POV: Daelen Pryce)

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Morning sunlight cut through the blinds, slicing across Daelen’s face like judgment.

He blinked into the light, disoriented for a moment, the taste of last night still heavy in his mouth—music, alcohol, and the faint, maddening scent of Irian’s skin.

He sat up, heartbeat hammering. The other side of the bed was empty.

For a second, panic clawed through him. Then he spotted a note on the nightstand, folded with quiet precision.

> “Don’t look for me. Last night was a mistake.”

Daelen stared at the words, reading them over and over until they blurred. A mistake. That was what Irian had called it. That kiss—rough, desperate, too full of everything they’d been denying—meant nothing to him.

Daelen slammed his fist into the mattress, breath sharp with anger.

He can’t just walk away.

He swung his legs off the bed and reached for his phone, typing furiously before deleting the message again. Everything he wanted to say sounded wrong—too raw, too real. He’d spent his whole life playing the part of the unshakable Alpha. He didn’t know how to sound like someone who’d been shaken.

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He found Irian hours later, sitting at a small café tucked between glass towers.

The Omega didn’t look up when Daelen approached. His expression was calm—too calm. The mask was back on.

“I told you not to come,” Irian said, stirring his coffee without tasting it.

“And I told you I don’t listen well.”

Irian’s lips twitched, but not into a smile. “Then you haven’t changed at all.”

Daelen leaned against the table, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m proud of this? You think I planned for last night to happen?”

“You did,” Irian replied softly. “You planned all of it. From the first message you sent.”

The words hit like a slap. Daelen wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t—not when it was true.

“I did,” he admitted. “At first.”

Irian’s gaze flicked up, finally meeting his. There was no hate there—only exhaustion. “Then stop pretending this is something else.”

Daelen stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint trace of vanilla on his skin. “You think I can still pretend after last night?”

His voice dropped, low and rough. “You think I can forget what it felt like to touch you?”

Irian’s breath caught, the spoon clattering softly against the cup. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Daelen asked, his tone softer now. “Don’t remind you that you wanted it too?”

Silence.

For the first time, Irian didn’t have an answer.

Daelen exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “You can keep running if you want, but I’m done lying to myself. I don’t want revenge anymore.”

He took a step back, eyes dark but steady. “I just want you.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving Irian staring after him—heart pounding, throat tight, and that terrible truth echoing in his mind.

He wanted him too.