44 - The Shape Of Doubt

Ezra didn’t move for a long time after Sebastian left.

The air was still thick with his scent—lavender and salt, sharper now, cut through with a spike of distressed Omega. It clung to Ezra’s skin, heavy in his lungs. It made his body ache in ways he didn’t want to name.

He stared at the crumpled condom wrapper on the floor like it was some cursed thing—evidence of want without promise, possession without belonging.

When he finally turned to go, the mirror caught him.

He looked older. Worn down. Like someone who’d taken everything he wanted and hated himself for it.

Downstairs, the front door creaked open.

“Oh, you’re home?” Clara’s voice called up, syrupy sweet. “Anyone miss me?”

Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, the last remnants of Sebastian’s scent still ghosting his clothes. It made his pulse quicken again—unbidden.

Clara appeared at the foot of the stairs. Her long curls were freshly done, her lips glossed, and her scent—synthetic vanilla with something slightly cloying—pushed into the space like she belonged there.

“Rachel sends her love,” she added, setting down a canvas tote that reeked of travel and overnight perfume. “Kids outside?”

“Yeah,” Ezra muttered.

“You look like hell,” Clara observed with a faint curl of her lips. “Trouble in paradise?”

Ezra’s jaw flexed as he descended the stairs. “Don’t start, Clara.”

She blinked, all faux innocence. “I didn’t say anything. I just asked a question.”

He brushed past her, but her heels followed—click, click, click. A deliberate, feminine sound.

“If he’s upset with you, maybe I can help,” she said airily. “Sebastian seems like someone who… bottles things up. You, though—you need release. Tension like yours doesn’t just go away.”

Ezra turned sharply, pheromones bristling. “Stay out of it.”

Clara smiled, but her pupils dilated slightly—responding to the scent of his anger. Of his Alpha. “Alright. Just trying to be a friend.”

From the backyard, laughter spilled into the house—Camden and Caleb shrieking, Mr. Biscuits barking. Mia’s voice cutting in, sharp and protective: “Careful! Not near the fence!”

Ezra opened the back door and stepped out. Clara lingered a moment longer before following him outside.

She found Mia on the floor, curled up beside the dog. Mr. Biscuits had his head in her lap, and Mia absently ran her fingers over his ears.

“There you are,” Clara said, crouching down. Her voice had softened into something maternal. “Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

Mia looked up warily but said nothing.

Clara reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Mia’s ear, letting her pheromones pulse ever so subtly—manipulative, coaxing. “You know, if anything ever goes wrong in this house, I’m still your family. You and your brothers can count on me. I’d never leave you behind.”

Mia’s nostrils flared slightly. She didn’t like Clara’s scent. Never had.

“No one’s leaving,” she said.

Clara tilted her head. “I’m just saying. Some people pretend they’re built for this life. Pups, a big house, a full-time relationship… It wears people down. Not everyone can handle it.”

Mia pulled away, dislodging the dog’s head. “Sebastian’s not pretending,” she said sharply. “He’s the one who stayed.”

Clara’s smile thinned into something brittle. “You’re growing up so fast,” she murmured. “Just remember who’s really looking out for you.”

Mia said nothing, but her shoulders stiffened. When Clara disappeared into the kitchen, she curled her arms tighter around the dog and buried her face in his fur. The scent there was safe. Comforting.

But Sebastian’s scent when she’d hugged him earlier—it had smelled wrong. Twisted with anxiety. And Ezra’s scent had been sharp and muddy, full of tension and heat.

They were fighting. She didn’t understand why, but she knew enough to feel afraid.

They were finally okay. She didn’t want it to fall apart again.

Sebastian moved silently through the second living room, his slippers muffled against the tile. The golden half-light painted the walls with a kind of hush—like the house was holding its breath.

He crouched near the shoe rack and began arranging the twins’ sneakers: Velcro for Camden, laces for Caleb, though neither boy ever tied them right.

Their mingled Alpha-in-training scents clung faintly to the fabric, and Sebastian smiled to himself. He’d double-knot them in the morning.

Next came their bags. He opened them one by one, sorting through wrinkled worksheets, peeling away fruit bar wrappers, refolding classroom notices. The repetitive task soothed the knot in his chest.

Then, Mia’s bag.

He hesitated.

Her scent was citrusy, clean—but under it, there was a thread of fatigue. She was holding something in too.

He quietly added a fresh notebook, her favorite purple pens.

Then he unzipped a small pouch and filled it discreetly—pads, wipes, extra underwear. It was a soft gesture, one she’d never mention aloud, but it mattered.

He was zipping it shut when he felt it—her.

Clara’s scent pushed into the room before her.

“Wow,” she said lightly, arms folded in the doorway. “Househusband of the year.”

Sebastian didn’t look up. “What do you want, Clara?”

“Nothing,” she purred. “Just checking in. Heard the door slam earlier. Loud fight?”

He didn’t answer. Just tucked Mia’s bag carefully back into its cubby.

“You’re really good with the pups,” she added, stepping closer. Her heels tapped once, then stopped. “Ezra’s lucky to have you.”

Sebastian turned slowly. His Omega instincts flared—subtle, defensive. Her scent was cloying, edging toward predatory.

“But?” he said.

Clara tilted her head. “Ezra’s... Ezra.”

“I know who he is.”

She smiled, but her eyes gleamed. “Do you? Because I do. We were together. And believe me, he’s got appetites.”

Sebastian’s jaw ticked.

“He’s not the type to stay satisfied with soft touches and bedtime routines. He’s an Alpha. Messy. Physical. He needs… release. And a lot of it.”

“I can keep up,” Sebastian said evenly.

Clara moved a step closer, her scent pressing in. “Maybe. But for how long?”

Her hand drifted across her stomach, deliberately slow.

“You and I both know what it’s like to want him,” she said, voice thickening. “But Ezra needs things only a real partner can give him. Not just sex—submission. A bond. A legacy.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch. But her words curled around the bruise in his heart.

“Did you sleep with him?” he asked.

Clara’s smile was slow. She smoothed a hand over her belly.

She didn’t answer.

Sebastian’s pupils flared, scent spiking instinctively—betrayal laced with grief. He hated how easily it hit him. Hated that her silence made his chest feel hollow.

She walked past him without another word, leaving her scent hanging behind like smoke.

Sebastian stood in the quiet.

The backpacks were neat. The shoes lined up. Everything in order.

Everything except the part of him that still smelled like Ezra—like sandalwood and heat and the memory of hands on his waist whispering, don’t ever walk away from me again.

But Sebastian had.

And now he didn’t know if he was going to break from it—or come back stronger.