Page 52 of His Drama Queen

"There," I say, finishing the bandage. Not perfect, but it'll do. "Keep it clean. Change this... whenever it gets dirty, I guess."

"Okay."

But I don't let go of her hand. And she doesn't pull away.

We stay like that, frozen in the moment. My thumb traces unconscious circles on her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my touch. Her lips part slightly, breath coming faster.

I can smell it now—unmistakable. The sweet, intoxicating scent of slick beginning to gather between her thighs.

Her body betraying her even as her mind fights it.

"Oakley—" she starts, but I'm already stepping back.

"You should drink your tea," I say, voice rough. "Before it gets cold."

I turn away, gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to hurt. Try to get my body under control. My cock is fully hard now, pressing obscenely against my sweatpants, and there's no hiding it.

I hear her shift on the stool. The soft rustle of fabric.

"You were the kind one," she says suddenly.

I freeze.

"Back at Northwood. Before... everything." Her voice is quiet, almost wondering. "You were the only one who was ever kind to me. Even when you were helping them corner me, there was always this... hesitation. Like part of you knew it was wrong."

I turn slowly. She's looking at me with something I can't quite read.

"I did know it was wrong," I admit. The words taste like ash. "Every fucking step. But I told myself it was for your own good. That we were protecting you. That the bond justified it."

"Did you believe that?"

"I wanted to." I lean back against the counter. "Biology made it easy to lie to myself. My alpha screamed that you were ours, that we needed to claim you, that letting you run would kill us all. And I let that drown out the voice saying this was fucked up."

She's quiet for a long moment. "Why now?"

"What?"

"Why are you listening to that voice now? What changed?"

I think about it. About the pool scene. About her crying through the door. About Dorian's breakdown last night.

"I saw you," I say finally. "Really saw you. Not the omega my biology insisted I needed. Not the prize to be won. Just... you. Vespera. A person who's terrified and alone and trapped by three guys who are supposed to protect her but are actually destroying her."

"That doesn't make it better."

"I know." I meet her eyes. "But at least now I see it. See what we are to you. And I can't pretend anymore that this is anything but wrong."

She picks up her tea. Takes a sip. Winces—probably still too hot.

"My dad used to direct community theater," she says, seemingly out of nowhere. "Before I was born. He gave it up when Mom left, focused on the technical side instead. Said it was too painful to be on stage without her."

I don't know what to say, so I stay quiet.

"He taught me that the best performances come from truth. That you can't fake real emotion. The audience always knows." She looks at me. "So I guess what I'm asking is—are you performing right now? Playing the repentant alpha to manipulate me? Or is this real?"

The question cuts deeper than she probably intended.

"It's real," I say quietly. "I wish it wasn't. Wish I could go back to believing we were doing the right thing. That would be easier. But I can't unsee what we've done to you."