Semua Bab The Alpha In My Sheets: Bab 61 - Bab 70

(Dylan’s POV)It’s two in the morning, and I can’t get the images out of my head. The chaos. The noise. The cameras flashing. The look on Tristan’s face when he—when he said it. I still don’t know what to make of it. I’m lying there, sprawled on the couch, a glass of whiskey in my hand, but I can’t even bring myself to drink it. I’m just… still. I feel hollow, like I’ve been turned inside out.There’s a knock at the door.I groan, rubbing my eyes. Of course, there’s a knock at the door. It’s late. Too fucking late. But I know exactly who it is.Oliver.I sit up, tossing the glass on the table, before I even process the fact that I’m getting up. My brain is still too scrambled, too fucking full of the mess that has been my life these past few weeks.I open the door before he can knock again, but when I see him standing there, all I feel is exhaustion. He doesn’t look much better than I do—disheveled, a look of regret in his eyes, but there’s still that sharpness to him. That sharpnes

Tristan's POVIt's everywhere.Every news network, every celebrity website, every goddamn social media—everyone's discussing it.TRISTAN WOLFE CALLS OFF ENGAGEMENT IN SHOCK PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT.OLIVER SINCLAIR EMBARRASSED AT GRAND OPENING.THE MYSTERIOUS MAN WHO STOLE HIS HEART.I could've predicted this. Should've realized the second the words left my mouth that it wouldn't be a ripple—it'd be a fucking tsunami.But I hadn't thought of the press. Hadn't thought of the board. Hadn't even thought of my father.Because all I'd been thinking was him.Dylan.And now?He won't answer.I tense my hand into a fist around my phone, scanning the last text I'd sent him.Talk to me. Please.Nothing.I don't know what's worse than the entire world having an opinion about my life these days, or the fact that the one person I actually care about won't even give me a text message back.My head is pounding. I haven't slept. Haven't eaten. The last thing in my body was whiskey, and it did nothing what

Dylan’s POVI’m standing in front of the mirror, half-dressed, shirt unbuttoned, tie dangling from my neck like a noose. The black suit is impeccable, tailored to perfection— this would have been Tristan’s choice. He always said I looked good in dark colors, something about the contrast against my skin. But right now, I feel like a damn imposter.The hotel room is too quiet, the air too much. My phone is on the bed, screen lit up with missed messages from colleagues and a couple from Oliver, but I haven’t touched it since I’ve been in here. The opening reception downstairs must be in full swing by now—people laughing, clinking glasses, not giving a damn about the emotional fallout I’m drowning in.I can’t stop thinking about it. About how Tristan just stood there in front of everyone and said it—announced it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “The engagement is canceled.” Just like that. His voice steady, eyes sharp, and the whole room stunned into silence. Oliver looke

Dylan’s POVThe medics are trying to keep everything under control, but the room still feels like a pressure cooker. The heat in the air doesn’t let up, boiling with pheromones and that suffocating, synthetic scent. I’m on my knees next to Tristan, holding him close as he fights off the remnants of the drug-induced heat. He’s clinging to me, his body wracked with shivers, and his eyes, half-lidded and glassy, barely focus on me.My heart is pounding, drowning out the noise around us. I don’t know what to do—just that I can’t fucking let him go. Not when he’s this vulnerable, not when he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.But then there’s a strangled noise from behind me, and I snap my head around to see Oliver, still on the floor, clutching his own arms like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is rough, chest heaving as he struggles to stay coherent.“Dylan…” he chokes out, voice tight. I turn, and his eyes meet mine—blue and desperate. “Plea

Dylan’s POVHeat was coming out of Oliver’s body soaking into the sheets like a fever that won’t break. I’m sitting at the edge of the bed, my hands clenched in my lap, trying to focus on breathing slowly, evenly, despite the pheromones pressing down on me like a heavy, invisible weight.Oliver lies curled up on the bed, his knees drawn to his chest, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat. His hands are fisting the blankets, knuckles white, and his whole body is shaking. His breaths come out in uneven gasps, and I can see how hard he’s trying to keep himself together.“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean… to drag you into this.”“It’s not your fault,” I murmur, running a hand through my hair, frustrated and exhausted. “Someone did this to both of you.”His eyes flicker open, glassy and dazed, and he licks his lips as if trying to gather enough moisture to speak. “I think… I think it was Tristan’s father,” he finally says, voice trembling.“What?” I straight