What a fucking joke.
I pay the cab driver and stumble out, barely registering the cold night air as I fumble with my keys. The elevator ride to my apartment feels like an eternity, each floor a painful reminder of how far I’ve climbed in life while remaining trapped in the same emotional basement.
The door clicks shut behind me, and something inside me shatters. My legs give out. I slide down against the door until I hit the floor, my body folding in on itself like I’m trying to disappear.
The first sob rips through me with such force it hurts my chest. Then another. And another. Until I’m gasping, drowning in decades of suppressed pain.
“Fuck,” I choke out between sobs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
My mother’s words twist like a knife in my gut.
“No son of mine is a disgusting faggot.”
All these years, I hid to avoid exactly this. And for what?
Julian’s dismissive tone echoes in my head.
“This isn’t a relationship.”
I wrap my arms around myself, rocking slightly. All my life, I’ve been too much and not enough at the same time. Too sensitive for my mother. Too east side for Ravenwood’s elite. Too gay for the straight world. Too straight-acting for men like Theo.
And now, too emotional for Julian.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” I whisper to my empty apartment. The tears fall hot and fast, soaking into my shirt collar.
For one beautiful, terrifying moment, I thought I’d found someone who wanted me—all of me. Not just the carefully curated parts I show the world, but the messy, complicated reality of Elliot Chambers.
Instead, I’m back where I started. Alone. Unwanted. A dirty secret. A temporary amusement.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. I ignore it, letting my head fall back against the door with a thud. My chest aches like something physical has been torn out of it, leaving a raw, bleeding hole where my heart should be.
I don’t know how long I sit there, slumped against my door. Time stretches and contracts like a living thing. My tears dry tacky on my face, salt trails tightening my skin.
My body remembers Julian’s touch, phantom sensations haunting me—his fingers digging into my hips, his breath hot against my neck, the fullness of him inside me. My skin burns with the memory; each mark he left throbbing with my pulse. I press my palms against my eyes until stars explode against the darkness.
The physical pain is nothing compared to the hollow void expanding in my chest. It’s like something vital has been scooped out of me, leaving behind only echoes. I press my hand against my sternum, half-expecting to find an actual hole there.
A laugh bubbles up—ugly, broken, verging on hysterical. I clutch at my sides as it turns into another sob.
The worst part isn’t Julian’s rejection. It’s that I still want him. Still crave his touch, his approval, his attention. Still love him, pathetic as that is.
My mother’s words slice through me again.
“No son of mine is a disgusting faggot.”
The slur sinks into my chest like a stone. I hug my knees to my chest, making myself smaller as if I could disappear completely. My entire being shakes with the force of my grief—for the relationship I thought I had, for the mother I’ve just lost, for the years I can never get back.
26
JULIAN
Three days. Seventy-two hours of silence that grates against my nerves like sandpaper. I’ve sent texts. Made calls. Even had my assistant reach out formally. Nothing.
This isn’t how this should work. After claiming, prey remains accessible for the duration of the claim. It’s tradition. It’s expected. It’s the fucking point.
I straighten my tie as I approach his Gallery, noting the tasteful window display featuring abstract sculptures. Fury simmers beneath my composed exterior. No one walks away from Julian Frost, especially not after being claimed.
The bell chimes softly as I enter. The gallery is empty save for a young woman arranging brochures at the front desk.
