CHAPTER 17 JARED
I'm at one of those events I hate most, because people from the Ring always show up, and every now and then I catch their amused looks lingering on me.
I'm sitting there in a semi-sheer mint-green outfit embroidered with delicate flowering vines that weave across the fabric in an intricate pattern. My hair is pulled into a sleek, high bun because, as the husband of an aspiring politician, I always have to look posh.
For the past three years, Mark has worked relentlessly to insert himself into every influential circle, building connections and friendships with anyone who might help his career. But there's still one thing he's missing.
At one of the neighboring tables sits Tim Kellan with his charming husband, Theo.
People say he has political ambitions too, and Mark watches him from time to time.
There's one thing about Tim that clearly frustrates Mark.
Tim has children, and whenever he meets potential voters, he has one extra advantage.
He's a family man, and that gives people a sense of stability, a picture of normal life they instinctively trust.
The problem is… I can't give Mark that. I'm twenty-two years old, but I still haven't even gone through my first heat. For some reason, it's almost as if my body refuses to do it.
It's become a growing source of frustration for Mark, and we've already scheduled an appointment with a specialist who's supposed to help by giving me hormone injections to trigger it. Apparently it's neither healthy nor recommended, but Mark is tired of waiting.
He gets to his feet, his polished smile plastered in place, and walks toward the podium where he's about to address a group of investors planning to transform an abandoned section of the city into a thriving entertainment district.
As he begins speaking, my attention drifts to the people seated around the elegant tables surrounding him, and a chill immediately runs through me because I recognize three of them.
One is Anzo Ferro, the mafia capo. Next to him is a small omega, who may be Anzo's new husband, Moon, but I'm not sure.
The third is the disgusting rapist, Anzo's underboss, Rocco, and the sheer sight of his face makes my body tremble.
Sitting beside him is his cousin, Ennio, the same man who helped pull me out of Rocco's clutches back then, though he explained it as nothing more than a pragmatic decision.
He's the one who gave me the pendant I've worn around my neck ever since, telling me it came from someone who wanted to save me.
Sometimes I still think about that anonymous man.
I wonder if he was the one who first knocked on Rocco's door.
Some mafia soldier? I never got a good look at him because I was lying on the bed at an angle where I couldn't see who was standing outside, and I was far too deep in shock to pay attention to what they were saying.
The only thing I remember was his strange, muted voice.
I also know Rocco struck him with the butt of a gun.
Almost his entire face was covered in blood.
I could only see a small part of it. I think he had dark hair, but I couldn't make out anything else.
I got the impression that he was a young guy, perhaps nineteen years old.
When he was struggling with Rocco, I could see that he was much thinner than the bastard, still having a somewhat teenage build.
The man tried to reach out for me, made some gesture, but he was losing consciousness quickly.
The memory of it, the vision of his reaching hand, is a bittersweet picture in my mind, like a precious keepsake.
Somehow that man must have recovered enough to get back on his feet, arrange help for me anyway, and later make sure that this pendant was delivered into my hands.
He never contacted me again after that. I'm pretty sure he was involved with the mafia too, and eventually he simply disappeared into that dark chapter of my past, absolutely quietly…
So why am I even thinking about him now? My hand instinctively plays with my pendant. It's almost like a strange presence nearby that influences me subtly. Like a mind I can sense.
Then…
A passing waiter stops beside me and says, "I was asked to deliver this to you."
I glance around uneasily. As someone who's become a recognizable face thanks to Instagram, I know I have to be careful with gifts from obsessed fans. They can be dangerous.
I lower my gaze to the table.
It's a delicate white orchid in a small ceramic pot, and beneath it rests a folded note.
My lips press together as I glance toward Mark, but he's completely absorbed in his speech. He's an intensely jealous man, and if he notices me paying attention to another man, it almost always ends in a vicious argument.
At the beginning of our relationship, I somewhat liked that about him.
He guarded me from other men with fierce possessiveness, proud of my looks, happy to have my attention all to himself, unwilling to share it with anyone else.
