THE AFTERMATH OF RAIN

CHAPTER 3: THE AFTERMATH OF RAIN

Sunday morning brought a heavy, thumping ache behind my eyes and an apartment so quiet it felt suffocating.

I woke up long after noon, the pale gray light filtering through my curtains and casting long shadows across the floor. Every muscle in my body ached, but beneath the physical fatigue, my skin still hummed with a phantom heat—a lingering memory of broad hands, dark silver eyes, and an absolute Prime Alpha presence that had completely taken over my senses for twelve hours.

I sat up slowly, the sheets slipping down to my waist.

Even after sleeping, the scent was still there. Buried deep within my skin was the rich, intoxicating blend of smoked cedar and dark tangerine. It was heavy, possessive, and unlike anything I had ever felt before. It made the air in my own room feel completely unfamiliar.

I stood up on unsteady legs and walked straight into the bathroom.

I turned the shower on high, letting steam fill the space, and grabbed the soap. I scrubbed my wrists, my neck, and my chest, desperate to wash away the physical evidence of what I had done at Elysium. I scrubbed until my pale skin flushed bright red, but his scent wasn't just on the surface—it felt locked in my very bones.

When I wiped the mirror clean, my breath hitched. Right at the base of my neck, where my shoulder met my collarbone, sat a dark, purple-red mark. A clear, unmistakable bite. He hadn't broken the skin to seal a permanent bond, but he had bit down hard enough to leave a claim that wouldn't fade for a week.

No names. No questions, I had promised. Yet here I was, carrying his mark while my world collapsed outside my door.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out into the bedroom. My phone was lying on the nightstand, its screen flashing continuously. It had been buzzing non-stop all morning.

47 Missed Calls.

28 from Matthew.

12 from my father.

7 from Tyla.

92 Unread Text Messages.

I sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the frantic, desperate texts from Matthew claiming everything was a huge misunderstanding, and the fake, panicked messages from Tyla asking where I was.

Instead, I played the single voicemail my father had left at 8:00 AM.

"Soren! Where the hell are you?!" his voice boomed through the speaker, tight with fury. "Matthew called me at three in the morning losing his mind! He said you vanished from your own engagement party and left your ring on a table! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! The Vance family was supposed to sign our estate bailout contract tomorrow morning at nine! If Matthew backs out because of your temper tantrum, our family is ruined! You will get dressed, you will go to Vance Enterprises tomorrow, and you will apologize to Matthew on your knees if you have to! Do not ruin this family over your pride!"

The call ended with a harsh tone. I let out a low, empty breath.

Not once did he ask if I was alright. Not once did he wonder why I had stripped off my ring and walked out into a storm. All he cared about was money, land, and keeping his reputation clean for the council.

They all thought I was going to break. They thought I was still the submissive Omega who had spent three years blending into the shadows to make Matthew look good. They expected me to show up tomorrow with red eyes, begging for forgiveness just to save the family estate.

They had no idea who I had spent the night with.

I walked over to my wardrobe and pushed aside the soft pastels and quiet sweaters I used to wear. I reached into the back and pulled out a tailored white suit paired with a crisp cream silk shirt—sharp, striking, and unyielding.

I spent the rest of the day sitting by the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. I didn't shed a single tear for the three years I had wasted. Instead, I built a wall of ice around my heart, rehearsing every word and every look for the morning ahead.

I wasn't going to Vance Enterprises to beg for mercy. I was going there to tear their world down.