Chapter 28 #3
“Don’t be dramatic.” Mother’s voice hardens. “Go now. I’ll wait for you, dear. And you know what will happen if you misbehave or don’t follow through. Don’t be selfish. Don’t let those men lose their lives because you’re being stubborn.”
The threat hangs in the air between us.
I stumble out of the kitchen. The room is spinning, darkness clawing at the edges of my vision. My feet carry me toward the living room on autopilot, my body moving even though my mind is screaming at me to stop, to fight, to do something.
The dress is there. Hanging off the living room door, just like she said.
It’s white. Lace. High neck that would cover the bond marks, long sleeves, fitted bodice that’s clearly designed to restrict movement. The kind of dress that says pure and obedient and property . The kind of dress that makes me feel like I’m suffocating just from looking at it.
It’s hideous.
I break down. Just crumple to the floor in front of it, sobbing so hard I can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think. It feels like I’m back at the family estate. Back in that room, drowning, about to lose everything I am. Everything I’ve built. Everything I’ve become.
I want to run. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, to grab my keys, get in a car, and drive until I hit the ocean or Canada or anywhere that isn’t here.
But fear stops me cold.
My family is vindictive. I know that from experience. I’ve seen what they do to people who cross them, who defy them, who don’t play by their rules. And Van? Van is cruel in ways that keep me up at night sometimes, memories of what he did to me surfacing when I least expect them.
They’ll hurt Arrow, Holt, and Luke. They’ll make good on their threat.
I force myself to stand on shaking legs. My whole body is trembling so badly I can barely walk, but I make it to the stairs. One step. Another. My hand grips the railing like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
I’m halfway up the staircase when a voice cuts through the air behind me.
“Cindy.”
I look over my shoulder.
Mack is at the bottom of the stairs, head tipped back, staring up at me. His expression is thunderous.
“I heard everything,” he says softly. “Let’s talk.”
We both rush into my room. I practically fall through the doorway, and Mack catches my arm, steadying me. He kicks the door shut behind us, and I lock it with trembling hands.
For a second, we just stand there, both of us breathing hard.
“What the fuck is going on? Was that Van?”
I nod, unable to form words.
“Fuck!” Mack grinds his jaw. “Fuck, I should have… I heard him threatening you.”
The words tumble out of me in broken fragments. Van, the arranged marriage I ran from, the day I left him at the altar. His appearance today, the phones, the ultimatum.
Mack’s expression grows darker with every sentence. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and I can see him struggling to contain his rage.
“That fucking piece of shit,” he snarls when I finish. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna rip his fucking throat out.”
“Mack—”
“No, listen to me.” He grips my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “I haven’t met Van before, but the MC I wanted to join was dealing with him directly. Had some business with him.”
Hope flares in my chest, painful and desperate. “They did?”
“Yeah. And I think I know how to find Arrow and the other two.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense I nearly collapse. “You do? Really?”
“Van’s got connections, but so do I.” Mack pulls out his phone, already scrolling through contacts.
“MC still has eyes everywhere. Someone saw something. Don’t worry,” Mack says, and his voice is steady, certain, full of conviction.
“I’m going to find them. You just need to delay that wedding as long as you can.
Don’t do anything until we return. Can you do that? ”
I want to believe him. Want to trust that he can fix this, that he can save them. So I nod.
“We got you, Cindy. All of us. This asshole picked the wrong family to fuck with. Just hold on. Buy me as much time as you can.”
Then he’s moving, out the door and down the stairs.
I rush to the window and watch him head out the front, his stride purposeful and aggressive.
He climbs onto his bike, the engine roaring to life, and then he’s gone through the open gates, tearing down the driveway so fast his back tire kicks up gravel.
I sit on the edge of my bed, trying to think clearly past the panic. We have a plan. Mack is going to find them. I just need to stall. Buy time. Do whatever it takes to keep Van from hurting them.
Twenty minutes pass. I keep checking the window, watching the driveway, hoping to see Mack’s bike returning with Holt’s truck behind it. Hoping to see Luke’s stupid grin, Holt’s steady presence, Arrow’s concerned frown.
Nothing.
Just more guests arriving.
A knock raps on the door. “Are you ready, Cynthia?”
Mother’s voice. No patience in it. Just expectation.
The door opens before I can answer. She walks in, takes one look at me still in my pink dress, hair still braided, no makeup, and her lips press into that thin, disapproving line.
“You’re not even dressed?”
“I’m not getting married, Mother.”
“Oh, you are. We can do this without pain, or we can do it forced. Your choice.”
“Is this how you want me married?” I stand, facing her, trying to find some strength somewhere. “Threatened? Forced? With a gun to my head?”
She actually shrugs. The gesture is so casual, so dismissive of everything I’m feeling. “Most Omegas are lucky to find someone willing to look after them. To provide for them. And here we have an Alpha ready to do exactly that, and you keep rejecting him. You’re being ungrateful, Cynthia. Selfish.”
