“Fuck, you’re not making it easy for me.” Sighing, he drags a hand down his face. “But I really do have to take these calls.”
“Okay, rockstar.” I pull the sheets back up again, understanding that he must have a lot to catch up on after being AWOL all weekend. “Don’t be too long, though, okay?”
He smiles, a different kind of smile than the one I’ve become accustomed to. It’s strained, a tightness around his eyes. But before I can say any more, he slips out of the room.
I scroll through my social media, stumbling upon a video onThe Valley Voicefeed from thePack Fireconcert. An elated giggle escapes my mouth. The incredible vocalist on this track is as gifted in singing as he is in giving head. Who knew?
I spring up, sauntering through the suite while taking a bite of the delicious shortbread. I had a major craving for them so Jagger made sure I’m well-stocked. The buttery goodness melts on my tongue as I dance along to the shower to clean up.
I hum as I wash my hair, sniffing at my skin in disapproval when the lavish shower gels washes away Jagger’s scent. As soon as he comes back, he’ll have to change that. I love his smell on me.
After I’m done, I return to the bedroom, expecting to find Jagger waiting. There’s still no sign of him. My poor alpha. He’s probably overwhelmed with work. It’s my fault, and he’s been so attentive. He’s catered to my every whim—not just physically, but making sure I’m fed, watered, and cleaned. I’ve never been treated so well.
How could I have gotten so lucky?
Looking down at my robe, I frown at the knock coming from the door. It’s probably one of the staff here. They’ve popped up intermittently over the last few days. That or maybe Jagger has forgotten his room key.
When I open it, I’m greeted by a rather stern looking woman with glasses whose lips are pursed into a thin, judgmental line. She gives off the aura of someone who thinks she’s better than everyone else.
“You’re the omega with Jagger Knight?” She looks down her nose at me in blatant disapproval, like I’m just some groupie. “Correct?”
I only smile. She doesn’t understand. What Jagger and I share is special. And she’s probably never met a rockstar like him before. He’s told me about his faux playboy persona and how his record label forces him to play this role to make more money. Everything they’ve written about him in the media is untrue.
“Yes?” I pull the robe tighter around my body. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Knight checked out one hour ago.” She draws her shoulders back. “He says that you are free to stay as long as you’d like.” Despite the words coming from her mouth, her expression says I’m about as welcome as a cockroach in a pantry. “He’ll cover your expenses and will pay for a car to drive you wherever you’d like when you’re ready to check out.” She sighs. “Although I do have another booking in two days, an omega who requires this nest, so if you want to stay any longer than that, you’ll need to move to an alternative room.”
Struggling to process what she’s telling me, I steady myself on the door frame. There must be some mistake.
“S-s-orry?” I rub my temples. “Did you say he’s gone?”
“Yes.” She clicks her tongue impatiently, as if she hasn’t just shattered my world. “Like I said, he checked out. From what I understand from his social media, he’s off to a show.” She smirks. “I take it that he didn’t mention he was leaving?”
I silently pray I won’t cry, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down. “I… Uh… I’ll pack my things.” Swallowing is difficult as it feels like a golf ball of grief is stuck in my throat. “I’ll be gone by the afternoon.”
“If you need any help packing, call the front desk to request the butler.” Her expression instantly brightens. “I’ll order a car. It’ll be waiting for whenever you’re ready.”
The moment she turns, I slam the door closed, heart thumping painfully as I rush over to the closet and tear it open. All of Jagger’s clothes are gone, only empty hangers remain. There’s no trace of him anywhere. It feels like a twenty-pound weight plunges to the bottom of my stomach when I realized that he must have packed while I was asleep or showering.
I rush over to my cell phone. With the speed of my heat coming on, we never exchanged numbers, so I go straight to his social media profile. My eyes immediately land on a photo of him posted less than an hour ago, grinning at the camera in sunglasses with the caption: “SVU - over and out!”
Over and out?!
What…?
The phone slips from my fingers onto the plush carpet.
We’re scent matches! He was the first to say so.
Fear tugs at my heart. It feels like I’m free falling. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, the panic creeping through me leaving my palms clammy. I want to run, yet I can’t move. I’m stuck. Paralyzed as an icy sensation wraps around my limbs, like a snake slithering over my skin.
As soon as I regain control of my rubbery legs, I race to the bathroom, vomit rising up my throat. I drop to the floor. The cold tiles slam against my knees, sending a chill through my body. My stomach tightens, battling not to throw up as I hug the toilet, uncontrollable shakes consuming me.
This can’t be happening…
After everything he confided in me—how he longed for a normal life, to be seen as more than just a product, to fall in love with music again and be able to create what inspires him withoutall the extra obligations that come from fame. Why did he open up to me if he was planning on leaving all along?
I force myself to my feet, stumbling out to retrieve my phone so I can message Jagger. Perhaps someone else is managing his account for him, and they used an old photo for his most recent update? A sliver of relief swims through me. Yes, I reason, that must be it. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. There has to be a valid reason.
