I watched the city slide past, my reflection visible again in the darkening window. My face looked different from how it had on the way out. Softer, maybe. Less guarded. My shoulders had dropped fully now, no longer hunched up near my ears in constant defense.
Kade sat beside me in comfortable silence, occasionally glancing over but not trying to fill the quiet with unnecessary words.
When we pulled up to the building, the doorman was waiting. The same older one with kind eyes, and he nodded to us as Kadehelped me from the car. My legs were steady as I walked toward the entrance, and I realized I wasn't concerned about going inside.
The lobby was warm, the elevator ready. We stepped in together, and I watched the numbers climb, counting floors until we reached the penthouse.
“Thank you,” I said as the elevator rose, turning to look at him. “For today. For all of it.”
Kade's expression softened, something vulnerable flickering across his face before he controlled it. “You don't have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” I held his gaze, wanting him to understand. “I do.”
The elevator doors opened, and Theo and Lucian were chatting in the living area, looking up as we entered.
“Have a good time?” Lucian asked, but it was clear from his tone that he already knew the answer.
I nodded and found that I meant it completely. “Yes. I did.”
The city lights glittered beyond the windows, a constellation of human effort and survival. I walked toward them, my coat still warm around my shoulders, and for the first time since arriving at the penthouse, I felt something that might have been hope.
Not complete trust, not yet. But the possibility of it, hovering just out of reach like those lights against the winter dark.
It was enough. For now, it was enough.
Chapter Sixteen
Jasmine
The coffee cup warmed my palms through the ceramic, heat seeping into fingers that never quite felt warm enough. Morning light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, softer than yesterday's sharp winter glare, as I sat at the breakfast table with a plate of eggs and toast that I'd actually felt hungry enough to request. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant sounds of Lucian moving through the kitchen. I'd slept through the night without waking, without nightmares, and that minor victory felt significant enough that I'd smiled at my reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing my teeth.
The newspaper sat folded beside my plate, delivered with breakfast. I'd ignored it initially, focused on the food. But curiosity got the better of me, and I reached for it, unfolding the pages with the practiced motion I'd learned from reading discarded papers in coffee shops.
The photo stopped me mid-breath.
My face stared back at me from the front page, caught in a three-quarter profile. The light in the photo hit my face in a way that made my features look sharper and more defined than I'd ever seen them.
The headline sat above the photo in bold type: "Killion Records' Latest Discovery is Going to Take the Music World by Storm."
My hands started shaking before I'd finished reading the first line. The coffee cup rattled against the saucer as I set it down. I was visible. Completely, undeniably visible to anyone with eyes.
The article continued below the fold, speculation about my background, my relationship with the pack, and the upcoming gala performance. Someone had dug up details. They weren’t accurate ones, but close enough to make my chest constrict. "Sources say the young Omega was discovered singing on street corners," and "rumored to have fled an abusive pack situation."
My vision blurred at the edges. I blinked, trying to focus on the words, but they swam together like ink in water.
If I could see this, anyone could see this. Any Alpha with a newspaper and too much time could see my face, could know I was here, could know exactly where to find me.
Alpha Bane would know.
The thought materialized with such force that I actually jerked backward in my chair; the legs scraped against the hardwood floor with a sound that made me flinch. My old pack leader's face surfaced in my memory with the clarity of yesterday rather than nearly a year ago. Cold blue eyes that never held warmth, even when he smiled. The particular set of his jaw when he was deciding whether to hit me. The way his pine scent would intensify right before violence.
I pressed my hand flat against my stomach, fingers splaying over the fabric of my shirt, and felt the phantom ache of impact. His fist connecting with my abdomen, the way I'd doubled over, gasping, trying to protect what I'd already known was too fragile to survive that kind of assault.
The blood had come three days later. Dark and wrong... my body rejecting what it could no longer carry.
My breakfast sat untouched, the eggs congealing on the plate; the toast going cold. The smell of butter and coffee that had been appealing moments ago now made my stomach turn. I pushed away from the table, stood on legs that felt uncertain, and the penthouse suddenly felt too small.
Too many windows, too much exposure, too many ways for someone to see in. The walls that had felt protective yesterday now seemed like a cage, beautiful and expensive, but still confining. I needed air. Needed space. Needed to think without feeling like the glass walls were pressing in on all sides.
