Darrien's Perspective

Darrien's head throbbed mercilessly, a dull, insistent pounding that made his skull feel like it was splintering from the inside out. His eyelids were heavy. He wanted to open his eyes, to make sense of where he was, but even the effort of thinking about it exhausted him. He could tell he was lying on something soft—probably a bed—and the air around him carried a soothing scent of mint and oranges, crisp yet faintly sweet. The combination was oddly comforting.

Not far away, the low murmur of a hushed but heated conversation reached his ears, their words threading through the haze of his drifting consciousness.

"I can't believe you brought him here! To your home of all places!" A sharp, feminine voice, biting and urgent, dashed through the fog in his head. "What were you thinking, Cass? What if he wakes up and decides to go to the authorities? He could say you attacked him!" A sharp click of her tongue followed, filled with disapproval. "He wouldn't even need to go that far—he's a Valmoor. He could deal with you personally, and no one would dare to intervene."

Cass's voice followed, quieter but edged with tension. "I'll handle it." There was a pause, the barest hesitation, then his voice softened with worry. "But… is he okay? That cut on his forehead bled a lot."

"He's fine," the woman replied, her tone brisk and clinical. "It looked worse than it was. Just needed three stitches. But if he doesn't wake up soon, call me. And don't let him fall back asleep once he's conscious. If he starts feeling nauseous or dizzy, you need to take him to the hospital immediately." Her words were clipped, efficient, like someone used to giving instructions and expecting them to be followed. "I have to go. I have an ER shift starting soon."

A door creaked open, then clicked shut with finality.

Footsteps approached—measured, deliberate. Darrien could feel the weight of someone's presence settling near him, the air shifting as a shadow loomed above. His pulse quickened despite himself. Cass.

What was he planning? Revenge? Payback for firing him so coldly and speaking to him with such disdain? Why had Cass even been following him? Just because he saved his life didn't mean Darrien could afford to let his guard down. People changed. Affection could twist into hatred in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, warmth bloomed across his skin.

Cass's hand brushed against his cheek, rough and calloused but surprisingly gentle. Darrien's first instinct was to pull away, but the touch… it felt soothing. His body leaned into it almost instinctively, craving the comfort despite his mind's protests. Cass's thumb stroked his cheekbone, then slid upward, threading carefully through his tousled hair in slow, deliberate movements.

"I looked away for one second… and you almost got killed." Cass's voice was tight with restrained anger, but beneath the frustration lay something rawer—fear? Worry?

Darrien's brow furrowed. After everything he'd said—after all the coldness and cruelty—Cass still… cared? But why?

With effort, he forced his eyes to open. It took several seconds for his vision to sharpen, the blurred edges of the room resolving into clarity. And then he saw him.

Cass.

Dark, deep eyes clouded with concern met his gaze, holding him there, tethering him in place. 

"Sir!" Cass's hand froze mid-air, hovering over Darrien's hair. His wide eyes reflected a mix of relief and panic, his breath hitching audibly in the stillness of the room.

Darrien's throat burned as he tried to speak. "Where…?" His voice cracked, raspy and weak, scraping painfully against his dry throat.

Cass's expression tightened with concern. "Don't speak, sir." His tone was gentle but firm as he took a cautious step back. "Your neck… it's badly bruised. That bastard nearly crushed your windpipe. You need to rest." His dark eyes softened, guilt creeping into his gaze. "I… I brought you here. To my place." He hesitated, his voice lowering into something almost sheepish. "I know I should've taken you to a hospital, but… I panicked. I didn't know what else to do."

Darrien's head pounded as he shifted, trying to sit up despite the protest of his sore muscles. His whole body ached—a deep, pulsing reminder of the brutal encounter with Rex. The bastard had definitely left his mark. Still, Darrien forced himself to take in his surroundings.

The room was small but tidy. It was roughly the size of his bedroom back at the Valmoor estate, but far more modest. The space served as a bedroom, living room, and kitchen all at once. To his right, an open door revealed a glimpse of a mirror and a sink—likely the bathroom. The furnishings were minimal: a bed pushed against one wall, a small nightstand beside it, and a wooden table with two chairs positioned by the window. A simple closet stood on the same wall as the bed. Opposite the bed, a compact kitchenette was tucked neatly into the corner, complete with shelves, a stove, a sink and a modestly-sized fridge.

So this was where Cass lived. Simple. Functional. But clean and organized. It suited him.

Cass walked over to the nightstand and pulled out a paper pad and pen. "Here." He offered them to Darrien. "You shouldn't strain your throat. Write down what you want to say."

Darrien hesitated, then forced his aching muscles to cooperate as he reached for the pad. His hand trembled slightly as he scrawled:

"What happened to Rex?"

Cass's lips pressed into a thin line. "I called some of my friends. They picked him up and are holding him for now—until you decide what to do with him. I also hid the car. I… wasn't sure how you'd want to handle it." He rubbed the back of his neck, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his face. "Sometimes you turn betas like him over to the authorities. Sometimes… you take care of them yourself."

Darrien's pen scratched against the paper. "Keep him for now. I need time to clear my head."

