Aliyah's POV
It gave room for the guilt to crawl back in. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Cohen's laughter echoing in my head.
"Better back off now… or you'll lose your face very badly."
I had believed him. Worse, I had let him convince me that I didn't belong. That I would never be enough.
Until I heard the growl of a bike engine cutting through the wind.
I froze, heart thumping. No one came here—this was well beyond the border of Ember Pack. I chose this place because I wanted to disappear.
The engine cut off.
Boots hit gravel.
And then he appeared.
Asher Moretti.
Black boots. Dark jeans. A leather jacket clinging to muscles like it was custom-made for danger. His hair was damp from the drizzle, and the moment our eyes met, my breath hitched.
Of all the people to find me...
"I was just passing through," he said casually, as if the sight of me didn't surprise him. "Thought I'd stop for some water."
I blinked, gripping the fishing rod like it was a weapon. "This beach is a long detour from any road."
His lips twitched. "I take long detours."
That voice. Calm, deep, smooth like smoke. I hated that it stirred something inside me. I hated that it reminded me of things I swore I'd buried.
"Water's in that blue bottle," I said stiffly, gesturing toward my tent.
He picked it up, drank, and then—without asking—settled beside me on the large flat rock I had claimed as my own.
I shifted. "What are you doing?"
"Watching the waves. Sitting. Breathing."
I stared at him.
He stared right back.
This was insane. Asher Moretti wasn't just the president of the most elite biking club in Ember Pack—he was untouchable. Dangerous. Mysterious. And worst of all... Cohen's friend.
"Why did you run from the tournament?" he asked suddenly.
My heart dropped.
I turned my face toward the ocean, pretending not to hear him. "That's none of your business."
"You trained hard," he said, ignoring my deflection. "I watched some of your sessions. You were improving. Why run now?"
I was quiet. My fingers trembled slightly. "Because Cohen said I would embarrass myself."
Silence.
Then a sigh. "Do you always do what he says?"
That question hit harder than it should have. My throat tightened. "I didn't want to disappoint my father."
"And you think disappearing for a week without a word helped?"
His words weren't cruel. They were honest.
I didn't know why that made them worse.
A lump formed in my throat. "You don't understand…"
"Try me."
I looked at him then, really looked. His eyes weren't mocking or cold. They were... tired.
"I ran because I was afraid," I admitted. "Afraid of failing, of them laughing again. Of being the Omega everyone expects to fall."
He didn't say anything for a while. Just watched the water like it held secrets only he could read.
"I haven't been sleeping," he said finally.
I blinked. "What?"
"Since that night... the tournament. Since you ran. I kept wondering why. I thought maybe I'd see you in town, or you'd send a message, or... something. But I didn't. So I took a road trip, and ended up here."
My brows furrowed. "You have insomnia? You?"
He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Funny, right? The great Asher Moretti, feared by many, tormented by sleep."
I chuckled awkwardly. "Your club's out there, living it up, and you're... brooding?"
He shrugged. "They don't know half of what I carry."
That confession hung in the air, weighted and real. I had no idea who this version of Asher was. Vulnerable. Candid. And... kind.
A fat drop of rain landed on my cheek.
Then another.
"Looks like a storm," I said, standing. "Come on. Into the tent."
He followed me in, and we both ducked beneath the flap. The space was tight, just big enough for one person to lie down and another to maybe sit curled at the corner. I scrambled to get a dry cloth, my back brushing against him—
—and then my foot slipped.
"Ahh!"
In a split second, I landed directly on him. Chest to chest, our faces inches apart. My palm braced against the mat beside his shoulder, and the scent of leather and rain filled my lungs.
Oh goddess.
He was warm. Too warm.
I looked down at him.
That jawline. Those lashes. The shadow of a scar on his neck.
I never realized Asher Moretti was this... ridiculously handsome. No, not just handsome—magnetic. Intense. Breathtaking.
Then my stomach twisted.
The nausea hit without warning.
I scrambled up, hand to my mouth, and stumbled outside the tent just in time to vomit.
Asher rushed out, confused. "Aliyah? Are you—"
"I'm fine," I croaked.
But I wasn't. I hadn't eaten anything weird. Nothing except dry crackers and tea. And yet...
A sharp memory slammed into me.
That night. The heat. The fire. The desperate way we clung to each other.
No. It can't be...
Hands shaking, I ran back into the tent and fished out my pouch. The small strip was still in there. The one I had bought three days ago but never dared to use.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I went outside. The rain had stopped.
I used the strip.
Waited.
One line appeared.
Then another.
Clear. Bold. Undeniable.
Pregnant.
I collapsed to my knees.
Tears slipped down my cheeks as the ocean roared quietly in the distance.
"I'm pregnant…"
With Asher Moretti's child.