Violet
Whenever Benji talked about bond rot, he said omegas died because they starved to death.
But I’d had a literal feeding tube shoved up my nose until Reed ripped it out this morning.
I wasn’t starving to death. So this wasn’t bond rot. At least, I didn’t think it was.
Whatever it was, it was getting worse.
The room wouldn’t stay still.
Logan left me in the bedroom “to rest” after the staff polished me up to his level of perfection, and I remembered falling asleep, but I didn’t remember waking up.
Now he had me upright, trying to force me to eat, or drink, or do something before he paraded me in front of his investors.
“Come on, Violet. Just take a sip of the orange juice.” For the first time in our relationship, Logan sounded scared.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out his expression, but everything was foggy. Maybe I’d forgotten my glasses. Maybe I’d left them upstairs. I blinked hard, like I could force the world into focus.
Nothing helped.
“Just a tiny drink.” He pressed something cold to my lips. “You’re so pale, and we have people coming any second.”
The glass clinked faintly against my teeth. Citrus flooded my tongue. I forced it down even as my body protested.
For a split second, I thought it might help. Maybe it was dehydration. Maybe low blood sugar. Maybe it was just pregnancy making everything harder.
But no matter how much I drank, relief never came.
I missed my alphas.
I missed Benji. I missed Skye.
A deep, gnawing absence formed under my ribs, like something essential had been removed and my body didn’t know how to function without it. I tried to breathe through it.
I wasn’t sure I did.
“You’re so pale,” Logan muttered. “Why are you so pale?”
His voice sounded distorted, like it was reaching me through water.
His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks like he could rub color back into them.
“Come on,” he said under his breath, “I can’t take you to the hospital right now. We just need a couple hours, and everyone will be gone, okay? I’ll take you to a doctor after.”
A couple hours.
My brain tried to process that. Would a doctor even help? All I needed was a nap and my bunny and I’d be fine.
My vision pulsed in and out–black creeping in at the edges, then receding just enough to catch Logan’s mouth moving again.
“Two hours. That’s it, okay?” he said, frantic now. “You do good for two hours and I’ll buy you whatever stupid rock you want.”
Oh.
My crystals.
I liked those.
The thought drifted through my head slowly, disconnected from the rest of me. Amethyst for stress. Rose quartz for love. Black tourmaline for protection. I wondered if my collection was still on top of Vinny’s dresser.
I wanted garnet, apparently it helped with nightmares.
My limbs felt heavy, like they were filled with wet sand.
“Violet.” Logan’s voice sharpened. “Stay focused.”
Focused on what?
Investors?
Emeralds?
Looking in love with a man I hated?
I tried to blink again, but even that felt slow. The next time my eyes opened, I was leaning into Logan as he guided me from table to table.
The room was so bright it hurt.
Crystal chandeliers threw fractured light across polished marble and glass. Laughter echoed too loudly. The scent of expensive cologne and wine mixed into something nauseating.
Vinny’s cologne didn’t smell like that.
Logan’s arm stayed locked around my waist, his hand spread possessively over my stomach.
“This is my beautiful wife, Violet,” he said to a cluster of men in tailored suits, patting my belly like I was proof. “And these are our twins.”
Polite laughter followed. Congratulations. Smiles.
I kept my eyes lowered, the way I’d been trained to.
“And how are you feeling, Mrs. Stellar?” one of them asked kindly.
“She’s deaf–” Logan blurted.
My head tilted before I could stop it.
He cleared his throat, recovering. “She, uh, lost her hearing when she was young.”
A flicker of surprise crossed a few faces.
“Oh,” the man said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“It’s quite all right,” Logan said smoothly. “Normally she has her hearing aids in, but she’s been struggling with migraines this pregnancy.”
Migraines.
That was new.
“Of course,” the man said. “Twins will do that.”
“Yes,” Logan agreed, his hand spreading wider over my stomach as if to emphasize the point. “It’s been a lot, but she was so passionate about being here tonight.”
He guided me away before anyone could look too closely.
“Excuse us,” he told another group. “We’re making the rounds.”
