21. Shattered Control
Shattered Control
~HOLMES~
W hat the fuck am I doing?
The corridor feels oppressively silent as I lean against the wall outside James Morrison's suite, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. The silk of my blindfold does little to shield me from the memories of the past hour — the way Elizabeth's scent changed when Morrison kissed her, the sound of her breath hitching, the clear note of recognition in her voice when she said his name.
It shouldn't matter.
It doesn't matter.
Yet here I am, standing in this hallway like some lovesick teenager, listening to the quiet murmur of voices behind the door and hating myself for caring enough to stay.
The scene from earlier plays in my mind like a sadistic film reel, each moment crystal clear despite my covered eyes. Or perhaps because of them — my other senses have always been cruelly sharp when it comes to things I'd rather not perceive.
The way back to our place had been tense, the air thick with unspoken accusations.
I remember every detail with perfect clarity, as much as I wish I didn't.
Carter's hands had been shaking as he poured himself a drink, the crystal decanter rattling against the glass. The sound had been jarring in the otherwise silent room — a precursor to the storm I knew was coming.
"You're going to break something," Felix had said quietly, his tone carefully neutral. "Those are Baccarat crystals. At least throw the cheap stuff."
The glass had sailed past my head before Felix finished speaking, shattering against the wall in a spray of amber liquid and crystal shards. The bourbon's rich aroma filled the air, mingling with the acrid scent of Carter's rage.
"Carter," Felix sighed, adjusting his glasses. "If you're going to have a tantrum, do it with your fists in the training room. Don't destroy the glassware."
"Shut the fuck up," Carter had snarled, his voice raw with barely contained violence. "Unless you want me to punch those smart glasses off your face."
I'd remained silent, feeling the weight of Felix's gaze as he assessed the situation. Always the mediator, trying to maintain peace even when peace wasn't an option.
"Do you actually have nothing to say?" Felix had asked me, his tone carrying an edge I rarely heard from him.
I hadn't responded.
What could I say?
That the sight of Elizabeth melting into Morrison's arms had made something in my chest constrict painfully? Crazy how I couldn’t even grasp all the interactions initially. I had to watch the entire thing in the car, ears plugged so I didn’t have to listen to Carter’s seething complaints the whole ride back.
I never thought I’d be envious of another Alpha.
To watch the way he casually claimed her, flaunting ‘my Eli’ like he’s known her his entire life or some shit. The sudden interaction simply made me want to tear his throat out.
That I'd wanted to be the one to save her?
"Fuck this," Carter had spat, already turning toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Felix had asked, though we all knew the answer.
"To get some air before I fucking leave this pack."
The words had hung in the air like smoke, acrid and choking. I should have let him go — should have maintained my carefully constructed wall of indifference — but something in me had snapped.
That part of me that always self-sabotaged my friendships and relationships with practically anyone.
"Stop being a child."
Three words.
That's all it had taken to shatter the fragile restraint holding Carter back. He'd crossed the room in two long strides, and I'd felt the displacement of air as his fist drew back.
I brace for the inevitable, not even flinching at the sense of danger. I’m used to the abuse, recalling the pain I’ve felt in the past, long before my sight was temporarily stolen from me. I know this reaction is my fault, and I’m not acting as if I’m not the true instigator of all this madness and constant misunderstanding, but I can’t seem to control this rollercoaster of ruin.
To always push everyone away until no one is left…
I’m surprised Carter and Felix have lasted the longest, despite every attempt I’ve made for them to stay far away from me, but maybe I’ve finally pushed them to their limit.
All because of an Omega and they’re ready to give it all up…
Felix had moved faster than I'd expected, catching Carter's arm and saying something in rapid Italian that made Carter's breath hitch. Whatever the words were, they'd cut through his rage like a blade through silk.
"Non vale la pena di rovinare tutto. Non per orgoglio, non per rabbia. Pensa a lei."
It's not worth ruining everything. Not for pride, not for anger. Think of her.
The smoothly spoken Italian translates in my mind a lot slower than I’d like, but it proves once again, that I’m only spared because of someone.
Abercrombie.
The memory fades, leaving me alone with the echo of those words and the maddening sound of Elizabeth's voice haunting my mind.
Think of her.
As if I've thought of anything else since she first walked into my office, scenting of pure sweetness and projecting a taste of defiance that made my whole body sing with lust. All of that reaction without having the privilege to see her beyond this blindfold, and yet my body had and still is reacting to everything revolving around her.
