Chapter 134: I’m Not Some Omega You Need To Impress...
The car hums low and steady beneath me, a quiet vibration threading through the leather seat. My head rests against Silas’s shoulder, the fabric of his coat soft and warm beneath my cheek, carrying the faint scent of him—something clean and familiar, something that has quietly become the anchor of my restless nights. His presence is solid, grounding.
I drift in that warm, suspended space between sleep and waking, where time loses its edges and the world softens into something bearable.
Then, slowly, my eyes open.
I blink. Once. Twice. The weight of sleep still clings to my lashes. I rub them gently with the back of my hand, coaxing the world back into focus.
Ahead of me, the road stretches wide and dry, bathed in sunlight so bright it feels almost foreign.
No snow.
No white.
Just endless green trees lining both sides, their leaves catching the light like scattered emeralds. Above them, the sky stretches vast and impossibly blue—a shade so clear it feels like it belongs to another world.
I’m in X Country.
The journey was long—too long. After the jet, after the drive, I don’t remember when sleep claimed me. Exhaustion pulled me under, deep and heavy, like something I couldn’t fight anymore.
I glance at Silas.
He sits beside me, fresh and awake, as though the long journey has left no mark on him. His face is calm, his eyes clear, his posture relaxed. There’s no trace of fatigue in him—only a quiet contentment that seems to radiate from him like warmth from a fire.
His gaze drifts to me, and the moment our eyes meet, a soft smile spreads across his lips—gentle, unhurried, as though my waking is the only thing that matters.
I stay still, my head resting against his shoulder, my eyelids still heavy with the remnants of sleep. The quiet hum of the engine, the gentle sway of the road, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it all conspires to pull me back under.
My voice comes out rough, barely more than a murmur.
"Aren’t you tired?"
He shakes his head.
No.
The movement is so small I barely feel it against my hair. I close my eyes again, breathing in the quiet that settles between us.
"But I still feel sleepy," I murmur.
He reaches for the water bottle from the holder beside him, his movements slow and unhurried. He brings it to my face and presses it lightly against my cheek. The cool touch pulls me back from the edge of sleep.
My eyes flutter open.
I look at him.
He tilts the bottle slightly, his eyes asking the question his voice cannot.
Do you want water?
I don’t speak. I simply hum in response before lifting my head from his shoulder and straightening in my seat.
He unscrews the cap and offers me the bottle. Our fingers brush as I take it. I sip slowly, letting the cool water wash away the dryness lingering from sleep.
My gaze drifts outside.
The car begins to slow. The road widens, and ahead of us, a massive golden gate swings open.
Beyond it, another world awaits.
So this is the Stoneheart mansion.
It rises beneath the afternoon sun, grand and timeless. Old money. Old history. Every stone seems to carry the weight of generations. Honey-colored stone walls are draped with climbing vines, flowering plants spilling over balconies and archways. Tall windows catch the sunlight, scattering flecks of gold across the elegant façade.
The estate stretches far beyond the mansion itself. Even from here, marble fountains, ancient trees, and sprawling gardens stretch into the distance.
Nothing here feels hurried. Every corner has been preserved with quiet care, as though time itself moves a little slower behind these gates.
The car comes to a smooth stop.
A servant opens the door with practiced precision. Silas steps out first, his movements calm and unhurried, then walks around to my side and opens the door for me.
Warm air rushes inside—a stark contrast to the winter I left behind. It carries the scent of blooming flowers and rich earth, a country living in a different season.
I blink and look up at him.
He extends a hand toward me, palm open, waiting.
My gaze drops to his hand, then returns to his face. Sunlight softens his features, and a quiet smile rests on his lips.
Why is he offering me his hand?
He gives the slightest nod toward his outstretched hand.
Take it.
Without thinking, I place my hand in his. His fingers close around mine with an easy familiarity as I step out of the car.
The afternoon sun settles warmly against my skin. Even the breeze carries a gentle heat, so different from the biting cold of Crystal Country.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth.
"What’s with the gentleman act? I’m not some Omega you need to impress."
His smile doesn’t fade. His shoulders lift in a small, helpless shrug before he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
I shake my head, unable to stop smiling.
My gaze sweeps across the entrance.
Rows of servants stand on either side—impeccable uniforms, perfect posture, hands folded, heads bowed. Waiting. Silent.
We walk forward together.
Then I feel something soft beneath my feet.
I glance down.
Rose petals.
Countless petals blanket the ground beneath us, their crimson and ivory colors vivid against the warm stone. They stretch across the courtyard, climb the entrance steps, and disappear through the open doors, forming a path that seems to have been prepared just for us.
I stop at the foot of the stairs.
Silas stops with me.
"What is this?"
He blinks, looking around before turning back to me, his expression as innocent as ever.
I arch a brow.
"Do you really think I’m some Omega? Arranging flowers like this?"
He simply looks at me, saying nothing. I give his hand a gentle tug.
"What’s going on?"
And then—petals begin to fall from above.
Soft, slow, delicate. They drift down around us like snow in a land where snow never falls. They catch the sunlight as they fall, turning the air golden and fragrant.
I look up. The sky above us is filled with petals, cascading in an endless, gentle stream.
I look back at his face.
"Silas... you’re making me feel like an Om—"
Before I can finish, he steps closer and presses his lips to mine.
My eyes widen. His grip tightens around my hand—not demanding, but anchoring.
The petals keep falling around us.
I blink slowly, still caught in the warmth of the moment, still feeling the soft pressure of his lips against mine.
What’s with him?