That was the last thing he said before he started dragging me.
After that, everything blurred together.
Table to table.
Handshake to handshake.
Smile to smile.
I was fairly certain I saw Reed from the corner of my eye, which was nice. I loved my brother.
My body moved because Logan moved it, and every time he got the chance, he introduced me as if he loved me, as if he’d always loved me.
He told them I was incredible. That I’d given him everything. That with the twins due any day, he couldn’t wait to start this next chapter of our lives together.
And at some point, my breathing changed.
I couldn’t pinpoint when.
But I knew three things.
One: how it felt.
Like I was drowning, just without the water. My lungs worked, but the air wasn’t reaching where it needed to go. Each inhale felt shallow and incomplete, like it scratched at the wrong part of a barely-there itch. Each exhale came easier than the last.
Two: it wasn’t stopping.
No matter what I did.
In.
Out.
In–
Each breath stopped halfway, and I couldn’t force any more air in.
And three: how the alphas in the room reacted to it.
At first it was subtle. The men Logan talked to stopped focusing on him and started watching me. Their eyes tracked the uneven rise of my chest, and slowly their smiles faded into something else.
Concern.
Not for Logan. For me.
Looks my “husband” didn’t notice until other alphas started encroaching on what was his.
“Come sit, little omega,” a tall man in a green suit ordered as he vacated his seat and stepped forward, reaching for me. “Someone in her condition should be resting.”
I squinted, trying to focus on his face. Tan skin. Golden jewelry threaded through dark hair.
He was very pretty.
I wondered where his omega was.
“She’s fine,” Logan growled, tightening his hold on me. “She wanted to be here. We’re just greeting our guests. Plus, she’s deaf. Don’t talk to her.”
The lie sounded rougher this time.
The man in green didn’t look convinced.
“If she were deaf, she wouldn’t look when spoken to,” he said calmly, eyes flicking over me. “Just look at her. Her lips are turning blue.”
“It’s makeup,” Logan snapped. “She’s fine.”
Another alpha stood. This one wore orange. He looped an arm around the green-suited man’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
For a second, I couldn’t tell if I was hallucinating.
Then the orange-suited man looked at Logan like he was something on the bottom of his shoe.
“The rumor around town is that Mr. Stellar had to rely on certain less than legal heat clinic’s pharmaceuticals to get his heir,” he said lightly.
His nails were painted a glossy beige that caught the light when he beckoned me closer.
“No wonder he doesn’t care about his omega.
Sweetheart, bonds can be broken. Anyone would be lucky to have an omega of your pedigree. Come here.”
The air shifted.
My breathing got worse.
“Mr. and Mr. Devereaux,” Logan said smoothly, even though his jaw was locked tight, “I appreciate your concern, but it’s impolite to speak to my wife like that.”
The man in green—Mr. Devereaux—didn’t take his eyes off me.
“I’m being perfectly polite,” he replied. “Omegas are meant to be cherished. And knowing our money is in such careless hands doesn’t sit well with us.”
“Perhaps we should pull our investments,” the man in orange said, clicking his tongue softly. “The Rossis deal with money, too. And I’ve heard Vincent has two omegas he cherishes.”
The name hit the room like a match to gasoline.
Vincent.
My Vinny.
Logan went very still and something unfurled in my chest.
“The Rossis,” Logan said slowly, “are not part of this conversation.”
“No?” Mr. Devereaux tilted his head. “Because it sounds like they understand something you do not.”
My lungs burned.
I tried to inhale. It stalled halfway again.
My hands lifted weakly between us before I could stop them.
Vinny.
My attempt at fingerspelling his name was messy, shaky. So I switched to easier signs.
Home.
Help.
Please.
Logan caught both my wrists and pinned my hands beneath my stomach.
“Quit being weird and put your hands down,” he hissed under his breath.
Mr. Devereaux in green went very still. His partner’s arm slid away from his waist.
“She’s confused,” Logan said sharply. “She’s–”
“She’s not,” the man in green interrupted, quiet and flat. “She’s unwell.”
