The tears start before I finish reading, anger exploding in my chest. He's leaving.Actuallyleaving, not just threatening to or talking about it in abstract terms. Xavier, the only person who's been taking care of me, who sees me as more than just Angel-Boy the brand, is walking away because I'm too much of a coward to choose what I really want.
And the worst part? He's being so fucking noble about it, stepping back "out of respect" for a relationship that's been making me miserable for months. Like watching me fade away is somehow the right thing to do.
I feel like absolute shit as I wash up quickly and grab clothes that won't irritate my increasingly sensitive skin. My heat is definitely approaching faster now, probably triggered by all the emotional upheaval, the familiar restlessness starting to build under my skin.
I rush downstairs to catch the car, my whole body vibrating with nervous energy during the ride to my first photoshoot. Everything feels off-kilter, like the world has shifted slightly on its axis and I'm still trying to find my balance. When we pull up to the venue, Xavier is waiting by the entrance in his usual black everything, looking professional and distant and nothing like the man who held me while I cried yesterday.
He opens the car door for me with practiced efficiency, his expression carefully neutral as I climb out on shaky legs. "Do you hate me?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, vulnerable and absolutely pathetic. But I need to know. I need to understand if this careful distance is about professionalism or if I've finally pushed him too far.
Xavier's composed mask slips for just a second, and I catch a glimpse of something that looks like pain before he gets it under control again. "I don't hate you, Angel, but I can't watch you suffer like this anymore. I know you're doing the best you can with what you've been given, but it hurts so fucking bad when I can't touch you."
"Then touch me," I whisper, desperation making my voice crack. "Hold me. Fuck me."
Xavier shakes his head again, more firmly this time, and I can see the war playing out behind his hazel eyes. Want versus duty, instinct versus logic, love versus what he thinks is right.
"I need to hear the words, Angel." His voice is barely above a whisper, but each word carries the weight of everything we've been dancing around for months. "You tell me that you don't want Ryker and you're mine. I'll let the whole world know whose Omega you are. I'd drag you home right now and put my bite into your shoulder while I knot your pretty ass if you just told me that you don't want him."
I can't stop the whimper that escapes my throat. The image he's painted is everything I've fantasized about in my darkest moments.
But then Xavier's expression gentles, becomes almost sad. "But I can't be selfish with you. I'm asking you to make the hardest goddamn decision you'll ever make. As awful as Ryker is, he's your scent match, and your instincts want him more than I can possibly imagine." He throws me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "That's why I'm not rushing you."
"I'm so confused," I admit. "My body wants him, but rationally, I know he'll never treat me how I need to. He said he'll be there for my heat this weekend, and I just..."
I trail off because I don't know how to finish that sentence. Part of me is terrified of spending my heat alone again, and another part is terrified of spending it with someone who sees me as an obligation rather than a person he loves.
Xavier's expression softens further. "I know, babe. I know you need to see this through, but I can't watch you do it. I can't watch you kiss another man, hold another man, and let him touch what my instincts tell me are mine."
The possessiveness in his voice makes my knees weak, every Omega instinct I have purring with satisfaction even as my heart breaks at what he's saying.
"I should have never touched you," he continues, real regret in his voice. Like our time together was full of mistakes instead of the only real thing in my life.
I wrap my arms around myself and manage a smile worthy of my brand before heading inside.
I can't focus on the poses, my body too hot and too uncomfortable beneath the bright studio lights. My vision keepstunneling, the edges going fuzzy while Xavier's words replay on repeat in my head.I should have never touched you.
"Angel, can you give me sultry? Really sell the fantasy here," the photographer calls out, but I can barely hear him over the rushing in my ears.
I try to arch my back the way I know drives people wild, that confident sexuality that made me famous, but my body won't cooperate. I stumble forward, catching myself on the backdrop stand as the world tilts sideways. The metallic pole is cold against my palm, the only solid thing in a reality that's suddenly gone liquid around the edges.
"Cut!" The producer's voice cuts through the chaos, frustration bleeding through a growl that follows. He snaps his fingers in Xavier's direction. "Take him back to the dressing room.Now."
Xavier's there instantly, his hand warm on my lower back as he guides me away from the set. Everyone’s eyes are on us, curious stares and whispered speculation about whether Angel-Boy is finally having the breakdown they've all been waiting for. The kind of meltdown that sells magazines and generates clicks.
He sits me down on the bench in the small dressing room, immediately pressing a bottle of water into my hands. I take several gulps of water before I’m able to relax, Xavier crouching in front of me with a concerned expression.
"You didn't eat this morning, did you?"
I just sigh, too exhausted to lie or make excuses. Xavier disappears for a moment and returns with a container of vanilla yogurt, the kind with the fruit on the bottom that I love even though Carter's always telling me it's too much sugar. He opens it without comment, stirring it up before loading a spoon and holding it out to me.
"I can feed myself," I mumble, but I don't have the energy to actually reach for the spoon.
"I know you can," he says gently, bringing the spoon to my lips. "But you don't have to right now."
I let Xavier feed me while I try to make sense of the mess my life has become, watching the careful way he measures each spoonful, the gentle concern in his hazel eyes growing.
"All of this is just happening at the same time, and I'm tired of following rules," I say between bites.
I pull out my phone with shaking fingers, suddenly needing to do something that feels like me instead of Angel-Boy. Maybe post one of those candid selfies my fans love, something real and unfiltered. Maybe show them the person behind the performance for once, the Omega who’s struggling rather than the fantasy that’s always perfect. I’m not even surewhyI need this. I just do. But when I try to upload it, nothing happens.
