"She wasn't as talented as my mother," I add, twisting the knife. "Wasn't as beautiful. Wasn't the one you really wanted. And you made sure she knew it every day of her marriage, didn't you? Made sure she felt like a consolation prize. Made sure she understood that your love was conditional on her being something she could never be."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP."
The scream echoes through the warehouse.
Raw.
Unhinged.
Everything he's been hiding finally breaking the surface.
"Well, I won't have much choice at this rate," I say, gesturing vaguely at the bomb with my chin. "Having this thing strapped to me sort of limits my conversation time."
07:34
07:33
07:32
"But whatever." A shrug—difficult in my position, but I manage. "If I die, I'll be at peace. Finally get to see my parents again. Maybe tell them about the asshole who killed them because he couldn't handle being told no."
His hand moves toward his waistband.
Gun.
He has a gun.
"And you?" I continue, voice steady despite the weapon being drawn. "You'll be the culprit who made sure his son is a miserable fucker with no Omega and a pack that's going to behellapissed at him for what he did."
The gun rises.
Pointing at me.
Direct line to my head.
"Guess what?" I smile—bright, manic, the expression of someone who's made peace with death and found it wanting. "That's more ruthless than anything I've ever done. Destroying your own blood. Congratulations."
"Fine." His voice is ice now. "I'll quicken it then. Save the countdown the trouble."
His finger tightens on the trigger.
This is it.
This is how I die.
Not dancing.
Not fighting.
Just... executed.
By a man who couldn't handle rejection.
I close my eyes.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