It’s been challenging, and I hate admitting to myself that I’m struggling on so many levels. As if I haven't spent every moment since then fighting the urge to claim her, to mark her, to make her mine , too.
They all think I don’t have the intention of wanting Elizabeth, but how wrong they are. None of them could ever understand what I was dealing with.
How high the bounty on my head really is.
This is all for their sake. For the better outcome…even if it means being painted as the villain, again and again. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t care.
Yet…am I really okay with letting her go?
The truth hits me once again, like a plague of bricks that fall upon me without warning.
She was never meant to be mine, was she?
She belongs to someone else — has always belonged to another, even if neither of them knew it. James’ appearance couldn't be simply an accident. He had to be planning this. Waiting for the opportunity to finally reveal himself after all these eons. The way Morrison touched her, the casual possession in his voice when he called her "my Eli"... it spoke of a history I couldn't compete with.
Wouldn't compete with…
I’m completely out of my league, disability or not.
I’ve already fucked everything up and we haven’t dove into the school curriculum. No point in trying to save things now.
Better to maintain this distance, this carefully constructed facade of indifference. Better to let them think I don't care, that I'm just being difficult out of pride or stubbornness.
This resolution is better than admitting the truth.
From the moment she knelt between my legs, those full lips wrapped around my cock, and victory gleaming in her eyes, I knew I was lost.
Knew that I wished to be found by her.
Claimed by her…
Yet, the truth hurts when you’re woven in contracts so thick and sealed with blood that there’s no way out. You have to succumb to reality, and reap the rewards… or in my case, the ultimate consequences of childish agreements in hopes of power and freedom.
Every moment of silence, every cold dismissal, has been a desperate attempt to maintain control and encourage the continued path I’m destined to walk upon.
Alone…
But how the Universe enjoys tempting me.
The thought of sharing her — with Morrison, Carter, Felix…or anyone else for that matter — makes something dark and possessive rear up inside me, threatening to shatter what little restraint I have left.
The shameful thing is, I have no right to get access to her. I’ve done nothing to prove how important she could be to me if I didn’t have so many odds against me.
She doesn’t understand.
Wouldn’t understand.
No one would get it…
I can’t trust anyone with the depths of my secret.
The hardship of the burden I’ve carried on my shoulders since my Father threw our Empire under the bus for slick pussy and fake multi-million dollar contracts.
A soft moan filters through the door, the sound at first igniting waves of jealousy. I clench my fist, only for my ears to pick up Morrison's low murmur of concern.
It’s the tone that makes me realize he’s worried and not kissing her in some way, but it still doesn’t stop me from wanting to get out of here.
What am I even doing here? I’m being fucking stupid.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides as I push off the wall, forcing myself to walk away before I do something unforgivable.
Like break down the door.
Like claim what was never meant to be mine.
Like admit that maybe, I've been lying to myself all along.
All of this is foolish because nothing can be altered. There’s no peace for the wicked, even if we’re thrown into the wild to defend ourselves with no weaponry.
Some things are better left in darkness, and my Father’s sins are exactly that.
They’re my cross to bear, and by the time everyone realizes the threads of uncertainty and madness, it’ll be far too late.
My actions would have spoken louder than any whispers I could dare let slip through the cracks, and once anyone pieces it together, I’ll be long gone.
At least, they would be alive, breathing, and no longer a target of blackmail and further scrutiny. I’d go to the grave alone, and that would be the best outcome after years of threats and nightmares of losing someone I loved all over again.
Besides, I've always been more comfortable in the shadows anyway.
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as I prepare to stride away from this place and leave Abercrombie in the arms of the man who will devote his soul to see her succeed in life.
Someone else gets to be her savior.
While I remain the villain in this story.
Just as it should be.
Just as I deserve for the sins of my Father.
The memory isn't done torturing me yet, which is why I am still in my place, attempting to ignore the constricting pain in my chest.
Carter's laugh had been hollow, edged with a bitterness I rarely heard from him.
"You really think you're the shit, don't you?" His voice dropped lower, more lethal in nature. "When you're currently our weakest fucking link?"
"Carter," Felix warns sharply, "don't go there."
Another laugh — this one higher, almost manic — had torn from Carter's throat. He'd thrown his hands up, spinning to face us both.
"Oh, that's rich coming from you, Felix. Should we review the facts? The ranks?" His eyes had locked onto me, they had to be because the burning intensity was so grand that I could feel it even through the silk barrier. "HE'S supposed to be our leader if we're going to talk statistics and hierarchy."
Supposed.
