Chapter 42 Vespera #2
I sat there on the rehearsal studio floor and ugly-cried. Not pretty tears. Gasping, choking sobs that shook my whole body. I pressed my palms to the wood floor until they hurt, trying to ground myself, but everything was spinning.
Nine years.
Nine years I'd wondered why. Made up stories. Blamed myself.
And the answer was: she was a coward who chose herself.
The worst part?
I understood.
God fucking help me, I understood.
I'd felt it. Those months before the claiming when Dorian used the bond to manipulate me. When I felt myself getting smaller. Quieter. Disappearing into what everyone expected an Omega to be.
I'd tried to run too. Scratched Dorian's face and fled across campus with nothing but my purse. Made it all the way to the gates before I collapsed.
The only difference was I didn't make it out. And then, after they caught me, I stayed and fought.
But what if I hadn't? What if I'd been weaker? What if the bond had won?
I picked up the letter with shaking hands. Read it again. This time seeing myself in every line.
I disappeared into being his mate, his Omega.
Was I doing that? With Dorian? I'd moved into the pack house. Let them take care of me. Started building my life around them.
Was I disappearing?
No.
No, because I was still here. Still angry. Still fighting for my own space. Still demanding they earn me instead of taking me.
I wasn't disappearing.
I was choosing.
Every. Fucking. Day.
My phone buzzed. Dorian. The bond must be screaming at him—my distress flooding through our connection like a five-alarm fire.
Dorian: Where are you? What's wrong?
Dorian: Vespera please answer me
Dorian: I'm coming to find you
I texted back with tear-blurred vision: I'm fine. Give me an hour. Please.
Three dots. Forever. Then:
Dorian: One hour. Then I'm coming whether you want me to or not.
Fair.
I read the letter one more time. Let it hurt. Let it clarify. Let it teach me what I already knew but needed to hear from someone who'd lived it:
The bond wasn't absolute. My mother had broken it. Which meant every day I stayed was my choice.
Not biology forcing me.
Not the bond controlling me.
Choice.
And I was choosing to stay.
Dad was waiting in his car in the visitor lot, exactly where he said he'd be. I yanked open the passenger door and threw myself into the seat, letter crumpled in my fist.
"Nine years," I said. No preamble. Pure fury. "You had this for nine fucking years."
He didn't flinch. "Yes."
"I presented at fourteen. I've been an Omega for five years and you never thought 'hey, maybe my daughter deserves to know why her mother abandoned her'?"
"Vespera—"
"No." My voice cracked. "You let me think—god, I made up so many stories. That she died. That she was forced to leave. That maybe she loved us but had no choice. And the whole time you had this letter telling me the truth. That she left because she was too weak to stay."
"She asked me to wait—"
"She's a coward who doesn't get to make that call!" I was shouting now, letter shaking in my grip. "You're my father. You should have told me. Years ago. Before I presented. Before I bonded. Before I—" I choked on the words. Before I started disappearing the same way she did.
The silence in the car was suffocating.
"You're right," Dad said finally. His voice was quiet. Defeated. "I should have told you sooner. I was trying to protect you one more time, and I ended up hurting you instead. I'm sorry."
The apology punctured my anger. Left me hollow and exhausted.
"She was honest, at least," I said, slumping back in the seat. "Brutally fucking honest."
"She was a coward," he said, and there was old pain in his voice. Old anger. "She ran instead of fighting."
"She was both."
He looked at me then, really looked. "Are you okay?"
"No." Honest answer. Might as well keep the trend going. "She's right about some things. The bond is suffocating if you let it be. The world does try to make you smaller. I've felt all of it."
"But you're still here."
"Yeah. I'm still here." I smoothed out the crumpled letter on my lap. "I'm not running."
"Why?" Not accusing. Genuinely trying to understand.
"Because I'm not her." The words came easier than I expected. "I'm not running from something I can fight. And because the pack—they're trying. They were monsters, Dad. Everything she warned about. But they're choosing to change. And I'm choosing to let them prove they can."
His hand found mine. Squeezed. "That's brave."
"Or stupid."
"Maybe both." A sad smile. "Your mother couldn't do it. Couldn't find that balance. I tried to help her, but I didn't understand what she needed until she was already gone."
"Did you know? That she felt like that?"
His sigh was heavy. "I knew she was unhappy. I didn't know how bad it was. The bond makes you complacent—everything feels fine because biologically it is fine. I should have paid attention to what she wasn't saying."
