Chapter 164
Sebastian
The two-hour drive to my father's estate felt like driving toward my own execution. I'd made my choice on that island—chosen her over everything the Blackwood name represented—and now came the reckoning.
Marcus had called ahead, as protocol demanded, but Cypress's expression when he opened the door told me everything I needed to know.
"Young Master Sebastian," he said, the formal address a subtle reminder of hierarchy. "The Patriarch is currently engaged in the annual blessing ceremony with the Blood Moon Council's High Priests. I'm afraid he cannot be disturbed."
Of course he was. My father was nothing if not predictable in his power plays. Scheduling the ceremony now, when he knew I'd be coming for the suppressant I desperately needed, was a declaration of intent as clear as any verbal threat.
"How long?"
"The ceremony traditionally concludes at dawn, Young Master. However, the Patriarch may require additional time for private meditation afterward." Cypress's tone remained perfectly respectful, but I caught the emphasis on 'private meditation'—my father's euphemism for making people wait until he decided they'd suffered enough.
I moved past him into the entrance hall, portraits of previous Alphas lining the walls, their painted eyes following my progress with what felt like judgment. Each one had upheld tradition, strengthened the pack, put duty before personal desire. Each one would have been ashamed of what I'd become.
Good. Let them be ashamed. I was done living up to dead men's expectations.
"The Patriarch did request that I inquire about the true reason for the island's closure," Cypress said. "The official statement cited structural concerns, but certain parties have expressed... curiosity about the timing."
There it was—the real question. My father knew I'd taken something from that island, and he wanted me to admit it, to give him the leverage he needed to force my hand.
"The official statement is accurate," I said, keeping my voice level. "The facility's structural integrity was compromised beyond repair."
"I see." Cypress's expression didn't change, but I saw the calculation in his eyes. "And the timing of this structural failure, occurring as it did mere hours after Young Master's visit, was purely coincidental?"
"Entirely coincidental," I said, meeting his gaze with steady certainty. "Though I suppose even the most carefully maintained facilities can develop unexpected weaknesses when subjected to sufficient stress."
Cypress held my stare for a moment longer, then inclined his head. "I shall relay your explanation to the Patriarch. In the meantime, might I offer you refreshment while you wait? The ceremony may run somewhat longer than usual."
"No. I'll wait here." I settled into one of the chairs outside the study with deliberate casualness. "Tell my father I'll be waiting when he finishes communing with the ancestors about how disappointed they are in me."
The suppressant I needed was in that study, locked in the vault where my father kept all the family's most valuable assets. He knew I couldn't survive much longer without it, and he was using that knowledge as a weapon. The message was clear: give him a satisfactory explanation, renounce whatever foolishness had possessed me to help those prisoners, and he'd graciously provide the medicine that kept me from turning into the kind of monster that had killed Derek.
Refuse, and he'd let me suffer.
The hours crawled past. I watched servants pass by with carefully averted eyes, watched the shadows lengthen as afternoon bled into evening. My phone buzzed periodically with messages from Marcus that I acknowledged with terse replies. The entropy symptoms intensified with each hour—my blood felt too hot, my muscles ached with bone-deep weariness, and every breath tasted like copper and ash. Worse than the physical symptoms was the way my thoughts kept fragmenting, skipping tracks like a corrupted recording.
By six in the evening, when Cypress appeared with a tray of food I had no appetite for, I knew my father's game had shifted from simple punishment to something more calculated. He wasn't just making me wait—he was watching me deteriorate, measuring how far I'd fall before I broke.
"The Patriarch wishes me to inform you that the ceremony has concluded," Cypress said, setting the tray down. "However, he requires additional time for contemplation and will not be available until further notice."
Another twelve hours. Another half-day of sitting outside his door like a supplicant while the entropy ate away at what remained of my control.
"I'm not comfortable right now," I said, the admission feeling like pulling teeth but necessary. "I'm very not comfortable. If I don't get the suppressant today, I probably won't make it past midnight."
Cypress's expression shifted fractionally, revealing genuine concern. He'd served the Blackwood family long enough to recognize when an Alpha was admitting weakness, and the fact that I was willing to say it out loud spoke to how desperate the situation had become.
"I will convey your concerns to the Patriarch immediately," he said with more urgency than before.
"It won't matter," I interrupted, suddenly certain. "He's not going to see me. This is the test, isn't it? He's using my life as leverage, forcing me to choose between the suppressant and my principles."
My father was gambling that I valued my life more than my convictions, that when faced with the reality of dying from entropy I'd fold, would apologize, would promise to be the good little Alpha he wanted.
He'd miscalculated.
The hours ticked past midnight, and I remained in that chair, feeling my resolve crystallize into something unbreakable. The study doors stayed closed, the silence behind them absolute.
At twelve minutes past midnight, when the entropy had progressed to the point where I could feel my control starting to slip in dangerous ways, I stood up. My legs shook, but I forced myself to move with deliberate calm.
I walked to the study doors one last time, pressing my palm against the dark wood. Behind this door sat a man who'd shaped everything I'd become, who'd taught me to be strong and ruthless and utterly alone, who'd never once told me he loved me because love was weakness and weakness was death.
And I was walking away from all of it.
"I'm done," I said to the closed door, knowing he could hear me. "I'm done waiting, done begging, done pretending that your approval matters more than my conscience. You want to use my life as leverage? Fine. Let me die. At least I'll die knowing I chose something worth dying for."