A Marriage Meant for Kai

The world had never been as simple as people once believed. There had been a time when society recognized only two genders. Male. Female. But that world belonged to history now. Humanity had evolved—or perhaps humanity had simply learned to understand itself better. There were men and women. And there were alphas, betas, and omegas. Secondary genders existed alongside biological s*x, shaping everything from relationships and family structures to medicine, reproduction, and social status. An alpha could be a man or a woman. A beta could be a man or a woman. And an omega could be a man or a woman. Omega men could become pregnant. They could carry children. They could give birth. It was no longer strange. It was simply life. Yet even in a world that had learned to accept so many differences, some people still struggled to accept the things they could not forgive. Mian Laurent knew that better than anyone. At twenty-four years old, Mian was already a name people recognized. Not because of his family. Not because of his father’s wealth. Not because of his surname. Because of what he had accomplished. Mian was a doctor. A resident in pediatrics at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country. He had entered medical school a year younger than most of his classmates. He had graduated at the top of his class. He had received awards. Scholarships. Academic honors. He had been the student professors remembered long after graduation. And now, at twenty-four, he was one of the youngest doctors in his residency program. Mian was brilliant. But brilliance was not the first thing people noticed about him. It was his grace. There was something almost effortless about the way Mian carried himself. He was soft-spoken. Gentle. Patient. His dark hair usually fell slightly over his forehead, framing delicate features that made him look younger than his twenty-four years. His eyes were warm, expressive, and far too kind for someone who had spent most of his life being made to feel like he wasn’t enough. Even his name seemed to suit him. Mian. Prince. And there was something princely about him. Not in the arrogant way. Never. Mian’s grace came from his gentleness. From the way he treated people. From the way he listened. From the way children trusted him almost immediately. Especially children. Perhaps that was why pediatrics had always felt right to him. Children didn’t care about his secondary gender. They didn’t care that he was an omega. They didn’t care about his family name. They didn’t care about his father’s opinion. They only cared that Doctor Mian was kind. And Doctor Mian was always kind. “Doctor Mian!” Mian turned at the sound of his name. A little girl came running toward him in the hospital corridor, her mother hurrying behind her. Mian immediately crouched down. “Hey, sweetheart.” The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck. Mian laughed softly. “I thought we agreed that doctors don’t get tackled in the hallway.” “But I missed you.” Mian smiled. “I missed you too.” Her mother laughed apologetically. “I’m sorry. She kept asking when she could see you again.” “It’s okay.” Mian stood, gently adjusting the girl’s hospital bracelet. “How are you feeling today?” “Better.” “Good.” He smiled. “Then you have to promise me you’ll keep taking your medicine.” She nodded seriously. “I promise.” Mian held out his hand. “Pinky promise?” She hooked her tiny finger around his. “Pinky promise.” He smiled. Moments like this reminded Mian why he had worked so hard. Why he had stayed awake studying until three in the morning. Why he had sacrificed weekends, holidays, friendships, and sleep. Why he had pushed himself harder than everyone around him. He loved medicine. He loved helping people. But if he was being completely honest with himself, there had always been another reason. His father. Mian wanted his father’s approval. He had wanted it since he was a child. And somehow, despite everything he had achieved, he still hadn’t gotten it. ⸻ Mian’s mother had died giving birth to him. Her name was Elena. She had been an omega. A beautiful omega. According to the photographs Mian had seen, she had possessed a gentle smile and warm eyes. Mian knew almost nothing about her. He had never heard her voice. Never felt her hand against his cheek. Never heard her laugh. Never been held by her. She had died the day he was born. And his father had never forgiven him for surviving. Alexander Laurent was an alpha. A powerful man. A respected businessman. A man who could walk into a room and command everyone’s attention without raising his voice. He was also Mian’s father. And for twenty-four years, Mian had lived beneath the weight of his resentment. Alexander had never neglected him. That was what made everything more complicated. He had paid for Mian’s education. Given him the best schools. Provided everything he needed. Bought him whatever he required. Made certain Mian never experienced financial hardship. But love? That was different. Mian had never felt loved by his father. Not once. There had always been a wall between them. A distance that Mian could never cross. And whenever Alexander looked at him, Mian felt as though his father wasn’t seeing his son. He was seeing his dead wife. He was seeing the woman he had lost. And the child he blamed for it. Mian still remembered being little. Seven years old. He had come home with a certificate in his hands. He had been at the top of his class. He remembered running through the house, excited. He remembered finding his father in