Chapter 54
A week later
Xavier
A WEEK. THAT’S HOW long it’s been since the world caught Rowan’s scent and decided it had the right to tear her apart. One grainy hotel photo. One segment of edited footage. And just like that, the vultures started circling.
They didn’t know her name then. They do now. I’ve spent the past seven days putting out fires. And lighting a few of my own. Lawsuits. Cease and desists. Formal defamation claims. Anyone who published outright lies has been served. No one touches her without consequences.
Her family tried. Tried calling. Texting. Guilt-tripping. Demanding answers she didn’t owe them. So, I handled that too. They’ve been formally warned. They contact her again; they deal with me. She doesn’t know about half of it. She doesn’t need to.
She has enough on her plate prepping for the sit-down with Nora Devane and the podcast taping with Lexi James. We’re not hiding. Not anymore. I haven’t bonded either Omega. Not yet. But the rest of my pack has. And that makes Rowan and Sébastien ours .
So, they’re mine to protect, too. Until I decide I’m ready. I’ll be the wall that keeps the rest of the world off their backs.
It’s almost time. The Nora Devane interview is scheduled for this afternoon. We’re filming it at the upstate house on Hitchcock Lane, in Millbrook. Private. Controlled. Every angle secured. Nora’s team has been on site since sunrise, staging furniture and lighting like they’re filming a royal coronation.
And maybe they are. Because Rowan’s not just doing an interview. She’s about to redefine herself. On her terms. I stayed in the city longer than I meant to. Too many loose ends at the office. I needed to make sure every last headline was scrubbed, every legal thread locked down tight. But now? Now it’s time to go.
The ride up is quiet. The stretch limo glides through the winding roads, tinted windows hiding me from view. My phone is silenced. My inbox is full. I don’t care. I’m too busy thinking about her.
Not just what she’ll say, or how she’ll sit under those lights. But how she’ll look at me after. If she’ll even look at me at all. The ride is smooth without a lot of extra traffic. We make good time.
The front door opens before I reach it, someone saw the car pull in. I step through, and the air changes. Softer. Warmer. I stop just inside the ornate front door. And there she is. Rowan.
Standing across the room. Poised. Wearing soft cream silk, delicate and sleeveless, with the faintest shimmer under the lights. Her hair is pinned up, curls falling around her face like a halo, and her bite marks, my packs bite marks, rest proud and visible on her neck. Not hidden. On display for the whole world to see. She turns and sees me. And for a split-second, the whole damn world falls away.
Silk clings to her like it was poured onto her skin, soft and effortless. The delicate dip at her collarbone draws my eyes to the marks. Their marks.
Cole’s.
Massimo’s.
Sébastien’s.
Laurent’s.
My jaw tightens. I haven’t left mine. But my body doesn’t care. My scent wants to wrap around her. My hands want to touch. My teeth ache. She smiles. Small, nervous, but real. And it undoes me.
I take a step forward. Then stop. My hands clench at my sides. I can’t. Not with a crew here. Not when I’m not ready. Not when I still haven’t decided what this is. What she is to me. But gods, she’s radiant. She’s standing in my house , wrapped in silk and bravery, about to put herself in front of the world and I’m standing here like a ghost outside his own pack.
I force my voice calm. “You look... ready.”
Her lips twitch like she knows exactly what I’m not saying. “That’s the goal.”
She doesn’t move towards me. She doesn’t have to. She already owns the space between us.