Chapter 35 35
Logan's POV
The four walls of my room were closing in. I’d been pacing for what felt like hours, a caged animal wearing a path in the rug. My thumb was sore from jabbing at my phone screen. Call after call went straight to voicemail. Text messages sat there with a single, taunting checkmark—delivered, but not read. She’d blocked me on everything else.
What is it with her?
The question was a furious chant in my head. She can’t just do this. She can’t just walk away after everything. After all we had, the risks I took for her.
The frustration boiled over. With a snarl, I swept my arm across my desk. Books, a half-empty glass, my gaming controller—everything went flying, crashing against the wall and shattering on the floor in a satisfyingly violent cacophony.
The door opened at that exact moment. My mother stood there, her eyes wide, taking in the wreckage. But seeing her didn’t cool my rage. If anything, it fueled it. I grabbed the desk chair and flung it sideways. It slammed into my dresser with a heavy thud.
“Logan!” Her voice cut through, sharp with alarm. She stepped into the room, her heels crunching on broken plastic, and grabbed my arm. “Stop it! What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this again?”
I shook her off, but stopped destroying things, my chest heaving. “Mother, I can’t… I don’t want him to consider me a failure.” The words burst out, raw and desperate. I paced away from her, running a hand through my hair. “I’m doing everything I can. Everything he asks. But it’s never enough, is it? One misstep and I’m just the bastard son again, the disappointment.”
She turned, her expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What are you talking about? Logan, why would your father ever consider you a disappointment? You’re his heir.”
I shut my eyes tight, the pressure behind them immense. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t breathe a word about the secret mission Father had given me years ago, the real reason I’d transferred to Crimson Valley High.
I just turned to face her, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a weary bitterness. “I’m his illegitimate son, Mother. That’s the title that matters. I don’t want things to get worse between us.”
She stepped closer, her voice softening. “Hey. Nothing like that will happen if you don’t give him a reason to think less of you. You’re strong. You’re capable.”
“A reason to, yeah,” I muttered, looking away at the shattered glass glittering on the floor. I was giving him the biggest reason of all.
That’s when I heard the footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, coming down the hall. My blood went cold. The door, still open from my mother’s entrance, was pushed wider.
My father walked in.
Alpha Caiden.
He didn’t fill the doorway; he seemed to absorb the space around it. His amber eyes, so like mine but a thousand times colder, took a slow, sweeping inventory of the destroyed room. His expression didn’t change. It rarely did.
“Father,” I said, straightening my spine, my voice formal. The Alpha, not Dad.
He didn’t acknowledge me at first. His gaze moved to my mother. It was just a look, but it was a whole conversation, a silent, immediate order. She’d understood it for years.
“I’ll… leave you both to talk,” she said quietly, giving my arm one last, worried squeeze before slipping out, closing the door behind her.
Then his eyes landed on me. “What happened here?” His voice was calm, almost bored.
“I… was just trying to rearrange my room,” I lied, the words sticking in my throat. “It got out of hand.”
He looked around at the overturned furniture and debris with utter indifference, as if it were a mildly interesting art installation. Then he asked the question I’d been dodging for days. “How is it?”
My mouth went dry. “Um, I’ll fill you in later tonight. I promise.”
“I’ll be waiting, then.” With that, he simply placed his hands behind his back and walked out, as silently as he’d entered. The door clicked shut.
I inhaled a shuddering breath, and my knees actually wobbled. I had to brace a hand on the wall. The reprieve was over.
I grabbed my phone again, a last, desperate act. I tried to send a message to Arielle on an old app we used, one she might have forgotten about. ERROR. USER NOT FOUND. She’d blocked me there, too. A guttural groan tore from my throat. In a final burst of helpless rage, I hurled the phone against the same wall. It exploded into pieces.
There was no fixing this. Not now. And I couldn’t avoid him any longer.
Later, when the house was quiet, I dragged myself to his private study. The cold hit me the second I crossed the threshold, a psychic chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. He was in the middle of the room, seated at his massive oak chess table, playing against himself. The only sounds were the soft click of marble pieces on wood.
He made a move, studied the board, and let out a low, dark chuckle. “Checkmate,” he murmured to the empty chair opposite him. “You never see the pawn coming for your queen, do you?” He loved that line.
Then he lifted his gaze and saw me. A smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You finally bring good news. Welcome, son.” He gestured to the ornate chair opposite him. “Come. Sit.”
“No, Alpha Caiden, I—”
He chuckled, cutting me off. “Nah, stop being so formal now. The situation doesn’t require it.” He began resetting the chess pieces with quick, precise movements. “Unless it does. Sit.”
I was reluctant, my feet rooted to the spot as I watched him set up another round of his solitary war game. The silence stretched, thick and threatening.
His voice, when it came again, was a few degrees colder. “Are you just going to stand there like a timid fool, or are you going to give me the update I’ve been waiting for?”
I inhaled, the air feeling thin. I forced myself to walk forward and sit in the offered chair, my body rigid.
He finished setting the board and finally lifted his gaze. His amber eyes locked onto mine, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to look away. It felt like being pinned by a predator.
“So?” he prompted, his voice deceptively mild. “How is it going with the girl?”
“Uh…”
“What’s her name?” He paused, and a small, familiar smile appeared on his face. I’d seen it before, every time he mentioned her. It was the smile of a man who saw a valuable, fragile piece on his board. “Arielle. Right?”
I nodded, my throat tight. “Arielle.”
“Hm.” He moved a pawn forward. “I’m sure her parents wouldn’t give her an undeserving name. It has a certain… ring to it.” He laughed softly, as if at a private joke, and made another move.