16. Uri
16
Uri
T here’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t shake, no matter how hard I’m trying. It’s like a vice, wrapping around my lungs, squeezing down and making every breath shallow.
My ribs ache with the effort, my skin clammy as a slow, creeping nausea settles in.
This isn’t the usual tension I carry—the steady burn of responsibility or the fear that sits under my skin—no, this is something else.
Something worse.
“How long have you been in the consultancy business?” Paxton asks, trying desperately to bridge the silence hanging over the table.
And to suck up to Emmeline—through her brother.
Evander barely spares him a glance, not caring about our head alpha’s desperation. “Four years.”
He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.
His contempt for us— for me —presses against the room, thick and heavy, like a storm about to break.
The alpha in him is bristling, seething with a barely controlled fury. And I can’t even blame him.
If I were him, if Emmeline were my sister, I’d hate me, too.
I stare at my plate, barely able to focus on the curry in front of me. It might as well be sawdust. The scent of spices, once rich and warm, now turns my stomach. The clatter of utensils around me scrapes against my nerves, the murmurs a distorted hum.
And, fuck, the emotional scents. Other than Oscar, everyone else’s scent neutralisers are slowly starting to wear off, and the blur of anger, tension, and resentment hits me like a wall.
My grip tightens on my fork, the cool metal biting into my fingers.
One inhale. One exhale.
Control, Uri, control.
I can get through this.
Sterling nudges my foot under the table, a quiet attempt to pull me out of my head. I ignore him. If I look at him, he’ll see it—how close I am to snapping.
And I can’t do that right now. Not here. Not with everyone else present.
Not in front of Emmeline.
I’ve already destroyed her life. I can’t cause her any anxiety or risk the baby.
Someone says something—maybe Oscar, maybe Paxton—but I can’t hear over the pounding in my skull. My head spins. The room tilts slightly. My throat tightens against the pressure.
I want to scream. I want to rage.
I want to fucking hurt someone.
But I can’t.
I can’t let the monster out.
“I’m okay, Ev.” Emmeline’s soft whisper cuts through the noise in my head like a slap, sharp and grounding. My breath catches, my pulse hammering in my throat.
My gaze snaps to her on instinct. She isn’t looking at me. Just idly rubbing small, absent-minded circles over her stomach as she pushes food around on her plate.
She’s made herself small, tiny. She’s hiding, retreating.
Because of me and the shitty decisions I’ve made. Because of my presence.
Something cracks inside me.
She’s carrying my child.
My fucking child.
And I left her.
I walked away, convinced I wasn’t worthy. That I’d ruin her.
I left because I thought it was the best thing for her. The only thing that would save her from me.
But all I did was prove myself right. Because instead of protecting her, I did exactly what I was afraid of.
I don’t deserve them.
The thought grips me by the throat, squeezing tighter. My lungs fight for air, but it’s like drowning—suffocating under the weight of failure, sinking before I can even reach the surface.
I should be happy. Should be excited. Should be the alpha she deserves, the dad our baby deserves.
But all I feel is terror.
What if I hurt them?
What if I fail them?
What if I ruin them?
I left Emmeline for a reason. I was never meant to be someone’s mate. I was never meant to be tied to people other than my pack.
They can handle me. They… they’ve seen the worst of it all.
Fate was laughing when she gave me an omega like Emmeline—so delicate, so fucking perfect.
But she was so fucking cruel when she gave me someone to love and to cherish.
Someone to protect and to care for.
How am I ever meant to do that?
And now she’s made it even worse.
She’s given me a child.
People say that babies are miracles, that they’re never an accident.
But mine is—this one is.
I was never meant to be a father. I’m not built for it.
I was never meant to be anything but feared.
“Are we just going to ignore the obvious here?” Sterling asks, his voice pulling me back into reality, into the kitchen.
My breath stutters. The noise in the room amplifies, the words blurring together into a suffocating wall of sound.
I feel sick.
I’m going to be sick.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, swallowing hard. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to?—
“Something wrong, Uri? Do you have something you want to share?” Evander’s voice cuts through the fog like a knife to my spine. “Or do you just not care enough to fight for her?”
My body tingles, my vision reddening, as a tremor slams through my gut. My jaw locks, the world around me narrowing to just him.
I snap my head up, and the look on his face—half taunting, half disdainful—sends something ugly curling through me.
He’s baiting me. He wants me to break.
He wants me to show him how terrible I truly am.
He wants to hurt me like I hurt his sister.
Emmeline lowers her head, letting her hair shield her face, and my heart clenches.
She can’t look at me.
She won’t .
She’s disgusted.
Disgusted by what I did to her.
Disgusted by the life I’ve now forced upon her.
I can see her hatred, smell the phantom scent of her lavender souring and her chamomile burning.
My fingers tighten around my fork again as I try desperately to remain in control.
Evander watches, waiting—testing. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers tighten slightly around his fork, his breathing a fraction too steady. He’s bracing himself like he’s preparing for the worst.
He wants me to react. Wants me to lash out.
He wants me to show them all the monster they think I am.
I won’t do it.
I can’t.
Inhale. Exhale.
Control.
My silence isn’t enough for him. His gaze flicks to Emmeline, then back to me, something sharp in his expression.
“What, not hungry?” he tilts his head, his tone mocking and dry. “Or just regretting ever coming back?”
The words hit harder than they should. Maybe because they’re my own thoughts thrown back at me.
Maybe because I know he’s right.
I’m a fucking fool.
Pathetic, embarrassing, destructive.
The chair scrapes against the floor as I stand.
I don’t speak.
I don’t look at Emmeline.
I don’t deserve to.
She’s perfect, beautiful, sweet… she’s everything, and I’ve broken her.
Shattered her purity.
Destroyed her image.
Broke her spirit.
The air is too thick, the walls too close, my lungs too fucking tight.
I barely hear the voices calling after me as I storm out of the room.
There’s nothing they can do for me.
Nothing they can say to convince me of the truth.
I just know I can’t be here.
That I don’t deserve to be.
But I know where I need to go. Who I need to speak to.
I need them.
The only people who have ever believed in me.
I need their promises that I can do this and their reassurance that I won’t hurt anyone.
I need their support.
I need them to tell me I’m not already tearing apart the only thing that’s ever mattered.