Page 53 of Omega's Faith

And I know he doesn’t want it, not really. He wants a baby. And yes, he wants an alpha but he doesn’t wantmeas his alpha.

The summer house has at least four bedrooms, if I remember correctly. Master suite on the second floor, three smaller rooms on the third. A proper living room, dining room, study. Kitchen's probably outdated but functional. It's perfect.

More importantly, it's mine. Not ours. Mine. A place where I don't have to see him padding around in those modest pajamas that somehow make him look more fuckable than if he were naked. Where I don't have to smell his soap in the hallway or hear him on the phone with his cult—his family—lying about how ‘fine’ he is.

Where I don't have to think about the fact that he might be carrying my child and I have no idea what to do about it.

I jog back toward the main house, decision made. It takes me twenty minutes to reach the front entrance, where Mrs. Atkins is supervising the polishing of the already spotless front steps.

" Mrs. Atkins," I call out. "I need you to pack my things."

"Of course, sir. Will you be traveling?"

"The summer house. I'm moving to the summer house."

"The summer house?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

"No, sir. Of course not. It's fully maintained. I'll have it aired out immediately and—"

"Good. Pack my clothes, my laptop... Actually, you know what? Pack everything from my suite. I'll be staying there for the duration of the honeymoon."

"Yes, sir." She pauses, clearly debating whether to ask. "Shall I arrange for Mr. Colborne to be packed up too?"

"No. He'll remain in the main house."

To her credit, Mrs. Atkins doesn't even blink. "Very good. Will you require full staff at the summer house?"

I hadn't thought about that. "Minimal. Someone to cook and clean. I don't need the full circus."

"I'll arrange it immediately. Your things should be moved within the hour."

"Good." I start toward the door, then stop. Right. I should probably tell Jonah where I'm going. The thought of facing him again, seeing that mixture of hurt and fury in his eyes, makes my stomach clench.

But I'm not a complete asshole. He should know where I am, in case... in case of what? In case he needs me? He's made it pretty clear he doesn't need anything from me except maybe my sperm, and he's already got that.

" Mrs. Atkins," I call back. "When you're done, let Mr. Colborne know where I've gone."

"You want me to inform Mr. Colborne that you've moved to the summer house?"

"Yes."

There's a pause. "Would you prefer to tell him yourself? I could—"

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "Just let him know. Tell him it's... tell him I thought we could both use some space."

She nods slowly. "Of course. I'll convey the message."

I head inside to shower and change, avoiding the library, the kitchen, anywhere Jonah might be. The summer house will be ready within the hour. It's not running away. It's strategic retreat. There's a difference.

At least, that's what I tell myself as I stand under the scaldingshower, trying to wash off his scent.

The summer house is perfect. White furniture, blue and white striped cushions, nautical touches that my great-grandmother apparently loved.

Mrs. Atkins has been efficient as always. My clothes are already hung in the master bedroom closet, my laptop set up in the study. There's food in the refrigerator, fresh flowers on the dining table.

Three or four weeks at minimum. That’s all I need. I’ll download a shit ton of stuff to Netflix and just chill out on my own until this whole thing blows over.