Cass gave a short nod. "Of course. Don't worry. My friends are good at keeping people in line. Do you… want me to rough him up a bit?"

Darrien scribbled: "No. Make sure he's well taken care of."

Cass's brow lifted slightly, but he didn't question it.

Darrien hesitated for a moment before writing his next question, adding several question marks at the end:

"Why were you following me?"

Cass shifted uneasily, his hand sliding into his pocket as he glanced toward the floor. "Oh… I went back to The Vibe to empty my locker. I saw you talking to Rex." His tone darkened. "He's been acting strange lately—circling you like a vulture. Something didn't sit right with me, so I hung back and kept an eye on things. When you left with him, my gut screamed at me to follow."

Darrien's heart gave an unsteady thud. His hand hovered over the pad before writing:

"Did you follow me into the woods too?"

Cass's gaze flicked to the side. "…Yes."

Darrien's brow furrowed.

"Did you listen to my conversation with Myara?"

Cass hesitated, then gave a single, quiet nod.

Darrien sighed, lifting a hand to his temple. His fingers brushed against gauze taped to his forehead, and a flicker of memory returned—the sharp pain of his head colliding with the car when Rex had attacked him. Right. That explained the headache.

Cass's voice disrupted his throughts. "I didn't understand everything you talked about. But… from your reaction at the coffee shop and from what that woman said…" His dark eyes burned into Darrien's with quiet intensity. "…I figured it out. Your relationship with Kaylen Morrison is over."

Darrien's jaw tightened as his pen scraped across the pad. "Yes." His hand paused before adding: "It was a relationship that never should have happened."

Cass's brows knitted together. "But… will the breakup have consequences? What I mean is… I know how important this relationship was for your family. Especially your mother. Will you… have to face backlash?"

Ah, yes. Cass had seen his mother's true face more than once. Tarya Valmoor could weave a mask of elegance and warmth with ease in public, but behind closed doors, her viciousness was a force to be reckoned with. And she rarely held back in front of the staff—after all, she believed the servants were too far beneath her to matter. And even if they wanted to talk, the airtight non-disclosure agreements would ensure their silence. Violate it, and you'd find yourself behind bars for life.

Darrien's hand hovered over the paper for a moment before he wrote down a single word:

"Probably."

Cass's gaze lingered on the page. His jaw tensed, and his hand curled into a fist at his side. His expression was hard to read—something simmering beneath the surface, a quiet storm that Darrien couldn't quite name.

Finally, Cass's hand relaxed. He exhaled slowly and asked, "Do you... want me to help you run away, sir?"

Darrien's eyes widened. That suggestion had come out of nowhere. What made Cass think he would even want to run away? And more importantly—why would Cass offer to help him? After everything that had happened between them, after the bitter ending of their professional relationship, why now? What were his motives?

"Run away?" Darrien scrawled across the pad.

Cass gazed into eyes, his expression unusually intense. "Yes. I can help you make Darrien Valmoor disappear from the world and start over with a new life."

A new life.

It wasn't as though the thought had never crossed Darrien's mind before. In fact, the idea of abandoning the Valmoor name, the crushing expectations, and the twisted family legacy had haunted his daydreams more times than he cared to admit. He had imagined it—shedding his identity, walking away from everything, and stepping into a life of anonymity and peace. A different name. A different city. A quiet life that wasn't weighed down by the constant burden of his bloodline.

"How?" he wrote, curiosity and suspicion intertwining in his chest.

Cass leaned closer, his voice lowering. "I can get you a new identity and secure safe passage to wherever you want to go. The severance money you gave me—honestly, it was more than I deserved. You could use that to start fresh. I don't need the money." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his tone sharpening with focus. "I could make it look like Rex tried to… assault you, and you fought back. He killed you by accident. The clothes you're wearing now—they're stained with your blood. I could plant them in Rex's home. And I know someone who could play the part of a reliable witness—say they saw Rex and you in what looked like a heated discussion."

Darrien's brows lifted as he stared at Cass, his heartbeat accelerating.

Cass went on, his words gaining momentum. "No one would believe Rex's side of the story. No matter what he says, he'll look guilty. After all, he did try to kill you."

Darrien's fingers curled tightly around the pen. "And the car?"

"I'll drive it into the lake." Cass's voice was steady, almost unnervingly calm. "Then I'll tip off the authorities anonymously. Say I saw someone matching Rex's description sink the car after carrying out an unconscious body. He won't be able to explain himself without digging his own grave."

Darrien tried to inhale. A strained laugh slipped past his throat, followed immediately by a sharp pang from the bruising around his neck. This was insane. Completely unhinged. And yet…

It made sense.

Cass had mapped it all out in chilling detail—every contingency, every loose end tied up. He made it sound so easy that Darrien almost felt foolish for not considering it sooner. Could he really slip away that cleanly? Could he finally free himself from the suffocating grip of the Valmoor dynasty?

But his mother—Tarya Valmoor—wouldn't let him disappear so easily. She would turn the world upside down to find him. Her influence stretched deep into the political and criminal underworld alike. There was no escaping the long reach of the Valmoor family.

