Josie
I was done.
Absolutely, thoroughly done.
Thorne's grip on my arm was bruising, like iron bands biting into my skin with each step. Every time he tugged me along through the ballroom, I felt another thread of patience, of dignity, of me, unraveling.
I could feel the eyes. Watching. Whispering. Judging.
But I didn't care.
Not anymore.
The guards followed us with robotic precision, their gazes like surveillance cameras that didn't blink. I hated them—hated how they shadowed my every movement like I was some criminal. I hated that no matter what I said, no matter what I felt, I was still being handled like I belonged to them.
He yanked harder, and I stumbled. My teeth knocked together from the sudden motion, the jolt sending a flash of anger straight to my chest.
That was it.
I dug my heels into the floor, yanked my arm back with as much force as I could muster. "Stop manhandling me like I'm some misbehaving pet," I snapped, the words slicing the thick air between us. "Go use your Alpha dictatorship on someone who actually gives a damn."
I hadn't even realized Varen was that close until I heard it—his laugh.
Loud. Rich. Amused.
Like I had just performed a comedy act.
"She got you there," he chuckled, shaking his head like I wasn't trembling with fury two feet from him. Like this wasn't my life falling apart.
I wanted to scream.
I hated them.
No, I hated myself. For still—still—feeling something other than disgust when I looked at them.
Thorne didn't laugh. Of course he didn't. His jaw clenched so hard I could almost hear the bone grind. And then his fingers tightened again, grinding into the bone of my arm until my breath hissed through my teeth.
"I won't tolerate your tantrums, Josie," he said, voice like steel wrapped in venom. "I'm tired of your omega tendencies."
It felt like he slapped me.
The words hit harder than any physical blow could.
My throat closed up.
My heart squeezed painfully.
I wasn't even sure I was breathing until Varen stepped in, knocking Thorne's hand away with force that sent shockwaves through the room.
"Enough!" Varen barked, moving in front of me like a shield, though his hand curled tightly around my wrist, still holding me down in his own way.
"She's not your damn punching bag," he snapped at his brother. "Don't speak to her like that again."
He turned slightly, looking back at me—and for a moment, I saw something flicker across his face. Regret. Shame.
"You don't get to make her feel weaker than she already does."
His words stung.
Because he was right.
And I hated that he knew.
Thorne rolled his eyes, swiping a hand across his face. "You want to start this fight now, Varen?" he sneered. "Pick your battle later. Right now, I need her to understand something."
Understand what? That I was powerless? That no matter what I did, I was still at their mercy?
I clenched my jaw and stood my ground as Thorne sidestepped Varen and came right up to me.
So close I could smell the sharp scent of cedar and storm clinging to his skin. So close I had to tilt my chin up just to look him in the eye.
"Stop pushing me, Josie," he growled, voice low and dangerous. "You're only making things worse."
I smiled bitterly, folding my arms. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said with mock sweetness, "Did my emotions inconvenience you, Alpha Thorne?"
His nostrils flared.
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
He hated being mocked.
But I didn't stop.
"You'll answer to me from now on," he bit out, his words sharp and absolute. "Not Varen. Not Kiel. Me."
I felt my breath lodge in my chest.
My heart was pounding in my ears.
"I don't want any of you!" I shouted, unable to hold it in anymore. "You'll just leave me like you always do! For Michelle!"
The room went silent.
Dead.
Even the guards paused in their steps.
Varen made a sharp sound, almost a wince, like I'd punched him in the gut.
Thorne didn't move. His face was unreadable—but I could feel the tension coil tighter, feel the storm gathering just behind his eyes.
He didn't argue.
Didn't deny it.
Instead, he turned to the guards, his voice like ice. "Take her back to her room."
"No!" I shrieked, backing away as two guards advanced on me. "Don't touch me!"
But their hands were already on me—hard, unyielding, wrapping around my arms like iron bars.
"Let me go!" I kicked, twisted, anything to stop them. "I said let me—!"
Thorne moved.
He didn't yell.
Didn't raise a hand.
He just looked.
And the guards froze.
Like puppets with their strings cut.
He walked toward me slowly, the deliberate pace making my stomach knot. His gaze was a storm. Not loud. Not violent. Just… inevitable.
He stopped in front of me, and his hand reached out.
Not to slap.
Not to shove.
Just… steady.
He cupped my chin, his thumb brushing along my jaw.
"Michelle," he said, voice quiet but blistering, "is nothing to us."
I wanted to believe him.
More than anything, I wanted to believe him.
But I didn't.
Because I saw him. I saw him run after her.
He didn't let me speak.
Didn't wait for a reply.
Just gave a nod.
The guards moved again.
They lifted me like I weighed nothing, like I was something to be carried and put back in a cage.
My legs stumbled to keep up, my arms pinned painfully behind me.
But nothing—nothing—hurt more than the silence he left behind.
The last thing I saw before the ballroom doors shut behind me was Thorne.
Still.
Cold.
Unmoved.
Like none of it had meant anything.
And maybe it hadn't.
But my heart…
My heart didn't get the memo.