[BL] Alpha, You've Got the Wrong Mate!

Chapter 352 — For Ilyan?

"Why would I listen to you? I am here to take you back," Vincent said, his voice turning colder than he expected.

This time, he had to choose.

Between this man... and his mother.

And like always, he would once again choose his mother—the woman who never truly looked at him, unless it was to measure his failure. The woman who only ever sought Raniel for his power, for his usefulness... because her own son was far too incompetent to satisfy her ambitions.

"Why?" Ren scoffed, lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Don’t you have any emotions? Oh—" his eyes sharpened, cruel in a quiet way, "—I forgot. You are that woman’s son."

Silence swallowed them whole.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Vincent’s jaw tightened, but before he could retaliate, Ren’s attention shifted.

At the far end of the corridor, Zayden stepped out of the wedding hall, broad shoulders tense, sharp eyes scanning every corner as if sensing something amiss.

He must be looking for me...

Ren’s heart lurched violently against his ribs. He bit his bottom lip, pulse racing beneath his skin.

If Zayden saw him standing here with Vincent—

If he asked who he was—

What would he say?

He is the boy who once swore to protect me.

He is the reason I learned what betrayal tastes like.

He didn’t know whether it was the Gods of Revhara watching from their silent temple, or mere coincidence—but Diana appeared at that exact moment, gently placing her hand on Zayden’s arm and drawing him back inside.

Ren released a sharp breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His hand pressed against his chest as he closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself.

"Who was that?" Vincent asked quietly.

He had noticed.

He had noticed Ren’s pale expression. The fear. The instinctive relief.

"I doubt it is any of your concern," Ren replied, voice regaining its frost. "Just go back. It is to your advantage, is it not? During my absence, your mother will surely spare you a glance instead of keeping her hawk-like gaze glued on me."

"Your tone..." Vincent frowned, disbelief flickering across his face. This was not the Raniel he remembered—the soft-spoken, obedient shadow who endured everything in silence.

Now he stood tall.

Now his eyes held the sharp edge of ice.

Vincent felt something twist in his chest.

"Don’t get cocky," he said sharply. "You still can’t beat me when it comes to magic," he said. Then, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And kill me? You can only do that if I make eye contact with you. You know me, I can fight with my eyes bound by a blindfold."

A faint smirk touched his lips.

"Ah, right. You should be grateful that I kept that little detail from Mother."

His fingers rose slowly, deliberately, brushing the corner of Ren’s eye.

The touch was light.

But it felt like contamination.

Ren recoiled immediately, stepping back as if burned. He wiped the spot Vincent had touched with visible disgust, as though cleansing dirt from his skin. Filthy. Muddy.

Yet his eyes were wide from shock.

"Y-You didn’t tell her about my eyes?" he whispered, his voice trembling despite himself.

Vincent watched him in silence for a long moment.

Then, quietly, he began, "No."

There was no mockery in his tone this time.

"No," he repeated, softer. "If she knew, you would never have survived long enough to escape. Or to hide. You would have been found within a few months." His gaze darkened. "And don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t do it for you."

For Ilyan?

Ren wondered, his breath caught in his throat.

A pause.

"For myself."

Because if she knew where you were, she would bring you back. And I... I wouldn’t even have one chance to prove myself.

And if you became that—that weapon again, then Mother... she would have disowned me.

Vincent clenched his fists tightly.

"Of course," Ren exhaled. "Then why are you here? Go back to your mother, Vincent. I will not stand in your way... So please." He lowered his head—not completely—just slightly, as if begging.

Or maybe he was begging this man. This monstrous man for mercy. For pity. For empathy—something he hadn’t shown to his own dying friend, Ilyan.

"Haah..." Vincent exhaled sharply, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what to do.

Originally, he had come here resolute in his decision to bring Raniel back with him, regardless of whatever nonsense he might say to convince him otherwise.

However, it would be a lie to say he was convinced that bringing this man back would magically fix his relationship with his mother.

"What are you doing here?" the same lady from earlier, who believed him to be mute before he could explain himself, asked. She stood at the front of the wedding hall doors, frowning at Vincent.

"Hurry up and lend me a hand!" she scolded.

Vincent gasped, turning toward the voice with wide eyes. Had she seen him speaking to Raniel? Maybe he should just kill her. The less evidence, the less trouble.

Violet light flickered at his fingertips, but before acting, he glanced at Raniel once more—making sure this was the right thing to do. He was sometimes too quick to act, only to regret it afterward.

To his surprise, the man no longer stood before him.

Vincent blinked, his arms falling to his sides as the light faded away.

He had vanished as if their encounter had been nothing more than a dream.

It was him... right? I didn’t imagine it... right?

He lowered his gaze as he walked back toward the lady. Without another word, she shoved two trays of wine glasses into his hands before turning on her heels, stomping across the tiles as if they were to blame for being beneath her feet.

Vincent stood at the entrance for a heartbeat before stepping inside once again, his eyes darting left and right as he searched for Raniel.

He couldn’t let that man vanish from his sight again.

Not long after, he spotted strands of silver hair sticking out from behind the crowd. The figure was leaning down, as if trying to make himself the size of a child.

When the crowd slowly parted, Vincent’s heart sank.

A... child?