Chapter 1

1

Present Day

W ynter Jaymes judged his reflection in the bathroom mirror, assuring every braid in his long, pale-blond hair was perfect and no hair was out of place. Scanning his overall appearance, he cringed at the crow's feet and the other signs of age working their way over his face. He dabbed a bit of concealer under his eyes to mask the dark circles jetlag had produced and worked it into his skin.

Dropping his gaze to his bare chest, he saw the telltale signs of age there, as well. The skin wasn't as firm, smooth, and supple as it once was, no matter how many renos he spent on creams and serums. Fortunately, clothing would cover the ravages of time there.

He left the bathroom and padded across his bedroom carpet, stopping at the edge of his bed. Across the surface, his pale blue, silk tunic and matching pants lay perfectly pressed and ready for him. He slid the pieces on, adding a pair of dark-gray leather loafers onto his feet and his gold watch. He caught a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror across the bedroom and deemed himself presentable for his son, Wilder's, mating ceremony.

His stomach pitched. He'd not made the best of impressions on Wilder's omega when they'd met—but then the circumstances surrounding that meeting hadn't been fertile ground for first impressions, either. Watching your alpha son's omega arrive, being escorted from prison by the Guard, placed in an ankle monitor, and left under house arrest in your son's home had left a sour taste in his mouth. While he'd known the omega's crimes had been minor, the scandal hadn't.

The scandal had been large enough to threaten everything.

And what might the omega have picked up surrounded by hardened criminals in prison? He'd worried for Wilder's safety, though his son had belittled his concern and assumed the worst.

If he was honest, he'd been a little in awe of Avery. The omega's strength and fortitude were commendable, and perhaps he was a bit jealous, too. He'd not had that same strength to stand up in the face of injustice and had suffered for forty years because of his failing, but he'd been a product of a different generation and situation he could not see a way out of.

If only he'd been stronger.

After Avery's release, he and Warden had returned to their world tour. He'd assumed it best to get some distance to allow calmer heads to prevail. That hadn't given him time to rectify that first encounter, though, which he regretted. Before they knew it, news of a mating ceremony and an initiation to attend arrived.

There had been no mating contract negotiations with Avery's parents, which they'd disapproved of, only adding further animosity—yet Wynter had only sought to protect his son. Later, Wynter had learned that the omega's parents were deceased, which had been the reason behind Avery's choices that had led to prison in the first place.

Avery had been resourceful and strong. He'd chosen to work and earn for himself and his brothers instead of relying on an alpha, which had been illegal for an omega to do. It was commendable, and Wynter hoped to get a moment alone with his son's omega to tell him just that, in private.

Perhaps they could start off on another foot. Given the fact that Avery was already very pregnant with Wilder's first child, he wanted to amend that relationship as quickly as possible. He'd already lost the chance to repair a bond with one son and lost two grandchildren in the ensuing fight.

He wouldn't lose a another.

Jamie.

Wynter fought the tears that burned the backs of his eyes. He had no right to cry when he'd had opportunity after opportunity to make things right over the years and failed—though his last chance had been robbed. A knock sounded on his bedroom door, breaking his maudlin thoughts. It swept open. Warden stood on the other side in his tuxedo, his nose wrinkled, and lips curled into a snarl. How often had Wynter heard comments on how handsome Warden was? He didn't see it. All he saw were the flaws and ugliness.

"Ready to get on with this farce?"

Wynter frowned. "Farce?"

"Our boy was forced into a mating by an omega in heat." Warden lifted a brow. "History repeats itself once again."

Wynter turned his gaze away and clenched his jaw. His sons had gotten what he'd not, and he wouldn't allow Warden to diminish that. "They're fated mates."

"Supposedly . But we both know there are illicit medications that can replicate the mating call in an alpha. This Avery fellow already purchased illegal scent and heat maskers. Who knows what else he might've gotten his hands on? Legality and morality are clearly not of concern for him, so why would you believe the pair are true? I don't."

"When Wilder called to invite us, he seemed happy," Wynter murmured. "If he's happy, then why bother fighting it? I raise concerns— legitimate concerns —and I'm told to keep my opinions to myself, so I shall. I'm tired of fighting against our children, Warden."

"You don't want to lose the chance to know your grandson, that's all this is—your willingness to condone this mating."

"And if it is?" Wynter spun to face Warden. "We've already lost any connection to Jamie's children. I won't lose another."

"I don't know how many times I need to say this, but those are not our grandchildren. They're born to a surrogate. They're not Jamie's." Warden shoved both hands into his pockets and widened his stance, as if ready to fight. "I still can't believe you thought to raise those bastards yourself."

