"Do you believe that?"
I think about it. Really think about it. About the way Dorian looked at me before he left for his parents' house. The way he fought to be better. The way he chose me over and over again before his father got in his head.
"No," I say finally. "I don't believe that. But I think he might."
"Then we wait. We give him space to figure it out. And we trust that he'll make the right choice." Oakley's hand strokes my hair, slow and soothing. "But Vespera? Even if he doesn't, you have us. Me and Corvus. The bonds aren't with him."
The reminder is both comforting and devastating. Because I don't want pack. I want Dorian. Want him to fight for this. Want him to prove his father wrong.
I shift closer, burying my face against Oakley's chest. His cedar scent wraps around me, warm and grounding. Not demanding anything. Present.
"Can I sleep in here tonight?" The words come out small. "I don't want to be alone. And I can't—I can't sleep in my room knowing he's right next door, locked away."
"Of course." Oakley's arms tighten around me, protective. "You don't even have to ask."
He reaches for his dresser with his free hand, pulls out a soft t-shirt. "Here. You'll be more comfortable."
I take it into his bathroom to change, splashing water on my face, trying to pull myself together. When I come back out, Oakley's already under the covers, having changed into sleep pants but nothing else. His broad chest is bare, golden skin marked with faint scars from athletics.
I crawl into bed beside him, and he immediately pulls me close. Not sexually. Comfort. His body warm and solid against mine.
"How did the callback audition go?" he asks after a stretch, his hand resuming its gentle stroke through my hair. "Before all this."
"Good, I think. I felt good about it." The memory feels distant now, overshadowed by everything else. "Ben and I had really good chemistry. De Scarzis seemed pleased."
"You'll get it." His certainty should be annoying but isn't. "You're the best actor in the program. Everyone knows it."
"Charlotte's good too—"
"Charlotte's technically proficient. You're transcendent." His fingers find the tense muscles at the base of my neck, working them gently. "There's a difference."
I make a small sound—almost a purr—as the tension starts to release under his touch. My omega instincts responding to his Alpha care in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with pack bonds.
Oakley's scent warms, pleased. "That's it, little star. Let me take care of you."
His hands move to my shoulders, kneading the knots that have built up from days of stress. Each touch deliberate, careful, focused on comfort rather than arousal. But my body responds anyway—a soft rumbling starting in my chest that I can't quite suppress.
"You're purring," Oakley says softly, wonder in his voice.
"I can't help it." My face heats with embarrassment. "When Alphas take care of me, it happens."
"Don't be embarrassed." His hands slide down my back, working out more tension. "It's beautiful. Means you feel safe with me."
The purr deepens despite myself. His touch, his scent, the warm safety of his presence—it's all combining to override my emotional turmoil with pure biological contentment.
"Roll over," he murmurs. "On your stomach. Let me do this properly."
I comply, and he straddles my hips carefully, his weight settling over me in a way that makes my omega hindbrain sing with satisfaction. Covered. Protected. Safe.
His hands work systematically down my spine, finding every tight muscle and coaxing it to release. My purrs become continuous, embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
"That's my girl," Oakley says, his voice warm with affection. "Feel. Don't think. Let your body have what it needs."
What it needs is apparently this—strong Alpha hands, cedar scent surrounding me, the weight of pack pressing me into soft blankets. My mind might be breaking over Dorian's rejection, but my body is singing with relief.
Oakley's hands slide lower, to the small of my back, and I arch into the touch without meaning to. The purr stutters, shifts into something that's almost a whimper.
"Easy," he soothes, but his scent is darkening, warming with something that isn't quite arousal but isn't purely platonic either. "Just comfort. That's all this is."
