Isolde’s eyes dart nervously down the hallway, as though a secret police officer might be listening to their privileged conversation. The genuine fear radiating from her is a cold splash of reality. This is not about a bad grade or a petty social snub.
"Look, I’ll be heading to the estate in a few minutes," Amias tells her, his usual impatience temporarily silenced by her clear distress. "Can you talk to me when we get home? We can meet on the terrace and you can tell me everything when we have privacy."
Isolde’s face crumples for a second, before she looks up for Amias to see her eyes clouding with tears. She moves before he can anticipate it, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his waist.
It’s a tight, sincere hug, the kind they rarely shared, the kind that spoke of true need. Amias’s muscles tense for a moment, surprised by the physicality, then he awkwardly pats her back. The mate bond is a firestorm, but this small, fraternal connection is a necessary anchor.
"Thank you, Amias," she whispers into his coat. "Thank you. I... I appreciate it. You’re the only one who has promised to listen."
She pulls back, giving him a watery, grateful smile that makes his chest ache for a reason that isn’t Heidi.
"Just get to the car, okay? I’ll wait up for you."
She nods, then her expression clouds. "Wait, I forgot my phone in my room." She hurries back inside, leaving the door ajar.
Amias watches the empty doorway for a moment, the scent of her anxiety still in the air.
Another secret I have to keep. Another Bellamy mess to clean up. Goddess, why can’t anyone in this family just be normal?Why did our parents have to fuck us all up so badly? Is there really no hope of happiness for us? he grumbles internally, despite the warmth the hug left behind.
He shakes his head and turns to leave the suite building.
Stepping outside, the evening air is cooler now, and the Academy’s courtyard is nearly empty save for a few lurking shadows. But as he glances toward the parking lot reserved for the Alpha heirs, he sees a familiar configuration of expensive steel and intimidating power.
Darien is already there, leaning against his red car, his posture radiating that customary blend of boredom and barely contained threat. Standing opposite him are two NAY boys... the brothers of the very girls Amias just spent the last hour blackmailing Corvin to protect Heidi from. For all his principles, Amias wishes he could stroll over to land punches on the brothers for having such rotten siblings since he can’t bring himself to hit women.
However, when he remembers his siblings aren’t all gold and silver as well, he realizes it might be the case of the pot calling the kettle black.
The chattering from the entrance draws his attention. When he glances in that direction, he sights the she-devils themselves, oblivious to the fact that their entire revenge plan is already a dead letter. That makes Amias feel a dark cynical amusement. They can plot all they want. Amias, the forgotten heir, holds the real power.
Then, the final piece of the puzzle rolls up in the form of Morgan.
The moment Amias smells him, he can detect the sweet undercurrent of Heidi’s lingering fragrance, and the brittle satisfaction he felt instantly shatters. The blood in Amias’s veins goes from cool confidence to molten jealousy.
The twins.Morgan and Grayson. It is them who Heidi belongs to now.
Everything else is a blur. He doesn’t hear the greetings, doesn’t smell the gasoline, doesn’t feel the chill. All that floods his mind is the overwhelming, singular focus of getting to the economy dorm.
He needs to see her. He needs to tell her. He needs to witness the moment of relief, the gratitude, the smile that belongs to him alone—the one he earned by wading through the sludge of corruption for her. He needs to insert himself into her narrative, to remind her that while the twins may have marked her, he is the one who acts.
For the first time in a long while, the first time since before this mate-bond hell started, Amias finds himself genuinely smiling. It’s a tight, painful stretch of the face, but it’s a smile nonetheless as he pictures the brilliant, unrestrained smile on her face while he breaks the news to her. He pictures her wide, startled eyes, her sudden surge of hope, and the grateful whisper of his name.
That is the currency he finds himself wanting. Not power. Not status. Just her acknowledgment.
He shoves his bag into the trunk of his own car which is a powerful but less conspicuous vehicle than his brothers’, and slides into the driver’s seat. He needs to leave before any of his brothers, particularly Darien, notice his immediate change of direction. He can’t let them know his true objective is the economy dorm and the Moon Blessed girl they all covet.
He watches them in his side mirror: Morgan is still arguing with the NAY boys, Darien occasionally throwing in a sneering comment. It seems safe.
Amias pulls out of the lot, driving slowly, discreetly toward the Academy exit under a pretense of going out. Soon, when he deliberately lets Darien and the girls’ cars overtake him, he maneuvers back to the Economy Dorm. But as he reaches the main road, he sees Morgan and Grayson’s car ahead of him.
They aren’t heading toward the Alpha estate. They aren’t heading to their apartment in the city. They are driving toward the same destination as him—the lower grounds, the economy dorms.
Amias’s jaw clenches so hard he hears his own teeth grind. Coincidence. It has to be a coincidence. Maybe they’re meeting a dealer. Or one of their flings. Not her. Please, not her.
He keeps his distance like a dark shadow trailing the dominant black car. The drive is agonizingly slow, making each turn of the wheel a twist of the knife in his gut. The closer they get to the simple, grey buildings of the economy dorms, the more frantic his heart beats.
Finally, they arrive. Amias takes a detour, parking his car a good two hundred yards away, tucked behind a cluster of old oak trees, where he has a clear, shadowed view of the twins’ sports car.