Warden might as well have slammed a knife into his chest. Wynter had mishandled that whole situation, as well. In his grief, he'd lost a little of his sanity and imagined himself the children's salvation. "Well, since you feel the need to rehash this old argument, so be it. We both know Rohan wasn't in any shape to raise those babes and I'd assumed the worst of Gray's relationship with Rohan. I was trying to do right by Jamie."

"And failed ," Warden added, grinning widely. "When have you actually won?"

"Oh, how you like to twist that knife, but what have you done that's been any better than my many failures, my alpha?"

"I provided for our children and handed them a profitable legacy in which to provide for their own children."

"But have you ever told them that you loved them? Shown it in any way?"

Warden scoffed. "Unlike you, sentimentality isn't my concern." He narrowed his eyes. "You have taken your pill today, haven't you? I don't need a scene like the one at the funeral."

Wynter glared. "Yes. I'm medicated. As I was that day."

"Or so you claim."

Wynter didn't admit that he'd taken two pills that day. He'd not been sure he'd be able to make it otherwise.

Warden eyed his watch. "Let's go. The sooner we can get there, the sooner we can leave."

Wynter crossed the bedroom and exited, careful not to brush against Warden. He traipsed toward the stairs, Warden quickly falling into step beside him. "Do you have the gift?"

Warden patted his chest pocket. "Right here."

"What happened to the vase I had delivered?"

"Broken," Warden muttered. "Cash is better anyway."

"I had that shipped from Europa, you dolt," Wynter snapped. "It was in one piece when it arrived."

Warden clasped his chest, stopping midway down the stairs.

Wynter paused, turning to the alpha. "Stop being so dramatic. Let's go."

Yet Warden didn't move.

His eyes widened, staring blankly at Wynter.

"Warden?" Wynter asked, climbing back up two treads.

Warden's face grew deep red, his eyes too wide. He collapsed, and Wynter leapt back against the railing. Warden tumbled down the stairs, nearly taking Wynter with him.

Wynter stood midway up the stairs, staring down at the alpha, lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs. A tide of crimson began to form around Warden's head.

He could only stand there, immobile.

Seconds passed like minutes, time slowing.

It was the end. He knew it in his heart and soul…

Warden's time had come.

Wynter watched his alpha gasping, reaching for what, he didn't know. A small part of him screamed to go downstairs and hold the man's hand as the end came—yet remembering all the little slights over the years, what had been stolen from him—he couldn't do it. He couldn't give that simple reassurance and comfort in the face of all the pain.

Warden Jaymes deserved to die alone.

He walked down a few treads and sat on the bottom one. Warden's gaze moved to his, mouth moving but no words came. He lifted a hand to Wynter, pleading with his eyes.

"Do you think Jamie wanted me there at his side when he died?" Wynter asked, his voice low. "I often imagine he did."

Warden gasped, blood spittle coming from his lips.

Tears stung Wynter's eyes. "I wasn't in my right mind when he arrived on this earth… and because of you, I lost time with him at the end. For that… you don't deserve comfort. You will go as you lived. Cold and alone."

Warden's troubled gaze captured his.

"Cold and alone."

Wynter wasn't sure if it had been him or one of the servants who screamed, but whoever it had been, forced him from his daydream. He wasn't seated on the bottom step, but still on the stairs. He hadn't even been strong enough to confront his tormentor in the end.

He scrambled down the stairs and knelt at Warden's side, pretending to be the dutiful omega once more.

"Warden? Warden?!" He lifted his gaze to two of the servants, wide eyed and pale. "Call an ambulance!"

He gazed down at the alpha, shock numbing his fingers. Warden was gone. There would be no saving him.

The rest was a blur. The medics arrived soon after and somehow found a weak heartbeat. They worked to stabilize Warden in the back of the ambulance, Wynter there watching in horror and praying the entire time they failed. They arrived at the hospital, and Warden was rushed into surgery. Dazed, Wynter found a seat in a waiting room, as instructed, and collapsed into a chair.

He replayed the scene over and over, watching Warden falling and him helpless in the face of it.

Wynter had no idea how much time had passed when a surgeon appeared, concern on his face.

"Mr. Jaymes?"

"Yes," Wynter whispered, before clearing his throat. "How's my husband?"

Husband? Mate. At least give him the dignity considering the circumstances.

The doctor frowned, as if his mistake was noted, but said nothing. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. The heart attack your alpha experienced caused serious injury. Coupled with the fall, which appears to have ruptured several vertebrae, two ribs, and his hip, and the blood loss from the wound at the back of his head, it was too much damage for his body to sustain all at once. We rushed him into surgery but lost him on the table." He stared at Wynter with pity. "I'm so very sorry."

