Oliver appears beside me, his grip tightening around my forearm until I feel the pressure of each individual finger. His face remains composed for anyone watching, though his scenthas sharpened, the sweetness curdling into something fierce that tightens my chest.
"Get Doug his tab," I tell the bartender, keeping my voice steady. "Comp the drinks. Walk him out."
The bartender moves while Doug’s face cycles through confusion, embarrassment, and finally recognition of his catastrophic blunder. His wife reaches for her purse before I even finish speaking. They vanish within two minutes, the bartender handling their exit with exactly the professionalism that secured her position here.
Nicholas remains motionless as Wilson’s breathing slows against his chest, each ragged pull gradually evening into something deeper. Wilson’s fists unclench from Nicholas’s shirt, his hands flattening against the Alpha’s chest, palms pressing down to feel the heartbeat beneath the fabric.
Needing to get ahead of this, I call Nicholas’ attorney, leaving detailed instructions for an accelerated response timeline in a voicemail that feels inadequate against the weight of what’s happening. Text messages flow to one of my contacts at a competing publication about running a counter-piece and then I send a message to the staff group chat, with precise instructions on handling customer inquiries about the article.
Wilson lifts his face from Nicholas’ chest, mustering up the worst smile I’ve ever seen on his pretty face. “I’m fine,” Wilson says, though his voice cracks and frays around the edges of both words.
Nicholas looks down at him with an expression so raw and protective it makes my chest tighten.
“We need to talk after close,” I tell Wilson while meeting his gaze directly. “All four of us.” I step closer, pressing my forehead to his temple. “But you’re going to be okay, gorgeous. I can promise you that.”
Nicholas’ purr rumbles through the small space, Wilson nodding against the Alpha’s chest before his hand drifts to his collar, tugging it higher against his neck in a gesture that speaks volumes about his need for protection. He pulls away from Nicholas and just gestures to the stairs, Oliver two seconds away from running after him.
I’ll give our Beta fifteen minutes before I send Oliver after him.
23
Wilson
The article remains open on my phone as I enter my apartment, a place I haven't inhabited for three weeks. I made it all but five minutes in the guest bedroom before I needed air, grabbed my coat, and started wandering the streets before ending up here.
When I push against it, the door resists before surrendering with a familiar grind of metal on wood. Dust hangs in the hallway air, mingling with the lingering scent of coffee from that last time I was here, grounds still sitting in the filter because I departed quickly and never returned.
Above me, the overhead light stutters twice before steadying itself. Everything waits exactly as I abandoned it, dishes in the sink, mail piled on the counter, and bed unmade. A man's shelter, not his sanctuary.
After securing the lock, my hands move through their ritual. Each window latch clicks beneath my fingers. My eyes catalogthe escape routes: front door with its stubborn deadbolt, fire escape lurking beyond the bedroom window, bathroom ledge I once measured during a sleepless night when panic clawed at my throat.
Three exits should provide reassurance. They do not.
Heat radiates from my phone screen where I’ve kept it lit, the headline still staring back at me. My name appears beside Hearthstone's like partners in crime, while "complicit" lurks in the second paragraph. Between leaving Nicholas' embrace at the club and walking twelve blocks through the night, I've read those words repeatedly. In the locked bathroom stall. On street corners beneath flickering lamps. With each reading, I feel just a bit worse.
My presence endangers everything. This article with Wilson Ashford's name will contaminate Nicholas' investment and Lorenzo's legal strategy against Voss. Though they aimed this attack at me specifically, standing within Vice & Virtue means everyone I care about remains vulnerable to the fallout.
Cold seeps through the sheets when I lie down, carrying only detergent and my stale scent of coffee and leather. The warmth Oliver and Lorenzo and Nicholas have been layering into their bed and Oliver’s nest for weeks is nowhere to be found. The loss of their scents just makes all of this worse, exhaustion threatening to claim me.
“I can’t do this to them,” I whisper into the air as I trace the scar on my neck. Each ridge beneath my fingertip reminds me how Sebastian's ghost reaches across time to rearrange my life even now.
He was the reason I even started working at Hearthstone before I figured out what that place was. Had I not been so blinded by what I thought was love, I wouldn’t be here. But then, I also wouldn’t have saved Luca, that beautiful determinedOmega. I would have never wandered into Vice & Virtue and I would have never reconnected with Nicholas.
Grimacing at all of the possibilities, none of them seeming to work, I try to sleep instead. I know I should text at least Lorenzo where I am, but I need a moment. Just one and then I’ll go back and explain everything in my head. Maybetwomoments.
A knock on my door wakes me up, confusion running through me as I realize I fell asleep. I struggle to sit up, fumbling around for my phone only to find it dead. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I was just going to sit here for a little while and then go back and curl up with Nicholas or Lorenzo and Oliver or let someone fuck this chaos out of my head.
The knock comes again, this time more urgent. When a sweet smell filters through my door, I just shake my head. Of course, Oliver would have found out where I lived. I shuffle off the bed and unlock the door before returning to the mattress, not particularly wanting to get jumped by the Omega I definitely shouldn’t have kept hanging.
“It’s open.”
Oliver steps inside wearing Lorenzo’s hoodie and yesterday’s jeans, one side of his hair flat from sleep. He surveys my apartment without a word, his gaze sweeping the room the way mine does, except he isn’t counting exits. He’s counting how long I’ve been gone.
He doesn’t shout. He crosses the floor and sits beside my bed, back against the nightstand, legs stretched out before him as his scent fills the space between us, pushing back the dust and stale air.
“I would like you to listen to me before you say anything, okay?” Oliver states as he pulls my hand into his lap. “I’m sureyou had your reasons. Hell, when everything gets too loud, I duck into my nests. I get it.”
I sit up a little, Oliver moving to crawl into my lap. “Oliver, I didn’t run. I promise. I was just going to—”
