Please forgive me.
Those are the only words inscribed. There’s no name. Nothing.My heart races as I slide the bow off of the box. My fingers shake as I open the lid and peer inside. When I pull out the contents, I’m left more confused than I was from the note.
It’s full of comfort items.
Cashmere socks, a heating pad, a headache band, snacks, and a bottle of the cologne my father used to wear.
I drop the box and blink at the gift on my bed.
Who would know the cologne he wore? Or that it would be a comfort to me. This can’t be Anthony, right?
Right?
I’m fully spiraling, imagining the what-if’s of who sent the box when I finally decide to do the thing I haven’t dared to do since he gave me his number? I, of course, input Cillian’s number the night he gave it to me, but I haven’t even considered calling him.
His contact information is still saved as Ian, but I don’t bother changing it as I click and dial out. I gnaw on my lip, staring at the box while I pace as the line rings.
“Cillian,” he says his name sharply. I’ve never heard him use such a tone in the club, not even with his brother.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”
“Elena? What’s wrong?” His tone becomes much softer, and I take a breath of relief.
“Did you or your brother send me something?”
There’s a pregnant silence over the line. I can tell he’s covering the phone while he speaks to someone.
“No, neither of us sent anything.”
“Oh, okay.”
I think I’m going to have a fucking heart attack. My chest aches, and my breathing picks up while my vision goes hazy. I can barely hear what Cillian is saying when it seems like my world is spinning upside down.
“Go lie on the bed,” Cillian uses his Alpha bark through the phone. It’s not as effective as it would be in person, but my feet somehow carry me into the bed.
“Cover yourself with all your soft things, and just breathe for me,” he commands softly.
If Cillian and Finn didn’t send it… that can only mean one thing. Anthony knows where I am. But the note—this goddamn note is the only thing to make me pause. My brother wouldn’t ask for forgiveness. He would simply stroll in here, grab me by my hair, and drag me home.
Unless his goal is to torture me or make me spiral before he moves forward with his necessary plans.
“Elena?” Cillian’s worried voice asks on the phone.
“Yeah?”
“What did they send you?”
Part of me wants to lie. I don’t want to be Elena-the-Don’s-daughter with Cillian. I just want to be the Omega he seems to be adamant on spending loads of money and time on.
“They were mostly comfort items, but the note just said please forgive me.”
“That’s all?” he asks, irritation clear in his voice. But something tells me it’s not towards me but someone else.
I don’t know why I tell him anything more, but I do. “My dad passed away recently. They sent me the cologne he used to wear.”
He sighs over the phone, and I wonder if he’s had it with my dramatics. He pays me for a good time, not to hear me having a panic attack on the other end of a phone.
“I’ll call Travis. You’re not working these next few days. I have work, but I’ll be there for the last day of our arrangement. We need to talk through some things. How does that sound?”
