The shadows in Tony's private office didn't just lengthen; they seemed to crawl, ink-black and suffocating, across the expensive mahogany furniture. The only light came from the cold, blue flicker of a computer monitor, casting a ghostly pallor over the two men who sat like vultures.

Alan's latest message—the signal they had been waiting for—glowed on the screen. The "Racing Legend" was finally ready to run.

Tony leaned back in his leather chair, the ice in his amber liquid clinking with a sound like sharpening knives.

"A few more days," he mused, his voice a low, oily rasp that felt like a stain on the air.

"Babe is finally running back to the cage I built for him."

Way stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the city lights. He wasn't looking at the blueprints or the extraction routes. His eyes were glazed, fixed on a digital photo of Babe. He could almost smell it—that intoxicating scent of vanilla and adrenaline.

As a lab-modified Enigma, Way's mind was a distorted hall of mirrors; he felt an entitlement that bordered on psychosis. He believed he was the ultimate predator, blissfully unaware that he was a cheap, manufactured imitation compared to the ancient, terrifyingly pure bloodline of the Theerapanyakuls.

"What about that boy's family?" Tony asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of his caution.

"How rich is he? He has Alan shaking like a leaf, and those guards... they aren't rent-a-cops. They're professional ghosts."

Tony was itching with frustration. Every man he had sent to tail Jeff or Alan had either vanished or been found dead, their lives snuffed out with a clinical efficiency that left no trail.

"I don't care about the brat, Tony," Way snapped, his voice thick with a dark, possessive lust.

"The moment we get Babe across the border, the child is yours. As we agreed, the first child I breed into him will also be yours for your 'projects.' I just want Babe. I want him broken. I want him quiet. I want him mine."

Tony chuckled, a dry, rattling sound.

"A fair trade. That unborn child will be the crown jewel of my collection. The money I can extract for a child of that pedigree... it's limitless."

They spoke with the staggering arrogance of men poking a sleeping dragon. They saw Charlie as a "nerdy lover boy" who had inherited a fortune he didn't know how to defend.

They didn't realize that behind those golden eyes sat a predator from a bloodline that had ruled the underworld for centuries.

They didn't knew the pure Enigma bloodline hidden and posing as Alphas.

They didn't know about strong Alpha men like Porsche or Pete— who had been tamed only by the overwhelming power of the Enigma bloodline and how the strong Alphas gave birth to new generation of Enigmas.

They didn't know Babe ,The strong Alpha pedigree is carrying the future Enigma heir.

If they had known the name Theerapanyakul, they would have fled the country. Instead, they were walking blindly into their own graves.

"The extraction is set," Tony whispered, pointing to the medical wing of the track.

"Alan will lead him there. We move on the tenth day. Let Babe have his little 'dream' a few more nights. It will only make the reality of his new cage taste better."

The return from the track that evening was a heavy, silent affair. The armored Range Rover felt less like a car and more like a rolling sanctuary.

Babe sat in the passenger seat, his hand tightly clutched in Charlie's. He watched the city lights blur, feeling the rhythmic kick of his son against his palm.

To the world, they were a lovely couple . To Babe, every streetlamp they passed was a second closer to the end.

The moment they stepped inside the mansion and the heavy oak doors clicked shut, the silence shattered.

Babe didn't wait for Charlie to shed his jacket. He turned in the foyer, his breath hitching as he grabbed the lapels of Charlie's coat, yanking the younger man down.

"Babe, wait—the guards are right there—" Charlie started, his voice a low, disciplined warning.

"I don't care about the guards, Charlie!"

Babe cried out, his voice cracking with a sudden, raw desperation. He buried his face in Charlie's neck, inhaling the scent of engine grease and expensive cologne.

"I want you. Now. My back hurts, my soul aches, and the only time I don't feel like I'm drowning is when you're touching me."

Charlie felt the familiar, treacherous heat coil in his gut. He looked down at his "Pretty Alpha"—the man who had shattered his heart at the gala, yet remained the only person he ever wanted. The pregnancy had made Babe bolder, stripping away the legend's pride until only this frantic, beautiful hunger remained.

"You're being very demanding today," Charlie rasped, even as his hands found the curve of Babe's waist to steady him.

"I have few days left, Charlie," Babe whispered as they stumbled into the bedroom.

"I'm not wasting a single second of this fantasy playing shy."

Babe pushed his shirt off, revealing the milky-white expanse of his chest. He stepped into Charlie's space, pressing his warmth against the Enigma's cold exterior.

"I want you to make me forget. Fill me up until I can't breathe anything but you."

Charlie's face flushed. Even now, Babe's bluntness could catch him off guard. But he was an Enigma, and every cell in his body roared that this was his mate. He swept Babe up, laying him back on the silk sheets with a worshipful ferocity. He went straight for Babe's chest, his tongue catching the sweet drops of milk as Babe arched his back, sobbing his name.

"Look at me, Babe," Charlie commanded, his eyes beginning to glow a molten, dangerous gold.

Babe opened his eyes, blurred with tears of pleasure and heartbreak. For a moment, the "Cold Enigma" was gone, and the boy who had once loved him without conditions was back.

