32. Syn
32
SYN
“Why? Why would you do that for me?” I stare at Declan, then shift my gaze to Tristan and Tarquin, looking for any sign that this is some cruel joke. But all I see in their eyes is a fierceness that makes my breath catch.
“Because you’re ours,” Tristan says simply, as if that explains everything.
“I’m not,” I whisper, clutching the towel tighter around my shoulders. “I’m no one’s.”
Tarquin crouches in front of me, an action that sends my heart beating faster. “Whether you accept it or not, Synthia, something has happened between the four of us. Something none of us expected.”
“We’re going to get your daughter back,” Declan says. He’s still soaked from the shower, his black hair plastered to his forehead, but he looks more commanding than ever. “That’s not negotiable.”
My lips tremble as I look at the three alphas surrounding me. Each face holds a different expression of determination, yet they’re united in purpose. For two years, I’ve been alone in this nightmare, fighting, scrambling, degrading myself in ways I never thought possible—all for the fleeting hope of holding my daughter again.
“He is just an ordinary man who took advantage of a young girl because he has self-esteem issues,” Tarquin says. “I’ve seen his kind time and time again. He can’t hurt you. Not when you have us.”
“He’s had two years to disappear with her,” I argue, panic rising in my chest. “What if approaching him makes him run? What if he hurts her?”
Declan sits beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Despite his soaked clothes, he radiates warmth. “He won’t get the chance.”
I shake my head, unable to stop the trembling that has taken over my body. “You don’t know that. You can’t promise that.”
“We can,” Tristan says firmly. “And we do.”
I want to believe them. God, how I want to. The thought of finally holding Amélie again, of seeing her face, hearing her voice—it’s the dream that’s kept me going through every degradation, every moment of darkness. But hope is dangerous. It’s broken me more times than I can count.
“I haven’t seen her in two years,” I whisper, voice cracking. “She won’t even know who I am anymore.”
“She will,” Tarquin says with such certainty that I almost believe him. “A child knows her mother.”
I should feel relieved that this is all out in the open, that someone is sharing the burden of this crushing weight with me, but I just feel scared. I’m scared they will let me down.
“We won’t let you down,” Tristan says.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” I murmur.
“Yes, you were,” he says with that smile. That smile that disarms. But it’s genuine. I can see that now. “I know you, Syn, whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I say sadly.
“You,” he says, taking my hand, “are Amélie’s mother. And we are going to return her to you, where she belongs.”
“And then what?” I whisper.
Tristan hesitates, his eyes searching mine. Tarquin and Declan exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them.
“Then,” Declan says, his voice low and certain, “you decide what happens next. With complete freedom.”
I laugh bitterly. “Freedom? I haven’t known what that feels like in years.”
“You will,” Tarquin promises, and there’s something in his voice that makes me believe him despite myself. “First, we get your daughter back. Then we deal with Jeremy. After that, whatever you choose—whether you stay with us or leave—we’ll support your decision.”
“Just like that?” I ask, suspicious. “You’ll help me, then let me walk away if that’s what I want?”
“If that’s what you truly want,” Tristan says, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “Yes.”
I look at each of them in turn, these three powerful alphas who’ve somehow crashed into my life and upended everything. There’s a sincerity in their expressions that unnerves me more than any manipulation could.
“But something tells me you’ll stay,” Declan says, his eyes hooded. “We need you as well.”
I cup his face, probably tighter than I meant to. “Need me for what? Sex?”
“No,” Tarquin says, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, but no. We need you because you fit, Synthia. You have come into our lives and made us see what has been missing all these years.”
“Do you see yourself with us?” Tristan asks quietly.
“I haven’t let myself think like that,” I admit. “The bigger question is, can you love Amélie as if she were your own?”
“Without even having to think about it. She is yours, Syn. That means she is ours.”
“And we will protect what’s ours,” Declan says.
“Yes,” I say softly. “I can see us living here.”
“Are you ours, Synthia?” Tarquin asks.
“Yes,” I whimper. “I’m yours.”
He rises, that look of cold wrath on his face. “We will do anything for what is ours, Synthia. You have our word that we will find your daughter, return her to you, and we will protect her from all harm.”
“Our daughter,” Tristan says, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles.
I give him a shaky smile, but somewhere deep down, I just can’t believe them. Not yet. They have done nothing to earn that trust. It’s ungrateful after everything they’ve said, but my daughter can’t afford for me to be swept up in a fairytale. “I need to sleep,” I murmur, even though sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.
“Of course,” Tristan says and tucks me up in the bed. He bends down to kiss my head, and Declan does the same.
Tarquin gives me a level stare, seeing straight through me. “We will earn that trust, Synthia.”
I nod and turn over, pulling the covers over my head as they leave. “We’ll see,” I mutter to the darkness, “but I hope you do.”