Page 78 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

He smiled. "No. But I believe in talent."

That was five years ago. Since then, Ethan had become my manager and my most trusted friend. He arranged my first real performance and signed my first record deal. He stayed with me through the hardest pregnancy months, sat with me all night when postpartum depression hit, held my hand before my first major stage appearance when I was shaking with nerves, and said, "You can do this. I always knew you could."

He's Lily's godfather, one of the most important male figures in her life. He takes her to fly kites on weekends, brings her giant teddy bears for her birthday, and when she asks "why don't I have a daddy," he kneels down to her eye level and says, "You do have a father. He's just not with us right now. But you have your mom, and Uncle Ethan, and so many people who love you."

I know he has feelings for me. The kind that go beyond friendship and work. I've never asked, he's never said, but there's an understanding between us—he won't cross that line, and I won't pretend I don't see it. I just... can't respond. Because there's a wound inside me that will never heal. Too deep for me to trust anyone again, too deep to put my heart in someone else's hands.

I don't want to use Ethan's feelings, don't want to owe anyone.

But now, to keep Zane from knowing Lily is his daughter, I used Ethan. The realization made my stomach turn.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, eyes still closed.

"Sorry for what?"

"Earlier—saying you're Lily's father. I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

Ethan was quiet for a few seconds, then chuckled softly. "It's fine. I wouldn't mind being her dad anyway—officially or otherwise."

I opened my eyes and turned to look at him. Light from passing windows played across his face in shifting shadows. His expression was calm, a faint smile on his lips, but something in his eyes I couldn't read.

"Ethan—"

"Don't," he interrupted, voice gentle but firm. "I know what you're going to say. You don't need to. I chose to stay, not because I expect anything back, but because I want to. You don't need to feel indebted."

I opened my mouth, wanted to say something, but my throat felt blocked. Finally, I just nodded and closed my eyes again.

The car continued forward, carrying us through the night, toward the place we temporarily called home.

The next night there was a celebration party.

A wrap party for my tour's final stop, in a penthouse restaurant at a luxury hotel, with media and industry people invited. I wore a deep red gown, hair swept into a loose bun, pearl earrings—a gift from Ethan for the successful tour.

The whole night I smiled, shook hands, made small talk, and posed for photos. My face ached from smiling, my feet screamed in heels like I was walking on broken glass, but this was part of the job. You stand in the spotlight, radiant, and no one knows your feet are bleeding.

At one a.m., the party finally ended.

Ethan drove me home—the apartment I rented in Silverpine Kingdom, top floor of an old building downtown, with a small balcony overlooking the city skyline. The car stopped outside. I thanked Ethan and dragged my exhausted body toward the entrance.

Then I heard a guitar.

Not professional, smooth playing. Choppy, like someone learning as they went, obvious pauses between chord changes, some notes not quite right, creating slight buzzing.

I stopped.

The sound came from across the street. I turned and saw—

Zane.

He sat on the steps of the opposite sidewalk, holding a wooden guitar, head down, focused on plucking the strings. He wore a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar open, hair a mess, looking like he hadn't slept in days. Streetlight poured over him, casting a dim yellow halo.

He looked up and saw me.

Then he started singing.

"I walked a thousand miles to find you,

And I found you standing in the rain..."