.
"If this marriage isn't something you actually want then—"
The door opened.
Thee stopped mid-sentence.
The parents filed back in, all three of them. Diesel's father's eyes immediately found him, scanning for problems.
"So," Thee's father said, settling back into his chair. "Have you two made a decision?"
Diesel's heart stopped.
Decision? What decision? There was no decision to make. His father had already—
"Of course," Diesel's father said smoothly, before anyone else could speak. "Why wouldn't they want the marriage? Everything is perfectly arranged."
Diesel's eyes cut to Thee.
Thee was looking at him. Not at the parents, not at his own father. At Diesel.
Then Diesel made the mistake of looking at his father.
His father's eyes were locked on him. That same look from earlier, from the hospital, from every time Diesel had ever thought about stepping out of line.
You know what will happen.
Diesel's chest tightened. His breathing got shallow. He could feel it happening, that familiar panic clawing up his throat, making his hands shake.
Thee saw it. The way Diesel's whole body trembled under his father's gaze. The way his shoulders hunched in, like he was trying to make himself smaller. The way his hands started shaking in his lap.
Diesel dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded.
Just nodded.
That was all he could manage.
"Wonderful!" Khun Natlada clapped her hands together, the sound making Diesel flinch. Before he could process it, she was crossing the room and pulling him into a hug.
Diesel's entire body went stiff.
She was warm. Her perfume was expensive and floral. Her arms were gentle around him, nothing like—
He awkwardly raised his hands to her back. Barely touching. Just enough to not be rude.
"I can't believe I get to see my son get married," she said, pulling back to look at him with genuine happiness in her eyes. "Thank you, Diesel. You'll be a great part of our family."
Diesel's throat was too tight to respond.
He just stood there, nodded again, and tried very hard not to break down in front of everyone.