Chapter 38 Vespera
thirty-eight
Vespera
I need to get out of the house.
Yesterday I got the cast list—Hedda Gabler, the role I've been dreaming about—and Dorian didn't even acknowledge it. Didn't congratulate me, didn't look at me, stayed locked in his room with his father's scotch like I don't exist.
This morning was worse. I woke up in Oakley's bed again, unable to face sleeping alone when the bond aches this badly. Came downstairs hoping maybe today would be different, maybe Dorian would actually talk to me.
Instead, I found him in the kitchen making coffee with mechanical precision, and when I said "good morning" he nodded and left without a word.
So I'm done waiting. I grab my bag and leave before Oakley or Corvus can try to make it better with gentle concern and clinical observations.
Campus is bustling with the usual Monday morning chaos—students rushing to classes, gathering in groups, the constant hum of academic life. I head toward the student union, thinking I'll grab coffee and find a quiet corner to review my script before first rehearsal this afternoon.
The café is crowded, and I'm scanning for an empty table when I catch a familiar scent—vanilla and cedar, distinctly omega, achingly recognizable.
My breath catches.
Robbie Gao sits at a corner table by the window, books spread around him, a coffee cup at his elbow. He's wearing Northwood's uniform—perfectly pressed, impeccable as always—and he's studying what looks like a script, completely absorbed.
Relief floods through me. I haven't seen him since we got back from the lake house—different class schedules, him catching up on everything he missed, me dealing with Dorian's spiral. But seeing him now, solid and real and here, makes something tight in my chest ease.
Before I can decide whether to approach, Robbie looks up from his script.
Our eyes meet across the crowded café.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then his face breaks into a genuine smile—warm, familiar, everything I've been missing.
He gathers his things quickly and crosses the café, sliding into the seat across from me without hesitation.
"Vespera." His voice is warm, easy. "I was hoping I'd run into you. Haven't seen you around much since we got back."
"Different schedules," I say, already feeling steadier being near him. "And I've been... dealing with stuff at the house."
His expression shifts to concern. "Dorian?"
"Yeah."
"Figured." He signals a passing barista for another coffee. "You look like you need to talk. And maybe some caffeine."
The simple offer makes my throat tight. "Have you—have you seen them? Since you got back?"
His jaw tightens slightly. "Corvus, yes. We've... talked. Briefly. Awkwardly. He apologized. I accepted it but made it clear we're not friends." He pauses. "The others I've avoided. Not ready for that yet."
"I don't blame you." I turn my hand over under his, linking our fingers. "God, I've missed you. Having you back on campus—I didn't realize how much I needed it until now."
"I've missed you too." His thumb rubs over my knuckles. "How have you been? Really?"
The question opens something in my chest. "Complicated. The bonds are... a lot. And Dorian's been—" I stop, not sure how to explain.
"An asshole?" Robbie supplies, his tone dry but sympathetic.
A surprised laugh escapes me. "Yeah. Pretty much. He went to visit his parents and came back... different. Cold. Like he can't even look at me."
"Let me guess." Robbie leans back, still holding my hand. "They told him you're inappropriate. That his feelings aren't real. That choosing you means losing his inheritance."
I stare at him. "How did you—"
"Because that's what wealthy, traditional families do when their precious Alpha heir catches feelings for someone they deem unsuitable." His expression is knowing, sad. "I've seen it before. My own extended family disowned my parents for their 'progressive' pack structure."
Over coffee, I tell him everything. About the lake house, about Dorian's trip to his parents, about Oakley's gentleness and Corvus's negotiations and the way I'm trying to navigate bonds I never wanted.
"And Dorian shut down when he came back?" Robbie asks.
"Completely. Won't talk to me, won't look at me, drinks expensive scotch in his room and acts like I don't exist."
"While you're living in his house."
"While I'm living in his house," I confirm.
"That's fucked up."
"That's what I said."