"Thank you," Wynter responded robotically.

The surgeon glanced around. "Do you have family here with you?"

"Yes," Wynter lied. He'd not even considered calling Wilder. His boy was getting mated—all while Warden lay dying. There was no way he was going to ruin Avery and Wilder's special night. "They just went down to get me something to drink."

Vaughn. I should call Vaughn.

What am I thinking? If he's not at the ceremony, he's probably fucking someone he met there.

Jamie. Jamie would've come.

Wynter realized just how alone he was in that moment and burst into tears. Perhaps it was the shock of it all, he didn't know.

He had no one to turn to.

The doctor awkwardly comforted him. "It'll be okay, Mr. Jaymes. Can I page your family?"

"No," Wynter spat through his tears.

A nurse was suddenly at his side. "Mr. Jaymes, why don't I take you in so you can say your goodbyes to your alpha in private?"

Wynter eyed the nurse and realized the surgeon was already gone. As he sobbed, he was led into a private room where Warden lay dead on a gurney, though he hadn't agreed.

"I'll leave you alone with your mate. I'll direct your family here once they return."

"They're not here," Wynter said, staring at Warden's still, dead body. "My son got mated tonight. He has no idea his…" Wynter paused. "I won't ruin their night."

"I can call a chaplain for you. You shouldn't be alone."

"No thank you. I'd prefer to be alone. Please."

"Okay. I'll be right out in the hall at the station we just passed," the nurse said before leaving. He hesitated at the door but was soon gone.

Wynter glared at his mate, keeping his distance, at first. How many things he wanted to say. So many wrongs that would never be righted. There was a long list written over Wynter's soul, burned into it. Would speaking them aloud finally allow them to heal or only carve them out again? He neared Warden's body and examined his tormentor's face.

"How small you look, lying there on that bed," Wynter whispered. "I suddenly can't understand why I was ever afraid of you. Why I allowed you to dictate my every decision. Why I came back…" He paused, knowing why he'd come back, and it hadn't been for Warden's benefit.

Warden's eyes opened, the orbs impossibly gray, and he turned his head to focus on Wynter. "I wish you'd never come back. I hated you for forcing me to touch your vile little body. You're an absolutely disgusting little whore!"

Wynter blinked a few times, Warden's corpse still. His mind was a fragile thing, on the best of days. On the worst? Apparently, he had delusions of the finest quality. He stared for long minutes to ensure Warden was truly gone, cold numbness circling his fingertips and toes as he relived all the past injustices in my head.

The life that had been stolen from him.

What could have been. What never was.

What was lost forever.

Who was lost forever.

Wynter's mind began to shut down, overloaded. He backed away, nearly falling, in his need to put space between him and his tormentor. Stumbling out into the hallway, he needed out of the hospital. He needed fresh air to breathe, not one filled with the cloying scent of sanitizer… and death.

Warden's loss threatened to drag him down into the abyss. Once he could breathe, then he could figure things out, surely.

In a panic, he searched the hallway. He didn't see the nurse he'd spoken to earlier. Alarms sounded in adjoining rooms, so they'd likely been called there. Farther down, a team of nurses raced into another room.

What did he do? He'd never been the one in charge before. Warden had handled everything. Before that, his parents. He'd never needed to know how to handle anything.

A familiar voice whispered in his mind. You need the driver to come and take you home. You'll be safe there.

Wynter reached for the phone on the nurse's station and called home. A calmness settled over him once that was done. Home. While it had never felt safe before, with Warden gone, it was for once. There, he could figure out what came next.

But… what needs to be done?

Calls needed to be made… in the morning. His boys. The board. And then a funeral would need to be planned, though he seemed to recall Warden might've already had a plan. If so, they'd need to find it. There were a hundred million things he needed to do—focusing on a list helped calm him for some reason.

Wynter wandered toward the elevator and pressed the Down button. The doors opened, and he climbed aboard the thankfully empty car. Unseeing, he smashed a couple of buttons at the bottom of the panel with his palm, hoping one would lead him to the entry and salvation.

Before it reached the bottom, the doors opened again. Wynter stared at the tips of his shoes, unwilling to meet anyone's eye.

"Papa?"

Wynter's lifted his gaze to a familiar voice.

Wilder stood facing him, frowning.

Had the hospital called or was he hallucinating again?

"What… what are you doing here?"

"Avery just gave birth…" Wilder tilted his head, searching Wynter's face. "That's not why you're here?"

Wynter shook his head, unsure what to say other than, "Warden… is gone."

"Gone?"

Wynter wiped the wetness from his face. Why was he crying? Warden didn't deserve his tears. "Warden Jaymes is dead."

A few days later…

How many times had Wynter imagined the death of Warden Jaymes?