Lack of…
A disappointment again and again.
The words had hit like physical blows, each one precisely aimed to draw blood.
"The Giovanni Empire is what's holding this damn pack by a thread." Carter's voice had risen, filling the space between us with ugly truths I'd been trying to ignore. "Because every fucking day, the Holmes Empire gets closer to the pits of fucking hell, and Felix! YOU’RE still building this from scratch!"
Felix had shifted beside me, his usual composure cracking slightly.
"I know I've been slacking," he'd admitted quietly. "But I can pick up at any time. My connections in the tech world ? —"
"No." Carter had cut him off. I hear a sound that makes Felix let out a breath, and I can only assume Carter’s poked him with a finger or gave him a light push. The gesture had been sharp, decisive. "We're no longer 'taking our sweet ass time' with anything." His voice had dropped to a growl as he'd continued, "This sinister world runs on three things: power, money, and connections." A harsh laugh had escaped him. "And guess what? James has all of that and more."
"You don't know that," I'd muttered, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then Carter's laugh — a sound that held no humor, only derision — had filled the room.
"You really are a blind fucker, aren't you?" The words had dripped with contempt. "The Morrison Empire has been systematically taking over every major territory in the underground for the past three years. They're not just dealing drugs anymore — they're controlling entire supply chains, manipulating market prices, buying out competitors or eliminating them entirely."
Each word had been carefully chosen to cut deep, to expose the truth I'd been trying to ignore: that while I'd been hiding behind my blindfold, playing at being in control, my empire had been crumbling beneath my feet.
“But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Of course, neither of you would. Information that’s been fed to only the elite worthy of sitting at those resin tables that reflect body parts and stained blood of various individuals who were once in our very shoes, but didn’t make the cut in the end,” Carter announces, which makes me swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “Y’all continue to think we’re playing students when one wrong move and we’ll be chopped body parts across the seven fucking seas, and the crappy part is no one is going to give a damn because you all carried debts worthy of a plague and our elimination is simply “good riddance” to everyone else watching on the sidelines in wait for our end.”
The weight of it all — the crushing debt, the bounties, the constant threat of assassination — pressed down on me like a physical force.
The silk against my eyes felt suffocating, a reminder of everything I'd lost and everything I stood to lose.
How fucking ironic.
The thought rises unbidden, bitter, and sharp: if it weren't for the Giovanni Empire — for Carter's influence and protection — I'd have been dead months ago. The vultures circling what remained of my family's legacy would have torn me apart at the first opportunity.
I guess it won't be for long now.
The realization settles in my chest like lead.
With Morrison in the picture, wielding power I can't hope to match, my usefulness to the pack is rapidly diminishing. At least, whatever I’ve been faking. The carefully constructed balance we'd maintained — Carter's strength covering my weakness, Felix's potential making up for our limitations — was crumbling.
And Elizabeth...
The lingering of her scent that’s seeping past the door and taunting my nostrils this entire time makes my cock throb even now, floods my senses.
The way she'd knelt between my legs, those full lips wrapped around me like she was born to be there.
The flash of victory in her eyes when she'd made me lose control.
Control.
What a fucking joke.
I'd never had control — not really. Every moment of cold indifference, every dismissive gesture, every calculated silence... it had all been a desperate attempt to maintain the illusion of power.
To pretend I was still the leader this pack needed me to be.
But Carter had seen through it all.
"You want to know what real power looks like?" he'd continued, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that reminded me why the Giovanni name carried so much weight. "It looks like walking into an office and making administrators piss themselves with just your presence. It looks like having enough influence to buy an entire fucking academy without breaking a sweat."
The words had hit their mark with surgical precision.
Each one was a reminder of everything I'd failed to be…everything I'd lost.
"It’s being able to protect what's yours with utmost confidence that forces the world to obey…no questions asked." Carter had finished quietly, and we'd both known he wasn't just talking about territory or influence anymore.
The memory fades once more, leaving me grasping whom he was referring to.
Elizabeth…
The same Elizabeth who'd challenged me, defied me, made me want things I had no right to want.
The woman who’s just behind that door…
The Omega I could never hope to deserve.
My mind won’t let me off the hook, Carter’s words of resolution haunting my consciousness.
"Face it," Carter had said, his voice softer now but no less cutting. "We're not just losing ground anymore. We're about to become fucking irrelevant. And you know what happens to irrelevant Alphas in our world?"
I did know.
We all did.
They disappeared. Quietly, cleanly, written off as "unfortunate accidents" or "tragic misunderstandings." Their territories were absorbed by stronger powers, their legacies erased as if they'd never existed.
