Chapter 308

Vivienne

I can’t help staying at her bedside in the hospital.

I can’t.

Every time I think about leaving, my feet root to the floor. Every time a nurse suggests I go home and rest, my hands tighten on hers. She’s pale and still and mine, and the thought of walking away feels like abandoning her all over again.

But Olga called.

Three times. The first was concern—"Vivienne, dear, where are you? The housekeeper said you left in quite a hurry." The second was worry—"Is everything alright? You’ve been gone for hours." The third was suspicion—"Vivienne, the mayor’s office is asking about a schedule change. I need you home."

I couldn’t emphasize anymore without becoming suspicious.

So I kissed Daphne’s forehead,she was sleeping, the drip doing its work and whispered promises she couldn’t hear.

Instead of heading home, or telling Olga her was in hospital I do neither, and decide to go to her apartment instead.

The walk to her apartment is a blur. The city moves around me, indifferent to my turmoil. I ride the elevator up with a hollow chest and trembling hands.

She’ll be fine. The doctors said so. Just dehydrated, alcohol poisoning, no food in her system. A few more hours on the drip and she’ll be awake, aware, alive.

But I need to do something. Anything. I can’t just sit and wait and think about what almost happened.

So I clean.

Her apartment is sleek, modern, expensive—but there’s evidence of her everywhere. A half-empty coffee cup on the desk. A jacket thrown over a chair.

The spilled bottle on the rug, the dark stain I scrub until my knees ache and my fingers prune.

I could hire someone, but I don’t want to. The same illogical feeling that has me keeping this a secret, and ignoring my mother in laws calls.

Within an hour, the apartment is spotless. The rug is damp but clean. The bottles are in the recycling. The surfaces gleam.

Now what.

I stand in the middle of her living room, surrounded by perfection, and feel utterly lost.

My eyes drift to the slightly open door of her bedroom.

Don’t do it, I tell myself.

I walk toward it.

This is an invasion of privacy.

I push it open.

This is creepy and weird and—

The room is simple. A large bed with gray linens. A nightstand with a single book. A closet with sliding doors.

Her scent is here, very faint though after all she’s been living at the mansion of late, but it’s still there.

I step inside.

The closet doors slide open easily. Her clothes hang in neat rows ;suits, shirts, a few casual pieces. I run my fingers over the fabric, imagining her in each one.

I come across, one a simple button up, and bring it to my nose, I’m aware what I’m doing is very awkward and odd and well...weird.

I’m glad no one is around to see this.

I remove my shirt,the one I’ve worn all day, the one that smells like hospital and fear—and pull hers on instead.

It’s too big. The sleeves hang past my wrists, the hem falls to mid-thigh. It’s too big, it falls to my mid thigh, she’s so tall after all.

***

Daphne

I blink open my eyes.

Hospital ceiling. White. Sterile. Beeping machines.

[Host. That was very dangerous.]

How did I get here?

The System explains,Vivienne found me. Called the ambulance. Saved my life.

My apartment should have been locked.

[It’s a digital lock. I opened it. Had it been a normal door with keys... you would have died, Host.]

I stare at the ceiling, letting that sink in. I almost died. Because I was too weak, too broken, too stupid to handle what happened.

Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry.

[Host, you—]

I mentally shut off the System. I can’t. Not right now. Not with the memories pressing in.

That was a dumb decision. I wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t in the right headspace. The whole week is a blur of alcohol and rage and him.

Thinking about it makes me angry all over again.

I used to think Elliot was a victim. An Omega trapped in a world that treats his kind like objects. Surrounded by Alphas who take and take and never give. I pitied him. I wanted to help him, in my way, by breaking the harem that would eventually doom everyone.

But now?

Now I think about what he did. What he tried to do. He’s just as bad as all the Alphas.

Worse, maybe. Because he plays the victim.

The thought curdles in my stomach, bitter and acidic. I should avoid seeing him. Definitely avoid seeing him. Because if I see him again.

I might just fuck it all up and actually strangle him to death.

I sit up, flinching slightly as I disturb the drip. The needle tugs at my skin, a sharp reminder of where I am and why.

A nurse appears moments later, efficient and cheerful. "Ah, you’re awake! Let me just check your vitals."

She does. Blood pressure, heart rate, the whole routine. I endure it with the patience of someone who’s done this too many times before.

"Glad you’re okay," she says, smiling. "Your omega has been here with you for hours. Very devoted."

My blood turns to ice.

Omega.

Elliot. It has to be Elliot. Who else would—

But just then, the door opens, and Vivienne walks in.

She’s carrying a bag and she looks tired but relieved to see me awake. The nurse glances between us, still smiling, and I realize with a jolt that she thinks Vivienne is my omega.

I immediately relax, the tension draining from my shoulders so fast I almost slump.

Vivienne doesn’t correct the nurse. Doesn’t explain that she’s my sister-in-law, my brother’s fiancée, anything that would shatter this fragile, beautiful illusion. She just sets the bag down and settles into the chair beside my bed.

"I brought you a change of clothes," she says softly. "Your phone, too. And some toiletries from your apartment. I wasn’t sure how long they’d keep you."

"Thank you." The words come out softer than I intended. Raw. Grateful.

The nurse finishes her checks, still oblivious, and bustles out with a cheerful "Call if you need anything!"

The door clicks shut.

We’re alone.