Too many to count.

Standing near Warden's casket, he couldn't conjure the memory of one for some reason, the reality he'd witnessed etched into his mind and cancelling out all the others. For days, he'd replayed the fall down the stairs, unable to wipe it away. It wasn't the only memory his mind had grasped on to, assaulting him with every ugly moment from their meeting to the end at the bottom of the stairs.

Perhaps it was because his life was stuck there, unsure where he went next. After forty years mated to the wrong alpha, he'd become so accustomed to his life that it was dizzying to think of the freedom he suddenly found himself faced with.

It was easier to allow cold numbness to wash over him than to let his mind reel with too many questions. Questions that would only bear more pain than answers. Forty years he'd languished, and it was too late to begin anew.

Too late to return to the many fantasies he'd created of a life without Warden Jaymes.

From behind his big, dark shades, Wynter scanned the crowd huddled close to hear the officiant depict the story of a life well lived. Only Wynter was aware of the numerous fictions and stretches of truth that story contained. As far as the public knew, Warden was a king among alphas. He'd taken his family's failing construction firm and turned it into a provincial juggernaut, giving him the kind of power the Jaymeses of old had once wielded. He'd had three adoring children and a loving , grieving omega and amassed a bevy of admiring associates, friends, and rivals—all who'd respected, either real or feigned, his rise to power, wealth, and status.

Publicly, and to some degree privately, Wynter had done his best to play the role he'd been cast in, though not out of any true sense of duty. Had he not done as expected, the alternative would've been soul-destroying. Standing at his mate's grave, he continued to play that part, though he had no real tears to shed for a man he'd never loved—and who'd never loved him.

Not that he'd wanted that love.

Not from Warden, anyway.

"And we should remember Warden's gracious and loving omega, Wynter, in this time and hold him up, as his friend and his community," the officiant said, casting a piteous glance his way. Wynter felt the weight of hundreds of stares turned his way. It dragged his focus back to the service and his performance within it. He wiped away a fake tear, thankful for the dark shades to cover his dry eyes.

Above, the big, fluffy, white clouds parted, and the sun bore full force upon them. Wynter lifted his gaze to soak in that warmth and chase away the chill deep down in his bones. It was a beautiful day, one wasted on manufactured grief and contrived angst.

He was tired of pretending.

Four decades he'd done it. Participating in one more day of pretense felt impossible, but Warden's death hadn't yet pardoned him from his role.

Soon enough.

What was left? Fortunately for Wynter, his alpha had prearranged every single moment of the funeral, from the casket to the officiant to the flowers. Wynter had often complained of Warden's controlling nature, but for once, it had been welcome. Wilder had handled the small things that still needed doing, allowing him to live in his usual fog.

The wake had arrived next, and with it, a long line of mourners come to pay their respects. Hours of listening to people regale him with stories of Warden or offer their sincerest condolences. The pity in their eyes had made his stomach turn. By the time Wynter had arrived home afterward, he'd sank into his bed and slept for two days, only rising again to attend the funeral. If only it would be the last of his performances. He'd need to remain the grieving widower for at least a year after. Publicly, of course, but then who did he have to show a private side to? Only himself.

Wynter glanced down at his hands, wringing the old handkerchief that had once been his own papa's, the threadbare linen slight and yellowed from age. It likely wasn't capable of taking his incessant tugging, yet he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. It was then that he noticed the barely-there, faded spots that dappled the backs of his hands, showing hints of his increasing age. For a moment, he was intrigued by how much they looked like his own papa's had.

Hands that had never once shown him kindness.

I hated him and yet… I've turned into him, haven't I?

No… I've never hurt my children.

That was a lie. It didn't only take a backhand or a closed fist to cause pain for a child. He'd never meant to harm his kids, but he'd been powerless to stop it.

The pompous preacher continued to prattle on, the sun heavy and warm, lulling Wynter to close his eyes and drift off to a place where his life wasn't a maelstrom of memories and regrets. When he reopened them, he focused on the light reflecting off the sleek onyx surface of the casket, only to notice it wasn't quite black, but the deepest of purples. Flecks of mica shimmered under the bright illumination, making them dance and glitter in the sunlight.

It was almost pretty.

Why would it matter when the thing would end up six feet under where no one but the worms would see it? Then he realized why. Their family had a reputation to uphold. Only the best of everything for Warden Jaymes.

Only the best…

Memories assailed Wynter, his chest tightening. His papa's voice whispered through his mind. This family sets the bar for the entire province…

How many times had he heard his papa saying those very things, repeating them over and over again until they were burned into Wynter's brain? He'd come from wealth and power—and its privileges, but also an unbearable weight and expectation. That expectation was the exact reason why Warden had planned his going away party down to the very last, minute detail and not left anything to chance.

