Page 1 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

CHAPTER ONE

The unfamiliar ceiling stared back at me, all clean lines and neutral beige where I expected the warm honey-colored wood beams of my apartment above the shop. For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was or why my chest felt like someone had carved out a piece of it with a dull spoon.

Then the memories came crashing back.

Five days since Dominic’s arrest.

Dominic in handcuffs. The corporate espionage charges. Five days in Blake’s sterile penthouse while my mate sat in a federal detention cell.

I’d been staying here since. Blake insisted it was safer than my apartment above the shop, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to argue. The separation anxiety from the new mating bond was exhausting enough without adding fear for my physical safety.

I rolled over, pressing my face into the pillow that smelled like expensive fabric softener. The bond pulled taut in my chest, a constant low-level ache that no amount of shifting orbreathing exercises could ease. My stomach churned, whether from separation anxiety or the stress of not knowing when I’d see Dominic again, I couldn’t tell.

The guest room’s floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Downtown Millcrest waking up below, all glass and steel reflecting the early morning sun. Nothing like the cobblestone streets and century-old brick buildings I should be seeing from my bedroom window. This view belonged to Blake’s corporate world—cold, efficient, untouchable. Not mine.

I forced myself to sit up, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea rolled through me. The bond separation was getting worse, not better. Five days without physical contact with Dominic, without his scent in my space, without the reassurance and comfort of feeling him nearby. My omega biology was staging a revolt.

The digital clock on the nightstand read 6:47 AM. In my normal life, I’d be downstairs by now, starting the coffee, checking overnight messages, preparing for another day of bringing worn-out shoes back to life. Instead, I was trapped in this tower, counting down the hours until a bail hearing that would determine everything.

Blake had insisted we all stay here after the arrest. “The Antonellis know where you live,” he’d said, his solemn voice cutting through my panic with cold logic. “The federal marshals approved my building’s security protocols. Until we know the scope of their reach, this is the safest option that still allows your required medical check-ins.”

He’d shown me the official paperwork during that first overwhelming day—protective custody authorization, medicalmonitoring requirements, visitor protocols that looked more like a medical treatment plan than witness protection.

Penny and Jake had been swept up in the same protective net—Penny because his friendship with me made him a potential target, Jake because the Antonellis were still hunting him.

So here we were, refugees from our own lives, camping in Blake’s pristine guest rooms while federal agents and organized crime figures played chess with our futures.

My limbs felt like lead as I hauled myself from the tangled sheets. I shuffled down the hallway, my bare feet dragging against the cold, polished floor with each reluctant step.

Blake’s kitchenette dwarfed my shop's cozy nook with its sprawling marble countertops and gleaming appliances. Muscle memory had me reaching for the tin of coffee beans I kept on my kitchen counter. My hand met empty marble instead.

Right.

Blake’s kitchen had one of those pod machines that produced coffee-flavored water. No ritual of grinding beans, no familiar whistle of my grandfather’s old kettle, no comforting routine to anchor me.

The expensive coffee maker hummed to life, and I watched dark liquid trickle into a pristine white mug. Everything here was pristine. Clean lines, neutral colors, no personality. No history. No soul.

My fingers found the mating mark on my neck, pressing against the spot where Dominic had claimed me. The skin felt tender, hypersensitive, as if my body was trying to compensate for hisabsence by amplifying every sensation. The mark pulsed with each heartbeat, as if it were reaching out to him...

Five days ago…

The memory hit like a physical blow. Dominic’s face as the federal agents snapped handcuffs around his wrists, his steel-gray eyes finding mine across the chaos of my shop. He’d said nothing to me, but his gaze had spoken a thousand words in that single breathless moment. Then they were leading him away while I stood frozen, watching my entire world collapse.

“Mr. Sterling-Hart, you need to come with us now.” The agent’s voice had been professionally gentle but brooking no argument. “For your own safety. As a bonded omega, federal guidelines require we establish protective custody and medical monitoring during your mate’s detention.”

I’d fought them. Not physically—I wasn’t stupid—but I’d argued, pleaded, demanded to know where they were taking Dominic, when I could see him, what evidence they thought they had. One agent had handed me a thick packet of forms while speaking in that careful tone reserved for traumatized civilians.

“You have rights as Mr. Steele’s bonded mate,” she’d explained. “Emergency contact provisions, medical necessity visits, and mandatory health monitoring. Mr. Harrington has agreed to serve as your legal guardian and ensure compliance with protective protocols.”

Blake had arrived within the hour, his lawyers cutting through my panic with logistics and legalities. “Leo, listen to me,” he’d said, showing me official paperwork. “They’re holding him at the federal detention center. The best thing you can do right now is let me get you somewhere safe while we sort this out.”

Safe. As if anywhere could be safe when half of my soul was locked in a cage.

I shook my head, pulling myself back to the present. The coffee was lukewarm now, bitter without the cream I usually added. My stomach protested even the small sip I managed, and I set the mug aside with shaking hands.

I needed to pull myself together before the others woke up. The last thing they needed was to see me falling apart before we’d even made it to the courthouse. I padded back to the guest bathroom, hoping hot water might wash away at least some of the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin.

The shower helped, marginally. Hot water and Blake’s expensive soap couldn’t wash away the bone-deep ache of separation, but at least I felt human again. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror—pale, dark circles under my eyes, the mating mark standing out starkly against my neck. I looked like what I was: an omega whose alpha had been ripped away from him.