Back then it made me feel safe, but something has changed between us over the past year.
We've grown more distant. He raises his voice at me more often, seems irritated with me all the time, and even our sex life has become rare.
My eyes drift toward his assistant, Colin Miller, standing beside the podium.
He's a young, fairly attractive omega with slicked-back hair and cat-eye glasses.
He's only been working for Mark a short time after the previous two assistants suddenly quit, though Mark never explained why.
This one already seems strangely tense, constantly looking around as if he's nervous, occasionally letting his gaze settle on me.
I lower my eyes again and carefully lift the note between my fingertips, pretending it's nothing more than a napkin I'm moving across the table. I unfold it and find a page covered in small, elegant handwriting.
"Jared,
You don't know who I am, but we met exactly three years, three days, and twelve hours ago.
It was one of the worst moments of your life, and my heart broke in half when I saw what he had done to you.
I want you to know that I've thought about you every single day since then.
It comforts me to know you have someone protecting you from dangerous people.
I write this letter only for you to know that somewhere in this world there's a person who believes you're…
utter perfection. I don't want anything from you.
I expect nothing from you. This isn't a promise of anything I'll do in the future.
I only want you to live the best life you possibly can and be happy, Jared… be happy!"
Instead of a signature, I find a hand-drawn sketch of the exact pendant I'm wearing around my neck. But beside it is another piece of it, clearly its missing half. So, when joined together, they will make a heart shape…
My throat suddenly goes dry, and I swallow with difficulty. I look around anxiously, scanning every face, searching for someone watching me, someone paying attention, but everyone's eyes remain fixed on Mark. Then I spot the waiter walking past again and quickly wave him over.
"Who gave you this letter?"
"It came to me through another waiter," he replies. "He said he'd received it from a courier."
But I can tell he’s lying. I pull out a thick wad of cash and show it to him.
"Did he pay you more than this? It's yours if you tell me who he was."
The waiter glances around nervously and swallows hard. "I can't. That person… he doesn't want you to know who he is. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you."
I grab his sleeve before he can leave. "Talk. I'll give you even more."
"He's with the mafia, don't you get it? I can't take that risk!"
He quickly pulls away and disappears into the crowd, leaving me grinding my teeth in frustration.
For some reason, an intense pain surges through me, mixed with disappointment. He saved me and didn't even come near me, didn't look me in the eye, he just stayed hidden!
Where are you, mysterious savior?
Why do you keep yourself at a distance? Don't you understand that you're a symbol of something incredibly precious to me?
You saved my life.
Rocco wanted to kill me. He already had everything laid out to do it, all the tools of his trade spread across the table, when you knocked on the door!
I was about to be cut into pieces and sent to every man in the Ring. You came to my rescue at the very last minute!
With my heart galloping, I scan the crowd, my fists tightening, a tear slipping from beneath my eyelid because the despair clawing at me is unbearable.
"Why? Come to me. Stand before me. Let me see you," I mutter, my throat constricting, my eyes searching.
But the audience remains indifferent, their attention fixed on Mark.
As the applause follows him offstage, I hurriedly slip the letter into my pocket.
A moment later, Tim Kellan steps up to the podium and begins his own speech, while Mark returns to our table wearing a noticeably sour expression.
His eyes immediately land on the small orchid.
"What's this?"
"I don't know. Someone brought it for you," I lie.
Mark looks at the orchid, then shifts his gaze to me and hisses, "Don't make an idiot out of me, Jared. That's not the kind of gift anyone would bring me."
Then he grabs the flowerpot, walks over to a nearby trash can, and tosses the orchid inside without a second thought.
Well, nothing new here; he's in a terrible mood. He narrows his eyes at Tim Kellan before adding, "I heard a rumor that Tim is seriously considering a run for the state senate. He's from our district, so if he goes through with it, he'll end up being my opponent."
"The election isn't for another three years, Mark. I think a lot can change before then."
Mark shoots me an irritated look.