Chapter 4
Ibrace one hand on the marble sink and dig my fingers into the suture knot at my side.
The thread is crusted where it disappears into my body, the skin around it tight and angry. I should wait another few days. It’s only been a week. But Aaiden’s latest restriction is putting a halt to my hunt until these stitches come out.
“Fuck it.”
I tug.
Pain rips through my stomach, stealing the air from my lungs as the thread gives. A thin line of blood wells up, sliding warm over my fingers, but I keep pulling, cutting, and dragging each stitch out until a small pile of black threads speckled with blood and tissue lies in the sink.
By the time I finish, my hands shake, and my side pulses with every racing heartbeat. I press a clean bandage over the wound as I brace against the sink, breathing through the dizziness.
A knock on the bathroom door freezes me in place.
“Jade? You’ve been in there twenty minutes,” my mother’s worried voice calls through the door, but she doesn’t try to enter, respecting my boundaries.
“I’ll be out in a second,” I say, my vision swimming.
“Breakfast is almost ready.”
Her footsteps retreat down the hall.
I return to my task, ripping off strips of medical tape with bloody fingers to hold the gauze in place.
I pull my shirt down. The black tee will hide any blood that seeps through.
I wash the evidence down the drain and exit the bathroom into the long marble hallway of the staff wing of Rockford Manor.
Morning light streams through tall windows, illuminating portraits of Rockford ancestors lining the walls.
Stern faces, strong jaws. Alphas, every one of them, looking down at me with judgment.
The scent of lemon polish and old money fills my nostrils. Once, this place was a home.
Now it’s become another prison. More beautiful than the last one, but still a prison.
A maid passes, carrying fresh linens. “Morning, Jade.”
“Morning.” I don’t stop to chat.
That’s how it always is. The staff treats me like family because that’s how I grew up here, the son of the housekeeper, running these halls with the younger Rockford boys. Not quite one of them, but close enough. Now, that weird almost-belonging has become a noose.
I pass Milo in the hallway, his beauty still startling even after all these months. Aaiden’s cousin, Liam, had fallen for those high cheekbones and full lips at first sight.
The delicate gold chain around his neck catches the light. A new gift from his mate. The sight twists in my chest, not because I want Aaiden to shower me with jewelry, but because of how his Alpha dotes on him, finding charm in even his most cutting remarks.
What must it be like to be treasured for your sharp edges rather than despite them?
Crystal blue eyes fringed by ginger lashes meet mine. “Training at ten, if you’re joining us today.”
I grunt in response. Aaiden still hasn’t given back my gun, but I plan to fix that today.
The rich aroma of bacon and coffee draws me to the large dining room, where I find my mother directing staff to set out the chafing dishes of breakfast offerings. There’s definitely more gray in her black hair since I was taken.
She turns as I enter, her smile immediate and warm.
“There you are. I made your favorite.” She gestures to the pan of French toast. “With extra cinnamon.”
My stomach twists with dark emotions I’ll never let free in front of her. It’s not her fault that her attempts to return to normalcy since my return hurt more than her tears ever could.
I force a smile and grab a plate. “Thanks, ma.”
She studies me. “You look pale. Are you all right?”
I focus on pouring syrup over my breakfast. “Just tired.”
Her hands twist in her apron. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
Eight months ago, I would have. Now there’s too much between us, a chasm of experience she can’t cross, and I can’t explain.
“Of course.” Another lie.
I turn away and spot Aaiden sitting at the far end of the long table, phone pressed to his ear. Even first thing in the morning, he wears a pressed suit in dark gray with a pale blue tie.
Not a hair out of place, not a gesture wasted.
Control personified.
My fingers tighten around my plate.
“Something’s happened with the business,” my mother explains, following my line of sight to Aaiden. “He’s been on calls since five this morning.”
While I’ve been pulling stitches from my side, he’s been moving billions across continents.
The distance between us has never felt more vast.
Familiar anger hums under my skin, mixing with the throbbing at my side, and I set my plate down, breakfast forgotten.
“Jade, you need to eat,” my mother protests.
I ignore her, moving toward the end of the table with purpose. My side screams with each step, but I welcome the pain. It fuels me.
As I approach, Aaiden’s eyes sweep over me, lingering on my hands with a frown.
Did I miss some blood beneath my nails? Well, who cares? He’s the one who placed a limit on the stitches instead of the actual wound.
