Chapter 101 The Confession
The applause hasn’t even faded when another hand claims mine. I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Fred.
He doesn’t spin me dramatically like Faruk did. He doesn’t make a show of it. He just steps in, steady and familiar, and draws me into the dance like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
And in some ways, we have.
His arms wrap around me,not possessive, not political, not territorial.Just… known. The difference hits me immediately.With Darius, there is heat. Gravity. A current that pulls and burns. With Fred, there is memory. His hand rests at my back in a way that feels instinctive, practiced. My palm fits against his shoulder like it remembers the shape without thinking.
For a moment, the ballroom fades. The chandeliers dissolve into dim yellow bar lights. Sticky wooden floors. The smell of old whiskey and lemon cleaner.
We used to dance in his dad’s bar whom I’m not even sure if is really his dad or someone undercover with him, we used to dance in the bar after closing. When the chairs were flipped onto tables and the jukebox hummed low and off-key. He would lock the door, crank up some old rock song, and spin me clumsily between pool tables.
We’d laugh when we bumped into things. When he stepped on my toes. When I nearly knocked over a stack of glasses.
Back then, everything felt simple. Back then, I thought I knew who he was.
Now… I don’t even know if the man and woman who claimed to be his parents were truly his parents.
The revelation still sits in my chest like a splinter.
But in his arms? I feel something steady. Something Familiar and Safe.
He exhales slowly as we sway.
“I missed this,” he murmurs.
“So did I,” I admit before I can stop myself.
His grip tightens slightly, not possessive, just grounding.
“You look different,” he says softly.
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yes, I’ve never seen you so confident.”
The music slows again. Our bodies move in an easy rhythm that doesn’t require thought. He leans closer, lips brushing near my ear. “I meant it,” he whispers.
My pulse jumps. “Meant what?”
“When I said I wanted to claim you as my chosen mate.” The words settle heavily between us. Chosen mate. Not bonded by instinct. Not pulled by supernatural gravity. Chosen.
I search his face. His eyes are clear. Earnest.
No flicker of manipulation. No shadow of deceit.
“I will always love you,” he says quietly.
The certainty in his voice makes my chest tighten.
I remember nights in that bar when he would look at me like I was the only thing in the room. When the world felt small enough to hold in two hands.
“I don’t know think I’m that girl anymore ,” I confess softly.
“You’re still you.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
The way he says it makes me want to believe him.
He leans in closer.
“Meet me at our favorite diner,” he murmurs.
My heart stutters.
Our diner.
The one with cracked red booths and coffee that tastes like burnt courage. The one where we carved our initials under the table when we were nineteen.
“Fred….”
“Just to talk,” he says quickly. I hesitate.
He watches me carefully.
“I would risk it all,” he adds quietly. “I’d run away with you, just like the first time.”
The world tilts. Run away. Leave the politics. Leave the bond. Leave the war brewing under chandeliers and whispered threats. For a split second, I picture it.
A small town. A quiet life. No Council. No hybrid attacks. No being watched. Just breathing. Just living.
His thumb brushes lightly against my lower back.
“I’d choose you,” he whispers.
The music shifts again. Partners rotate. And suddenly—
The warmth changes.The air sharpens.I’m pulled back into a different gravity.
Darius.
His arms come around me with unmistakable possession. Fred’s hand falls away.I don’t look back. Darius doesn’t greet me. Doesn’t smile. He simply holds me.
Firm and controlled. The bond hums low and volatile under my skin. “It’s like everyone wants you in their arms tonight,” he murmurs near my ear.
There’s something dark in his tone now.
“I’m not an object,” I reply quietly.
“No,” he agrees. “You’re a prize.”
I stiffen.
“That’s not better.”
His grip tightens. “I’m not going to let it happen.”
“Let what happen?”
“Everyone touching you like you’re unclaimed.”
My jaw tightens.
“You don’t own me.”
“I never said I did.”
“You act like it.”
His hand slides slightly lower at my back as he turns us sharply in the dance.
“I said you’re my mate.”
“That doesn’t make me your property.”
His breathing grows heavier.
“You stood there in his arms.”
“So?”
“He offered to take you away.”
My heart stops.
“You heard?”
“I don’t have to hear to know.”
The music swells to a dramatic crescendo.
“I’m not some territory for you to defend,” I say, anger flaring now.
“And I’m not some fool who pretends I don’t see men circling.”
“They’re not circling.”
“They are.”
“And what are you doing?” I challenge. “Marking your claim in public?”
His eyes flash.
“You think this is about ego? Don’t you know how much you mine to me?”
The song ends abruptly. Applause erupts again. But Darius doesn’t wait for the next melody.
He takes my hand firmly.
“Darius…”
He’s already moving. Leading me off the dance floor. Through clusters of guests. Past startled glances and raised brows. His grip isn’t painful. But it’s decisive.
“Darius,” I repeat sharply.
He doesn’t stop until we’re near the grand doors leading out to the terrace.
The night air seeps in as he pushes them open. He releases me only once we’re outside. The city lights stretch below us like spilled stars.