Chapter 58: I Need This Feeling To Stop.....

The house door closes with a soft click—the kind of sound that should mean safety, should mean solitude, should mean finally. But nothing about tonight feels safe.

My steps echo across the polished marble, each footfall a heartbeat I can’t control. I walk straight to my room, and with every step, something inside me unravels.

My eyes are shining. The blue irises—usually calm, usually cold—are glowing now with something feral. Something hungry.

They always look like this when my rut comes. When the thing inside me finally stops sleeping.

My body is burning. Not the slow heat of anger or the warm flush of wine. This is different. This is fever—wild and electric, spreading beneath my skin until it feels like my own body is turning against me.

My breaths come hard and shallow, each one a battle I’m losing. I can sense my pheromones spreading through the air, slipping from me faster than I can contain them.

The air around me grows thick—charged—heavy with the scent of an Alpha losing his grip.

It feels like my control is slipping.

Slipping?

No.

It’s already gone.

I need suppressants. Quickly. Before this gets worse.

Silas’s steps are quiet behind me. Soft. Obedient. Always obedient. Always there.

I enter my room. He stops at the threshold—like he knows the line he shouldn’t cross. Like he’s waiting for permission that will never come.

Without looking back, my voice cuts through the thick air. "I’m in my rut. Don’t disturb me."

He doesn’t move. I can feel his presence behind me—still, patient, waiting.

After a pause, I add, "And it’s better if you leave me alone for three days. Stay somewhere else. A hotel. A penthouse. Anywhere."

My voice drops lower. Harder.

"Just go. Now."

Before he can react—before he can write one of his little notes or offer me one of those soft, useless smiles—I turn.

Our eyes meet.

Just for a moment.

I watch him take in the glow in my eyes, the flush spreading across my skin, the sweat already gathering at my temples. He looks at me like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before.

And something flickers across his face. Not fear. Not disgust. Something else.

I don’t have time to name it.

I close the door. Lock it. The click feels final. Like a cage closing around me.

I take off my jacket. Throw it aside. The fabric lands on the floor in a crumpled heap.

My clothes feel too heavy on my body, too tight, too present. Every seam presses against my skin like an accusation. I unbutton my shirt. Throw that away too.

The cool air touches my bare skin—but it doesn’t help. It should help. It always helps. But tonight, the heat beneath my skin keeps spreading anyway.

I walk to the bedside table. Open the drawer.

Where are my suppressants?

I paw through the contents—charging cables, unopened documents, a leather notebook, empty space. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Nothing.

I move to the next drawer. Open it. Search again.

Nothing.

I cross to the built-in cabinet near the glass wall and yank it open. My hands are shaking now, fingers clumsy with heat.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

"Where the hell are they?"

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. My voice is raw, cracked at the edges—not the calm, controlled tone I usually wear like armor.

Something else. Something desperate.

I drag a hand through my hair. Sweat slips from my temples, trails down my face, gathers at my collarbone.

I sink onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath me, soft and indifferent. I unlock my phone, the brightness of the screen stabbing against my eyes.

I’ll text Sum. He’ll bring suppressants. He always does.

My fingers shake as I type.

Sum. I’m in my rut.

Before I can send another message— Knock. Soft. Deliberate.

My grip tightens around the phone.

Why is he always so stubborn?

Why can’t he just listen?

Before I can speak—before I can shout at him to leave, to go away, to stop existing outside my door—a note slides beneath the door.

Thin. White. Silent.

I stare at it. Then another note slides through.

I told him to leave.

Why is he still standing outside?

Anger flares in my chest—hot and sharp, cutting through the haze of my rut. But beneath the anger, something else stirs. Something I don’t want to name.

I push myself off the bed. My legs feel unsteady, like the floor shifts beneath every step. By the time I lower myself beside the door, the cold marble is already seeping through my skin—sharp, grounding, but only for a moment.

I pick up the notes.

The first one:

Please open the door. Just for one second.

The second:

Please open it. Only a little.

Now what does he want?

My hand reaches for the handle. I unlock it. Open it just a crack—only enough for a thin line of light to pass through.

A tray slides through the gap. Then the door closes again.

I stare down at the tray.

A glass of water. Cold enough for condensation to gather along the sides. And suppressants.

I don’t remember him leaving to get them. I don’t remember hearing him come back. I don’t remember anything except the heat burning through my body—and now this.

Pills.

Water.

Relief within reach.

I grab the bottle immediately. Shake two tablets into my palm and swallow them dry before reaching for the glass.

The water spills down my throat in desperate gulps, some of it slipping past my lips, trailing down my chin and chest.

The cold doesn’t help.

I push myself up from the floor. My reflection catches briefly in the dark glass wall—a stranger with glowing eyes and sweat-slicked skin staring back at me.

"Thanks for this." My voice comes out hoarse. Rougher than I expect. "Now go."

No sound answers me. No footsteps. Just silence—heavy and waiting on the other side of the door.

I make my way back to the bed and collapse onto it. The sheets feel cool against my burning skin at first, but the relief disappears almost immediately, swallowed by the heat radiating from my body.

I lie there staring at the ceiling, the soft lights above me slowly blurring out of focus.

The sensation is still there. Burning at the back of my neck. Spreading down my spine. Pooling low in my stomach.

My rut has never felt like this before. It’s always been manageable. Predictable. A storm I could lock away and survive alone.

But this—

This feels worse. Worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

I close my eyes. My heartbeat pounds unevenly in my ears, too fast, too hard. My grip tightens against the sheets beneath me.

Why do I still feel the same?

Why aren’t the suppressants working?

My phone buzzes beside me.

I force my eyes open and grab it. The screen glows too bright, too sharp, the letters blurring in and out of focus.

Sum’s reply.

Ellis, are you okay? Did you take the suppressants?

I stare at the screen. My fingers feel clumsy, heavy, like they belong to someone else entirely.

I type.

Send me an Omega. A bar Omega.

The reply comes immediately.

Ellis, are you sure? What about your partner?

My face burns hotter. The word partner lands heavily in my chest.

What about him?

What about any of this?

I type again.

I don’t care. Just send one. Now.

The phone slips from my hand, falling somewhere onto the bed beside me.

I curl deeper into the sheets, knees pulled against my chest, arms wrapped tightly around myself like I’m trying to keep my body from coming apart.

I need this feeling to stop.

Before it consumes me completely.