Albert struggled with the warning, he wanted to fuss over her, his eyes looked at her face.
It was a little more healthier.
‘She has her face, and my chin,’ he thought.
He was more sober today than he was a couple of days ago when he first met her.
He could not help but think that she looked like Yvette, the scrawny Yvette that he first met in the traverse, but his daughter was not born a Beta like Yvette was; she was born Omegan and did not even look like it.
‘How could you do this to her, Yvette?
I thought you wanted her?’ he was pained; his daughter had gone through many trials in her lifetime.
It was a miracle she had survived her birth; he knew what getting her past her first few months and weaning must have taken.
Somebody else acted as a surrogate for him.
The omegan that was most likely captured and held must have put his all into nurturing her.
Not the nutritional ones she had now.
She would have likely been severely cognitively delayed.
She would have failed to thrive.
He must of known that he was going to die.
If he could just find that man’s name out somehow, he’d thank his family.
Award them a title.
His hands shook with grief.
It was a miracle she survived.
Everything about her existence was a miracle.
And now she was going to have to deal with more.
It could have waited; they had not even announced that she had been found, but Henry had to leak who she was.
Now she might have to face the world too early.
‘This was not what I had in mind for her.
She should have had time to heal.
How will I keep people at bay?’ Albert worried.
‘She’s very sick, and that obscenely wealthy Thorne boy has become entangled with my family again.’ Albert’s thought; his bloodshot eyes drifted back to Owen.
‘He’s a thorn in my side.’ Albert thought.
He looked away as Owen met his gaze with a smile that looked close to a smirk to him.
Owen’s cohabitation agreement was backed up with the sacred rose.
He had confirmed it, the sigils of his father’s reign were being rehung.
This allowed him more leverage with his own daughter’s care than he had.
Albert’s gaze lingered on Cait as she sat in her hospital bed, a tangle of emotions swirling within him.
Though she still appeared frail and unwell, there was a noticeable improvement in her color.
Her cheeks were no longer as pale as they had been, and her eyes held a flicker of life that had been absent before.
She had begun to eat more, and he could see the faintest traces of weight redistributing on her frame, though it was minimal.
Dr.
Jameson had painted a stark picture of her condition; she was profoundly malnourished, requiring a calorie- and nutrient-dense diet of over three thousand calories a day just to inch toward recovery.
At a startling ninety pounds, Cait was teetering on the brink of survival.
That thought sent a jolt of anger through him.
If she had been a Beta, she would have already succumbed to the effects of starvation.
Her physiology was struggling to keep her alive; she was months away from being too late.
If by some miracle she hadn’t been deprived of that ‘medication’ sent by that man.
She would be dead.
The realization of her malnourishment was a shocking indictment of the logistics system and corrupt Beta political and civilian officials and Beta businessmen.
They were supposed to care for their people, but apparently, the very few were taking more than their fair share.
Instead of making a steady profit according to the guidelines.
They wanted to avoid the mistakes of pre-crisis Earth, but were reliving them.
Yet, in this harsh reality of the Traverse, it felt like a cruel joke.
Was this the grim reality faced only by his daughter, or was it a widespread symptom of neglect affecting all betas?
The contrast between what was sent below and the exorbitant costs charged was astonishing.
They were marketed as luxuries, available to those who could afford them, while the basic needs of countless lives teetered in neglect.
It was painfully clear that profiteering was rampant.
There was no apparent interest in addressing the underlying issues of poverty and hunger that defined so many lives.
The leaders did not bring it up, or the census or community surveys in the meetings they held with the Beta leaders everywhere.
He was negligent in not asking for the data, although it was most likely to be fabricated.
The ABO was also a fail stop organization to ensure they were accurately caring for the people of the Traverse.
They provided an intragovernmental framework in which the top side and bottom side of the earth cohabitation with each other.
They simply did not have the manpower or reach to illuminate all the hidden facets of existence in the Traverse that kept betas alive, but as he looked at Cait, he felt a deep, stirring resolve to fight for her, and for all the others like her.
Companies like Thorne hired Beta employees in the traverse to do the accounting like he did.
What was going on?
Why hadn’t a single one submitted a complaint?
He had briefly spoken with Kieran about Cait’s employee record in Thorne Incorporated’s accounting department.
She had in her barely two months of employment had highlighted several inconsistencies?
What of the other employees or his, why hadn’t they picked up on it, were they corrupted too?
Albert sighed off the stress.