He hadn't trusted Wynter to do it, of course.

It was also why Wynter had to appear the proper grieving widower to a man who was little more than a stranger to him nearly forty years later. Yes, they'd been married for decades, but none had been happy.

Not a single minute.

There had been a tiny glimmer, long before, where Wynter had been happy. Truly happy. But it had been short-lived. Warden hadn't been the reason behind that happiness, of course. He had been the reason for its demise, not that he'd ever been aware.

After Warden's abrupt passing, Wynter found himself freed from most of his shackles. The tragic part? Wearing them for so long, he didn't know how to live without them. His alpha was gone, and he was too old to be tossed back into the world as breeding stock, thank heavens. He'd be allowed to return to his fine home with his servants and gardeners, and live alone, on his own terms, until he followed his alpha into the ground.

He'd never experienced autonomy in his entire life.

As a child, he'd had an independent streak, or so he'd been told, until his papa had beaten it out of him. He'd tried to be bold with Warden a time or two, only to quickly be put back in his place.

His keepers gone, he was suddenly expected to know what to do.

And what will I do now? I've ruined everything I've ever touched.

Even had I not, I'm too old. It's too late for me to start anew.

He shifted on his feet—more memories of the past assailing him—and stumbled. His middle son, Wilder, reached out to right him and wrap a protective arm around his shoulders. Any other time, Wynter would've have worried about the slip and how it would be perceived, but any of the two-hundred-plus mourners standing behind them would likely attribute his unsteadiness to grief.

Not that he had much to show as it was.

"Papa?"

Wynter lifted his dark-covered gaze to Wilder and smiled, those long-lost memories alive within his son. He traced the lines of Wilder's face with his gaze, his heart swelling.

If only I'd made a different choice all those years ago.

"Are you ready?" Wilder asked, eyes narrowing as he searched over Wynter's face.

Are you ready? Those words dragged another memory from the ether, and the corners of his lips tugged upward.

"Papa? Are you ready?" Wilder prodded.

"Ready for what?" Wynter frowned up at his first-born alpha before he noticed his youngest, Vaughn, watching him closely from Wilder's other side. Tears shimmered in Vaughn's eyes.

Tears? Surprising.

Fake? Probably.

Vaughn rarely showed emotion. He was too much like Wynter for his own good. He's putting on a good show for the masses, just like me. Just as I unconsciously taught him.

"Are you ready to say goodbye?" Wilder whispered, nodding toward the casket.

"Oh." Wynter took a deep breath, dragging his thoughts to the present. "Yes."

Wynter stepped forward and bent, collecting a handful of dirt from the pile nearby. He gazed down at Warden's shimmering casket one last time, unsure what to say.

"See you in Hell, Warden," he whispered under his breath before tossing the dirt over the massive arrangement of snow-white lilies draped over the top.

The lilies brought back other memories. Another funeral. Had Warden chosen them purposefully, another tiny stab, one of a billion?

He stepped back in a daze, watching as Wilder and Vaughn paid their final respects. Then their ex-son-in-law Rohan and his omega, Gray, paid theirs. Other mourners followed suit before brushing their hands off and approaching the family. Wynter groaned inwardly, ready to make a beeline to the waiting limos. They'd already spoken with hundreds at the wake, and he wasn't ready for another conga line of mourning.

Unable to pull the boys away in time, a clutch formed around him. Wynter shook their hands and listened to their hushed words with numb apathy, just as he'd done at the wake. Claustrophobia nearly took hold. Warden's acquaintances moved in too close to get their piece of Wynter. At his short stature, the alphas circling blotted out some of the sun and made it harder to breathe. By the dozenth who shoved his hand into Wynter's, he was ready to scream and run for the quiet sanctity of the waiting limo.

He remained steadfast, unwilling to give the attendees something more to gossip about.

Friction against stone hones the blade and makes it sharper.

So, on it went, with him numbly shaking hands and barely hearing what was said around him, nodding in the pauses where it seemed appropriate.

"How's that omega of yours?" a familiar-looking alpha asked Wilder beside him, name already forgotten.

The question piqued Wynter's interest. He'd yet to meet his newest grandson, born on the same day his alpha died. He'd been so wrapped up in mourning to stop and see the babe—or was it more that he was afraid Wilder and Avery might deny him?

"Still abed," Wilder murmured, glancing in Wynter's direction before focusing on the one who'd asked the question. "He gave birth to our son, Emory, less than a week ago."

"He and babe are well, I presume?"

Wilder glanced at Wynter again, as if worried his answers would cause trouble. Why, Wynter wasn't sure. "Yes. Both are very well, thank you."

