I must have looked like a caveman staring at a fire I didn't know how to put out.
Now, as the rotors slowed to a stop on the Welsh ridge, the silence was worse than the noise.
Rain misted across the windscreen. The hills rolled away in every direction, gray-green and endless. Sheep scattered as I climbed out, my shoes sinking into mud that would ruin the Italian leather.
I didn't care.
Fritz appeared beside me, his hand landing on my shoulder. "Henry—"
"Stay back," I muttered, already moving toward the cottage. "I need to do this alone."
"But you're not alone. That's the whole point of a pack."
I stopped, turning to look at him. Fritz's eyes were steady, calm in a way mine hadn't been since the day I claimed her. He'd changed into jeans and a jumper, trading his usual polish for something that fit this wild, windswept place.
"I know," I said, my voice rough. "But I need to apologize to her first. And to Etienne. I owe you both—"
"We'll talk later." Fritz squeezed my shoulder. "Go get our omega."
I reached the cottage door in seconds. My hand shook as I knocked.
The door swung open, and Etienne stood there, staring at me, the helicopter and then Fritz.
He was naked, his muscular body looked as solid and immovable as the hills around us. He didn't move to let me in. He just stared at my ruined clothes, my bloodshot eyes, the primal mess I'd become.
"She's inside," Etienne said, his voice a low warning. "And if you use one word of business-jargon Henry, I will throw you off this ridge myself."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He stepped aside, and I pushed past him into the warmth of the cottage.
The smell hit me first. Vanilla and rain, so thick it made my chest ache.
Presley sat on the sofa, wrapped in a thick dressing gown of Etienne’s that swallowed her whole. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, her face free of makeup, her feet tucked under her.
She looked tiny. She looked like she belonged here in the damp and the quiet. She looked like she belonged far away from my security teams and careful plans.
She looked at me, and her eyes weren't full of fear or submission.
"Oh, look," she said, her voice dry as bone. "The CEO of My Life has arrived. Did you fly all this way to give me a performance review, or am I just late for the weekly 'Womb-Status' update?"
I stopped dead.
Fritz had followed me in, closing the door behind us. He leaned against it, arms crossed,watching.
"Presley," I breathed. My voice was a wreck, barely holding together.
"Honestly, Hastings," she continued, gesturing to her stomach. "You could have saved yourself the anguish by using the turkey baster as I suggested. It would have made the bank transfers significantly less emotional for everyone involved. At least then I wouldn't have had to wonder if thecelebratorykiss this morning was included in my hourly rate."
The words cut deeper than any stab at the heart.
I sank into the wooden chair opposite her, my legs finally giving out. I didn't look like the man who ran a global empire. I looked like a man who had lost his soul and found it again in a pair of cynical blue eyes. I knew because I saw the state of myself when I found out where she was.
"I didn't continue to pay you because you were a service," I said, my voice cracking. "I paid you because I was terrified."
Presley's expression shifted, the sarcasm faltering. "Terrified of what?"
"That you'd realize you didn't need me." I looked at my hands. "I thought if I gave you everything, if I built a gold-plated floor under your feet, you wouldn't have to stay because you were desperate, you’d stay because you chose to. I wanted you to choose to stay. I just didn't know how to ask you to choose me for no reason at all."
