Chapter 30 – The Alpha's Fractured Patience
Adrian hadn't slept either.
He sat in his study long after Ethan left, the fire reduced to glowing embers. His fingers drummed absently against the desk, eyes fixed on the untouched glass of whiskey beside him. The scent of smoke clung to the air, but it wasn't enough to drown out the faint trace of Ethan's pheromones that still lingered in the room.
It drove him mad.
He had given Ethan the ring. He had made his intentions clear. Any other Omega would have been trembling with gratitude, slipping it on immediately. But Ethan…
Ethan had walked away.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His jaw clenched as he remembered the look in Ethan's eyes—fear, yes, but not just fear. There had been something else. A flicker of defiance, of stubborn will.
It was infuriating.
And intoxicating.
Because it meant Ethan wasn't broken. He hadn't been molded by the world into a docile puppet. He still had fire. And Adrian wanted to be the one to control it, to harness it, to bend it without extinguishing it.
He wanted Ethan to look at him with something other than fear.
The thought of another Alpha ever touching him, ever seeing that spark—it made Adrian's chest burn with a fury that was almost unbearable. His hand tightened into a fist.
Mine.
The word pulsed in his mind like a brand.
He forced himself to stand, pacing across the study. His movements were restless, uncharacteristically uneven. Anyone who saw him like this—impatient, unsettled—wouldn't believe it was the same Adrian Blackwell the business world feared.
But Ethan made him lose control.
By the time dawn light began to seep into the edges of the curtains, Adrian was still awake. His body was tense, his thoughts circling like vultures.
He knew Ethan hadn't slept either.
He could feel it.
The bond wasn't complete, but even this tenuous connection—the lingering pheromones, the brush of unspoken intent—was enough for him to sense Ethan's turmoil through the night.
And Adrian hated that turmoil wasn't directed toward acceptance.
He wanted Ethan consumed by him, not by fear.
---
The clink of porcelain broke his reverie. Somewhere beyond the study, the staff was setting the breakfast table. Adrian straightened his cuffs, composed his expression, and made his way down the hall.
He entered the dining room with his usual measured stride, but his eyes immediately sought Ethan.
The Omega sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, posture upright, hands folded neatly. He looked composed on the surface, but Adrian noticed the faint shadows under his eyes, the tight grip of his fingers against the napkin.
So. He hadn't worn the ring.
Adrian's gaze swept across Ethan's left hand, bare and unadorned.
A chill slid through him, though outwardly he betrayed nothing. He sat at the head of the table, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud.
"Good morning," Adrian said, voice calm, low, and unreadable.
Ethan's eyes flickered up, meeting his for the briefest moment before dropping. "Good morning."
The servants placed their dishes in silence before retreating, leaving the two of them alone in the cavernous room.
For a long while, only the sound of clinking silverware filled the space. Adrian didn't touch his food. He merely watched, every detail of Ethan's movements burned into his mind. The way he carefully avoided looking at him. The way his hand twitched once toward his pocket before quickly resting flat against the table again.
The box is still with him.
That much was clear. Adrian's jaw tightened. The knowledge soothed him only slightly. It meant Ethan hadn't rejected the ring outright. But the fact that he hadn't worn it gnawed at him, each second sharpening his impatience.
"Did you sleep well?" Adrian finally asked.
Ethan's fork paused midway to his mouth. "…Well enough."
A lie. Adrian could smell the exhaustion on him, faint but unmistakable. He could also hear the slight tremor in his voice.
"Liar." Adrian's words cut across the table, soft but laced with steel.
Ethan's eyes widened. He looked as though he wanted to protest but thought better of it. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, studying him. "The ring kept you awake, didn't it?"
The question hung heavy in the air. Ethan's hand curled against the napkin, his silence answering more clearly than words ever could.
Adrian's chest tightened, a complex knot of satisfaction and frustration. Satisfaction, because Ethan hadn't ignored it—he had thought of nothing else. Frustration, because he still resisted.
"You'll come to understand," Adrian said finally, his voice lower, more dangerous. "That ring isn't just a symbol. It's safety. It's the end of doubt. All you have to do is wear it, and everything that frightens you will no longer matter. No rival, no threat, no future uncertainty. You'll be mine, and no one will dare touch you."
Ethan's head snapped up at that, eyes flashing with something fierce. "That's the problem, Adrian. You speak of safety as if it means ownership. As if I have no choice."
The words struck harder than any blow. Adrian's fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair. His control wavered, but only for a heartbeat before he forced his mask back into place.
Choice.
The word was like poison on his tongue. Did Ethan not see? Did he not understand that choice was a luxury too dangerous in their world? That an Omega's survival depended on the protection of someone strong enough to keep vultures at bay?
Adrian rose slowly, his presence filling the space between them as he walked toward Ethan. Each step was deliberate, the sound of his shoes echoing against the marble floor.
Ethan stiffened, his breath catching as Adrian stopped behind him.
The Alpha bent down, his lips near Ethan's ear, his voice a whisper that was both a caress and a command.
"I don't want your fear, Ethan. I want your surrender."
Ethan shivered, his grip tightening on the fork. His heartbeat thundered so loudly Adrian could almost hear it.
But still… no ring.
Adrian straightened, his expression unreadable. "Enjoy your breakfast."
And without another word, he turned and left the dining room, leaving Ethan frozen in place, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
---
Back in the study, Adrian slammed his fist against the desk, the wood groaning under the force. His composure cracked for the first time in years.
The longer Ethan resisted, the more the bond burned in his veins. His patience, already frayed, wouldn't hold forever.
And Adrian knew—sooner or later—he would break through Ethan's walls.
By force, or by choice.