his study. “Dad!” Alexander had looked up. Mian had held the certificate out proudly. “I came first!” His father had looked at the paper. Then at him. “Good.” That was all. Mian’s smile had slowly disappeared. He had nodded. “Thank you.” Then he had walked away. He hadn’t understood why his chest hurt. He only knew that he had wanted to hear something else. Something Daniel received so easily. I’m proud of you. ⸻ Daniel was his older brother. An alpha. Strong. Confident. Charming. Everything Alexander expected an alpha son to be. And yet Daniel had never made Mian feel inferior. Never. Daniel was the person who had protected him when they were children. The person who had sat beside him when their father became angry. The person who had wiped his tears. The person who had reminded him that being an omega did not make him weak. Daniel had memories of their mother. Mian didn’t. Daniel remembered the sound of her voice. The way she smelled. The way she held him. Sometimes Mian would sit quietly while Daniel talked about her. He would listen carefully. Every story. Every detail. Because Daniel had something Mian would never have. Memories. Mian had photographs. That was all. And perhaps that was why he loved his brother so fiercely. Daniel was the closest thing he had to family. ⸻ That evening, Mian arrived home later than usual. The Laurent estate was quiet when he entered. He removed his shoes and placed his keys on the table. “Mian?” He looked up. Daniel walked into the room. His tie was loosened around his neck. “You made it.” Mian smiled. “You told me to come.” “I did.” Daniel opened his arms. Mian immediately walked into them. Daniel hugged him tightly. For a few seconds, Mian allowed himself to relax. This was what family was supposed to feel like. Warm. Safe. Easy. Daniel pulled back. “You look exhausted.” “Long shift.” “Did you eat?” Mian hesitated. Daniel narrowed his eyes. “Mian.” “I had coffee.” Daniel stared at him. “Coffee isn’t food.” “It had milk.” “Mian.” He laughed. “Okay. Fine.” Daniel shook his head. “Come on. Dinner.” Mian followed him toward the dining room. Then he stopped. Because his father was sitting at the table. Alexander looked up. His eyes landed on Mian. And there it was. That look. That same look Mian had known his entire life. Cold. Distant. Almost accusing. Mian immediately straightened. “Good evening, Father.” Alexander said nothing for a moment. Then— “You’re late.” Mian lowered his gaze. “I was at the hospital.” “You always have an excuse.” Daniel’s expression hardened. “He’s a doctor, Dad.” Alexander looked at Daniel. “I wasn’t speaking to you.” Mian quietly pulled out a chair. He sat down. His hands rested in his lap. He didn’t argue. He never argued with his father. Because arguing never changed anything. Alexander took a sip of his drink. “How is your residency?” Mian’s heart lifted slightly. His father had asked about his work. Maybe— “It’s going well.” “How well?” Mian looked up. “I’m doing very well.” Alexander nodded. “Good.” Mian waited. Perhaps his father would say something else. Perhaps— “You should.” The hope disappeared. Mian lowered his eyes. Daniel noticed. He always noticed. After dinner, Daniel followed Mian upstairs. Mian entered his bedroom and immediately sat on the edge of his bed. Daniel closed the door behind him. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this.” Mian looked up. “Doing what?” “Trying to make him proud.” Mian smiled faintly. “I don’t.” Daniel stared at him. “You do.” Mian looked away. “I just want him to be proud of me.” “Why?” The question was simple. Mian didn’t have an answer. Daniel sat beside him. “You’ve graduated at the top of your class. You’re a doctor at twenty-four. You’re one of the best residents in your hospital. People respect you. Children love you. You have done everything.” Mian swallowed. “I know.” “Then why isn’t that enough?” Mian’s eyes filled with tears. Because the answer was embarrassing. Because despite everything he had achieved, some broken part of him was still that seven-year-old boy holding a certificate. Still waiting. Still hoping. Still wanting his father to look at him and say— I’m proud of you. “I don’t know,” Mian whispered. Daniel’s expression softened. “He should have told you that years ago.” Mian wiped his eyes quickly. “He took care of me.” “That doesn’t mean he loved you.” Mian looked at his brother. “Don’t say that.” “Why?” “Because he’s still our father.” Daniel sighed. “And you’re still his son.” Mian looked down. Daniel reached for his hand. “You didn’t kill Mom.” Mian’s lips trembled. “I know.” “You were a baby.” “I know.” “He lost her. He was grieving.” “I know.” “And none of that makes what he did to you okay.” Mian closed his eyes. A tear escaped. He wiped it away. “I just wish he could look at me without seeing her death.” Daniel squeezed his hand. “He will never be able to change the past.” Mian whispered, “I wish he would stop making me pay for it.” Silence filled the room. Outside the window, the city lights glittered against the darkness. Mian sat there quietly. A twenty-four-year-old doctor. A successful man. An omega who had accomplished more than most people twice his age. A man who had built a life for himself. Yet somehow, when it came to his father, he was still that little boy desperate for approval. He didn’t know why. Maybe he never would. But he knew one thing. He would keep trying. Because some wounds didn’t disappear simply because you grew older. Some children never stopped wanting their father’s love. And Mian Laurent was still one of them.