I thought I was okay with it.
That as long as I got to have them it didn’t matter what the public thought of our relationship.
Everyone around me normalized it. Those who know I’m bonded to the royal pack don’t treat me like I am. Those that don’t… Well, they treat me like the personal assistant everyone thinks I am. An employee to be shuffled aside or utilized as a tool.
Now here’s Florence Karlin offended on my behalf. Making it clear she feels the way I’m treated is a travesty. And I’m realizing… maybe I’m not as okay with this as I thought.
The realization scares the shit out of me.
I push to my feet, Court falling off my back and Florence jerking her eyes open to blink up at me. “Piers,” she protests, bolting to her feet with a wince and reaching for me.
I step out of reach of her hands, and she fists them again, face falling at the rejection of her touch. It's the last thing I want to do. Fuck. I want her hands all over me, but this omega… She makes me feel things I shouldn’t. Not three days after meeting her. Not three weeks or three months.
I love my pack.
I do.
But Ren? After only three days in her presence, she’s managed to make me doubt that they love me the way I need.
And I can’t allow that.
I give her a tight smile. “It’s fine, Florence. I’m fine. I just have things I need to do.”
I get a flash of her wrinkled brow, of her lips parting on an apology, but I don’t stick around to hear her out. I can’t. Not when my heart is thundering and my thoughts are swirling. A deep pit has opened in my guts and I feel sick.
I don’t look back.
If I do, I won’t leave.
The sounds of the resort swallow me quickly—waves, laughter, the hum of crew members doing their jobs—but none of it quite reaches me. It’s like I’m moving underwater, everything muted and heavy, my thoughts looping in ugly, unhelpful circles.
I make it a few steps away before I hear Courtland speak.
“Hey,” he says gently. Not teasing. Not flirty, but unusually steady. “Come here, pixie.”
There’s a pause. I can picture it without looking—the way Florence hesitates, torn between following me and staying put. I hate that I put her in that position. Hate that I made her feel like she did something wrong when all she did was care.
Court continues, quieter. Reassuring. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He just needs a minute, yeah?”
Another pause. Then a soft humming sound—her agreeing, even if she doesn’t fully believe it.
“He’ll come back,” Court adds, certain in a way I’m not sure I feel. “Piers always does.”
That one lands low and deep.
Because it’s true, I always come back.
Just not always whole.
I keep walking, jaw tight, lungs burning, until the knot in my chest dulls enough that I can breathe again. Until the sharp edge of the realization eases into something I can carry.
Behind me, I know Court will pull Florence into his side. He’ll distract her. Make her laugh. He’s good at that. Better than I am.
I disappear down the path, putting distance between myself and the sound of her voice, telling myself—again—that this is fine.
That I’mfine.
That loving my pack quietly—in the shadows, behind closed doors—is enough.