Mr. Devereaux in orange shifted, angling his body so the rest of the room couldn’t see his hands. Slowly, he signed back.
Hold on.
Then, a beat later:
Safe.
The word hit harder than it should have.
Safe.
I didn’t feel safe.
I felt like I was going to drop dead in the middle of Logan’s little performance, and the realization scared me more than I wanted to admit.
A soft whimper escaped me. One tear slipped down my cheek.
That was enough to piss Logan off.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation bleeding through the polished mask.
“If you two will excuse me,” Logan said tightly, “I believe we’re done here.”
The Devereauxs didn’t argue. They returned to their table, but their eyes stayed on me as Logan pulled me away from the crowd and into a dim corner of the packed room.
He glanced over his shoulder, then pushed me down onto a velvet chaise.
The cushions swallowed me. I lay back and stared at the blur I assumed was the ceiling. Gold light fractured above, smearing into soft halos that pulsed with my vision.
In.
The breath barely made it past my throat.
Out.
Logan hovered over me, blocking the light.
“Sit up,” he whispered harshly, gripping my shoulders.
My body didn’t cooperate.
He checked behind him again, then forced me upright into something more ladylike. His hands clamped my cheeks hard enough to hurt.
“You’re fine,” he hissed. “Quit making a scene.”
My head lolled slightly between his palms.
In. Short.
Out. Long.
My lips tingled. My fingers went numb.
Logan shook me, and the world spun.
“You’re too fucking stupid to talk, and now you’re too fucking stupid to breathe?” he growled. “The Devereauxs aren’t coming to save you. The Rossis aren’t coming to save you. You are mine, Violet.”
I tried to pull in more air.
Nothing.
Then I exhaled what I didn’t have.
His grip tightened.
“Look at me.”
I couldn’t. My vision tunneled until the world collapsed into a pinprick.
Somewhere beyond him, the music faltered—or maybe it was just my hearing slipping.
“You don’t get to die,” he hissed. “You don’t get to embarrass me.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Forty-five fucking minutes. That’s all that’s left. Then I’ll take you to the hospital and I’ll get you whatever stupid fucking rock you want.”
My next inhale didn’t come.
Logan froze.
“Violet.” The anger drained from his voice, but he still slapped me. I think it hurt. I wasn’t sure. “Okay, twenty minutes. That’s it. And two rocks, okay?”
Twenty minutes.
I could do that.
His hand slid from my cheek to my throat. Two fingers pressed against my pulse.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
The ringing in my ears swallowed the music completely.
“Violet,” he said again, and his voice cracked. “Stop.”
His fingers pressed harder.
“If you don’t stop, everyone in this room is going to know you’re fucking insane, and I will have you committed for the rest of your life. Do you understand me? Once the babies are here, I’ll have everything I want. I don’t need you.”
I couldn’t control most things in my life, nor had I ever been able to, but one thing was certain. Logan would never have my babies. Then another thought followed.
No one was going to have my babies, because I was going to die.
The realization didn’t bring peace. But my body was so tired I couldn’t imagine ever coming back from this.
Still, I refused to let Logan earn sympathy from what was inevitable.
He wouldn’t get to be the tragic widower whose wife died in his arms.
If I had my way, he’d be remembered as the alpha who let his pregnant omega die.
“Breathe,” he demanded again.
And spite spurred me forward.
I forced in a trembling, wet breath, deeper than any in recent memory. Held it. Exhaled.
“That’s it,” Logan whispered.
He stroked my hair.
I dragged in another ragged breath.
He punished me with a kiss to the cheek.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “See? You’re fine.”
My chest rose again. Uneven, but obedient.
He pulled away. If I had to guess, he was recomposing himself.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, as if that was something I wanted. “Don’t move.”
I wouldn’t.
I waited until I was fairly certain he was gone before closing my eyes.
I’m sorry, I thought.
Not for Logan.
For my babies. For Vinny. For Serena. For Benji. For Skye. For Reed.
Their names drifted through my fading thoughts as the room floated farther and farther away.
And in the quiet corner of a room I never wanted to be in, I stopped fighting.