Robbie is quiet, absently stealing one of my fries. "You know you don't have to stay there, right? If it's toxic, if Dorian's making it unbearable—you have options."
"Do I?" I meet his eyes. "The bonds—"
"Are real, yes. But they don't mean you have to accept being treated like shit." He leans forward. "Vespera, I know fated mates are supposed to be this overwhelming biological imperative. But you're still a person with agency. You still get to decide what you'll tolerate."
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" He challenges gently. "What would happen if you told Dorian you're staying somewhere else until he gets his shit together? Would the bonds kill you?"
"No," I admit. "They'd hurt, but they wouldn't kill me."
"Then maybe it's time to stop accepting scraps of attention from someone who can't decide if you're worth fighting for."
The words hit hard because they're true. I have been accepting scraps. Grateful when Dorian doesn't actively reject me, relieved when he's cold instead of cruel.
"I don't know if I can," I say quietly. "Walk away, I mean. Even temporarily."
"Then don't walk away." Robbie's expression is serious. "But stop making yourself smaller to fit into his dysfunction. Stop waiting for him to choose you. Make him prove he deserves you instead."
"How?"
"However feels right to you." He reaches across the table, taking my hand. "But start by remembering that you're Vespera Levine. You got the lead in the showcase as a freshman. You survived their campaign of terror. You're extraordinary, with or without him."
My throat tightens. "When did you get so wise?"
"Getting systematically destroyed and then rebuilt teaches perspective." His smile is wry but genuine. "Use me as a cautionary tale. I let what happened define me for too long. Don't make the same mistake."
"I saw the cast list went up," he says, changing the subject. "Hedda Gabler. Lead role. Broadway scouts. That's huge, Vespera."
"Thanks." I manage a smile. "First rehearsal is this afternoon, actually."
"You're going to be an incredible Hedda," he says firmly. "Don't let Dorian's crisis dim that for you."
We talk for another hour—about classes, about the theater program, about his plans now that he's back. It's easy, comfortable, exactly what I needed.
As we're leaving, Robbie pulls me into another hug. "Text me anytime," he says. "I mean it. Three AM crisis? I'm there. Need someone to tell Dorian he's being an idiot? Also there."
"Thank you," I whisper. "For coming back. For not hating me."
"Never." He pulls back, serious. "You're my friend, Vespera. That doesn't change because of what they did to either of us."
Rehearsal is intense in the best way. De Scarzis runs us through the full first act, blocking every movement with precision. Ben and I find our rhythm quickly—that same chemistry from callbacks amplified now that we're working in full character.
By the time rehearsal ends three hours later, I'm exhausted but energized. This is what I needed—to remember that I'm good at this. That I have value outside of being someone's omega.
I take my time walking back to the pack house, letting the cool evening air clear my head. By the time I arrive, Oakley's making dinner, Corvus is in his study, and Dorian's door is closed.
Same as always.
But something feels different in me. Lighter. More centered.
I have Robbie back. I have my role as Hedda. I have proof that I exist outside of this pack's dysfunction.
And maybe—maybe—that's enough to start demanding better.
I head upstairs, but instead of going to Oakley's room or my own, I stop outside Dorian's door.
For a long stretch, I stand there, listening to the silence on the other side. Then I knock.
No answer.
I knock again, harder. "Dorian. We need to talk."
Still nothing.
"Fine," I say to the closed door. "Keep hiding. But I'm done waiting for you to decide if I'm worth your time. When you're ready to actually show up, let me know. Until then, I have better things to do than beg for scraps of your attention."
I don't wait for a response. Turn and walk to my own room, closing the door firmly behind me.
My phone buzzes. Robbie.
Robbie: Proud of you. Whatever you just did, I'm proud of you.
I smile despite everything.
Me: How did you know I did something?
Robbie: Because I know you. Now get some sleep. You have a show to prepare for.
Me: Yes, sir.
Robbie: ??
I get ready for bed, and for the first time in three days, I sleep in my own room.
Alone.
By choice.