Albert Rose leaned against the cool, sterile windowsill of Cait’s private hospital room, the overhead fluorescent light illuminating his striking silver-blond hair like a beacon.
Fatigue etched dark circles beneath his eyes, deepening the lines around his mouth as he gazed at the pristine white roses he’d brought, each petal perfectly formed, almost unnaturally still.
Next to them, Owen’s solitary orchid stood defiantly, its rich color a stark contrast to the whites surrounding it.
Seeing her embrace the bouquet when he gave it to her
Kieran was positioned near the door, his tousled smoke-gray hair framing a face that bore the weight of strategy; his sharp green eyes surveyed the room like a general scrutinizing a battlefield.
His fingers tapped a silent, anxious rhythm against his thigh.
Kieran was apprehensive about how Cait would respond to the shifting tides of her situation.
The past week had been a tumultuous whirl of shocking revelations, each one more disheartening than the last, leaving him with a lingering headache that throbbed at his temples.
It was overwhelming, even for someone accustomed to navigating the complexities of their world.
At least she seemed better than when she first arrived, which offered a glimmer of hope amid the chaos.
Her color had improved, and the shadows under her eyes weren’t as pronounced, yet the sight of her still sent a shiver of concern through him.
It was astonishing to witness how fragile she still was; the reality of her gaunt frame,a veritable rack of bones,was a striking contrast to the vibrant spirit that had once defined her.
He found it perplexing that Owen saw beauty in her current state.
Kieran had always known his sister to possess a lovely face, framed long mop of silver hair, and eyes that sparkled like molten metal.
Yet at this moment, the contours of her cheekbones stood in stark relief against her skin, a painful reminder of her malnutrition.
Beauty was a complex tapestry woven from health and vitality, and right now, Cait’s spirit was overshadowed by the harsh realities of her body.
Kieran wished he could find a way to restore both the physical and emotional aspects of his sister, to help her reclaim the essence of who she should be.
“Caitriona,” Albert began, his voice gravelly and weighed down by exhaustion.
He didn’t shift his gaze from the window.
“I hate to ask this now, but the situation with Henry Thwaites has become… complicated.”
Cait shifted against her pillows, feeling the twinge of the IV line tugging at her wrist.
Her mercury-silver eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Complicated how?”
He released a breath, weighty with unspoken truths.
“A ‘tell-all’ media article and interview about you, for monetary gain.” Kieran’s tone was clipped, the usual calm veneer beginning to fray at the edges.
“What?” Cait gasped, hurt.
her eyes shook as they flooded with angry tears.
Her hands shook.
She wanted to nip her flesh with her nails to stop herself from crying, but she had been caught by him.
“It’s going to be okay.” Owen’s voice fell in her ears.
“You do not need to worry about it.” One of Owen’s palms closed over her hands.
She shook off Owen’s hand.
“Let me see it.” Cait extended her hand, palm upward.
Her hand shook with adrenaline.
“Heh,” she groaned.
Pain flickered across her features as the movement sent a jolt of discomfort through her; the internal injuries were a constant, dull thrum beneath her ribs.
“Fine, just stop moving around like that. It can’t be good for you.” Kieran said as he looked at his sister, still so stubborn in the face of the humiliation of being exposed in such an intimate way.
Kieran had threatened the press with legal action, but it was fruitless.
The article was covered by Henry’s freedom of speech since he would be authoring it on video.
“The pictures aren’t too revealing.” Kieran said.
Cait’s hand went out even more insistently.
“Let me see. Where are my comms?”
“You can use mine. Your new set requires activation and we do not want them active yet.” Kieran lied.
“I need my comms.” Cait said stubbornly.
They had records of everything.
She kept immaculate records and all of her personal bookkeeping was done on it.
It had all of the information she needed.
“Keep in mind that I can handle this. You can leave it to me.” Albert said he was almost heartbroken looking at his daughter.
Albert finally turned, retrieving a sleek comms device from his jacket,a deluxe Omega model, the kind that hinted at power with its polished edges and silent demeanor.
Cait shook her head sharply, the scent of Gardenia wafting around her in a comforting yet poignant reminder of better days.
“No. My comms. From my possessions.”
Kieran didn’t hesitate.
He strode to the medical supply cupboard, efficiently sliding aside stacks of bandages to unearth a scratched, outdated rectangle.
Albert stared at it with an almost reverent disbelief, as if he were gazing at a relic from a bygone era.