Just like my father.
The thought brings with it a fresh wave of bitterness.
How many times had I sworn I wouldn't end up like him? How many promises had I made to myself that I would rebuild what he'd lost, restore the Holmes name to its former glory?
And look at me now.
At my not-so-humorous end…
Standing in a hallway outside another Alpha's suite, listening to the sound of the Omega I want but can't have, wearing a blindfold that serves as both protection and punishment.
The silk against my eyes feels heavier than usual, weighted with memories I can never escape and debts I can never repay. Each breath brings with it Elizabeth's scent, twisted in a way that’s driving me insane while my hands shake with the effort it takes not to break down the door.
Not your place.
I have to remind myself harshly.
Not your right.
Yet…I want it to be.
The darker part of me — the part that remembers what it felt like to have her on her knees, to feel her submit even as she challenged me — whispers that it could be. All I have to do is stop fighting this, stop pretending I don't want her with an intensity that frightens me, and fight back against the odds that are all against the idea of happiness entering my orbit.
Stop acting like I'm still in control when we all know I lost it the moment she walked into my office.
Carter's words echo in my mind.
"We're no longer taking our sweet ass time with anything."
He's right.
The world is changing, power shifting like sand through our fingers, and I'm still here playing at being the untouchable leader when my empire is held together with borrowed time and fragile alliances.
How much longer can I maintain this facade?
How much longer before everyone sees what Carter already knows…
That I'm nothing but a blind man pretending he can still see the way forward?
The soft creak of the door opening breaks through my spiral of self-loathing.
"Are you going to continue standing in the hall like a blind douche, or are you coming inside?"
Morrison's voice carries that same casual authority that had made Phillips tremble in his office. The kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly how much power you hold and not being afraid to use it.
I scowl in his direction, maintaining my silence.
It's easier this way — safer.
Words have a way of revealing too much, especially to someone who seems to read people as easily as Morrison does.
A soft sigh escapes him as he pulls the door mostly closed, leaving just enough space for a sliver of light to escape. The gap carries Elizabeth's scent with it — sweetness and vanilla now tainted with the sharp edge of warmth.
"Eli has a fever," he says, his tone serious despite the casual way he uses that nickname. "Probably because she hasn't been taking her heat suppressants." There's a pause, heavy with accusation. "Why didn't you check on that?"
"I've barely talked to her," I mutter, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
The displacement of air tells me he's moved closer before I feel his presence directly in front of me. His hands grip my shoulders, forcing me to face him fully. The contact is unexpected enough to make me tense, but I don't pull away.
"Is this what you want your end to be?" His voice drops lower, meant only for my ears. "For the world to despise you because of your hidden predicament?"
The question hits harder than any physical blow could. My jaw clenches as I maintain my silence, but we both know it's not really silence anymore — it's surrender.
The absent weight of his hands on my shoulders followed by the soft sound of something sliding against fabric tells me he's slipped his hands into his pockets. A casual gesture that somehow makes this moment feel more futile.
"You remind me of my dad," he says quietly, and something in his tone makes my breath catch. "Thought being silent to the world and portraying strength was going to solve everything."
A heavy sigh fills the space between us.
"When Eli disappeared," he continues, his voice taking on a rougher edge, "I took a year off." He laughs, but the sound holds no humor. "Everyone thought it was some sort of show of power because my 'rival' was missing, but the truth?"
The pause stretches, weighted with unspoken emotion.
"I realized I fucking loved her."
The words hang in the air between us, sharp and honest in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Loved her so much that when she slipped through my fingers, I couldn't actually function. I guess realizing I was an Alpha sooner rather than later would have helped with my year of agony, but knowing you let the wrong one get away hurts like a heavy plate on your chest that’s impossible to remove." His voice cracks slightly on the admission. "Years of acting like I didn't have any form of affection for her, even though we didn't hesitate to make out or fuck when the tension was too much."
Another pause, this one filled with something that feels like regret.
"But she was waiting for me to confess," he continues softly. "And I didn't have it in me. I wanted to be deemed invincible in the world of academics, which meant love was on the back burner and perceived as weakness."
Each word strikes a chord deep inside me, resonating with truths I've been trying to ignore. How many times have I pushed people away, hidden behind this silk barrier, all in the name of appearing strong?
How many times have I sacrificed what I wanted for what I thought I needed to be?
