The billionaire's omega wolf bride

Chapter 70

Lenora

I may have gone overboard.

I shift back at the edge of the dense patch of woods, tugging on the clothes I’d stashed earlier—jeans soft from wear, a sweater that still smells faintly of pine and the very expensive laundry soap Cameron insists on using. My hair is damp from running through the river shallows in wolf form, my skin still buzzing with that deep, wild calm I only get after hours of moving under the open sky.

When I step out onto the gravel shoulder, the black SUV is exactly where I left it. Cameron is leaning against the driver’s side, tall and composed, still in his work suit like he came here straight from the office without a second thought. His tie is a little loosened, though—Cameron’s version of casual—and the sinking sun turns the edges of his hair to gold.

I let out a slow breath.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask as I close the distance between us.

"Nothing short of five hours or so," he says with a smile that’s half-serious, half meant to disarm me.

I cringe. "I’m sorry."

"It’s fine." His gaze flicks to my hair. "You’ve got a little something here."

Before I can react, he reaches out and gently plucks a stray blade of grass from my curls. His fingers linger just long enough for the warmth of his skin to register before he lets the grass flutter away on the breeze.

"You look... happy," he says, quiet but certain.

"I am," I admit, and it feels strange to say it out loud. "It’s been too long."

"You ready?" he says with a small smile.

Is it just me, or is the mood a little weird?

He motions for me to get into the car, which is strange—he usually opens the door for me. Still, I slide into the passenger seat, and he starts the engine without another word.

The silence stretches, the hum of the road filling the space between us. I watch the shadows move across his face from the passing streetlights. He’s not avoiding my gaze, exactly, but he’s not looking at me either.

After about an hour of driving, he finally speaks.

"I’m sorry."

I blink, turning my head toward him. "What?"

"I’m sorry I didn’t notice before. I’m sorry it took Ronan speaking to me for me to realize what a shitty mate I’ve been."

I stare at him, genuinely stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"This is the first time you’ve shifted since leaving the pack." His voice is heavy, and there’s something almost sad in the way he says it.

"Ah." I lean back in my seat, trying to make light of it.

"Don’t ah me, Lenora." His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather.

"It’s noth—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Don’t you dare fucking finish that statement." His voice is sharp, but not at me—it’s frayed at the edges, like it’s holding back something heavier.

I fall silent.

He exhales, long and slow, eyes fixed ahead on the ribbon of road stretching through the dark.

"I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you... more at myself, really." His voice is quieter now, but still heavy.

I stay quiet too, suddenly finding the road ahead a lot more interesting than his profile in the dashboard light.

"It’s not nothing, Lenora." He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. "I stifled you. You left everything you know, and I stuffed you in some high-rise in a bloody concrete jungle. I’ve been... content, thinking you were fine, but I overlooked your needs." His voice dips—there’s no anger now, just raw regret. "I should’ve known better. I should’ve seen it."

The guilt in his tone tugs at something deep in me.

"It’s not like that," I say finally, because it isn’t—not completely.

Silence. The hum of the tires against the road is the only sound between us.

"Why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have known. You know me... and my wolf side—rocky terms, at best. I wouldn’t have known." His voice is quiet but heavy, a mix of frustration and hurt.

"I’m sorry," I murmur.

"Lenora, if we’re going to make this work, and this whole mate thing means you and I are it for a lifetime—we’re barely a year in—you can’t not

be expressing yourself." And I feel it then—through the bond. His emotions bleed into me: disappointment, sadness... heartbreak. I didn’t think it was such a big deal, but to him, it clearly is.

"I didn’t want to—" My hands are fisted in my lap now, eyes fixed on them.

"I took you from your life, Cameron. You were forced to adapt to my environment, and I figured... I could do the same." My voice dips, exposing more than I meant to.

"It’s not a competition," he says gently. "You know things were different between us back then. Now you and I are together—like a consenting relationship."

His hand leaves the steering wheel, resting lightly on my thigh, grounding me. "And in a relationship, one side shouldn’t have to endure or suffer for the sake of the other person. I don’t know much about relationships—this is my first, and apparently my last—but I do know I don’t wish for you to dim your light, my beloved." His tone softens on those last words, almost reverent.

"I wasn’t going to," I say weakly, though I’m not sure I believe myself.

"First it was going to be you in an obviously uncomfortable state because of me—what else were you going to let slide?" Cameron’s voice is calm, but there’s a heat beneath it.

"Were you going to eat food you hate? Wear clothes you don’t like? How long was this going to go on for?"

I want to say no. I want to say he’s overreacting. But the truth hits like cold water down my back.

How many times have I told myself over the past couple of months, It’s for my mate? If my mate likes it, if my mate is happy, I’m happy.

Except—was I really? Or was I just quietly erasing myself piece by piece?

His hand leaves my thigh and finds mine, his fingers threading through mine like he’s trying to anchor me. He lifts our joined hands to his mouth, brushing a kiss against my knuckles.

"Please don’t do this again," he says, his tone soft but unyielding. "If not for you, then for me. You have no idea how devastated I felt earlier today. I’m not looking for a doormat, Lenora. I’m looking for a partner."

"Okay." My voice cracks, but I mean it. "I’m sorry. I mean it."

And I do. I didn’t realize what I was doing until he pulled me up short. I’ve seen mates like that—mates who vanish into each other until one day they can’t remember who they were before. I picture myself years from now, unable to recall the shape of my life before Cameron, my entire identity folded into his.

The thought scares me. I was going down a dangerous rabbit hole, and I hadn’t even noticed.