"At least you have some new life in your home to help fill the void."

Wynter's head whipped toward the man, who had the decency to look ashamed. Warden might've been a raging monster, but for Wilder and Vaughn's sake, at least show a little respect.

The alpha turned, clearly not realizing his words would be overheard. His eyes wide and shame on his face, he bent slightly and lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jaymes. I meant no disrespect. Warden was a visionary, I only meant…"

Wynter scoffed and looked away, unsure why he felt so riled. The alpha never finished his comment and quickly departed.

As an hour passed, the crowd gradually dissipated. Eventually, the only ones left were Wilder, Vaughn, Rohan, and Gray.

Wynter swallowed back a petty question perched on the tip of his tongue. Why had Gray bothered to come at all?

Gray was not Jamie, nor would he ever be. Rohan was no longer part of the Jaymes family, rushing to mate the surrogate mere weeks after Jamie had been buried.

Watching the omega hanging on Rohan's arm was still difficult.

My son should be there instead.

Wynter's gaze drifted to the shining black tombstone a few feet away from where Warden was being laid to rest. Jamie had been interred there a few years earlier.

How I miss you, Jamie.

The tears he hadn't been able to manufacture for Warden came full force for Jamie. His lower lip quivered as he recalled that tragic choice Warden had forced on him. Either decision he would've made, he would've been wrong. There had been no winning.

Friction against stone hones the blade and makes it sharper.

He glanced at Wilder and Vaughn, the only sons he had left in the world. Not that he truly had either of them. His mistakes as a parent hadn't been limited to Jamie, though his first-born had gotten the lion's share of them.

Jamie's final request returned to his mind. The question he'd been unable to answer. He gazed at Jamie's tombstone, wondering if he'd made a mistake in not sharing the truth. Would it have ruptured things even more—or healed something between them?

The truth.

Wynter's gaze drifted to Vaughn… and then Wilder. He'd always known that Warden's death signaled the moment he'd share his story, but doubt threatened to steal his nerve. He'd worried it would've destroyed his relationship with Jamie—didn't the same hold true for Wilder and Vaughn?

They have a right to know. That I never wanted to mate Warden.

Complete and utter silence cleared Wynter's fog.

He lifted his gaze to find expressions of confusion, shock, and disgust around him.

Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? When he met Vaughn's gaze, he was almost sure of it. Shame filled him at their bewildered stares. He opened his mouth to correct his mistake, but instead, more rambled and incoherent thoughts rushed from his lips, as if the dam had finally been broken and the truth would come roaring out regardless of if he wanted it to or not.

"Now, I can't seem to feel sad that he's gone," Wynter continued, gaze locked on Vaughn. Unable to stop, it raged on, an unending torrent. "I mean, I felt bad that he died, and I cried some, because that's what we're supposed to do." He glanced around the circle forming tightly around him. "Right? That's what's expected of me?" He chuckled, no humor in the sound. "Honestly, I expect those tears were more for the fear of the unknown. I've spent almost my entire life with this man. What do I do now?"

"Anything you wish," Vaughn replied. "Now you're free to do all the things you wanted to do or see but never could because you won't be locked up."

Wynter turned to eye Vaughn, confused . "Locked up?"

"Didn't widowers go back to the OQ?" Vaughn asked. "Before the new laws."

"Only if they were still of childbearing age," Gray murmured.

Everyone turned to eye Wynter expectantly.

"That's none of your business," he spat. He was much too old to have a child, as they likely knew. Not impossible, but it was highly unlikely. He might be losing his reason and sharing too much, but he wasn't that far gone. Wynter wouldn't discuss his sexual health with his sons and Jamie's replacement.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Gray said. "Now that they've changed the laws, you wouldn't have to go into the OQ for protection, even if you'd needed it."

Wynter glared at Gray.

"Thanks to Avery," Wilder added, a hint of pride in the smile on his face.

That change arrived too late for Wynter Jaymes. Far too late. "I came from a different time. Omegas in my generation accepted our lots in life without challenge, not like these omegas today. We accepted a lot of things." Wynter paused, wishing he'd been born later. "Too many things."

Wynter noticed Gray's mouth opening to argue and inhaled, steeling himself to whatever Jamie's replacement had to say.

"I think we should go back to the house," Wilder murmured, a hand to Wynter's back. Had he purposefully intervened to curb an argument to come?

"I don't want to go back to that house," Wynter snarled, unsettled. He'd wanted the fight. Being angry sounded better than sad, lonely, or… numb.

Wilder turned to face him. "Our guests are waiting."

"Damn them. Damn them all," Wynter spat. He couldn't handle more of their pity and murmured sympathies. He'd choke on them and die if he had to listen to any more.