“When you’re alone…looking back at all you could have had and the excuses you made to stop yourself from enjoying the blessings being given to you, it forces you to realize what a complete fool you are,” he reveals. “That’s what my dad had to realize.”
He laughs at that, the dark chuckle only carrying a sense of misery in its tone.
“On his death bed.”
Shit…
"He was just like you. Our empire was spiraling beneath the surface, but to the world, we were thriving at our highest. Performing to the top tiers is unobtainable to the average dealer or empire. Hell, I didn’t even know our family was a part of that shit. So into academics and rivalries with the woman I loved, I didn’t know what paths our wealth and solitude came from.”
That piques my interest as I perk my hearing even more in hopes of catching onto his next words.
“He sacrificed my mom’s happiness for success. It led to her deciding having a husband who paid no attention to her was far worse than being single. I found out a bit after his death that she’d found a multi-millionaire army veteran who does gambling as a hobby which wins them millions. Missing an arm and all but that didn’t stop him from pulling all the stops to make his woman feel loved and adored.”
“What’s your point?” I whisper as if I don’t know.
I know where this is going…
"You’re not fully blind, are you?”
I don’t answer.
“Trauma forces people to push the world away. Makes them feel that they’re no longer relatable to those around them because the scars they bare are beneath the surface where no one can see them. Past experience and perceived judgment make you weary of who to surround yourself with because we live in a society that judges at first glance versus knowing the individual beneath their mask. It’s something none of us can change, and it’s honestly better that way, for we don’t waste time on those who will join our enemies in mockery if it means they’re further successful up the ladder of power and wealth.”
He’s far wiser than I would have given him credit for. I can tell he has to be older than Abercrombie, which could mean she fast-tracked at a younger age to be in the same educational level as him, but I can tell from his wise tone that the death of his Father forced him to wake up and smell the coffee of our unforgiving world.
“You know the real reason why I’ve fallen hard for Eli? It’s not simply because of her body, or how amazing she tastes. It’s beyond that. Her ability to keep striving despite all the obstacles that come her way. How she’s still able to be soft, tender, kind, loving, seductive, and empowering, despite everyone around her hoping she’ll be a silent, emotionless Omega who submits to the rules and regulations of the world.”
The memory of Elizabeth's lips against mine floods my senses — not the staged kiss in my office, but the brief moment afterward. The way she'd tasted of defiance and something sweeter, something that made me want to pull her closer instead of pushing her away.
But I had pushed her away.
Just like I've pushed away everything that threatened to make me feel something real.
“You couldn’t see it back there, but I know in the depths of her eyes, she was willing to accept death as the final option rather than convert to what this world wants her to be,” he confesses like we’re in some sort of chapel, revealing our most heinous sins. “To think death is the final escape from the shackles that bound you is when the cycle needs to end. So…my question to you is, are you going to wait for those shackles to drown you in the pits of regret before you realize it’s time to break the cycle?”
I swallow the lump in my throat that I realize is present, feeling how parched I feel with this shift in conversation. I don’t like this sense of dread that’s draped on me like a heavy weighted blanket, but it’s worse to acknowledge that he’s absolutely right.
Am I going to let myself drown…before I see this cycle needs to be broken.
“When my father passed, I vowed to never be like him. I said that…and yet as I went back to Harvard, attempting to finish what I started, I realized how I was becoming just like him. Pushing the world away, becoming a drone of consistency, and obeying the rules that were meant to constrain me. I thought I could do things the right way, but it was foolish because, at the end of the day, it didn’t protect anything or anyone for that matter. The woman I loved was still missing. My father was six feet under. My mother was married to another man in a different country, and I was too into my feelings to have the balls to reach out to her and see if she was happy or not. I was spiraling into a world that was merciless, thinking if this was the path I took, all those I loved would remain alive and breathing. When in reality, the only thing I had control of was myself and the actions I took to lead me on a path I could either be proud of…or regret.”
I listen as his footsteps move until he’s standing on my left side.
"You think you're protecting them," he acknowledges. "Carter, Felix...even Elizabeth, despite trying to act like she isn’t driving you wild by just existing. You think by maintaining this distance, this facade of indifference, you're somehow shielding them from whatever darkness you're carrying."
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, every muscle tensing at how accurately he's reading me.
"But you're not," he continues, merciless in his assessment. "You're just forcing them to watch you drown while pretending you don't need their help to swim."
"You don't know anything about me," I growl, the words escaping before I can stop them.
His laugh is soft but sharp.