"Could the bond have kept her here? Forced her to stay?"
"It made leaving harder. The physical pain of separation is real. But she did it anyway." He looked out the windshield. "The bond's strong, Vesper. But it's not absolute. Not if someone wants to break it badly enough."
The revelation settled over me like snow. Quiet. Cold. Clarifying.
The bond wasn't absolute.
My mother proved that.
Which meant every day I stayed was a choice. Not biology. Not force.
Choice.
"I need to go," I said abruptly. "The Alphas are probably losing their minds. The bond's been screaming distress at them for an hour."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah." And surprisingly, I meant it. "I'm okay, Dad. Thank you for bringing this. For waiting until I was ready."
"I'm proud of you," he said as I opened the door. "Your mother would be too, even if she can't say it."
"She would have been proud that I'm not running?"
"She would have been proud that you're stronger than she was." He reached over and squeezed my hand. "Showcase is this weekend, right?"
"Saturday night. You're still coming?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
I hugged him—quick, awkward, but real—and then I was walking back across campus with my mother's letter in my bag and a strange sense of clarity settling over me.
I knew what I needed to do.
The pack house was quiet when I got home.
Home. When had I started calling it that?
Dorian was pacing in the living room. He spun when he heard the door, and the relief on his face was almost painful.
"Where were you?" Not angry. Terrified. "The bond—fuck, I thought—"
"My father came to campus." I dropped my bag by the door. "He brought me a letter."
Understanding dawned. "From your mother."
I nodded.
He opened his arms and I went to him, let him wrap around me, let the bond settle as our scents mixed. His heartbeat was too fast against my ear.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.
"She ran." The words were muffled against his chest. "Felt the bond suffocating her. Felt herself disappearing. So she chose herself and left."
His arms tightened. "Vespera—"
I pulled back to look at him. "She warned me. About Alphas who'd see me as property. About biology overriding choice. About becoming smaller." I traced the claiming mark on his throat—permanent evidence of everything we'd been through. "She was right. You did all that."
He flinched. "I know. I'm sorry—"
"But she was wrong too." I cut him off. "She didn't think anyone could change. Didn't believe a bond could be anything but a cage."
"What are you saying?"
I stepped back. Needed space to say this without the bond clouding everything. "I love you. I've said it and I meant it. But I need you to understand something."
He went very still. Waiting.
"Saturday, I'm standing on that stage and being extraordinary.
Everyone will be watching. Everyone will see that I'm more than an Omega.
More than pack. More than biology." I met his eyes.
"And if the bond ever starts making me smaller?
If I start disappearing? I'm gone. I don't care how much it hurts. I won't lose myself."
"I would never—"
"You already did." My voice was flat. Factual. "Before. When you tried to control me."
His jaw clenched. "You're right. I did. And I'll spend the rest of my life making up for it."
"Good." I crossed my arms. "Because I'm not my mother. I'm not running. But I'm also not disappearing into being someone's Omega. Your Omega, sure. But mine first. Always mine first."
Something shifted in his expression. Not hurt. Understanding. Maybe even relief.
"I don't want you any other way," he said quietly. "The Omega who disappeared? That's not who I fell in love with."
"Then remember that." I picked up my bag, pulled out the letter. "I'm keeping this. As a reminder."
"Of what?"
"That I have a choice. Every day. To stay or go. To be yours or mine." I looked down at the worn paper. "She ran. I'm staying. But only because I'm choosing to."
He crossed the distance between us in two strides. His hands came up to frame my face, and when he kissed me it was desperate. Grateful. Like he'd been terrified I'd come home with a different answer.
When he pulled back, his ice-blue eyes were bright. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For choosing to stay. For giving me the chance to prove I'm worth it."
I touched his chest, felt his racing heart. "Don't make me regret it."
"Never." He pressed his forehead to mine. "I promise."
That night I lay in bed with the letter on my nightstand. Dorian was asleep beside me, one arm draped across my waist. Through the walls I could feel the others—Oakley in his room, Corvus in his office. The whole pack settling around me.
My mother ran from this.
I was staying.
I reached out and touched the letter one more time. Cream paper soft with age.
Don't be like me. Be stronger.
"I'm not you," I whispered.
Six days until showcase. Six days to prove I could be bonded and free. Omega and powerful. Theirs and mine all at once.
My mother couldn't do it.
But I wasn't my mother.