Manny pulled away defiantly, curled his upper lip in disdain, and hissed with disgust, "You smell of Einar again today. I'd go so far as to say you've absorbed his scent so much that you literally reek of him."

"So what?" Moe didn't even raise an eyebrow, mockingly waiting for the provocation to subside. He didn't really care about what Manny, the staff, or the rest of the world thought about his scent and its intensity. He wasn't going to showcase his romantic affairs for anyone's judgment.

"And," Manny, evidently anticipating embarrassment that didn't come, predictably tensed, leaning his body forward. "I'd like to know how much you charge. I'm not a fan of sloppy seconds, but I'd like to get a price list for your services just in case I get blue balls."

"You can't afford me, baby," Moe yawned, revealing the underside of his mouth. He stretched his neck as he settled in comfortably and smiled, witnessing Manny's immediate agitation.

"I'm the primary heir, just so you know! Einar was foolish enough to have a falling-out with his father before he died, so the will only grants him a quarter of all the assets, both movable and immovable, including stocks, and the remainder goes to me. I'm already entitled to monthly payments sufficient to buy you outright, and when I turn twenty-one, Einar will lose his guardianship, and I'll inherit everything!"

"Oh-ho-ho," Moe feigned interest, stretching lazily to indicate that Manny had touched a nerve. "Even so, well, boy..."

"I'm not a boy, you jerk! I'm eighteen years old!" Manny sighed angrily but still responded to the seductive allure. Moe was undeniably attractive, even if his face had a touch of roughness. He possessed more sexual charisma than a hundred omegas combined, a realization that dawned during puberty and had only strengthened with life experience. Manny quickly licked his lips, gazing with widened eyes at the strip of tanned and golden bare skin on Moe's belly, which had become exposed as he sipped. In a hoarse voice, Manny asked, "So, how much?"

"You did not let me finish," Moe murmured, this time reclining in the large, cushioned chair. He casually tossed one of his beautiful, long, thin legs with slim, graceful ankles over the ottoman. The soft fabric of his pants was slightly pulled up, revealing more bare skin. Manny obediently followed his gaze, swallowing greedily and tensing with anticipation.

"You interrupted the older man, you naughty boy with bad manners," Moe's voice sounded low and vibrating, as if in a role-playing game, and Manny fell for it. His eyes glittered with anticipation, not noticing the change in tone. "That's right, imbecile! The role of bed warmer went to Einar, not me, and those services are not for sale." Moe ran his hand sharply down his stomach to his groin, cupping it with a handful. Judging by Manny's dumbfounded face, the meaning of the words lagged behind; visuals seemed more important. "And I don't need you now, not at eighteen, not when you're twenty-one and raking in all the money. You understand, baby?" Moe snapped his fingers, redirecting Manny's attention to his face, and grinned contentedly as Manny grasped the point.

Manny grinned fiercely, clenching his fists until they audibly crunched, and Moe couldn't help but involuntarily admire him. The young man was undeniably attractive, even in his youthful state, and when he fully matured, expanding his shoulders and height to their natural size, he would be a complete delight. Moe entertained the thought that he might even surpass Einar, though his genetic makeup bestowed upon him an abundance of beauty—almost too much for an alpha, in Moe's opinion. Preparing to defend against the impending attack, Moe braced himself as Manny lunged at him with an inarticulate growl, his arms extending predatorily to seize and crush him.

ReMinyng seated in his chair, Moe, using the same leg that had enticed and pulled Manny towards him, delivered sharp, unrelenting kicks—one to the jaw and another, akin to synchronized swimming, to the groin. Manny howled, alternating between clutching his jaw, seemingly on the brink of exploding with pain, and holding his groin, prioritizing the intensity of his agony. He collapsed to the floor, kneeling and cradling his wounded groin. Tears welled in his eyes, his handsome face twisted in hatred, flushed with embarrassment. Moe, sighing with boredom, casually plucked a juicy, red apple from the fruit platter and took a big bite, all while keeping his gaze fixed on his sprawled client.

“What's happening?” Einar appeared out of nowhere, standing next to Moe's chair and observing his younger brother with curiosity.

“It's an educational experience," Moe explained with a mouthful of food. “Can't you see?”

“Clearly," Einar tucked his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly and regarding Manny with a hint of sympathy. “How are you, Manny?”

“I'll kill-" Manny hissed, attempting to rise. “I swear, Einer, I'll kill your-" Manny hissed.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"No need for harsh words," Einar interrupted him, adding dryly, "I suppose you started this, Manny. I believed you were clever enough not to repeat the same mistakes, but you prove me wrong every time. Aren't you tired of it?"

“Screw you," Manny spat, wiping his tear-stained face with his sleeve and struggling to get up. “I'll have dinner at my place, and I'm done with you and your trash!”

“Mind your language!” Einar shouted, pulling him up by his chest and giving him a shake. “Do you hear me?”