"What would the country club set say to hear that?" Vaughn asked, grinning like the little devil he was, tears dried now that his audience had left.

Just as I suspected.

"I know what you think of me," Wynter chastised. "I'm a small-minded, terrible person… but I've endured more than you realize. More pain than you can imagine." He cringed, the memories of what he'd lost haunting him. "It hardened me. Turned me into…" Friction against stone hones the blade and makes it sharper.

Stone. It turned me into stone.

Just as my papa always wanted.

Then why do I still feel the weight of his disapproval?

Wynter chuckled, the sound foreign to his own ears. "Maybe I was a monster." He closed the gap between him and Wilder and placed his palm on his son's chest, the heartbeat underneath sturdy. "You were the one I wanted. You. Just you."

"What are you talking about?" Wilder asked, gripping Wynter's wrists and frowning down at him.

I should tell him. All of it. He should know that Warden wasn't his father.

Wilder's gaze flipped up and away from Wynter, his face suddenly growing ashen. The heartbeat under Wynter's touch quickened.

Did I say that out loud, too?

Wilder gasped, gazing at something over Wynter's head. He turned to see what had caught his son's attention.

A familiar face appeared.

A face from his dreams… and nightmares.

No. Not yet.

I'm not ready to face you yet.

He turned and faced his past, wondering if it was another hallucination, only his son's reaction seemed to signal it wasn't. The man strode closer, each step a knife to Wynter's chest. He inhaled against the tide of remembrance, the pain twisting that blade even more. Warden was barely in the ground, yet Wynter's past had already arrived to haunt him.

So why did a thrill rise up his spine?

He came.

He really came.

"What are you doing here?"

Cavanaugh eyed Wynter up and down, a hint of the old desire seemingly visible in his gaze. One look and Wynter's body quickened. Want burned in his veins, and it made him sick to feel it, only because he knew the love he also harbored wouldn't be reciprocated.

Couldn't be… not after all that had happened.

He's barely changed. Still so handsome.

Does he hate me? Of course he does.

"I heard the news and I… I don't know why, but I came. I'm… I'm sorry for your loss, Wynter."

Wynter ambled closer to the man, the longing to melt into the alpha's strong arms throbbing within, yet… he couldn't. Not that he didn't want to be coddled in the man's embrace but the fact he'd likely be denied the pleasure. There was too much hurt lingering between them.

Yet he came.

For me.

He searched Cavanaugh's face, slipping once again into the past. What could have been. His heart sped, his stomach knotting.

Why couldn't I choose him?

He unknowingly took one more step closer, the need to touch Cavanaugh and assure himself it wasn't a dream screaming in his veins. Someone behind him cleared their throat and Wynter suddenly remembered they had an audience surrounding them. An audience who had eyes and could clearly see the man's familiar face.

He gasped inwardly, realizing someone could be watching. Wynter scanned the cemetery but noticed no one nearby. It didn't mean there wasn't someone keeping tabs on them.

Wynter did see the questions in his sons' eyes, though. Particularly Wilder's.

Can everyone see the truth?

Of course they can…

Heat warmed Wynter's cheeks. His secret would be a secret no more. That was as clear as the expressions on their faces. He'd anticipated more time. Time to plan how he broke the news to his boys in a way it wouldn't harm them.

Time to determine if the threat was truly over.

"You shouldn't have come," he muttered in the alpha's direction. Not yet.

His alpha.

His true alpha.

Cavanaugh.

"How could I not?" His alpha's gaze drifted to Wilder a moment before it turned back to Wynter, the question lingering in his eyes, too.

He knows. He has to know.

"I needed to see you. See that you were alright," Cavanaugh murmured.

Of course I'm not alright.

Wynter looked over his shoulder at Vaughn and Wilder, and knew they were not alright, either. They'd just lost their father. It was too soon for more to be dumped in their laps. "Go," Wynter demanded, heart shattering once more. He lifted his gaze to Cavanaugh, hoping the man understood. "Go now."

At the sight of pain slicing across Cavanaugh's face, Wynter stopped breathing.

I still love you. So much that it hurts.

"If that's what you wish," Cavanaugh mumbled.

Of course I don't want you to go. You came too soon. I need time. With his audience, he couldn't say those things out loud. Once again, he was hurting the man he loved.

Cavanaugh eyed Wilder another few seconds and then backed away, gaze locked on Wynter before he turned to leave.

Awkward silence weighted the air.

"We should go home," Wynter announced to no one in particular. He wasn't in the right mindset to handle the questions that would soon come flooding his way after Cavanaugh's unexpected appearance. He didn't want to return home, but if he did, it might save him a couple of hours before the vultures descended, picking the uneaten flesh from his bones.

