Chapter 188

[ 1,181 words ]

Sebastian’s POV

I kept my promise. The sun was still dropping when I pushed through the hospital doors, a bunch of red roses in one hand.

First flowers I’d ever bought Emilia. Ryder had been smug about it the whole drive over.

“Finally acting like a proper mate,” he’d said. “Took you long enough.”

I’d told him to shut up.

But standing outside her door, something ridiculous fluttered in my chest. Nerves. Like some lovesick kid instead of the Alpha who’d spent the afternoon making two women wish they’d never been born.

I pushed the door open. And froze.

Scott Hanson sat beside Emilia’s bed, leaning in close, one hand on the edge of her mattress. His voice was low, soft. The kind that put Ryder’s hackles up.

My grip on the roses tightened until stems snapped.

“Why are you here?”

Flat. Cold. Scott’s head came up, and something crossed his face. Guilt, maybe. Or irritation at being interrupted.

He stood, glancing down at Emilia. Still asleep. “I came to see her.”

“I’ll take care of her.” I stepped in, the door swinging shut behind me. “You can go.”

Scott didn’t move. He held my eyes a beat too long, then started for the door. But as he passed, he stopped, close enough that Ryder snarled low in my head.

“If you can’t protect her,” he said quietly, “let her go. There’s someone who can give her peace. Someone who can make her happy.”

Something snapped.

I grabbed his collar and drove him into the wall, hard enough to rattle the painting beside us. “Look at my wife like that again,” I said, my voice dropping, “and I’ll make you regret it.”

He didn’t flinch. He fisted my collar right back, grinning in a way that made my blood boil. “I’ve never hidden how I feel about her, Simons. I knew her before you did. You just got lucky she picked you.”

Lucky.

I swung. My fist caught his jaw and snapped his head sideways. He spat blood, dragged a hand across his mouth, and then the bastard swung back.

His knuckles clipped my cheekbone. Ryder roared.

“Let me out. I’ll tear his throat open.”

“Not here.”

I was two seconds from letting him when—

“Are you two seriously about to brawl in front of an injured woman?”

We both froze.

Emilia was awake, propped on one elbow, glaring with a look that could strip paint.

We let go at the same time and stepped back like two boys caught scrapping in the schoolyard. I straightened my jacket and crossed to her bedside.

“It’s fine,” I said, dropping into the chair Scott had left. “Go back to sleep.”

She raised a brow. “Back to sleep? So you two can pick up where you left off? In a hospital room? Under the giant quiet sign on the door?”

Scott gave her a long look, the kind that made my jaw tighten, then walked out. The door clicked shut.

Emilia reached up, her fingers brushing where Scott’s punch had landed. “You’re an Alpha,” she said, half exasperated, half amused. “And you still pick hallway fights like a jealous teenager.”

“He asked for it.” I caught her wrist and held her hand to my cheek. “I walked in and he was touching you. Just like this.”

“He was touching my face, Sebastian. It’s not like he was—”

“Not like he was what?” I leaned in. “Crossing a line? Because he was. A minute later, who knows what he’d have tried.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re jealous. Again.”

“Damn right I am.”

“You know,” she said, folding her arms, “jealousy’s supposed to be the woman’s job. You’re really running with it.”

“Jealousy’s a caring thing,” I shot back. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t give a damn who sat by your bed.”

Her lips twitched. Almost a smile.

I looked at the vase on the table. Baby’s breath. White, delicate, dull as dishwater.

“Who sent those?”

“No idea,” she said. “Scott, maybe.”

“They’re hideous.” I stood, dumped the baby’s breath in the trash, and dropped my roses in instead. “There. Much better.”

Emilia blinked at the roses, then up at me, her face going soft. “Your taste is better,” she admitted. “Or maybe that’s just your heart showing.”

“Careful.” I sat back down. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you actually like me.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Simons.”

But she was smiling now. A real one.

I brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You’re asking for trouble, you know that?”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” I leaned in, my hand sliding to her waist. “Talking back to an Alpha. Dangerous game.”

She laughed, then winced, her whole body going stiff.

I pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“My back,” she said through her teeth.

I helped her onto her side and lifted the edge of her gown. The sight went through me like ice.

Red welts crossed her skin, over and over. Some scabbed over. Some still raw.

They did this to her.

Ryder snarled, low and vicious. “We should have done worse.”

“Is it ugly?” Her voice was small.

“No.” I bent and pressed my lips to one of the marks. Then another. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She let out a shaky breath, easing under my hands.

I kissed another scar. And another. Slow. Gentle.

And then the door burst open.

“Oh my God—what are you two doing?”

I looked up to find my whole family jammed in the doorway. Mom, Dad, Tiffany, all frozen, staring like they’d walked in on something far more scandalous than it was.

Emilia yanked the blanket over her head with a strangled noise.

I straightened, not bothered in the least. “Why are you all here?”

Dad cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at me. “We came to see our daughter-in-law.”

“You’ve seen her,” I said flatly. “You can go.”

“Sebastian!” Mom swatted my arm, then turned to the lump under the blanket. “Sweetie, how are you feeling?”

Emilia peeked out, face bright red. “I’m—fine. Thank you.”

“I brought you chicken soup.” Mom held up a thermos. “Made fresh this morning.”

“Let me.” I took it before she could hand it over, poured some into a bowl, blew on the spoon, and lifted it to Emilia’s lips.

She looked mortified. My parents looked delighted.

“Our son finally learned to take care of someone,” Mom said, her voice thick.

Dad nodded. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” I muttered. “You’ve seen her. Out.”

“Brother!” Tiffany marched past me and held out a small wrapped box. “I got you something. Do you like it?”

Emilia opened it. A silver brooch, shaped like a crescent moon. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“It’s ugly,” I said.

Everyone turned to stare at me.

Emilia’s smile went wicked. “Are you seriously jealous of Tiffany now?”

The room cracked up. Even Dad.

Before they left, Mom pulled me aside, her face going serious. “Sebastian.”

“What?”

“She’s still healing,” she said pointedly. “So whatever you’re thinking about doing—don’t.”

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