Beneath His Rule (BL)

Defiance 1.2

Later that evening, Genesis found himself in the sitting room, dressed in one of the silk pajama sets Cleo had insisted on. The material clung to him in all the right places, an unintentional provocation that Genesis knew Cleo wouldn’t acknowledge—not openly, at least.

The mansion was quiet, the kind of silence that made memories creep in uninvited. Genesis’s mind drifted to the past, to the dinner table where his father, Lionel, had first told him about the arranged marriage.

Genesis had seethed silently, his mind flashing to Cleo. They had crossed paths briefly in high school—Cleo, the untouchable Alpha who commanded respect with nothing more than a glance, and Genesis, the rebellious Omega who refused to play by anyone’s rules.

Back then, Cleo’s indifference had been maddening. He never seemed interested in anyone or anything, his focus entirely on his own goals. Genesis had been pursued by Alphas left and right, but Cleo had remained a mystery—a figure of authority who was always just out of reach.

The day Genesis learned about the arranged marriage, he’d laughed. It was over a year ago, during a family dinner, with his elder sister, little brother, and little sisters. The time when his father, the leader of the Argent elites, Lionel Harrient Argent, had dropped the bombshell.

Their family was one of the most renowned Omega bloodlines in the country, their legacy built on centuries of tradition and power. The idea of marrying into another elite family wasn’t shocking—it was expected. But the identity of his future mate had caught him off guard.

“Cleiorvin Blackwood? Cleo Blackwood’s brother or what?” Genesis had repeated, his fork frozen mid-air, still grinning.

It wasn’t the reaction that their parents had expected, but it was the only thing he could do to keep himself from screaming. Sitting at the head of the Argent family’s sprawling dining table, his father had delivered the news like it was some kind of golden opportunity.

“Genesis Harriet Argent, you are marrying Cleo Blackwood.”

Genesis’s laughter died abruptly when he realized he weren’t joking.

“You’re serious,” he said, his voice flat.

His mother, always the diplomat, reached for his hand. “Genesis, darling, this is what’s best for the family. The Blackwoods—”

Lionel had nodded, his expression calm but firm. “Their family is one of the few that rivals ours. This union will strengthen both empires.”

Genesis had scoffed. “Strengthen? What about what I want? What about—” Genesis pushed back from the table, standing abruptly. His shoulder-length hair, still slightly damp from his shower, clung to the sides of his face.

“This isn’t about you,” Lionel had interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s about legacy. You’ll do as you’re told.”

"No! for whatever reason there is, we had talked about this father, am I right? this is about him. And no one should be forcing my siblings!" He absentmindedly sighed in relief when his elder sister stood up for him. He looked at his younger siblings, they were just silent. Too innocent to understand but wise enough to glare at their foods.

His father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t about personal feelings. This is about securing the Argent legacy."

“And selling Gen off like cattle is the way to do that?” Genevieve Hershile Argent, his elder sister continued to stood at her ground. More infuriated than the one being sold to the Blackwoods. And he loves her for that.

“Your brother is not being sold,” his mother said, her voice soft but firm.

“I don’t care about the Blackwoods,” he snapped, pulling his hand away. “Do you have any idea who Cleo is? What he’s like?”

Genesis laughed again, but this time it was bitter. “Cleo will never see me as an equal. He’s incapable of it.”

“Then make him,” his father said, his tone sharp. “You’re an Argent, Genesis. Act like it. You’ll do as you’re told.”

Genesis rubbed his temples, with a book in his lap. The memory of that fateful dinner clung to him like an unwelcome memory. Lionel’s voice, calm yet unyielding, echoed in his head—'You’ll do as you’re told.'

He exhaled sharply, his fingers curling against the soft fabric of the sofa. The present felt no less suffocating than the past. Now he was here, in Cleo’s home—no, their home—but it didn’t feel like his. Every inch of this place was cold, like a reflection of its owner.

The door to the sitting room opened, and Genesis tensed instinctively, knowing who it would be. Cleo entered with his usual measured steps, his gray eyes landing on Genesis briefly before they flicked toward the fireplace.

Genesis didn’t look up, though he was very aware of Cleo walking in, even if his steps were careful and quiet. He poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the sideboard, the clink of glass against glass cutting through the silence.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Cleo said, his tone devoid of genuine curiosity, more like an observation.

Genesis smirked faintly, tilting his head to meet Cleo’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I was required to entertain you.”

Cleo’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked over to the bar cart in the corner, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as he returned to stand near the sofa, his presence as overbearing as ever.

“You’re sulking.” Cleo said finally, his voice calm but edged with authority.

Genesis snorted, closing the book with a soft thud. “Sulking? Please. I’m just trying to survive another day in this mausoleum.”

"Silence doesn’t suit you,” Cleo finally said, his voice low. “You thrive on rebellion, don’t you, Genesis?”

Genesis crossed his legs, his silk robe parting slightly to reveal more of his toned thighs. “And you thrive on control. I suppose we’re a perfect match,” he said mockingly.

Cleo’s jaw tightened as he took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “If you’re done sulking, I’d like to discuss tomorrow.”

Genesis raised a brow. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. You’ll be accompanying me to an event,” Cleo said matter-of-factly. “It’s a formal gathering, and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

Genesis leaned back, his arms sprawled across the sofa’s backrest. “You mean I have to sit there like some trophy wife while you parade me around to impress your business partners?”

“If that’s how you choose to see it,” Cleo replied dismissively.

Genesis’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “You’re really good at this whole dictatorship thing, aren’t you?”

Cleo set his glass down on the coffee table, leaning forward slightly. The movement was subtle, but the intensity in his gaze made Genesis’s heart skip a beat. “And you’re very good at pushing boundaries, Genesis. But those boundaries only exist because I allow them to.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Genesis’s breath hitched as Cleo’s scent—sharp sandalwood and musk—wrapped around him like an invisible chain. He hated how his body reacted to it, how his Omega instincts betrayed him in moments like these.

“Fine,” Genesis said through gritted teeth, his tone laced with defiance. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to be your obedient little spouse.”

Cleo’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. “Obedience is earned, Genesis. I’m patient.”

Genesis’s smirk widened, though irritation flickered in his eyes. “Of course, Your Majesty. Anything else you’d like me to do? Shine your shoes? Fetch your coffee?”

Cleo’s jaw tightened, though he maintained his composure. “You’ll find something appropriate to wear. The dinner begins at eight sharp. Don’t make me wait.”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you waiting." Genesis scoffed and said it over his shoulder, sarcasm dripping from every word. He rose from the sofa and brush past Cleo, their shoulders almost touching.

As he walked toward the grand staircase, he felt Cleo’s gaze following him, heavy and unrelenting.

After that, Genesis found himself in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something sweet. The staffs and the old butler had retired for the night, leaving the space unusually quiet. He leaned against the counter, nibbling on a piece of white chocolate as his thoughts wandered back to Cleo’s words.

Cleo had always been untouchable—calm, composed, and utterly indifferent to the chaos around him even in their high school days. Genesis, on the other hand, had thrived on that chaos, challenging authority at every turn.

He hated how little Cleo had changed, how that same unshakable demeanor now had the power to control his life. But if Cleo thought he could reduce him to an obedient spouse, he had another thing coming.

Genesis’s grip on the counter tightened as he silently vowed to make Cleo regret underestimating him. If tomorrow’s event was supposed to be about appearances, then he’d play his part—but on his own terms.