Chapter 334

Elliot

When has someone ever listened to me like this?

Ever actually cared?

I watch her tick something on her tablet, type notes with those elegant fingers, and I sigh.

She’s so perfect.

The way she concentrates. The way she asks questions like she actually wants the answers. The way she wrote down everything I said about the laws, about the schools, about the way Omegas are treated like problems to be managed instead of people to be heard.

No one has ever listened like this. Not Vincent, who only heard what he wanted. Not Charles, who heard the sound of his own voice. Not Damien, who hears obligation dressed up as care.

But her? She listens.

It’s been three hours since we started. Three hours of talking, of answering, of watching her fill pages with my words. My words. Like they matter. Like I matter.

She says it’s over and stands. I stand after her, and the world tilts.

I didn’t eat on purpose.

I planned this. The fast started yesterday. The workout this morning, the extra cardio, the way I made sure to skip breakfast and lunch. I wanted to look fragile. Wanted to look like I needed saving. Wanted her to see me small and helpless and worth protecting.

But now, standing here, the plan feels different. The edges of my vision are going dark. My legs are unsteady. My head is light.

And she’s walking toward the gate. Away from me.

I follow, stumbling.

One. Hold my breath. The world swims.

Two. Her back is to me. She’s almost at the gate.

Three. My chest burns. My knees buckle.

Four.

Just before the gate, the world turns black.

*

Daphne

I look at the passed-out Elliot and sigh.

I’m not carrying him.

I motion to one of the guards. "Take him inside. The guest room on the first floor."

The guard scoops Elliot up without comment. I follow at a distance, my heels clicking on the stone path, my expression carefully neutral.

Inside, I direct them to the room, watch them lay him on the bed. He looks small there. Pale. The dark circles under his eyes are genuine, at least—he really did starve himself for this.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and wait.

It doesn’t take twenty minutes.

Damien bursts in like a storm, the family physician trailing behind him, medical bag in hand.

"What happened? Is he okay? Did someone—" His eyes land on Elliot, pale and still on the guest bed, and something in his face cracks. "Elliot!"

The physician pushes past him, already checking pulse, pupils, breathing. Damien hovers, asking questions that go unanswered, his voice climbing with every non-response.

I watch from the doorway. Amused.

He doesn’t notice Bernard Han in the hallway, giving him the stink eye like he’s never given it to anyone. Doesn’t notice Olga’s embarrassed flush, her hands twisting in her skirt. Doesn’t notice Vivienne standing at the far end of the hall, her face a mask of perfect, porcelain detachment.

He doesn’t notice anything except the boy on the bed.

"Dehydration," the physician announces finally, straightening. "And lack of food. He’s severely depleted. I’ll start a glucose drip, but he needs rest. Proper nutrition. He shouldn’t be on his feet for at least a day."

"Dehydration?" Damien’s voice cracks. You would think he was diagnosed with cancer.

The physician sets up the drip with practiced efficiency. Elliot’s hand is limp on the blanket, the needle sliding into his vein without so much as a flinch. Still out. Still performing, even unconscious.

"Someone should stay with him," the physician says. "Just until he wakes."

Damien pulls a chair to the bedside immediately. Sits. Takes Elliot’s hand.

Well love certainly makes you blind, seeing as to how he’s acting like this here.

I turn to leave.

"Where are you going?" Damien’s voice is sharp.

I pause. Look back.

"He was my guest," I say mildly. "And now he’s in good hands. Yours."

His jaw tightens.

"Don’t worry, brother." I let my gaze drift to Vivienne, still standing at the end of the hall, still perfectly composed. "I have other things to attend to."

Damien doesn’t acknowledge me.

Perfect.

I reach Vivienne. She’s watching me with those blue eyes, waiting, her face still composed. But I see the tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers curl at her sides. The way her breathing changes when I’m close.

I take her hand. Pull her into the guest room across the hall. Close the door behind us.

She doesn’t resist.

I push her against the wall, my body pressing into hers, and I kiss her.

She kisses me back with equal ferocity, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. Her mouth is hot and sweet and mine.

Well. Elliot certainly has his uses.

I push her against the wall, my hand on her neck, tilting her head back. She gasps, and I swallow the sound. My other hand slides down, finds the front of her pants.

She arches into me.

"Daphne—" His name is breathless on her lips.

"Shh." I kiss her throat. "He’s busy. No one’s coming."

Her hands tangle in my hair. "I don’t care if they come."

"Sister-in-law, I didn’t know you were so raunchy," I say, a smirk playing on my lips as my hand moves to the front of her pants, unzipping them with one smooth motion.

I slide my hand into her underwear, and it’s like coming home. Her heat, her wetness, it’s a sensation that I’ll never get tired of.

She whimpers, a soft, desperate sound that goes straight to my core, making me ache with need.

I use my other hand to cover her mouth, muffling the sound.

"Well, let’s not give them a reason to check out what we’re doing," I murmur amused at how she looks right now.

Contrary to her eyes, she’s so wet, and I don’t give her what she wants.

Instead, I tease her, moving my fingers around, circling her clit, dipping into her folds, but never quite giving her the pressure, the depth, that she craves.

She moves her hips, chasing my touch, trying to guide me to where she needs me most.

I would love to tease her all day, to draw out this moment, to watch her unravel beneath my touch. But we don’t have time.

"How dysfunctional," I say, my voice a low chuckle as I continue to tease her, my fingers dancing just out of reach of where she needs them.

"Olga’s children, her son is currently with his lover, and her daughter is currently with her sister-in-law."

Vivienne glares at me, her eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and lust. She’s so pretty.

I stop teasing her, I slide two fingers inside, her heat enveloping me, her wetness coating my skin.

My palm presses against her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, and I can feel her body respond, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers, her hips bucking against my hand.

I capture her mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss, swallowing her moans, her gasps, her pleas.

I move my fingers, curling them, and she cries out, the sound muffled by my mouth, her body trembling with the force of her pleasure.

When she finally calms down, I pull my hand from her pants and bring my fingers to my lips.

It’s different. Sweet. Not just the usual sweetness of her or a woman, but something almost edible. Like honey. Like something made to be savored.

I lick my fingers clean, one by one.

Definitely sweet.

[It’s because of the Alpha-Omega dynamic—]

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I mentally slam the door on the System’s voice. Privacy!

[I am merely providing—]

I don’t care what you’re providing. Go away.

Vivienne is watching me, still pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted. There’s a flush high on her cheeks, a dazed look in her eyes that I want to see again and again and again.

"What?" Her voice is hoarse.

I grin. "You taste like honey."

She blinks. "What?"

"I’m serious." I lean in, kiss the corner of her mouth. "Sweet. Like something I could eat forever."

"Ah, don’t be ridiculous." Her cheeks are flushed, her hands fumbling with her pants, trying to zip them up, trying to regain some composure. It’s adorable.

"Wait." The word slips out before I can stop it.

She looks at me, surprised, her fingers frozen on the zipper.

I dip my hand back into her pants before she can react.

"Daphne—!"

She smacks my hand away, but it’s too late. I bring my fingers to my lips, licking them clean, definitely sweet and intoxicating.

She shoves me, hard, and I stumble back, laughing.

She’s still trying to zip her pants, still bright red, still glaring at me with those eyes that promise retribution.

I blow her a kiss.

She shoves me again,out of the room.