Page 50 of Unbreak Me

The room went quiet, and I studied Day thoughtfully. If Nico had been on suppressants, they might still be together.

Day had obviously learned a hard lesson; now, he was on strong suppressants himself and had made it a requirement for me in our marriage contract. Would I ever know what kind of mateship we had? For some reason, the thought made my chest ache.

I knew suppressants were gradually becoming the norm in society—too many families had been torn apart by one partner leaving for a higher mate. For the past two decades, the government had even started offering suppressants free of charge to married couples.

But singles typically used them only in specific situations—often while attending college or working in corporateenvironments where employers might expect it. Otherwise, most people were actively searching for the highest mate they could find, only starting suppressants once they entered into a committed relationship.

I’d already bought a package of blockers but kept putting off using them. For me, the suppressants would likely mean being permanently mislabeled as a beta, and I hated the idea—it would forever keep me in a dysphoric feeling. Yet, I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever.

For now, though, I had bigger problems to deal with.

When Day finished eating, he carried his plate to the dishwasher and mentioned he needed to get back to his laptop. One of the authors he worked for was launching a book today, and he had to post some promotional stuff in different Facebook groups.

As he got up, he hesitated, glancing at my hand on the table like he wanted to touch it. But then he changed his mind and, with a shy expression, muttered, "Well, see ya," before heading out of the kitchen.

Instead of going to the tree nursery, I opened my laptop and typed in the name Lowen. Within minutes, I’d figured out exactly which Lowen interested me.

The Lowen family was well-known in the country. Marcus Lowen, the man who started it all, hadn’t been rich at the beginning, but he was an incredibly hardworking and talented businessman. He’d wisely invested in various companies, buying shares and building his fortune. He had five children, all successful in their own right. His oldest son, Victor Lowen, was the famous press mogul and owner of Lowen Press. But the one who interested me was Victor’s omega son—Angelo Lowen… Nico’s husband.

It didn’t take long to find plenty of information about him and Nico. Just as Day said, Nico was the editor-in-chief atEast Times, a position he’d landed by marrying into the Lowen family. By the way, Angelo was still undeniably attractive, being in his forties but looking ten years younger, thanks to what I could only assume was a rejuvenating cocktail of… a ton of money.

Feeling the need to act, I went upstairs and told Day I’d have to leave for a few hours to take care of something. He looked mildly surprised but just nodded.

I hurried to the car, knowing the drive to the city would take about an hour and a half. Sitting behind the wheel, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was about to do something crazy. The entire time, I clutched the small pendrive holding the video of what had happened to Day.

After spending two frustrating hours stuck in traffic, I finally arrived in the city and parked beneath the toweringEast Timesskyscraper. What greeted me was the sight of a massive campaign banner standing just past the parking lot. A cold shiver ran down my spine as my gaze locked onto the smug, familiar face staring back at me.

Ferguson.

That bastard. His crimes would not go unanswered—not if I had anything to say about it. Election day was a little over a week away, and the thought of him basking in victory was unbearable. Over my dead body.

Fueled by the sight, I marched toward the skyscraper, my brows furrowed.

The lobby was packed with people milling around the reception desk, and I quickly realized getting to Nico wouldn’t be as easy as I’d hoped. Still, I got in line and waited my turn.

When I finally reached the desk, I told the receptionist, "I’d like to speak with the editor-in-chief, Nico Rovan."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Unfortunately, I don’t. I’m coming in off the street, so to speak, but this is a very important, private matter."

"I’m sorry," he said, his tone clipped. "I can only direct you to the editor-in-chief if you have a scheduled appointment."

With that, he glanced at the person behind me, clearly expecting me to move along. A wave of irritation rose in me.

"This is extremely important," I insisted. "I’m his ex-fiancé’s husband. It concerns him, it’s private, and it’s really, really urgent."

A few people in line turned to stare at me, their expressions ranging from surprise to amusement. The receptionist’s grimace deepened before he finally said, "I’ll call the editor’s assistant to see if he’ll agree to see you."

He stepped into a back room with the receiver, out of earshot. After about a minute, he returned, looking mildly surprised. "The editor-in-chief will see you now. He has a short break, so please hurry," he said, gesturing toward a nearby security guard.

The guard escorted me to an elevator, and we rode to the top floor together. The whole situation amused me slightly—it felt like I was about to meet God himself. Nico had clearly done well for himself. An office at the top of a skyscraper? It felt straight out of a high-class movie.

The guard led me to a set of wide doors and knocked. A voice from inside called us in.

Of course, this wasn’t Nico’s office yet. It was a smaller room with three people seated at desks—probably assistants. One of them, a slim beta, stood and approached me.

"The receptionist called about your matter, correct?"

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