As soon as Kluea and Auto walked out of the restaurant, Chef Oab stood there, rooted to the spot. The scene that had just unfolded gnawed at him, and he could feel his blood boiling. Hatred swelled up inside him, a deep resentment that seemed to have festered for years.
He couldn't shake the thought that he was supposed to be in Kluea's shoes—the one carrying baby Buea, the one comforting Plawan when things got tough, the one who was supposed to build a future with him. The bitterness in his chest only grew as he relived the moment that changed everything.
It had been four months since he left Plawan, and when he tried to come back—to fix things, to forgive the omega—he had already been too late. The memory of that day was seared into his mind.
Oab remembered walking up to Plawan's house, his heart in his throat, determined to mend the rift between them. But what he saw instead shattered him.
Plawan had already moved on.
He was casually seated in his living room, looking peaceful. And there was Kluea—the man who now stood by his side—gently caressing Plawan's stomach. Oab's eyes had immediately zeroed in on the small but unmistakable bump that Kluea's hand was resting on.
Oab's heart had clenched painfully as the truth hit him like a freight train. Plawan was pregnant—and not with his child. That was the moment he knew he wasn't needed anymore. His presence, his love, his forgiveness—it was all irrelevant now. Plawan had someone else. Someone who could give him what Oab hadn't.
But the question that still haunted him, even now, was this: Did Plawan ever care about him at all?
Had everything been a lie? How could Plawan have moved on so easily—so quickly? Was Oab just a fleeting chapter in Plawan's life, a mistake that he was eager to forget?
The resentment ran deep in Oab's bones. He couldn't look at the omega without feeling the weight of betrayal crushing him. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was hatred, pure and seething, that coursed through his veins.
Every time he thought about Plawan, about Kluea, about that baby—it was like rubbing salt in an open wound. Oab had been replaced, and that reality was like a dagger lodged permanently in his chest.
And now, watching them walk out of his restaurant, watching Kluea hold the child that should've been his, only made Oab more certain of one thing:
Plawan never truly loved him.
"Get back to work," Oab muttered to the server, his voice sharp. He turned back to the kitchen, but his mind lingered on Plawan, on the life he had lost, and the ache of a future that would never be his.
He was determined to hate him for the rest of his life, no matter how much it tore him apart inside.
As soon as Kluea and Auto returned, Buea wriggled out of Kluea's arms, rushing toward Plawan. His little face was scrunched up on the verge of tears, his tiny voice breaking as he pleaded, "Papa... sca-f!"
Plawan quickly crouched down and reached into his bag, pulling out the soft, well-worn scarf that Buea had grown so attached to since he was a newborn. The moment the toddler saw it, his eyes lit up, and he grabbed it with both hands, pressing it close to his cheek.
"Here you go, sweetie," Plawan soothed, gently wrapping the scarf around Buea's small neck. He knew how important this little piece of cloth was to his son—it was almost like a security blanket. It had been with them through sleepless nights and quiet mornings, a constant comfort in Buea's young life.
