Marked by His Gaze

The music kept pulsing. Lights kept spinning. People kept laughing and dancing.

But Penelope didn’t move.

The world around her blurred into streaks of neon and shadows, but her eyes stayed locked on the figure half-hidden behind the trees.

Alex Moretti.

He was just standing there. Still. So still.

Like she’d hit him in the chest with something heavy. Like he’d seen a ghost.

Or a sin he wanted to commit.

Penelope couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded violently in her chest—no, not her heart. The bond. It coiled tight in her gut, wrapped itself around her ribs like ivy, dragging her toward him.

She couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

He looked like sin draped in shadow, like every inch of control she thought she had was about to shatter.

And then—he turned.

In a blink, he was gone. Vanishing into the woods like he was being chased by hell itself.

Still, she stood there. Frozen.

Her hands trembled. Her vision tilted.

“Penny?” Chloe’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and distant. “Hey—hey! Babe, you good?”

She blinked. Tried to speak. Failed.

Inside her, Cherry snarled—claws unsheathed, pacing, wild with confusion and heat and need.

He saw us. He saw us… and he ran.

“What the hell just happened?” Daisy was there now, brows drawn tight with worry. “You went stiff, then pale. Did someone spike your drink?”

Penelope gave a slow, shaky shake of her head.

The air was too thick. The music too loud. Her skin buzzed and her chest—her chest ached, like someone had wrapped iron bands around her ribs.

Cherry was still pacing.

He knows. He felt it too.

“Okay. Nope. You’re not okay.” Chloe’s arm slid around her waist. “We’re getting you out of here. Now.”

The walk back through the crowd was a blur. Penelope’s legs barely worked. Faces turned, but she didn’t see them. Her skin felt raw, like it was waiting to be touched—claimed.

Daisy murmured something comforting she didn’t catch. Chloe cursed out a drunk who staggered too close. The world slipped by, hazy and muffled, like she was underwater.

As they neared the forest's edge, the music faded, replaced by the whisper of wind and the quiet hum of crickets. The cool night air kissed her cheeks, but her pulse kept racing.

She could still see his eyes—dark, stunned, hungry.

Why did he run?

He’d felt it. He had to. That soul-deep pull, that crackle in the air, that terrifying stillness between heartbeats.

He ran.

Of course he ran.

They always run.

Back at the mansion, Chloe helped her straight to bed.

“You good if we leave you for a bit?” Daisy asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe.”

Penelope gave a tiny nod.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

But not emptiness.

She felt him—lingering. A thread pulled tight between her chest and something just out of reach.

Alex was still close. She could feel it. Like his presence clung to the walls, to the night air, to her skin.

Her fingers drifted to her throat, brushing where the bond hummed—soft, electric.

Cherry’s voice had gone low now. No longer snarling. Just aching.

He’s ours. And he knows it.

Penelope lay back, eyes wide, heart lurching in her chest like it had forgotten how to beat.

Everything had changed.

And she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream or chase him into the woods and demand he never run from her again.

Her lips felt numb. Her body buzzed like it was still on fire from the inside out.

Alex.

She had seen him.

Felt him.

And he had looked at her like she was both a question and the answer he’d been too scared to ask.

The mansion’s walls felt too tall, too tight. Her skin still tingled where his gaze had landed. No words had passed between them—just that stare, scalding, searing, soul-deep.

Cherry had gone still now, but Penelope could feel her coiled tight, on edge, like a predator in wait.

“She’s in shock,” Daisy had whispered earlier, when Penelope had frozen halfway down the hallway. “Let’s just get her to bed.”

But sleep?

Sleep was a myth.

She’d changed into one of Daisy’s oversized shirts, still strawberry-scented from the laundry, and now curled on the edge of the bed like her soul didn’t know where to land.

He looked at you like you were air, Cherry murmured, hushed and awestruck.

Penelope didn’t answer. She pressed her forehead to her knees.

She hated that she’d noticed his eyes first—dark, stormy, searching. Hated that the world had fallen away the moment their eyes met and everything inside her snapped into terrifying clarity.

Second-chance mate.

No.

No, no, no.

She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t anything.

And he... he ran.

Coward, Cherry growled. He felt it and ran. Left us.

Penelope didn’t know whether to cry or break something. She’d spent days stitching herself back together after Ronan’s rejection—piecing herself together with spit, hope, and spite.

She couldn’t unravel now. She wouldn’t.

Her hand reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. She didn’t drink. Just held it. A cold, shaking anchor.

A knock broke the quiet.

“Penny?” Chloe’s voice. Softer than usual. “Want me to stay with you tonight?”

Penelope opened her mouth.

No words came.

A pause.

“Okay,” Chloe said gently. “I’ll be right outside. You’re not alone.”

Click. The door shut again.

And she wasn’t alone. Not really.

Because Alex’s presence still hung in the air. Like smoke.

She could feel him. Somewhere in the mansion. Pacing, maybe. Brooding, definitely. Regretting?

Or running again?

She lay back against the pillows, eyes burning, sleep impossibly far away.

I’m scared, she whispered.

I’m not, Cherry said.

He had looked at her like she was fire.

Not too much. Not too soft.

Not a mistake.

Not a rejection.

Like he didn’t know whether to worship her or ruin her.

And maybe that scared her more than anything else.

Because fate had given her a second Alpha.

A darker one.

And this time… her heart wasn’t sure it could survive him.