"I'm right here," Babe sobbed, wrapping his legs around Charlie's waist.

"Don't let me go, Charlie. Please... even if it's a lie, don't let me go."

Charlie didn't promise "forever." He didn't offer the bite. Instead, he silenced Babe with a kiss that tasted of desperation, thrusting with a rhythmic intensity that made the looming escape vanish into a haze of white noise.

The eighth day arrived like a sun-drenched fever dream.

At the track, the "New Babe" continued to mesmerize everyone. Charlie followed him like a golden-eyed shadow, watching as the man who used to reduce rookies to tears now moved with a maternal, grounded grace.

"Trust the car," Babe said softly to a trembling trainee, his hand resting gently on the boy's shoulder.

"It's an extension of you."

Charlie leaned against a stack of tires, his arms crossed. He remembered the old Babe—the ego-driven Alpha who would have thrown a clipboard and walked away. This version was luminous, softened by the life growing inside him.

But the "Kind Babe" stayed at the track. The "Bratty Legend" returned the moment they got home.

"Strip!" Babe said, sitting at the kitchen island and popping a piece of caramel popcorn into his mouth.

Charlie froze with a water bottle in his hand. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Babe smirked, his eyes roaming Charlie's frame.

"I only have few days left. I'm not spending them looking at Italian wool. Take it off. All of it. Except the boxers."

"Babe, I'm trying to—"

"The baby wants to see his father's physique," Babe countered with a sultry purr.

"And I want to see those muscles I've been dreaming about. Don't be shy, Charlie. It's not like I haven't seen it all before."

Charlie let out a huff of embarrassed laughter, his ears turning pink. "You're impossible."

Despite the protest, he gave in. He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped his slacks, standing in nothing but black silk boxers. He moved around the kitchen, intentionally reaching for high cupboards to let his lats flex and his back ripple under the light.

Babe sat back, mesmerized. The sight of the powerful Enigma flipping vegetables while half-naked was a intoxicating cocktail of domesticity and raw sex appeal.

"You're doing that on purpose," Babe muttered, his cheeks flushing rose.

"Doing what?" Charlie asked innocently, glancing over his shoulder with a knowing smirk.

"Flexing. You're showing off."

"Maybe I am," Charlie rasped, his eyes glimmering. "Is it looking good?"

Babe could only gulp before rushing out of the room, his heart racing.

An hour later, Babe watched Charlie vacuum the rug—still in his boxers. The sight of Charlie's focused expression combined with the raw power of his frame was the final straw.

"Charlie, stop,"

Babe commanded. He waddled over, his silk robe fluttering open, and wrapped his arms around Charlie's neck.

"I'm done watching. I want to feel the Charlie who devours me."

"You're going to be the death of me, Babe," Charlie groaned, cupping Babe's hips.

"Then let's die together tonight," Babe whispered.

As Charlie swept him up, Babe looked at the clock. Five days, twenty-one hours left. He was desperately imprinting every touch into his soul before he became a shadow in the night.

The tenth day arrived. The black motorcade pulled into the X-Hunter circuit for what felt like the final time.

In the past, the sound of Babe's boots on the concrete sent rookies into a state of terror. The "Old Babe" was an arrogant storm who made everyone feel inferior. But today, he approached a driver who had spun out.

"Take a breath," Babe said gently.

"The car didn't fail you; you just stopped listening. Relax your grip."

The trainee's mouth fell open. He'd seen the ruthless tapes of this arrogant racing legend , but this radiant man was offering a calm smile. Younger Alphas stared at the way Babe's shirt clung to his chest and the soft curve of his baby bump. He was prettier than any Omega they had ever seen.

A low, bone-deep growl suddenly cut through the garage.

Charlie was standing behind Babe, his golden eyes glowing with lethal intensity. The sheer pressure of his Enigma aura slammed into the trainees like a physical weight.

They scurried away, terrified by the predator guarding the legend, completely unaware that they were looking at a mythical Enigma who was barely restraining himself from tearing them to pieces.

"You're scaring the trainees, Charlie," Babe chuckled.

"They were staring," Charlie rasped, marking his territory with a hand on the small of Babe's back.

"Let them stare," Babe whispered.

"They're just seeing what they lost. And I'm just seeing what I'm about to lose."

Babe turned to Alan, whose jaw was tight with nerves.

"Phi Alan," Babe called out.

"I might need a nap soon. Can you clear the medical wing so I can rest tomorrow without going home?"

Alan nodded. It was the signal.

As the sun set, casting long, bloody-red shadows across the asphalt, Babe stood in the center of the garage one last time. He walked over to Charlie and tucked his hand into the waistband of his racing suit.

"I'm tired, Charlie. Take me home. I want my popcorn... and I want you out of those clothes."

Charlie's eyes softened. He leaned down and kissed Babe's forehead in front of everyone.

"Whatever the 'Pretty Alpha' wants."

As they walked toward the car, Babe's smile faded. He looked at the track in the rearview mirror, a single tear tracing a path down his porcelain cheek. The fantasy was on its final laps, and the race toward a heartbreaking goodbye had officially begun.

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