Page 69 of Storm
"Long enough," Alexander says, setting down a cup of what smells like chamomile tea. "I told you. Leave Reed alone, Storm. Don't push him."
"He started it," I say, aware of how childish I sound. "He threatened Rook."
Alexander sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know. And he was wrong to do that. But there's more going on here than you understand."
"Then make me understand," I plead, frustration building in my chest. "Everyone keeps saying that, but no one tells me anything! I know I fucked up alright? The uprising, the rebellion. I didn’t mean to light the match."
"Please, Storm. It’s not just that." Alexander says, his green eyes serious in a way I haven't seen before. "Just be on your best behavior for the father’s tonight. It's not only your life on the line. There are other things at play here, other people's lives depending on this going well so everyone can go back to their usual routines."
The weight of his words settles over me. Is this to do with Reed's disgraced family name? He shouldn’t care what they think. How many more secrets does this pack have?
"Fine," I concede, grabbing my pill bottles from the counter. "I'll be good."
Alexander's expression softens. "Thank you."
I hesitate, suddenly reluctant to return to my room. "Are you going to leave? After the dinner?"
Something flickers in his eyes—sadness, perhaps. "I'll stay a day or two more," he says gently. "But yes, I have to go back."
"To where?" I press, then immediately regret it when I see his expression close off.
"To somewhere that needs me," he says vaguely.
The realization hits me then—he has someone waiting for him. Maybe a beta girlfriend, someone who lives far from Crescent City. Someone he loves enough to disappear from public life for months at a time.
An unexpected wave of jealousy washes over me, which is ridiculous. I have Rook. I love Rook. I've always loved Rook. So why does the thought of Alexander having someone else make my chest ache?
"I should get back," I mutter, hugging the pill bottles to my chest. "Rook will wonder where I am."
Alexander nods, but his eyes are knowing. Too knowing. Like he can see right through me.
I flee back to my room, confusion and upset churning in my stomach. When I open the door, Rook is just emerging from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets still clinging to his broad shoulders.
The sight of him—my Rook, solid and real and here, steadies me. This is what matters. This is who I've been waiting for.
But as I kiss him on the cheek, the memory of Reed's fury and Alexander's cryptic warnings follow me like a shadow.
* * *
"Storm, stop fidgeting,"Jonathan says under his breath as we wait for the driver to bring the car around.
I fight the urge to tug at the neckline of the dress he bought for me—a deep burgundy number that's modest enough to satisfy propriety but fits well enough to show I'm "taken care of," as Jonathan put it. My hair has been tamed into softer waves, and there's makeup on my face that I didn't even get to apply. He hired a beta makeup artist as if I couldn’t do it myself.
Worst of all is the perfume—a floral scent so strong it makes my nose burn. But they were worried that even though I showered and stayed away from Rook all afternoon, I might still smell like him. The perfume is meant to cover any lingering traces, to ensure the father’s don't realize there's a beta-born alpha in their precious sons, omega's bedroom.
Reed hasn't spoken to me since our confrontation this morning. He stands a few feet away, looking coldly elegant in a tailored suit, his gaze fixed on the street ahead. Alexander is beside him, equally well-dressed but more relaxed, occasionally exchanging quiet words with Frankie, who looks like he wants to disappear into the pavement.
Poor Frankie. He's been dragged into this nightmare too, forced into a suit that doesn't quite fit right, expected to play his role in this charade. At least I'm not alone in my misery.
"Remember what we discussed," Jonathan says as the sleek black car pulls up. "Eyes down, short answers, no sass."
"I know," I reply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm not an idiot."
"Could have fooled me," Reed mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
Before I can retort, Jonathan opens the car door, and we're sliding into the back seat—Jonathan, me, then Alexander on one side, with Reed and Frankie facing us on the other. The seating feels deliberate, keeping me surrounded by alphas, with Reed positioned where he can watch me but not close enough to touch.
The restaurant is only a fifteen-minute drive from the penthouse, but it feels like hours with the tension in the car. By the time we arrive, my shoulders are so tight they ache.
