Chapter 25 #2
“Understood, Mrs. Bustly. You have my sincere apologies for my egregious actions toward Jade. It will not happen again,” he says as he picks up one of the burned pieces and takes a bite.
My mother gives me a look, the kind that tells me to come find her when I can slip away, and turns on her heel, striding back to the kitchen. Only when the door swings shut behind her do I set my knife down.
“Did you just...” I start, not quite believing what I witnessed.
“Eat burned toast?” Aaiden supplies. “Yes.”
“No. I mean, yes, but...” I struggle to articulate my shock. “You didn’t say anything.”
Aaiden shrugs, taking another bite of the blackened bread. “Your mother has every right to be angry with me.”
“Since when do you care if someone’s angry with you?”
“Since it’s Mrs. Bustly,” he says. “Your mother terrifies me.”
Caleb lets out a whistle. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
Aaiden turns to me, a private moment passing between us, before he stares through the space where Caleb sits as if it were empty. I mirror his expression, refusing to acknowledge my ex-mentor’s existence.
Caleb waves a hand in front of us and frowns when neither of us acknowledges him. “Hello? Did I become invisible?”
He snaps his fingers near my ear. I don’t flinch. Aaiden doesn’t blink.
And understanding dawns. “Wait, are you two pretending I don’t exist?”
Aaiden motions to Oliver, who sits beside his mate. “Will you please pass the sugar?”
“Are you serious?” Caleb demands. “What the fuck did I do?”
“I’m sure you did something to deserve it,” Oliver says as he passes the sugar past his enraged mate. “Is it salacious? Can I write an article about it?”
“Very salacious,” Jade confirms. “Revenge shall be had.”
As Caleb curses, Nolan raises his coffee cup in a toast. “Welcome home, Jade.”
I wait until Aaiden finishes spooning sugar into my coffee before I lift my mug. “It’s good to be back.” I turn to Milo. “Aaiden’s forcing me to dye my hair after this. Want to get pampered with me?”
“I’ll never say no to pampering.” He pins Nolan with a hard stare. “You’re on babysitting duty. Leo will be getting his feet rubbed.”
“Hey, I rub his feet every night,” Nolan protests, then turns to his angelic husband. “Not that you don’t deserve pampering, sweet boy. Take all the time you need. I can cancel my meetings.”
Milo turns to the man on his left. “Phoenix?”
The little Omega fidgets with his napkin. “Oh, I don’t know…”
His older brother, Oliver, leans in. “We could get our nails done while Jade gives us all the gossip.”
“Oh, count me in.” Liam rubs his hands together. “I love gossip.”
Milo raises one slender, jewel-bedecked hand in his mate’s face. “Rockford mates, only.”
Saint fingers his dark hair. “I guess I could use a trim.”
As the others make plans, I slip away from the table to go find my mother in the kitchen. At my gesture, the rest of the staff remember urgent tasks in the pantry or freezer, and within seconds, the main kitchen area clears, leaving me alone with my mother.
She doesn’t acknowledge me at first as she continues scrubbing a pot that looks clean already. Her shoulders are tight, spine rigid beneath her uniform.
“That was quite the show you put on out there,” I say, leaning on the counter.
The pot receives more vigorous attention. “It wasn’t a show.”
“You served Aaiden Rockford burned toast. In front of his entire family.”
“And he ate it. Same as he has every day since you left.” She sets the pot down with a clank and turns to me. “Which tells me everything I need to know.”
I cross my arms, studying the lines around her eyes that seem deeper than when I left. “Which is?”
“That he’s serious about you.” She grabs a dishcloth, wiping her hands with unnecessary force. “Or at least serious enough to set aside his precious pride.”
“I wouldn’t have come back if I didn’t think he was serious.”
She moves to the island counter, pulling vegetables from a basket and beginning to chop, the knife hitting the cutting board with rhythmic thumps. “You ran away from him once.”
“I left,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” The knife pauses mid-air. “He hurt you, baby. How am I supposed to forgive that?”
The hurt in her voice cuts deep. “He did, and I needed space to figure things out.”
“And did you? Figure things out?” The chopping resumes, a little harder than necessary.
I move closer, positioning myself across from her at the island. “Yes. I did.”
Her hands pause again before continuing their work. “Tell me.”
So I do. I tell her about the revenge that never satisfied, about the emptiness after each name crossed off my list. About how Aaiden tracked me down again and again, determined not to let me go. And about how Raphael explained what being Aaiden’s mate would mean for my life.
“He didn’t Mark me during my Heat because he wanted me to understand what I’d be giving up,” I explain, watching her hands slow their chopping.
“Yes, we should have had the discussion ages ago, and maybe he was planning on talking to me about it soon, but my Heat came early, and he wanted me to choose with a clear mind, not blinded by hormones.”
“So noble of him,” she says, but her sharp edges start to soften.
“He should have told me that himself instead of deciding for me. We’ve talked about it now. Things will be different.”
Her head lifts at last, her eyes searching mine. “How? How will they be different, Jade? That man has made decisions for others his entire life. It’s what Alphas do. It’s what Rockfords do.”
“He’s learning.” I will her to understand. “And so am I. We’ve agreed I’ll be part of any decisions that affect me going forward, and I’ll have meaningful work outside of being his mate.”
Her lips purse. “And you believe him?”
“I saw him eat burned toast just now, didn’t I?”
A huff of laughter escapes her. “It’s been satisfying, I’ll admit.”
“He loves me, Ma.” The words feel new in my mouth, fragile but certain.