Cait snatched the device with a flicker of determination, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it on.
Notification sounds sounded in her ears, messages from an unhinged Henry and the very few Beta’s who cared about her popped up in quick succession on the display.
Cait made a note to reply to Maria.
Cait 11:35am> I’m okay.
This comms is going to be deactivated because it belongs to an identity I do not own.
Maria 11:35am> Thank the Gods.
I knew you were special.
Cait smiled, it was small.
But it was nice to feel that no pressure love that Maria showered upon her.
The old lady messaged her once or twice a week when she remembered to use the technology.
Cait navigated to the article that had consumed her thoughts.
The headline blared with venomous intent: ‘I loved the Silver Rose; the story of the man made a pauper by a princess’.
Each word struck like a dagger aimed at her heart, as Henry’s voice echoed in her mind, skewering her reputation and branding her as selfish, lazy, and a thief who had drained his finances while languishing in the shadows of their relationship.
She skimmed through the outrageous lies, each accusation more ridiculous than the last, ‘He said I was possessive, cheap, and ungratifying?
That motherfucking asshole.’
Cait gasped, her heart racing with disbelief and fury.
How could he twist the narrative so completely, painting her as the villain in their story?
But as she continued to read, something snagged her attention: a fresh photo nestled beneath the text, and her world seemed to tilt.
There she was, captured just two weeks ago, a stark contrast to the slanderous words twisting her heart.
She had dressed confidently that night, adorning herself in a tight top that accentuated her figure, paired with a lace bralette that peeked out enticingly at the edges, and a sleek synth leather skirt that hugged her curves.
Her makeup was flawlessly applied, with smoky eyes and bold lips that exuded a confidence she had felt in that moment.
In the photograph, she appeared vibrant and alive, radiating a sense of freedom and allure.
Yet beneath all that makeup and the layers of trendy clothing lay a haunting reality.
Her skeletal frame was painfully evident, ribs protruding unnaturally, and sunken cheeks lending a sharpness to her face that no amount of contour could hide.
Dark circles clung beneath her eyes, giving credence to the fatigue that she couldn’t entirely mask.
Though she wore a smile, that gleaming expression served as a veneer for the profound illness lurking beneath the surface.
The photo, meant to portray her as some kind of party girl, was a twisted representation, a snapshot crafted to serve his narrative while obscuring the truth of her fragile state.
It was undeniable proof; evidence of the highs and lows of their relationship, capturing the dichotomy of her existence.
Here was a woman caught in a moment of confidence, yes, but also a poignant reminder of the struggle, hunger and exhaustion beneath the surface, a life filled with battles that were far from visible.
Now, she could wield this photograph as a weapon, armed with the truth of her own story, ready to confront his lies and reclaim the narrative that was rightfully hers to tell.
“They’re calling me a parasite,” she said, her voice flat as a winter morning.
“But this comms holds every shift log since we started dating, from my first job in the textiles plant, every transfer receipt from my courier gig, the schooling, and my stint in the accounting department. Everything that mattered. I kept it as a trophy that..I existed.”
Cait locked eyes with Kieran, whose sharp silver gaze seemed to pierce through her.
“Disprove it all. With ‘this’, I don’t care if you leak the personal photos and chats between us. I was no parasite. Henry Thwaites used me, what I thought was dependency was him just taking advantage of me, because he thought I was worthless.”
Kieran stepped closer, their eyes locking with an intensity that conveyed unspoken agreements.
“The media is already circling. If we leak counter-evidence,”
“Do it.” Cait’s knuckles whitened around the device, determination flooding her veins like adrenaline.
“And ensure they understand ‘why’ I kept these logs.” She shifted her gaze to Albert, a storm brewing in her expression.
“Henry called me lazy? This comms has timestamps for every double shift I worked to keep us afloat while I studied logistics algorithms at night. He called me a thief?” She tapped the screen with ferocity, pulling up a faded transaction record.
“Here’s the transfer where I paid off his gambling debts after he blew a month’s rent at the track. And ungratifying?” A dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips, echoing in the sterile room.
“Let them see that Henry couldn’t find an omega’s clitoris with a map and a flashlight. It isn’t exactly small.”
‘Fearless.’ Kieran thought.
A flicker of a smile almost broke through Kieran’s stoic demeanor, a passing hint of admiration.
“I am certain I won’t have to go that far, but I will use what I can.” Kieran said as he took the comms from her, his fingers grazing hers lightly.
