Chapter 296

Vivienne

This is Daphne’s room.

How did I get here?

The question circles in my foggy brain, but before I can process anything—

The bathroom door opens.

She walks out.

Shorts. Tiny shorts that show off her long, pale legs, lean muscle shifting with every step. A button-up shirt, open, hanging loose to reveal the smooth planes of her chest, the hint of something more. A towel is wrapped around her dark hair, a few damp strands escaping to cling to her neck.

She looks at me.

"You’re awake?" she asks, as if this is a normal situation. As if finding me in her bed is an everyday occurrence.

"Yes..." My voice comes out scratchy. I clear my throat. "What am I doing here?"

She walks toward me, each step deliberate, and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips with her weight. She’s so close I can smell her vert faint pheromones.

"What do you mean? You were asleep. Now you’re awake." A small smile plays at her lips. She’s teasing me.

"In your room?" I clarify.

She leans closer. "Yeah."

"I slept here?"

"Like a baby." Her eyes crinkle slightly. "You snore, by the way. Softly. It’s cute."

I ignore that. "How did I get here?"

"There I was, painting," she says, her voice dropping into a storytelling rhythm, "when I look down and find my dear sister-in-law asleep in the garden. All curled up, book forgotten, probably getting cold. So I was nice—" she emphasizes the word, "—and brought you in. So you wouldn’t catch a cold."

She brought me to her room. Not mine. Her room.

The question sits on my tongue, burning to be asked, but I can’t form the words. Because I’m distracted.

A drop of water escapes from her hair, sliding down her neck. I watch it trace a path along her skin, over her collarbone, disappearing into the open V of her shirt. My mouth goes dry.

"Why do you think something else happened?"

Her voice is closer now. Much closer.

I drag my gaze back to her face. Our faces are inches apart. When did that happen? When did she move this close? Her dark eyes search mine, and I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare back.

My fingers fist in the blankets. The silk wrinkles beneath my grip.

"No," I manage. "What could possibly happen?"

The words come out wrong,breathless, defensive, a question masquerading as an answer.

My body is on fire.

Every nerve ending is alight, hyperaware of her proximity, her scent, the heat radiating from her skin. The cold morning air raises goosebumps on my arms, makes my nipples perk against the thin silk of my nightdress.

If I’m being honest, it’s not the cold morning air.

"Yeah," she repeats softly, her gaze dropping to my lips for just a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes.

"What could possibly happen between us?"

She’s echoing my words. But the way she says it slow, deliberate, loaded—turns them into something else entirely. An invitation. A challenge. A confession.

I feel shameful. And thrilling. And excited. The heat pools low in my belly, between my legs, an ache I’ve tried to ignore for weeks.

I wonder what I look like right now. My cheeks must be flushed. My eyes...do they give it away? This need? This shameful, forbidden desire?

I swallow, my throat clicking dryly.

Her eyes follow the movement.

The world narrows to this moment. This bed. This woman. The unbearable, electric space between us.

I want her to cross that distance because I’m too cowardly.

If I move an inch, my lips would be on hers.

How would she kiss? Gently? Fiercely? Would she devour me, consume me whole like I’ve secretly dreamed about during those long nights watching her paint?

The ache between my legs grows stronger, an insistent pulse that has nothing to do with being an Omega and everything to do with being hers.

I’ve always prided myself on being an Omega who isn’t a slave to her biology—I’ve watched others lose themselves to heat, to need, to the overwhelming pull of an Alpha’s pheromones. I swore I’d never be that pathetic.

But heavens help me.

I want to fall to my knees.

I want to look up at her and tell her to do her worst.

I would love it. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

I would beg for it.

"You should go," she says eventually.

The words crash through my fantasies like ice water. She leans back, just enough to break the spell, and I’m left gasping, exposed, achingly empty.

I get off the bed with legs that barely hold me. She stands too, reaching for my robe. She helps me into it, her movements gentle, careful,each brush of her fingers against my skin sending lightning through my nerves. I bite my lip to hold back the sound that wants to escape.

Don’t touch me. Please don’t stop touching me. I don’t know which I want more.

She guides my arms through the sleeves, pulls the fabric closed, ties the belt with maddening slowness. Her knuckles brush my stomach through the silk.

"There," she murmurs.

I walk to the door. Every step is an effort. I feel her gaze on my back, burning, branding. I don’t look back. If I look back, I won’t leave.

The door closes behind me.

I lean against it in the hallway, pressing my forehead to the wood, breathing in ragged gasps. My heart is a war drum. My body is trembling.

Somehow, I find my way back to my room. I don’t remember the walk. Don’t remember opening my own door.

I lock the door behind me and lean against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor.

My body is on fire.

I slip my hand beneath the robe, beneath my nightdress, and touch.

I’m soaked.

My underwear is drenched, clinging to me, evidence of a desire I can no longer pretend isn’t there.

I pull my hand away and stare at the dampness on my fingers.

For what feels like the millionth time, I come to the realization:

I’m fucked.