Unless this plan was airtight and his mother truly believed that he was dead.

A dangerous flicker of hope ignited in Darrien's chest. He forced himself to study Cass carefully. He had investigated Cass's background before hiring him. Cass had been tied to some unsavory circles in his youth—shady dealings, underground networks—but there was no evidence he had maintained those connections. Perhaps Darrien had underestimated him. Perhaps Cass was better at covering his tracks than he had given him credit for.

"I need to think about it," Darrien wrote after a long moment. "Can I stay here for a few days?"

Cass seemed pleased with the perspective. "Of course. You can stay for as long as you want."

Darrien thought he saw the briefest hint of a smile flicker across Cass's lips. Warmth curled in Darrien's chest, mixing with the cold weight of uncertainty.

But Darrien still didn't know what he wanted. His mind was fogged, body aching from the encounter with Rex, and the future seemed like a storm pressing down on the horizon. He couldn't go back to the hotel in this state—not with his mother's spies lurking in every corner. He had left his phone at the hotel on purpose; he knew his mother had planted a tracker in it, and he didn't want her knowing he had gone to meet Myara. That meant he had no way of contacting Leander, either.

But maybe that was for the best...disappearing like this.

After a long pause, Darrien took the pen once more and wrote: "I want to take a shower."

"Sure," Cass said, his tone measured as he circled the bed and opened the closet, rifling through the neatly folded clothes before pulling out a pair of dark pants and a simple T-shirt, and a clean towel. He turned and gestured toward the door Darrien had noticed earlier. "The bathroom's right there."

Darrien pushed aside the lingering ache in his muscles as he tried to sit up. Pain flared sharp and hot through his limbs, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse back onto the mattress. But sheer willpower forced his legs under him, and with a shaky breath, he managed to stand. Cass's gaze tracked him carefully, but he didn't reach out to help. Darrien wasn't sure if that made him feel grateful or irritated.

He took the offered clothes and towel with a quiet nod before making his way toward the bathroom. His steps were unsteady, but he made it inside and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

The mirror above the sink reflected a version of himself that he barely recognized. He inhaled sharply. Purple bruises blossomed on either side of his throat—ugly fingerprints marking where Rex's hands had squeezed too tightly. A shadowy bruise pooled beneath his right eye, swollen and raw from where his face had met the ground. And at the crest of his forehead, a pale bandage stretched across the skin, covering the wound beneath.

I look terrible.

A soft knock sounded against the door. "Sir?" Cass's voice was low, steady. "Be careful not to get the bandage wet. And if you feel lightheaded, call for me. I'll be right here."

Darrien's mouth curled into a faint smile. He turned toward the door and knocked twice in acknowledgment. A strange warmth stirred in his chest—unsettling in its unfamiliarity. Cass's concern felt… genuine, but maybe he was just fooling himself. Maybe he was only seeing what he wanted to see. He had already made sure to crush whatever affection Cass might have held for him with his own venemous words and attitude. 

Darrien turned toward the sink, twisting the faucet. Cold water splashed over his trembling hands, the chill biting into his skin. He watched the rivulets slide between his fingers, thinking. Overthinking. Cass wasn't helping him for money—that much was obvious. That left only one other possible reason.

Sex.

Darrien's mouth curled bitterly. Of course. It wasn't shocking after what Darrien had said to him. He had been cruel, hadn't he? Cutting deep with that sharp Valmoor tongue, reminding Cass of his low-born beta status. That he should know better than to lust after a first-class superior omega. Darrien was certain that whatever flicker of affection Cass might have held for him had turned cold after that.

But maybe this was Cass's version of payback. Make him vulnerable. Make him need him. And then… take him.

Darrien scoffed and shook his head. He shouldn't be so bothered by the idea. After all, Cass was willing to help him fake his death and disappear completely. Not to mention, he had also saved his life.

His gaze drifted toward the mirror again, his eyes tracing the lines of his body as he peeled off his dirty clothes. His shirt stuck to his skin, damp with sweat and smeared with faint traces of blood. He neatly folded the soiled garments and set them in the corner of the bathroom. They might need them later to stage the scene.

Naked, he faced the mirror fully.

Smooth, marble-like skin stretched over the delicate lines of his body. Slim shoulders, a narrow waist, and those subtle curves that made him unmistakably an omega. Light bruises marred his ribs and hipbones, shadowing his otherwise flawless skin.

Still… he was beautiful. Objectively so. He always had been.

Alphas had desired this body long before his manifestation. Even betas had been driven to desperation by the allure of him. Darrien had always known how to wield that power—how to let someone want him just enough to make them weak, but never enough to hold real power over him.

But Cass…

Cass wasn't just anyone. Not to him anyway.

Darrien ran his hands down his sides, fingertips brushing over the bruises. If Cass did want his body… well, Darrien wouldn't resist. After all, he knew Cass. Liked him.

Liked him quite a lot, actually.

If Cass asked for his body, Darrien wouldn't hesitate to give it to him.

Gladly.