“I’ll leak the financial records first. Then the shift logs. The photo…” He hesitated, studying the image of her gaunt form, his expression tightening.
“This is your exit wound, Cait. Show them the bullet.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself. This can just go unanswered.” Albert stepped forward, his protective aura enveloping Cait as he blocked out the harsh fluorescent light, his silver eyes blazing with intensity.
“They’ll come for you harder. This article is bait to draw you out.” Anger seeped into his voice, fueled by a fierce protectiveness.
“Thwaites is a fool. The media thrives on engagement. They want you rattled. Exposed.”
“Good.” Cait sank back into her pillows, her Gardenia scent mingling now with a fierce defiance that ignited the room.
“Let them witness the beta-raised omega who outworked their poor saint. Release everything.”
“Everything? Even the abuse you endured? When that man who masqueraded as a father beat you for simply growing your hair?” Kieran asked, his voice thick with concern.
“You know about that.” Cait’s voice broke, she raised her chin, holding in her emotions.
“While you were sleeping, I had to know what your life was like. You’re my little sister. You have been missing for over twenty years.” Kieran said emotionally.
He had sifted through all the images of her past,every stinging identification picture, every piece of haunting footage from that night that was reported to the police.
The notes from teachers in various districts regarding her bruises and puncture marks, the signs of a childhood spent in survival mode, left alone and scavenging for scraps.
Cait shook, she confidently nodded, even though everyone could tell her heart was broken.
“Tell them Caitriona Agneau existed. That she toiled in fabric and packages until her hands bled. Just like them.”
Cait paused, and swallowed her throat bobbing.
She angrily continued, “That I worked hard studying while doing so, like them and climbed out of manual labor, armed with her own skill and intelligence. He did not do that.”
Cait’s voice broke, ” And that she was starved by a beta who worked half shifts.
That she loved, and thought he loved her.
Yet he even demanded a cut of everything she brought home, even the doctor-ordered nutritional drinks prescribed to her the day he dumped her.” Cait coughed.
Blood tinged her lips.
“Hey, take it easy.” Owen said, alarmed.
He could feel the emotions through the bond.
Betrayal felt like a cold ball putting pressure on the inside of his organs.
It was uncomfortable feeling it.
He realized he had grown up pampered.
“Your father and brother can take care of it.” Owen shook.
She was so stressed out.
Owen’s gaze flicked to Albert, who was already moving, snatching tissues from the bedside table as Cait coughed, a wet, rattling sound that shook her thin frame.
“Father will take care of it.” Albert said gently, he dabbed her mouth with surprising gentleness, then held a cup of water to her lips.
“Small sips,” he murmured, the command softened by the tremor in his own hands.
His eyes, silver like hers, but haunted, didn’t leave her face.
This wasn’t the Admiral.
This was a father seeing his child bleed.
Kieran watched from the doorway, his green eyes distant.
He remembered his own mother, a beta-dominant painter who’d filled their home with canvases of impossible, star-drenched skies.
He’d doted on his mother, feeding her and giving her drinks like this.
While his mother Elara taught him color theory while his older brothers did their homework, finger-painting with him, and singing him songs.
His father had been a very tender and loving man until a series of setbacks, that was from the date his mother died.
That day when the pheromone blowers failed.
A sabotage.
Power outage.
Riots choked the Traverse.
His father had tried to get her to the traverse tunnels, to breathe the pheromones of her kind that she needed.
His mother and aunt became listless, irrational, and despondent.
They tried to flee to sector 0, but the mob of angry and irrational Beta from the traverse of Sector 1 had surfaced.
They caught them.
Stripped them of their clothes.
Beat the guards protecting them to death as the Alphas discreetly tried to restore order in Beta clothes.
That day they were swarmed outside of the castle tunnel entrance was the day the light in his fathers eyes died.
His mother ran away from them to save them.
Kieran still heard screams sometimes: his mother and beta aunt, beaten to death with pipe wrenches for “breeding” with omegas.
For selling out.
They had not done anything wrong.
Albert loved his mother.
He was single for years after her death.
His Beta-Dominant sisters lived fully supported by their father, but secretly.
They would meet in the old tunnel house.
Albert had built the Traverse residence afterward,a fortress for Yvette, to prevent the same tragedy from happening again.
It almost became his tomb when Yvette fled with Cait.
He remembered his brother shaking blood-covered hands; he was so lucky that Michael was there.
