Chapter 26 #2
By five o'clock, I was shattered. Exhausted from thinking, from feeling, from trying to make sense of numbers that didn't lie but alphas who might.
I went to bed, pulling the duvet over my head like I was a child hiding from monsters. But the monsters were in my head now, whispering Maeve's words on repeat.
Different price, same cage.
Before I fell asleep, I sent Etienne a message. My fingers trembled as I typed.
I'm sorry. For everything. I miss you.
He didn't answer.
I fell asleep with my phone clutched in my hand, waiting for a reply that didn't come.
I woke to a buzzing.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn. I fumbled for the phone, squinting at the bright screen.
A text from Etienne.
You're not at fault, Princesse, and I'm sorry for making you feel that way.
My chest loosened slightly. I typed back with shaking hands.
I am. I had no idea why I did it.
His response came immediately.
Because you felt him.
I stared at the words. Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. But no follow-up came.
...
...
And I wasn't sure how to answer. How to explain that yes, I'd felt Hastings. That the bond had been so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that I'd have done anything he asked in that moment.
But did that make it right?
Did that make it real?
I set the phone down without responding. I needed to speak to Hastings face-to-face. I needed to look him in the eye and ask him what I was.
Mate or employee.
Partner or transaction.
I pulled on a long floaty dress, tied my blonde hair in a high ponytail, and padded downstairs.
I found Hastings in his study, his back to the door, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and authoritative, the same tone he used in board meetings.
"...ensure the medical suite is ready by Friday. I want the best equipment. Nothing spared—"
He hung up and turned, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face when he saw me.
"Presley." His voice went soft, warm. "I was just ordering the first round of prenatal vitamins. And scheduling a thorough check-up with the best obstetrician in London. She specializes in omega pregnancies and—"
I walked to the desk and slammed the pregnancy test down next to his fountain pen. The plastic clattered against the wood, the sound sharp and final.
Then I laid my phone beside it, the banking app glowing with those damning five-thousand-pound deposits.
"Which one am I, Mr. Hastings?"
He blinked, his eyes moving from the two pink lines to the near fifteen thousand pounds balance. His smile faltered, confusion flickering across his face.
"I don't understand."
"Am I your omega?" My voice was steady, cold, nothing like the woman who'd begged for his knot, who'd presented her neck, who'd screamed his name. "Or am I a line item in your budget?"
I stepped closer, leaning over the desk. My scent spiked, turned sour with the sharp tang of betrayal and hurt.
"You knew I was pregnant before I did. You've been paying me every week like a contractor. Like hired help." I laughed, but it came out wrong. Bitter. "Do I get a bonus for the positive test, Mr. Hastings? A performance review? Will you dock my pay if I don't produce a healthy alpha heir?"
"Presley, that money is for your security—"
"I only need security if I'm not staying!" The words came out louder than I intended, echoing off the walls of his perfect study with its perfect books and perfect desk. "You claimed me. That's supposed to be forever. That's more than any contract made in ink!"
Fritz appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his hair mussed like he'd been sleeping. "Liebling, I can smell your distress from upstairs. What's—"
He stopped, his eyes landing on the phone, the test, the way Hastings had gone very still.
"He's still paying me, Fritz," I said, my voice breaking now, the cold composure shattering.
"He's treating this..." I pointed at my stomach, at the place where a baby was growing, a baby that should have been celebrated, not calculated.
"...like a merger. Like a property acquisition.
Like I'm an investment he needs to protect until I deliver the goods. "
Fritz stared at Hastings, his expression going hard. "Why?"
"Because the money ensures she's taken care of—"
"Bullshit." Fritz's voice was sharp, cutting. "You claimed her. You bonded with her. If you trusted that bond, you wouldn't need a financial safety net."
Hastings' jaw tightened. "I'm protecting her—"
"From what?" I demanded. "From leaving? Is that it?
You think the moment this baby is born, I'll run?
" I laughed again, and this time it hurt my throat.
"Or maybe you want me to run. Maybe the money is your exit clause.
Your way of saying 'thanks for the baby, here's your severance package, don't let the door hit you on the way out. '"
"That's not—"
But I didn't wait for his excuse or his idea of a logical explanation that would make everything make sense to everyone except me.
I turned and ran.
My bare feet slapped against the marble, the sound echoing through the too-large house. I heard Fritz call after me, heard Hastings' chair scrape back.
But I was already gone, racing up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door behind me.
I pressed my back against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest.
And for the first time since the helicopter had lifted me out of my falling-apart caravan and dropped me into this fairy tale, I wondered if Maeve was right.