Chapter 6

Roman sat in the shadows of the vehicle, his chest heaving, his hands resting on his knees. He was staring at me, his black eyes tracking the tears that were finally spilling over my eyelashes, leaving dark tracks down my makeup.

"Why did you do it?" I whispered, my voice breaking, the anger draining out of me, leaving only the raw, bleeding hollow of the betrayal. "It was midnight, Roman. It was my birthday. The bond... it snapped. You felt it. You knew."

"I didn't know it would happen tonight, Al," he said, his voice dropping into a desperate, hollow register. He reached across the seat, his large hand trembling as he tried to touch my knee. "I didn't know you were my mate until the exact second you opened that door."

"Don't touch me," I choked out, pulling my legs away from him, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest. "You were kissing her. You were running your hands up her legs. If I hadn't opened that door, you would have taken her right there on the couch. On the night I turned twenty-one."

"No," he growled, a fierce, protective denial cutting through his tone. "I wouldn't have. I was drunk, Al. I was stupid. She... she came onto me, and I was trying to distract myself because watching you dance with every guy in that club was driving me insane. It meant nothing. She means nothing to me."

"It doesn't matter," I sobbed, closing my eyes as the image burned behind my eyelids again. "You ruined it. You ruined the one thing I was waiting for."

"I didn't ruin us, Allie. I could never ruin us," he pleaded, moving across the leather seat, ignoring my protests as he closed the distance between us. He reached out, his massive hands gently but firmly cupping my face, forcing me to look at him.

The contrast of his touch—the raw, possessive strength mixed with a desperate, trembling tenderness—made my heart fracture even further. His thumbs brushed the tears from my cheeks, his icy-blue eyes slowly returning, filled with a profound, terrifying vulnerability.

"Look at me, Al. Please," he whispered, his forehead leaning down to touch mine. His breath was warm, mixing with mine in the tight space. "My wolf is screaming for you. I’m going crazy. I can't breathe without you right now. I’m taking you back to my place. You're staying with me tonight. I can't let you out of my sight."

"I want to go home, Roman," I muttered, my voice slurring slightly as the alcohol began to pull me under into a heavy, dark exhaustion. "I want my mom. I want the packhouse."

"Tomorrow," he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple, a soft, lingering pressure that sent a traitorous wave of comfort through my aching body. "Tomorrow I'll take you wherever you want. But tonight, you're safe with me."

I didn't have the strength to fight him anymore. The combination of the tequila, the emotional trauma, and the sheer exhausting weight of the new mate bond pulled my eyelids down. As the SUV glided through the dark streets of Chicago, I let my head fall against Roman’s shoulder.

He wrapped his massive arms around me, pulling me onto his lap, burying his face in my hair as he let out a long, ragged sigh of relief. He held me like I was a piece of glass he had already broken, terrified that if he let go, the pieces would scatter into the dark where he could never find them again.

The next morning, the light was a physical blade.

I woke up with a groan, my hand flying to my forehead as a blinding, localized explosion of pain rocked my skull. My mouth tasted like ash and copper, my throat completely parched.

I shifted, my body feeling heavy and uncooperative. The sheets beneath me were smooth, expensive, and charcoal-grey.

Roman’s bed.

The memories of the previous night rushed back in a sudden, violent flood—the Jumbotron, the platinum bracelet, the VIP room, the snap of the bond, the bottle of tequila. I sat up abruptly, a wave of nausea washing over me as I looked down at myself. I was still wearing the black silk dress, though it was wrinkled and twisted around my hips.

The apartment was dead silent.

"Roman?" I called out, my voice a dry, gravelly whisper.

No answer.

I swung my legs out of bed, my feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. I felt dizzy, my balance compromised by the lingering effects of the alcohol, but a sudden, urgent instinct told me I needed to leave. I needed to get out of this penthouse before he woke up, before he tried to use his words and his touch to make me forget the image of him with that blonde.

I padded quietly out of the master bedroom, my heels left behind as I walked barefoot down the long, minimalist hallway toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water before slipping out the front door.

But as I rounded the corner into the open-concept living area, the sound of voices stopped me dead in my tracks.

Roman was there. He was standing by the marble kitchen island, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, his broad torso completely bare, his dark hair wild and uncombed. He looked exhausted, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

But he wasn't alone.

Sitting on one of the barstools, sipping from a mug of coffee while wearing one of Roman’s oversized white button-down shirts, was the blonde from the club.

She looked different in the daylight. Her makeup was washed off, revealing a sharp, aristocratic beauty, her pale eyes calculating and cold. She didn't look like a random puck-bunny from a nightclub. She looked like royalty.

"You need to tell your parents to call off the announcement, Roman," the girl said, her voice smooth, dripping with a quiet, confident authority. "The elders are already drafting the contract. The union between the Greyson pack and the Crescent pack is exactly what both boards want. My father expects the signing by the end of the month."

Roman rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tight. "I told you last night, Vanessa. I don't give a fuck what your father expects. The situation has changed."

"Changed how?" Vanessa purred, leaning forward, her fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug. "Because of that little human-looking girl you dragged out of the club? Don't be ridiculous, Rome. A temporary distraction doesn't cancel an alliance that secures three territories. You're the Alpha heir. You have duties."

I stood in the shadow of the hallway, my breath completely catching in my throat.

*Vanessa.*

She wasn't a random hookup. She was the girl his parents wanted him to marry. She was an Alpha-born female from a powerful ally pack, brought in to combine their empires. And she was sitting in his kitchen, wearing his shirt, discussing their future marriage while I was recovering from the shock of discovering he was my fated mate.

A cold, hollow void opened up in my chest.

Roman hadn't told her about the bond. He hadn't rejected her. He was standing there, negotiating with her, keeping his options open while I was hiding in his bedroom like a dirty little secret.

I couldn't breathe. The air in the penthouse felt toxic, suffocating me.

Before either of them could notice me, I stepped back into the shadows. I didn't grab my shoes. I didn't grab my clutch. I grabbed my phone from the hallway table where Roman must have left it, my fingers trembling so hard I almost dropped it.

I didn't say a word. I didn't make a sound.

I slipped through the heavy front door of the penthouse, letting it click shut behind me, and ran toward the elevators, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces that I knew no amount of time would ever fix.