Cait sat upright, “Once you are done, I will talk to them about who the real parasite is.” Cait’s look sharpened, at that point he really saw his father in her looks, the way she narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists with one thumb in her palm in her left hand, and the right out.
Just like their father.
Kieran leaned against the doorframe, his voice slicing through the sterile air.
“Are you sure?” His green eyes fixed on Cait, sharp as broken glass.
“A press conference now? With you still detoxing?”
Cait pushed herself up on the pillows, wincing as the IV line tugged at her wrist.
Her mercury-silver gaze didn’t waver.
“Yes. Before they spin it.” Her voice was raspy but precise, each word clipped.
“I’m leaving for Alba soon anyway. Nothing ties me here.”
Except Owen, a thought she shoved down.
And Maria.
Always Maria.
The woman who’d taken in a starving fourteen-year-old me disguised as a beta boy.
Who’d faced down Caleb’s drunken rages to shield her.
Cait’s fingers tightened on the thin hospital blanket.
“Maria’s the only one in those tunnels who matters. I’ll find her. Bring her out.”
Albert stiffened, his grip tightening around the crumpled tissue in his fist, his knuckles white with tension.
“Cait, there is something you should know about that.”
Kieran stepped forward, the warmth of his hand settling on his father’s shoulder like an anchor.
“She’s right,” he said, his voice measured yet firm.
“About the press.” He turned his intense gaze toward Cait, the sharpness of his assessment unmistakable.
“But pulling Maria Bonne out? It’s not a simple rescue mission. It requires precision, surgical precision.”
Kieran leaned against the cold metal of the bed rail, the sharp scent of peppermint from his gum cutting through the harsh antiseptic air.
“Betas aren’t biologically equipped to live outside of the traverse. They need very controlled parameters and an environment to survive.”
Cait frowned, her mercury-colored eyes narrowing with concern.
“Controlled? It’s stinky down there, Kieran.”
“For us, yes.” Kieran’s tone softened, his expression shifting to one of empathy.
“But for betas? It’s homeostasis. Their endocrine systems have calibrated to recycled air, artificial light cycles, and regulated pheromone levels.”
Kieran gaze locked onto hers, cutting through the fog of confusion that clouded her mind.
“Moving her abruptly to Alba’s tunnel? The pollen from the trains alone could trigger severe allergic reactions. Even the ‘gravity’ changes, just a fraction, but enough to destabilize elderly bone density.”
Owen stirred slightly in his chair, his ice-blue eyes darting between the two, concern etched on his face.
“So, you’re suggesting we leave her in squalor? In that poor environment?”
“No.” Kieran’s knuckles paled as he gripped the rail tighter, determination flooding his voice.
“We will flood her sector with resources instead. We send ABO-funded construction crews to upgrade Breakwater’s facilities. We will plan to do upgrades to all the places you lived as you tell your story. It makes for great public relations material, and we will be able to start targeting the corruption of some of the public officials.”
Kieran fixed Cait with a piercing look, the pity in his gaze morphing into a steely certainty.
“I watched my beta mother wither when the pheromone blowers failed her. Then, when my mother and my aunt tried to immerse themselves in the tunnel to survive. They were targeted in the riots. Father knows what I mean.”
Albert flinched at the mention of his lost partner, his silver eyes darkening with unspoken memories.
“Kieran wouldn’t lie to you,”
Kieran interjected, his voice raw and cracking under the weight of their shared history.
“Not about this. Not when so much is at stake.”
Cait’s breath caught in her throat, the sweet, Gardenia floral pheromones around her spiking with a mixture of fear and grim realization.
Why Maria was always hesitant to move closer to the surface, or why she said that higher elevations weren’t worth the money just to drown later, should the pumps or electricity fail.
Something instinctual.
Maria’s raspy laugh echoed in her mind: ‘This dank air?
Keeps my old bones creaking, love.
The surface is not our home na’ anymore.
We gotta improve things underground.’ Cait had always thought it a joke, a lighthearted quip to mask the pain of her reality.
Owen’s hand found hers beneath the blanket, warm and reassuring, a grounding force amidst the storm of anxiety swirling around them.
“So, we rebuild her world,” he stated, the threads of Alpha command weaving into his words like a powerful mantra.
“Until she chooses to leave it.”
Albert straightened, the gravitas of the Admiral and Lord returning to his posture.