“I have three men doing that already.” My voice rises, getting louder despite my fear. “Three men who chose me. Who I chose back. I don’t want Van. I don’t want any of this.”
“This isn’t a discussion.” Her tone goes cold, final. “Change now.”
I don’t move. Can’t move. My body has decided to mutiny, rooting me to this spot.
In my stubbornness, in my desperate need to buy more time for Mack to find them, I blurt out, “I’m not feeling well.”
I rush to the bathroom, lock myself inside, and lean over the toilet. I don’t actually need to throw up, but I make the sounds anyway. Gagging, retching, anything to make it convincing. Anything to stall.
Mother is banging on the door within seconds, her fist pounding hard enough to rattle the frame. “We’re heading out now. Everyone is waiting. Stop making this all about you and embarrassing us. Do the right thing, Cynthia. Think about someone other than yourself for once.”
I wipe my tears with a towel, press it against my face, take one more shuddering breath.
Then I open the door.
Father is standing behind her.
Every muscle in my body locks up.
Broad shoulders that fill the doorway, hands like hammers that I’ve seen break things without effort.
Seen them strike Mother across the face hard enough to knock her down.
Seen them grab my arm and leave bruises that lasted for weeks.
He doesn’t say much, never has, but he doesn’t need to.
His presence is enough to terrify most people into submission.
He pushes Mother aside gently, almost tenderly, and holds out one enormous hand. “Your time has run out, Cynthia. We go now as you’re dressed.”
I’m trembling. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something other than just stand here. But there’s nowhere to go. He’s blocking the door. Mother is behind him now.
With a shaking hand, moving like I’m underwater, I slowly reach out and accept his outstretched hand.
His grip is harsh. Crushing. Then he’s hauling me out of the bathroom, practically dragging me.
I’m stumbling alongside him as he pulls me toward the stairs. Tears are falling down my cheeks freely now, dripping onto my dress. His hand is practically squeezing the life out of mine, cutting off my circulation.
“We don’t have to do this,” I plead, trying one more time. “Please. Father, please. I don’t want this. Please don’t make me do this.”
He says nothing.
We’re outside now. The path to the lake stretches out in front of us, winding through the yard with small bits of Halloween decorations Mother missed still in place.
Father is moving fast, his long strides eating up the distance, and I’m half running to keep up.
My shoes slip on the grass. I nearly fall twice, but his grip keeps me upright, keeps me moving forward.
I keep looking over my shoulder, but no one is running up to rescue me.
Just an empty driveway and the growing sound of voices ahead.
All my cousins are here. Relatives I haven’t seen in over two years, maybe longer. All dressed in their formal clothes, dark suits and elegant dresses, all staring at me as I’m dragged down what should be an aisle. Some look pitying, their expressions soft with sympathy they’ll never act on.
None of them do anything. None of them ever do.
They just stand there in their neat rows of chairs, watching like this is entertainment.
At the front, Van stands in his suit. Navy blue, perfectly tailored, probably custom-made to show off his physique. He’s smiling that cold smile, watching me approach like I’m a prize he’s about to claim. Like I’m a trophy he’s worked hard to win.
Next to him is the officiant. An older Beta woman I don’t recognize, dressed conservatively in gray, holding a leather-bound book that probably has my future written in it.
And on the table beside them sits the contract.
Official documentation in families like mine that shows Van has bought me, that money exchanged hands, that I legally belong to him now. Papers that strip away my autonomy and hand it over to him like a receipt, like I’m furniture being delivered.
Ice burns through my veins, cold and numbing.
I look back one more time, desperately scanning the path behind me, the driveway beyond, the gates in the distance.
Please. Please, Mack. Please hurry up. Please find them.
Van holds out his hand toward me.
Father releases my crushed, numb hand and transfers it to Van’s grip without ceremony.
The touch makes my skin crawl. Van’s hand is cold despite the warm day, his fingers wrapping around mine possessively, holding too tight.
“You didn’t even bother changing, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “Bolf move. The mascara streaks really pull the look together.”
I want to vomit. Want to scream. Want to run.
But I don’t. Because somewhere out there, Luke, Holt, and Arrow need me to be strong. Need me to buy them time.
The officiant begins speaking, her voice carrying across the assembled guests. Something about unions and destiny and the sacred bond between Alpha and Omega and duty and honor.
All I can think about is the marks on my neck, on my breast. Luke’s, Holt’s, Arrow’s. Three bonds, three claims, three men who chose me and I chose back. Three pieces of my soul walking around in other bodies.
This isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
But Van’s hand is locked around mine like a manacle, and the contract is right there on the table waiting for my signature, and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know how to save myself this time.
The officiant is still talking. Van is smiling. The family is watching.
And somehow, I have to find a way to hold on until help arrives.
If it arrives at all.