“I heard that," Manny hissed, breathing heavily, and once again, Moe found himself admiring both of them. The brothers, bright and attractive with aristocratic lineage, were only vaguely alike- a similar nose, a similar chin, and figures that bore some resemblance despite their age difference. However, in the fervor of one and the restrained anger of the other, the unmistakable signs of shared genes were apparent.

Einar shook his brother once more, distancing himself as if avoiding physical contact, and spoke coldly, “If I hear any more vulgar insults directed at Moe or myself, I'll revoke your monthly allowance. Understand?”

“Don't you dare! It's my money!” Moe exclaimed, stomping his foot in anger. However, Einar replied grimly, “Until you reach the age specified in the will, your money is mine to manage. Remember that.”

Manny stomped his foot once again, his mouth hanging open helplessly as he struggled to find words. He glanced at Moe, clearly annoyed that their conversation had been overheard. Blushing painfully, Manny took off, swiftly ascending the stairs to the top floor within seconds. Moe gave him a brief glance, sighing faintly. In that moment, Moe genuinely felt sorry for him. What kind of alpha would endure public humiliation without the ability to respond, especially in front of staff, and a second-rate beta at that? It might have been only worse if such a dialogue had occurred in the presence of an attractive omega Manny was fond of. Einar's educational methods were certainly not helping their bonding, and Moe was on the verge of saying that to him when Einar, frowning, remarked, "Alright, he's a kid, but you, Moe, could behave more maturely.”

Offense is the best defense. Einar, as evident from the tense furrow between his eyebrows, acknowledged that he had overreacted to Manny. However, he redirected his aggression and frustration from himself to a more suitable target, leaving Moe gasping in indignation.

“Hey! How is this my fault? You can't hold me responsible for your teaching errors.”

“If you hadn't provoked him so much, I wouldn't have had to," Einar argued. “Could you refrain from hitting him every time he loses his temper with you?”

“Perhaps I should let him grope me as he wanted.” Moe stood up impulsively, feeling unjustly offended. “Or should I tolerate his insults?”

“Did he make advances?” Einer frowned more intensely, squinting unpleasantly. “And you didn't provoke it, did you, Moe? You didn't entice him?”

“What?!” Moe, who'd been preparing to unleash a storm of barbed words, deflated like a punctured balloon- it was even more hurtful now, moreover, Einer had cleverly twisted it, putting him in the position of making excuses. And Moe swallowed an excuse that sounded pathetic in his own mind- that it wasn't the first time Manny had tried to sidle up to him, to peek over the wide collar of his shirt, to stare at his ass, thinking Moe couldn't see. And the dirty hints about his availability... Well, Einar had gotten access to his body easily - Moe hadn't thought to make a temple out of his own body - but the suggestion that Moe would give the same access to his brother, made him feel vulnerable.

Moe shielded his expression, turning away and pondering anxiously- when had Einer unexpectedly become someone capable of causing offense? How had he infiltrated the circle of individuals permitted to engage in the dynamics of offender and offended? The thoughts were perplexing, disconcerting, and unpleasant. He longed for solitude, to mend the dull, aching breach in his defenses, to once again become an unyielding, impervious, and sardonically robust entity from which all attacks could deflect like shattered arrows.

Moe grabbed his crumpled sweatshirt from the chair, slung it over his shoulder, and headed towards the stairs—downstairs, not upstairs where Manny had gone. Even if his employer had the privilege of unfair criticism, Moe wouldn't tolerate it, not even if it came with a month's salary. Einar won't get the satisfaction of having Moe in his bed after such treatment. Screw Einar, as Manny said.

Einer caught up with him at the foot of the stairs, where Moe had descended in a bound, and grasped his arm with a demanding grip.

“Where are you going, Moe?”

Moe yanked his arm free, swiftly donned his sweatshirt, slipped on his shoes, and hastily threw on his jacket—all done with rapid, jerky movements, avoiding eye contact with Einar and clenching his jaws in tension. He had no desire to meet Einar's gaze, and Moe could feel his anger escalating- what the hell?

“Moe, stay here; let's talk about what just happened,” Einar positioned himself in front of him, gazing intently into his dusky eyes. “And per the contract, you can't leave the residence without obtaining permission....”

“Shove that contract up your ass," Moe sarcastically suggested, pushing him aside. “Move aside.”

“Moe!” Einar attempted to seize his arm once more but failed; Moe evaded, kicked the sturdy door open with his foot, and stumbled out into the crisp, damp air, catching the tail end of the drawn-out, "Fuuuck!”

It seemed that Moe wasn't the sole participant in this unfamiliar transaction; Einer was involved as well. The thought provided a slight sense of comfort as Moe made his way to his small abode, once a gardener's shed used for storing supplies and tools, later transformed into a summer retreat. On the day Moe reluctantly signed the contract, he had inspected every room in the mansion, rejecting Patrick's confused suggestions for furniture changes, and ultimately settled on the modest summer house. The sparsely furnished gardener's cottage appeared to be the only suitable choice, and Moe breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped his backpack.