“Kieran. Draft the protocols. Full environmental overhaul,prioritize this, Maria’s block.” His stare turned to Cait, unyielding.
“And you? Rest.” Albert said with an uneasy heart.
He did not like the idea of her facing the world yet.
He’d prefer to wait until she was healed.
Albert swallowed, and continued, “The press conference in three hours, you’ll need to gather your strength to be able to speak. These events don’t seem that physically demanding, but I assure you they are.”
Albert started to leave but paused, his voice softening slightly.
“Your mother… Yvette…” The name faltered, almost breaking.
“She never understood the dangers either; I never told her how tiring it is to be in the lime light, I will not fail you too.”
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Cait’s eyes widened as she thought of what he meant.
Kieran lingered for a moment longer, reaching out to pluck a stray thread from Cait’s blanket, an unguarded moment that spoke volumes of their new relationship.
“He blames himself, both for her and for you,” he murmured, his smile thin and bitter, a mask concealing the weight of unrelenting guilt.
“Welcome to the family, little sister. Here, saving people is a science… and guilt is an inherited trait.” Kieran said.
Kieran gave her a nod and left to follow Albert.
Cait watched him walk away, the reality of their situation washing over her as Owen’s thumb traced gentle circles on her palm, a silent promise of support.
Maria’s face swam before Cait’s eyes, wrinkled, kind, blissfully unaware of the looming storm ready to rewrite her world, hopefully for the better.
Maria and those in the old neighborhood were good people.
Cait shifted against the sterile hospital sheets, the IV line tugging at her wrist.
“I have to see people.” Her voice was raspy, stripped raw by the detox.
“And do I at least have clothes?”
Owen stood by the window, silhouetted against the harsh city lights.
“I brought you some,” he said, gesturing toward a sleek garment bag draped over a chair.
His usual crisp composure frayed at the edges,hair slightly mussed, tie loosened.
The scent of her floral pheromones still clung to him, faint but undeniable.
“I don’t like this Cait.”
Cait opened her mouth to say that he did not have to like it, and that she was her own person.
But she was interrupted by the hiss of the door.Dr.
Jameson swept into the room, his cedarwood scent sharp against the antiseptic air.
“So they’re parading a sick woman outside to answer those despicable claims,” he muttered, adjusting the IV machine with a brisk tap.
The drip accelerated.
“At least you’re done with the antidote.” His gaze flicked to the other infusions,a cocktail battling organ damage Cait shouldn’t have survived.
“The other medications? Not so much.” He eyed the bags with clinical detachment.
“The ‘other’ stuff.” The unspoken weight of poison’s damage lingered.
Cait’s mercury-silver eyes tracked the doctor’s movements.
“How long?” she asked, her tone clipped.
Beneath the exhaustion, a familiar resentment simmered,toward the gleaming ABO facility, toward the system that had hunted her mother.
Owen moved closer, his ice-blue gaze intense.
“Rest,” he ordered, but the command lacked its usual edge.
Instead, there was something raw beneath the surface,a possessiveness that bordered on frantic.
He’d tasted her, claimed her, yet failed to imprint her with the family’s mark.
The failure haunted him.
Her claim was very visible.
Dr.
Jameson noted Owen’s tension with a raised eyebrow.
“The clothes are practical,” he said, changing the subject.
“No couture. Your body can’t handle restrictive fabrics yet.” He paused, studying Cait.
“You should not even go out there. Lord Rose’s lawyers are downstairs. They’ve…started your return defamation suit.”
“I have the right to defend myself and my name.” she retorted.
Cait’s knuckles whitened against the sheets.
‘Henry.’ The name was a blade twisting in old wounds.
‘He thought he could humiliate her?
Unthinkable.
Here she was, the reclaimed heir, drowning in silken privilege she’d been taught to despise.
She would show the world who Henry really was.
The pathetic man who cursed obscene insults at a poisoned woman who was dying, instead of picking up the slack like a loving partner.
All the time in this bed was like a respite for her.
She had survived repeated rut collapses month after month.
While Henry lay on their couch with a hangover, cold, or diarrhea, claiming he was too sick to operate a loader.
A loader that was mostly artificial intelligence.
Owen’s hand brushed hers,a fleeting, electric contact.
“I’ll help you through this,” he said, the tsundere coolness cracking to reveal sheer, unvarnished need.
“Just focus on what you want to say out there. Whatever happens, I have your back.”
She believed his words, she who had been scorned by men.
Was she losing it?