I stop in front of him, invading his personal space in a way no one else in this house would dare. The scent of his expensive cologne hits me, followed by the pheromones beneath, whispering that I should crawl into his lap and let his Alpha rumble soothe away the pain.
Too bad Aaiden never rumbles for me.
“We need to talk,” I say, uncaring of the person on the other side of his phone call. “Now.”
Without hesitation, he says, “I’ll have to call you back.”
He disconnects without waiting for a response, setting the phone on the table.
Just like that. Billion-dollar deals can wait, but Jade Bustly can’t. The contradiction of it all would be funny if it weren’t so infuriating.
“Alone,” I snap when he sits there staring at me.
Aaiden takes in the pallor of my skin, the slight tremble in my hands, and the thin sheen of sweat across my forehead.
He stands in one fluid motion. “Come to my study.”
I follow him out of the dining room, my mother’s worried eyes on me the entire way.
The quiet of Aaiden’s office swallows me whole as I cross the threshold. A massive desk carved from a single piece of ancient oak sits at the center, with bookcases lining the walls, stuffed full of first edition books.
He strides to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the sprawling, manicured grounds behind the manor. The morning light creates a halo effect around his silhouette, forcing me to squint to look at him.
Not an accident. Nothing ever is with Aaiden Rockford.
The heavy door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it.
“What was so urgent it couldn’t wait until after my call?” Aaiden asks.
“My weapons,” I say. “I want them back.”
Aaiden doesn’t turn from the window. “You’ll have them returned once the stitches are removed.”
“They’re removed.”
That gets his attention, and he pivots, focusing on my hands again. “Was that cleared by Dr. Walton?”
“I don’t need someone to tell me when a wound is closed enough to pull stitches.”
Aaiden closes the distance, but stops well out of arm’s reach. “Let me see.”
I huff out a humorless breath. “I’m fine.”
“Show me.”
My hackles rise. “If you want to look, you’re welcome to do so yourself.”
His jaw tightens. “Jade.”
“What?” I spread my arms, ignoring the pull in my side. “You don’t trust me? Then check it yourself.”
He clasps his hands behind his back. “I said, show me.”
Hot, ugly anger spikes. “Funny. Other Alphas didn’t have a problem touching me.”
Aaiden stills, and his scent shifts, taking on a sharp note of anger. Not quite the jealousy I wanted to provoke, but it’s a reaction.
Something dangerous flickers across his face. “Don’t use that as a weapon.”
“Then stop using it as the newest excuse not to touch me.” I close the distance he refuses to. “Before I was taken, it was my age. Now it’s my trauma. There’s always going to be something, isn’t there?”
His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” I take another step forward. “You spent years telling me I was too young to want this. That my body was confused. That we’d talk about it when I was older.”
Aaiden’s nostrils flare. “You were a child.”
“I was fifteen when my first Heat hit, and we both figured out I was your Omega.” My hands ball into fists at my sides. “That’s when the excuses started.”
“Fifteen is a child,” he insists.
“Eighteen, then. Nineteen. Twenty. The age kept changing, but the result was the same.” I laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet office. “You just didn’t want me.”
“That’s not true.” The words escape before he can stop them, and I seize on the slip, my mother’s words erroding at my beliefs that Aaiden will ever choose me.
“Then what is the truth? Because from my perspective, you’ve had a thousand chances, and you’ve rejected every single one.”
Aaiden runs a hand through his styled hair, the first genuine sign of agitation. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? Yourself?” I advance another step. “I was your Omega. We both knew it, but you refused to acknowledge it.”
“Stop,” he says, his voice sounding strained despite his outward control.
“No.” I push harder, close enough now to see the subtle dilation of his pupils. “You want to talk about my trauma? Fine. Let’s talk about how, because you were too selfish, another Alpha stole what should have been yours first.”
A growl builds in his chest, the sound vibrating through the air between us. “Stop.”
“Make me.” I stare up at him in challenge. “You want me to follow your rules? Your schedules? Your target lists? Then give me a reason to.”
His breathing quickens. “This is about your safety.”
“Bullshit.” I step closer until only a foot separates us. “This is about your need for control.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then tell me what it is! Tell me why you can stitch me up but can’t touch me. Why you can keep me under constant surveillance and track my vitals, but won’t claim what’s yours.” My voice rises with each word, my chest pulling tight under everything I’ve held back for too long.