She sets down the knife, wiping her hands on her apron. “I know he does. I’ve known for years, even when I was telling you it was impossible.”
Her shoulders drop in defeat. “A housekeeper’s son and the Rockford heir? I thought denying it would protect you both.”
“Why?”
“Because Rockford men love like they do everything else. Completely. Possessively.” She reaches for a bowl, sweeping the chopped vegetables into it. “And you’ve been through so much already.”
My throat tightens. We haven’t talked about my captivity, about what happened during those horrible weeks.
“I’m not broken,” I say, rougher than I intend.
“No. You’re the strongest person I know. But being strong doesn’t mean you don’t deserve gentleness. Patience.” She takes a breath. “Time he wouldn’t give you.”
“What do you mean? He gave me nothing but time,” I say, still salty about the whole thing.
She gives me the no-nonsense stare that has brought many a Rockford Alpha to heel. “Nonsense. He’s been all over you since your rescue. Could hardly say hello to my own son without tripping over the man.”
She stretches her hand across the counter, hesitates, then covers my hand with hers. “I was wrong to doubt what was between you. But I still think you deserve better than what he put you through.”
I turn my palm up, squeezing her fingers. “I know I do, and he still has a lot of apologizing to do.”
She accepts both my decision and her own reservations, and her hand slips from mine to return to her work, but the tension that’s been between us since my rescue releases.
“There are leftovers in the fridge,” she says, the subject change abrupt in that way she has. “You’re too thin.”
“I’ve been eating,” I protest.
She gives me a look, disbelief written all over her face. “Not enough.” She gestures toward the industrial refrigerator. “I made your favorite lamb pot pie yesterday.”
The thought of my mother cooking my favorite food while I was gone, not knowing if I’d return to eat it, fills me with love. “I missed your cooking.”
“Well, now you don’t have to.” She brushes flour from her apron. “Unless you plan on running off again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “This is home.”
“Good,” she says and clears her throat, “Come here.”
I round the island, uncertain what she’s asking. When I reach her side, she turns toward me, wipes her hands one final time, and opens her arms.
I dive into her arms like I’m a kid again, and all at once we’re holding each other. She feels smaller than I remember, frailer somehow, though her arms around me are strong. Her familiar scent of cinnamon and flour engulfs me, triggering a rush of childhood memories so powerful my eyes sting.
“I was so worried,” she whispers into my shoulder. “I worry every time you go out on a job, but this time, not being able to see you, to know you were safe…”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “But there won’t be any more jobs like that. I’m quitting and going to art college.”
She pulls back, blinking away tears, and cups my cheeks, her palm warm and rough from years of work. “No, you’re not.”
“No, not the art college thing,” I agree. “But I am quitting. As soon as we deal with Tony, my hitman work is done. I’ve gone and found myself a nice Alpha who wants to keep me home at night.”
She tuts at me, but I catch the relief in her face as she turns to stride to a small desk in the corner where staff messages and schedules are kept.
“These came for you while you were gone,” she says, returning with a stack of mail. “Bills mostly, I think. I paid what I could from your account.”
I take the envelopes, touched by this mundane reminder of normal life. “Thanks.”
She flaps a hand, already turning back to her work. “Dinner’s at seven. Don’t be late. There will be pot roast.”
It’s a dismissal, but an affectionate one. I tuck the mail under my arm, understanding that she needs time to process everything, same as I do.
“I’ll be there,” I say, and head back toward the dining room.
The hallway is quiet except for the muffled clink of silverware and laughter drifting through the door. As I walk, I flip through my mail.
Bill, advertisement, another bill, a birthday card from my aunt who never gets the month right. When I reach a padded envelope, I pause with interest. It’s heavier than the rest, with no return address, just my name in block letters. Postmarked three days ago.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise in warning. Instinct tells me not to open the envelope, but curiosity always did get the better of me.
I slip my knife from my pocket and cut open the flap. A burner phone slides into my palm, its screen dark but already charged. Behind it comes a photograph that falls to the floor. I kneel to grab it, heart pounding so hard it leaves me dizzy.
I recognize the concrete room, bad lighting, and bare mattress on the floor, with me sprawled out in the center, my eyes glassy with fever Heat, naked and surrounded by Alphas I’ve systematically killed over the last seven and a half months.
My mouth goes dry, and I hold the photo to my chest as I check my surroundings to ensure no one else saw. The hallway tilts, and blood rushes through my ears.
Hand shaking, I flip the picture over and read the scrawl of writing on the back:
Call the number in the phone by midnight on Friday, or the world will see what an Omega whore Aaiden Rockford’s mate really is
Tick tock.
The words burn into my retinas as sweat beads along my hairline. Whoever sent this isn’t just dangling a threat. They’ve already prepared the proof that will ruin me in the public eye.
I press my head back against the wall, willing my pulse to slow.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Focus.
My ears pick up the distant hum of the chandelier and the soft scrape of chair legs on the floor. Life marches on while mine unravels.
I glance at my watch. Friday. It’s already Friday. Midnight tonight. Only fourteen hours until the time limit is up. What if I had waited another day before returning? Bile burns up my throat as my mind races through my options.
Voices rise and fall from the dining room. Laughter. The clink of silverware. They’re waiting for me in there.
Aaiden is waiting.
Do I walk back in there, pretend nothing’s wrong, and slip away later to make the call? This photo could destroy everything, not only for me but also for the plans Aaiden and I have for our future together.
Mating with the housekeeper’s son is already a big enough scandal, but if this video gets out…
Twelve hours to decide whether I keep the life I’ve just found, or risk losing Aaiden forever.