I turn and walk toward the front door, my small suitcase rolling quietly behind me. Every step is an act of will. I don’t look back. I can’t. If I see the look on Diego’s face, I’ll break.
I reach the sleek, minimalist front door and press the button for it to open, stepping out into the cool, quiet marble of their private hallway. The heavy door slides into place, and that’s it. Done.
I stand there for a moment, chest heaving, and then I turn and walk the long, lonely stretch of hallway to the private elevator.
I press the button, and the doors slide open immediately as if it’s always waiting on this floor. Ready to serve the masters of the tower.
I step inside, and just as the polished steel doors begin to slide shut, they reflect the image of the hallway behind me.
The front door to the penthouse has opened again. And all four of them are standing there, in the doorway, watching me leave.
Rett, his face a mask of barely contained anguish. Diego looks like he’s about to cry real tears. Tristan’s face is unreadable. And Dane’s pale eyes follow me with an intensity that seems to pierce right through the reflection, right through the closing doors, right into my soul.
Then the doors close, and I’m alone in the silent, elegant box as it begins its descent.
I make it all the way to the lobby before the tears start to fall.
The beta security guard, Sternam, looks up in surprise as I emerge from the private elevator, suitcase in hand, face wet with tears.
“Ms. Clarke?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine, Sternam,” I manage, wiping at my cheeks. “I’m just... heading home.”
He nods once, professionally, but there’s a softness to his expression that makes me wonder what he knows about the claiming, about my arrangement with the Sterlings.
“I’ll call you a car,” he says, already reaching for the phone.
“No need,” I say quickly. “I can get a taxi.”
He hesitates, clearly torn between following what I’m sure are strict Sterling protocols and respecting my wishes. “At least let me walk you out,” he offers. “Make sure you get one safely.”
I nod, not having the energy to argue. He comes around the desk, offering to take my suitcase, which I reluctantly allow. Together, we walk through the gleaming lobby toward the massive glass doors that lead to the street.
“They’ll come after you, you know,” he says quietly as we step out into the morning air. “It’s not in their nature to let go of what’s theirs.”
I bristle at his words. “I’m not theirs.”
He gives me a look that’s far too knowing for comfort. “The marks on your neck say otherwise.”
I touch them reflexively, feeling that now-familiar throb. “The marks will fade,” I insist, though again, I’m not sure I believe it.
Sternam flags down a passing taxi, which pulls smoothly to the curb. He loads my suitcase into the trunk while I give the driver my address. Then he turns to me, his expression serious.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’ve worked for the Sterlings for five years. I’ve never seen them like this. Not with anyone.”
I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. “They’ll be fine,” I say finally. “They always are.”
He just nods, stepping back as I slide into the taxi. As we pull away from the curb, I can’t help but look back at Sterling Tower, its gleaming glass facade catching the morning light. Somewhereup there, at the very top, are four alphas who claimed me without fully understanding what it meant.
And somewhere in this taxi is a beta who let them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Rett
The elevator doors slide shut, and she is gone.
For a moment, we just stand there, four frozen statues in the hallway outside our penthouse, staring at the closed doors.