"I know more than you think, Holmesovich. The silk isn't just for show, is it? It's a reminder. A punishment of something you endured and still haven’t fully healed from." He pauses, and I can feel the weight of his side gaze. "The question is: who are you really punishing? Yourself? Or everyone who dares to care about you?"
The words hit with devastating accuracy, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. My hand moves unconsciously to touch the silk covering my eyes — my shield, my prison, my self-imposed exile from a world that had taken everything from me.
"They're going to leave you," he says quietly. "Not because they want to, but because you're giving them no choice. Carter's already at his breaking point, and how can you blame him when I’m sure he’s dreamed of finally finding an Omega that meets every checked box, only for the man he considers a worthy enough friend try and fuck it up. Felix will follow if only to keep the pack from completely imploding. He may be the analytic type, using numbers and equations to understand the solution to any circumstance, but he isn’t blind or irresponsible. He knows what he wants, but he wants his leader’s permission to acquire what he desperately desires. And Elizabeth..."
He trails off, letting her name hang between us like a challenge.
"Elizabeth deserves someone who isn't afraid to claim her," I say, the words coming out rougher than intended. “Because that’s how it’s always been like in her world of chaos. Restraints. Denial. Obstacles left and right. She doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to steal her away from the circumstances she can never hide from. She wants a man who will stand by her side with bold acuity, so she can fight against those shackles knowing she'll have someone to catch her when she falls. That’s if she ever does fall.”
His words paint a truth I never allowed myself to think of, which makes me realize, that maybe I don’t have to be perfect to see her rise. Don’t need to hide in the shadows to watch her shine.
That maybe…I can be a part of her reign.
"We all have trauma, Holmes…and I’m sure Eli hides hers flawlessly because she’s had no choice…but it’s hard to hide what haunts you at every step of survival, and even harder when you’re alone doing it.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I don’t know your story. No one does it seems, but don’t let whatever left hidden and permanent scars, stop you from obtaining a bond and connection you’ll never be able to acquire again when lost.”
He takes three steps forward and stops.
“I certainly won’t make that mistake twice.”
He’s affirmed that loud and clear.
“Where are you going,” I end up saying as I hear his next step.
“Someone has to make sure these administrative douches do what I requested in a timely manner. I’m sure they’re trying to think of a way to get rid of me; to keep me from attending this shithole of a school, but I have all my ducks in a row, with countermeasures of course.
His confidence annoys me.
“Watch Eli for me,” he encourages. “You can actually try and be an average douche of an Alpha and do that much knowing Carter and Felix won’t see anything. I ensured the room used surveillance that was un-hackable. Give you a few hours of peace. Maybe even remove that blindfold and get some filtered air against your face.”
He begins to walk away, his trailing steps making me well aware of his departure.
“I’d be sweating all the time if I had to wear a blindfold. Try sunglasses once in a while. Probably look cooler.”
I want to argue with his commentary, but he’s already gone.
Allowing my shoulders to finally slump to release all the tension in them, I let out a sigh before I press my hand to my blindfold.
Why did I never think this shit was hot?
It’s almost amusing to acknowledge as I take the remaining steps needed to reach the door and slip inside. Closing it, I proceed to move the blindfold off, needing a few seconds to adjust before opening my good eye and locating Abercrombie first.
Almost on instinct, my gaze finds her in a mere second, watching her sleep as a cold towel is laid upon her forehead. I can tell from how flushed her usual porcelain skin is that she’s definitely heating up, which prompts me to reach the side of her bed.
I end up taking the towel and giving it another round of chilled water, laying it on her forehead. It ignites a sigh of relief as she stirs just slightly. She looks miserable, despite being unconscious — the sight makes me feel unease at her distress.
Stupid Alpha instincts.
Still, seeing her unwell doesn’t bring me the pleasure I originally expected.
I don’t like it…
With a sigh, I pull a chair and bring it to the side of the bed, lowering it into its firm comfort while allowing myself to admire her sleeping figure.
“Will you hurt me like that bitch did?” I ask as if she can hear me.
Unconsciously, my hand is already on my scared eye, the mere touch making me flinch on reflex. A dark chuckle leaves me before I sigh.
“Death better have claimed her that day,” I whisper like I’m spitting venom, as my eye narrows. “Or else, I’ll have to do what I was such a coward to achieve the first time around.”
My eyes return to the sleeping Omega, and I allow my gaze to soften without all the hate she never deserved.
"I deserve to be happy, too…” I quietly vow, hoping to convince myself. “The past can’t determine the future I seek. Stop letting it, Holmes.”
It’s a promise I can only hope I can keep to myself.