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The first time Noah met Adrian, he bowed so deeply that he nearly touched the floor.

He was taller than he imagined, broad-shouldered, his presence filling the prayer hall like incense. His voice, when he greeted his family, was deep and commanding, yet measured—like scripture spoken aloud.

His parents glowed with pride as they introduced him. “This is our son, Noah,” his father said, one hand resting firmly on his shoulder, as if to remind him to stay still.

Adrian's eyes moved over him, assessing, weighing. He nodded once, as though satisfied. “He is obedient,” he said simply.

Noah felt the weight of those words press against his ribs. He had not spoken of his kindness, nor his devotion, nor even his beauty. Only obedience.

His parents beamed at the praise.

In the weeks that followed, Noah was allowed only brief glimpses of his betrothed. Meetings were chaperoned, words measured. Adrian asked questions, but they were not truly questions—more commands dressed as conversation.

“You pray daily?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You serve your family without complaint?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You understand the role of an Omega wife?”

“Yes.”

Each answer pleased him. His approval was like sunlight in his parents’ eyes. They reminded him afterward how fortunate he was.

“You must not forget, Noah,” his mother whispered one night while fixing his suit, “many Omegas pray their whole lives for a match as holy as Adrian. You were chosen.”

Chosen.

 The word was meant to comfort, but it burned like a chain around his throat.

During one of their rare walks together—watched from a distance by his father—Adrian spoke more freely. “Your duty is simple,” he said. “To be pure, to be silent, to be mine. I will lead, and you will follow. God’s order is clear: the Alpha above, the Omega beneath. That is the harmony of creation.”

Noah bowed his head, his lips moving with the words he had practiced for years. “Yes, my lord.”

Inside, something stirred. A question unspoken, a protest he dared not give voice. But the memory of his father’s stern hand, his mother’s whispered prayers, pressed it down until it died in his throat.

As the weeks turned into months, preparations for the wedding consumed his household. Noah was dressed and measured, suited and instructed, polished until he gleamed like a vessel meant for ceremony. His body was treated as sacred, but not for his own sake—for Adrian's

His brother watched him quietly during those days, his expression unreadable. Once, when no one was near, he whispered, “You don’t look happy.”

Noah's hands tightened around the fabric he was folding. “Happiness is not required. Obedience is.”

He did not argue, but his silence spoke louder than words.

The night before the wedding, Noah knelt in his room while his mother prayed over him. The air was thick with incense, his mother’s voice rising and falling in fervent devotion. “Bless this union, Lord. Bind my son to his Alpha. Make him pure in his sight. May he never turn from him as the first omega turned from Adam. May he never take the path of—”

The prayer stopped short. His mother did not speak the forbidden name.

But Noah heard it anyway. Like a whisper under the prayer, rising unbidden from memory.

Lilith.

He flinched, his breath catching.

His mother pressed a hand to his head. “Still yourself, child. You must not tremble tomorrow. The eyes of God and alphas will be upon you.”

Noah nodded. He lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, the whisper echoing.

When the wedding day dawned, the house was alive with voices and movement. Noah draped in white cloth, pinned a veil so heavy he could scarcely breathe. His mother’s hands shook as he adjusted the folds, though his face never lost its proud composure.

The procession to the temple was long, the air thick with heat and expectation. Noah walked like a shadow, his steps perfectly measured, his gaze lowered.

Adrian waited at the altar, a figure carved from stone. When he extended his hand, he placed him into it, trembling only slightly beneath the weight of his grip.

The vows were spoken. Promises made not between equals, but between master and servant.

“I will lead,” Adrian declared.

“I will follow,” Noah whispered.

Applause rose around them. His parents’ faces shone with triumph. The elders nodded approvingly. Adrian's grip on his hand tightened, unyielding.

Inside, Noah felt the faintest crack run through his silence.

As the crowd chanted blessings, he heard it again—so softly he wondered if it was his imagination.

Lilith.

That name, but not the one spoken in blessing. The other one. The forbidden one.

The ghost that refused to be buried.

And as Adrian led him from the altar, hand locked around him, he realized the whisper had not been silenced. It was growing louder.

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