Vaughn swooped in and led Wynter toward the waiting limo, a hand at his lower back. He walked at a brisk pace for his long, alpha legs, making it near impossible for Wynter to keep up with much shorter ones. Earlier, he'd wanted to run to the limo. Too late, he gotten his wish.

"Who was that man, Papa?" Vaughn ground out, a bit breathless as they marched forward.

The love of my life. He cast a longing look over one shoulder, unable to see anyone but Wilder, Rohan, and Gray. He faced forward, narrowly dodging the edge of a tombstone in his path. "No one of any consequence."

"I didn't get that sensation," Vaughn growled. "I think he mattered. Very much."

Vaughn's hand at his back urged him even faster. "My legs can't keep up to yours, Vaughn. Slow down."

Vaughn ignored him, urging them on toward the car. Once they arrived, he was manhandled into the back and quickly followed inside by his son, the doors shut and the dark welcoming. Before Cavanaugh's appearance, he'd longed for the safety of the car but from the grim look on Vaughn's face, he did not feel secure.

Not one bit.

Although, he hadn't felt steady or secure in days.

"Wilder was the only one you wanted," Vaughn muttered. "That makes so much sense now."

Wynter cringed. It was then that he realized what he'd said. In a moment of mental exhaustion, ugly things had dripped from his lips, things no one should ever had heard—least of all, Vaughn. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Of course you did," Vaughn spat.

"I didn't. I'm sorry, Vaughn. I love you."

Vaughn disregarded him, clearly wanting an answer for something else. "Why does the only child you truly wanted look exactly like that inconsequential man, Papa?"

Wynter feigned ignorance. "What? You're being ridiculous. Wilder looks like me."

"Don't," Vaughn warned, barely contained rage in his eyes. "I'm not stupid. Nor blind."

Wynter whipped off his sunglasses and captured his son's gaze with a glare, hoping it was sufficiently menacing. He refused to allow Vaughn to coerce the information from him before he was ready. He'd survived one crafty alpha. He wasn't in the mood to suffer another. Wynter would tell them both the truth, but Wilder deserved to hear the story first. "Warden Jaymes is Wilder's father, if that's what you're implying. It says so on his birth certificate."

Vaughn scoffed, crossing both arms over his broad chest. "Is there a DNA test to accompany that? Perhaps I should demand one, especially given the fact Wilder took over my father's company."

Wynter scowled at Vaughn. "Wilder is a Jaymes, through and through. He has every right to run the family business, through his hard work and his genetics."

"Forgive me if I desire proof of that," Vaughn said before he slipped out of the backseat and slammed the door behind him.

The sound caused Wynter to startle. He glanced around the darkened interior, the partition thankfully closing him off from the driver on the other side.

All alone.

All his life, he'd longed to be left alone. When he finally got his wish, he could scarcely breathe. He'd lost his mate. Both of them, if truth be told. He'd lost his eldest son. His middle son, the light of his life, was likely furious and might never forgive him once he learned the truth.

And Vaughn…

Well, Vaughn was a wounded animal, one he needed to keep an eye on, though he wasn't sure how capable he'd be at that job.

Wynter had no one to turn to. He glanced out the window a moment, searching for any sign of Cavanaugh.

Why did I send him away again? I need him. More now than ever.

All he found was Wilder stalking angrily across the cemetery toward a red sportscar, clearly shocked by what had just transpired. Wynter knew he should go, answer the questions his son had, but he wasn't sure he had the emotional fortitude in that moment, not to do it properly.

How much he looks like his father…

I should've told him long ago.

He deserved the truth.

Tears erupted. Wynter sobbed, his entire body shaking from the force of them. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held on. There was no one else that would. He'd pushed them all away, lost to his own anger and pain, unable to rise above and move past. He reached for his tote, tossing out items until he found the pill bottle at the bottom. He'd already taken two pills, but given his emotional state, he needed more.

He swallowed one dry, forcing it down his throat. When the tears slowed, he wiped his face and lowered the divider between himself and his driver. "Call the house. Have a bag packed for me. Stop in, pick it up, and then take me to the Plaza."

"After the reception, sir?"

"No. I won't be going inside. Let the staff know they can send everyone home."

"Yes, sir."

Wynter closed the partition and sank into the leather seat, steeling his emotions. The desire to run farther than the Plaza Hotel wrapped him in its grip. Run away from it all, and never look back. He and Warden hadn't completed half of the travel they'd planned—though what they had experienced had been a disaster.

He chuckled to himself. As if he could travel alone across the globe as an omega.

Once again, he would be imprisoned, one way or another.