Chapter 165
Silence answered me, absolute and damning. I felt something break loose inside my chest—not grief, but a kind of savage liberation that came from finally, completely, letting go of the need for his validation.
I turned and walked away. Cypress appeared as I reached the entrance, his expression showing something that looked almost like respect.
"Young Master," he said quietly. "Are you certain about this?"
"No," I admitted. "But I'm doing it anyway."
"Perhaps if you went in, if you asked the Patriarch directly—"
"I won't beg," I said flatly. "Not for the suppressant, not for his approval, not for anything. I'm done playing by his rules."
Cypress studied me for a long moment. "For what it's worth, Young Master, I believe you're making the right choice. In forty-three years of service, I've never seen any of the Alphas truly happy. Perhaps it's time someone chose differently."
The words hit harder than I'd expected. "Thank you, Cypress. For everything."
I stepped out into the night, feeling the withdrawal symptoms already intensifying. My phone buzzed—Lirael, probably worried. I pulled it out and saw her message: Are you okay? You've been gone for hours and I'm starting to worry.
I smiled despite everything. She was worried about me. After everything I'd done to her, she was still worried about me.
I'm fine, I typed back. Just dealing with family drama. I'll be there soon.
But I wasn't ready to go back yet. I needed time to process, to understand what this choice meant, to figure out how to tell the woman I loved that I'd chosen principle over survival.
The drive took me through the outskirts of Ark City until I realized I was heading toward the cemetery on the northern edge of the territory—the place where Derek's body had been laid to rest after I'd had it moved from Black Reef Island.
I hadn't planned to stop, but my hands turned the wheel anyway and suddenly I was pulling through the gates as dawn started breaking. Derek's plot was in the back corner, away from the family mausoleum. The headstone was simple—just his name and dates and a small photograph: a seven or eight-year-old boy holding a silver violin, smiling with the kind of joy that had been extinguished years before his body finally gave out.
I knelt in the dew-wet grass. "I walked away," I said to the photograph. "From Father, from the family, from the suppressant. I chose her over all of it."
The wind picked up, and I could almost hear Derek's voice in it—not the snarling thing he'd become at the end, but the gentle brother who'd taught me to appreciate music, who'd believed there was more to life than power and control.
"But I think you'd understand," I continued. "I think if you'd lived long enough to find someone who made you want to be better, you would have chosen the same thing."
I pressed my palm against the cold stone. "I'm probably going to die soon. The entropy's bad, and I just burned my last bridge to treatment. But I'm not scared the way I thought I'd be. Because whatever happens, at least I'll die knowing I chose love over duty."
The sun broke over the horizon. "I found someone," I said. "Her name is Lirael, and she's everything Father would hate—stubborn, fierce, completely unwilling to be controlled. She's the most extraordinary person I've ever met, and somehow she chose me back. Not the Alpha, not the Blackwood heir. Just me."
I stood slowly. "I'm going to bring her here. I want you to meet her, want her to know about the brother I lost."
The cemetery stayed silent, but I felt lighter anyway.
---
Lirael
The clock on the wall read 1:47 AM, and Sebastian still wasn't home. I'd been trying to stay calm, but the knot of anxiety in my chest kept tightening with each passing minute.
I was curled up on the couch . The TV played some mindless show I wasn't really watching, my attention split between the screen and my phone, which I checked compulsively every few minutes.
He'd sent that one text hours ago—I'm fine. Just dealing with family drama. I'll be there soon.—and then nothing. Radio silence.
My phone buzzed. But it was just Selene: Any word from Sebastian?
Not since 11 PM, I typed back. He said he was dealing with family stuff at the estate.
Her response came quickly: That's concerning. Victor Blackwood isn't known for lengthy negotiations. If Sebastian's been there for six hours, something's wrong.
I didn't need her to tell me that. I'd been feeling it for the past hour, that creeping certainty that something had gone terribly wrong.
I checked my phone again—1:53 AM. The staff would be changing shifts soon, and I'd have to decide whether to go to bed or keep waiting up—
Headlights swept across the window.
The panther leaped off the couch and padded toward the door, and I followed with my heart hammering.
The engine cut off. A car door opened and closed. Footsteps on gravel.
I yanked open the front door before Sebastian could reach it, and the words died in my throat as I took in his appearance. He looked like he'd been through hell—shirt rumpled and damp with what looked like dew, dark circles under his eyes, and something in his expression that made my chest constrict.
"Six hours," I said, my voice sharper than I'd intended. "You were gone for six hours with barely any communication, and you show up looking like—" I stopped, catching a scent that made my stomach drop. "Is that cemetery soil? Were you visiting a grave?"
"Derek's," he admitted, his voice rough. "I needed to tell him something."