Page 24 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

I tighten my grip on the phone and force the reply out quickly, cleanly, like ripping off a Band Aid. “Precisely.” My voice is clipped, sharp, leaving no room for argument.

And yet… there’s that all too familiar faint twinge, an annoying rumbling growl from my wolf, that I immediately shove aside. I don’t have the time or the luxury to entertain that now.

“I just need to play along a little longer,” I say, the edge in my voice hardening into resolve. “Then Valerian will pay.” The name alone lights a fire in me, raw and all-consuming, and I feel it seeping into my tone.

There’s a beat before Jack responds, his voice softer now, almost subdued. “Yes, my Prince.”

I don’t respond. I just hang up, the click of the phone cutting through the quiet like a knife.

But the silence that follows isn’t much better. It’s heavy, pressing down on me as my own words echo in my head, over and over like a broken record.She’s just a means to an end.

If only it were that simple. Just compartmentalize, keep things clean, and push forward. But it’s not, the golden thread proves as much.

It’s there between us, undeniable, binding. And I know she sees it too. She might not understand it—not yet—but she feels it.

I see it in the look in her eyes when we make love. For a heartbeat, her guard slips, and she looks at me like she’s just seen something extraordinary. Something unexplainable. The golden thread, flickering in her eyes before the moment vanishes, and reality floods back in.

She’s more than a means to an end. That much is certain.

But I can’t let myself dwell on that. It’s dangerous territory, and I know better than to stray too close to it. If I start thinking about what she means to me—what she could mean to me—I risk losing focus. And I can’t afford that. Not now.

I have to think of her as a means to an end.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

No matter what I feel, no matter what the golden thread whispers in the quiet moments, I will not jeopardize my mission.

I grab the bottle of whiskey, pouring another glass with a steady hand, and throw it back in one sharp motion. The bitter burn spreads through my chest, snapping me out of my head just enough to remind me where I am—and what I have to do next.

My eyes flick to the watch on my wrist. The time stares back at me, a harsh reminder that I can’t sit here wallowing muchlonger. Work waits for no one, not even a man trying to dismantle his enemies from the inside out.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the couch, my joints stiff from sitting too long. I glance around the small, cramped apartment—the peeling paint on the walls, the sagging couch that looks like it’s seen better days, the lone bulb overhead casting everything in a dull yellow glow. It’s barely livable, but it’s perfect for what it needs to be: a disguise. A janitor doesn’t live in luxury.

I move through my usual routine, the steps almost mechanical now. I rake my fingers through my hair, styling it just enough to look neat but not noticeable. The plainest clothes from my closet get pulled on—worn-out jeans and a faded button-up that looks like it came straight from a thrift store. I roll my shoulders, adjust my posture, slouching slightly to make myself less noticeable.

By the time I step out the door, the transformation is complete. The man I was a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by someone the world barely notices. Someone who doesn’t raise eyebrows or invite questions.

Just another guy heading to another day of work. And that’s exactly how I need it to stay.

The cab ride to the Pinnacle Group offices is as uneventful as ever. The city blurs past in a streak of muted lights and colors, the hum of the engine providing a kind of white noise that settles my thoughts. The driver doesn’t make conversation, and I don’t encourage it. Quiet is good. Quiet keeps me in my head, where I can think—or not think, if that’s what I need.

When we pull up to the building, I slide out, nodding a quick thanks before heading inside. The lobby is its usual sterile self—bright, clean, and polished to the point of being unnaturally flawless. I make my way straight to the janitors’ room,exchanging only a few polite greetings with the other employees I pass. That’s about as much interaction as I allow myself. I’ve learned that the less you talk, the less people notice you. No fuss, no attention.

The janitors’ room is small and dim, the faint smell of cleaning supplies hanging in the air. I change into my overalls without rush, a well-practiced routine that feels like clockwork by now.

Once I’m out on the floor, time does what it always does: slips through my fingers. Cleaning is mindless work. My hands scrub, mop, and wipe. It’s taken me a while to get used to this, cleaning wasn’t something I ever did in the palace. But I’m at a point now that I can do it without getting curious glances.

As evening bleeds into night, a quiet anticipation starts to build in my chest. It’s almost 9 p.m.—the time I’ve come to know as ours. Every night, I go to Katherine’s office at this hour. Every night, we sit and talk over dinner, a ritual that’s somehow carved out a small space in my life.

I’ve come to look forward to it in a way I didn’t expect. Listening to her talk, hearing the way her voice softens as she lets go of the day’s stress. She talks about her work, her thoughts, her frustrations, and I just listen. Sometimes she laughs, and it’s a sound I’ve started to carry with me long after the conversation ends. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my face even now, thinking about it.

But tonight might be different. It’s the first time I’ll see her since I pulled the “I’m sick” card. I’ll have to smooth that over, but it’s nothing a quick explanation can’t handle.

I finish my tasks, put the tools back in their place, and straighten my overalls. My hands brush down the fabric absentmindedly as I make my way to her office. When I reach the door, I knock, the sound firm but familiar. She always knows it’s me.

Only this time, there’s no answer.

I pause, frowning a little. That’s… odd. She always answers on the first knock.

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