Chapter 25
Ciel
Blinking my eyes open, I hear it first—the sound of the ocean, waves tumbling against the shore. Then the sunlight filters in, warm and soft, spilling across the room.
It's morning?
I don't even remember falling asleep last night.
I try to move, but I can't. Not really.
I'm lying on my side, Jack pressed up against my back. His face is nestled against the curve of my neck, his breath warm on my skin. One heavy, steady hand rests over my stomach—protective, firm, like a promise I know he never said out loud.
And suddenly, a selfish little wish blooms in my chest.
How I wish Jack was the father.
I will love my son no matter what. Fiercely. But it aches, this thought—that my baby doesn't have Jack, and neither do I. That what feels so safe right now isn't really mine to keep.
He shifts a little closer, his nose brushing the back of my neck, and my heart spikes, panic flaring before I can stop it.
Memories slam into me.
The times hands weren't gentle. The times I was almost force-bonded against my will. The feeling of being trapped. Owned.
My body tenses, breath catching.
But I force myself to stop. To think.
This is Jack.
Calm down, I tell myself. You're safe. He's not like that.
The thought tries to crumble anyway, Nolan's voice whispering doubt in my head—what if? What if all alphas are the same when it matters? What if this softness has a time limit?
I grit my teeth and breathe through it, deliberately willing my racing heart to slow.
Because he's literally just sleeping.
And I'm the one who came here last night. My choice. My free will.
Eventually, the panic fades. My body uncoils. My chest rises and falls in rhythm with his.
Lavender wraps around me—Jack's scent, clean and calming. It still feels wrong for an alpha to smell like this. Lavender isn't dominance or musk or anything aggressive.
But it's perfect for Jack.
And as my eyes flutter shut again, I decide—for this morning at least—to let myself feel safe.
***
Nolan
They're closer now.
I can't stop it.
I keep vacuuming, pushing the machine back and forth over the same patch of floor for God knows how long, the hum filling the silence I can't handle. Through the glass walls, I see them on the poolside chairs.
Ciel's perched right on Jack's lap. Like it's the most natural thing in the world.
His head rests against Jack's shoulder, eyes half-closed, lips curved in that soft, rare smile I thought only I knew how to earn. Jack's hand is on his belly, steady, protective, like the whole scene belongs in one of those cheesy parenting magazine covers.
And Ciel looks… happy.
Too happy.
Comfortable in a way that makes my chest ache. Like the terror and exhaustion that lived in his bones for months never existed. Like he's finally found his safe place—and it isn't me.
They're in their own little bubble out there.
And I'm in here.
Vacuuming.
An outsider peering in.
No—correction. I am the outsider.
I turn away from the glass. Focus on the hum of the vacuum. Pretend it's enough to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.
It's not.
***
Ciel
"Talk to him," Jack says again, voice maddeningly calm.
I don't respond.
Jack nudges his chin toward the house. "Ciel, I know something happened. You've been weird all morning. And Nolan's been staring at us with those tragic puppy-dog eyes for an hour. He's practically fogging up the glass like a Victorian heroine."
I groan and bury my face against his shoulder. "Can't I just stay here in our little bubble?"
He chuckles. "Nope. Conflict resolution, sunshine. Go."
"I don't want to," I mumble.
"Then do it for me," he says with that infuriating smile, the one that makes my insides all fluttery.
"Before he chews a hole through my wall with all that glaring."
I sigh dramatically, flopping against him like a beached whale. "You're meddling."
"And you're stalling."
He helps me off his lap, steady hands supporting me as I waddle toward the sliding door. He even gives me a little boost under the elbow like I'm some delicate princess.
I slide the door open and step inside, the cool air brushing over my skin. Behind me, the muffled sound of the waves fades as the glass door slides shut.
I follow the hum of the vacuum until I find Nolan, earbuds in, pushing the vacuum like it personally wronged him. He jumps a little when I speak.
"We need to talk."
He shuts the vacuum off, throat bobbing. "Uh… yeah." His eyes flick everywhere but me. "Upstairs?"
I give him a look. "I'm not climbing the stairs."
"Right. Sorry."
I turn on my heel—well, as gracefully as a seven-month-pregnant waddle allows—and head for the living room. My legs already ache, and the second I see one of the armchairs I drop into it with a sigh. From here, through the glass, I can see Jack outside. He's peeling his shirt off, tossing it aside, then his shorts, the sun catching on the wet lines of muscle as he dives into the pool. There's a splash, and he resurfaces with his hair slicked back, glinting like some sunlit idiot out of a vacation commercial.
It's annoyingly distracting.
"I'm sorry about what I said last night," Nolan says. His voice drags me back.
I tear my gaze away from the pool and to my best friend. "What are you sorry for? You said the truth."
He stands there, handsome face drawn tight, remorse heavy in his eyes. "I shouldn't have said it like that."
"I'm serious, Nolan." I shift in my chair, trying to sit straighter. "You don't need to apologize. You've always been honest with me."
He looks away, jaw clenched. "And you've always been hurt. Over and over. And I've always been the idiot watching you put your heart back in the hands of people who didn't deserve it."
"You're right," I say quietly. "I have been hurt again and again. Each time, you've been there to pick up the pieces. Each time I let myself believe, and each time it broke me. You care. You've always cared."
"Of course I do," he says instantly, crossing the room to sit beside me. He takes my hand like it's muscle memory, thumb brushing over my knuckles. His hand is warm, familiar. Safe.
"And I love you for it," I whisper. "But Nolan… being hopeful is what's kept me alive. It's what's kept me sane. If I live thinking the world is nothing but bad, then what's the point? There has to be some good out there. You're proof of it."
His throat works. "I know, but—"
"But what's the alternative?" I press, my voice soft but firm.
"Jack might turn out exactly the way you fear. Maybe the ground will crumble under my feet again. But am I not allowed to feel what I feel right now? Am I not allowed to breathe for once without waiting for disaster?"
My voice shakes, but I push on. "My life has already been hell, Nolan. It's been hell from the second I presented as an omega. From that moment, I wasn't Ciel anymore—I was the omega. A designation. A body. A thing to own, to use."
My chest tightens; the words taste bitter and too true. "I don't even know who Ciel is anymore."
For a second, neither of us speaks. The only sound is the low hum of the ocean through the glass and Jack's distant splash outside.
"Honestly?" My voice drops, small. "I'm pretty sure I would've given up a long time ago. Ages ago. Except… I keep walking. I don't even know why most days."
I glance down at my hands, at the faint tremor there, then back at Nolan. "It's like I'm some man lost in a desert. I could think, there's no water, and just lie down and wait to die. Or I can take one more step. And then another. And another. Maybe I'll never find the water. Maybe I'll die trying. But at least I'll know I kept moving. That I didn't give up completely."
Nolan's throat works like he's swallowing glass. His eyes shine, pained.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice breaking just slightly.
I give him a small, tired smile. "I know. And I know you mean it. You've always been there for me, Nollie. You know me better than anyone… maybe even more than I know myself."
I squeeze his hand gently, searching his face. "But I think you don't understand me sometimes. I need this hope, Nolan. Even if it's stupid. Even if it's fragile. It's the only thing that's kept me alive."