Chapter 40

I woke up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains of my new bedroom. The penthouse was still a foreign place to me, but the promise I made to the others, to Darcy, anchored me here. I had packed up my life overnight, leaving behind my solitary apartment to be closer to her, to ensure her safety. It was a small sacrifice compared to what she had endured.

Darcy had been holed up in her nest since we brought her here, a sanctuary she clung to even though it lacked the comfort she deserved. I watched her, night after night, weaving blanket after blanket, her hands never still. It was her way of coping, of claiming a space that was truly hers. But it wasn’t enough. I could see the longing in her eyes, the way her gaze would drift to the corners of the room, searching for something more.

So, I took matters into my own hands. I raided the closets and drawers of her other alphas, collecting shirts and blankets imbued with their scents. It was a bold move, one that might have sparked territoriality in any other situation, but they understood. They trusted me, and more importantly, they wanted Darcy to be comfortable just as much as I did.

I spent hours tearing the fabric into strips, twisting and knotting them into yarn that carried all of our essences. My fingers worked nimbly, the repetitive motions centering my thoughts as I focused. Each twist of fabric, each careful knot, felt like a small offering – a physical manifestation of my love and concern for Darcy’s welfare. I filled bags with the scented yarn, preserving our combined fragrances for as long as possible. The anticipation of giving it to her made my heart race with excitement.

With a newfound energy, I sprang out of bed and into the living room. The sounds of the waking city poured in through the open windows, intruding upon the calm I intended to create. I wanted to create an atmosphere of warmth and safety, a place where Darcy could let down her guard and just be. I built a fort of blankets, ensuring each piece carried a piece of us—a shirt here, a pillowcase there. It was a nest within a nest, a hidden retreat designed just for her.

The kitchen became my next canvas. I pulled out ingredients, my hands moving with practiced ease as I measured and mixed. The scent of butterscotch and peanut butter soon filled the air, a sweet reminder of home, of Mrs. Dubois. The recipe was shared with me when I let Mrs. Dubois know that Darcy was safe. Mrs. Dubois didn’t know any further details but she was grateful she had gotten an update after the ball’s events.

As the cookies baked and the cinnamon rolls proofed, I turned on a playlist of Disney movies, the familiar tunes a gentle backdrop to the morning’s preparations. I was ready to give her the world, starting with a place that felt like home.

I felt a rush of satisfaction as I slid the eggs onto the plate, the whites perfectly set and the yolks still runny, just the way she liked them. The fruit was fresh, a vibrant array of colors that I imagined would tempt even the most hesitant of appetites. I poured juice into the glass, watching the pulp swirl, and then filled another with cool, clear water. The pièce de résistance, though, was the cinnamon roll, golden and gooey, its sweet aroma mingling with the other scents in the kitchen.

With the tray neatly arranged, I made my way to her nest, the soft thud of my heartbeat a steady rhythm in my chest. I paused outside the door, giving it a gentle knock.

“I’ve made breakfast,” I called out, keeping my voice low and soothing. There was a brief scurry of movement from within, and then a pair of bright blue eyes peered out at me through a narrow gap in the doorway. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, and I couldn’t help but beam at her. She was too cute for her own good.

She reached out, snatching the tray from my hands, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of her nest before the door closed, the soft click of the latch a clear dismissal. But I wasn’t discouraged; instead, I felt a surge of joy. She had taken my food!

With a lightness in my step, I retreated to my own sanctuary, a book waiting on my nightstand. I selected one with an intriguing cover, a tale of adventure and romance that I hoped might pique her interest. It was a part of me I was eager to share with her, the love of stories that had been my solace for so many years.

Settling into the fort I had constructed earlier, I nestled into the cushions and blankets that surrounded me. As I opened the book, the comforting blend of our scents enveloped me, offering a sense of tranquility. With each turn of the page, I found myself whisked away to a different realm, all while savoring the sweet and salty notes of a butterscotch peanut butter cookie.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in the changes I was undergoing. Once a shadow lurking in the corners, I had become someone who could offer comfort, who could contribute to the well-being of someone as precious as Darcy. My need for control was softening, giving way to a desire to nurture and protect in ways that didn’t stifle but instead empowered.

I called out to her, my voice carrying through the penthouse, “I’ve built a fort in the living room, and there’s a plate of butterscotch peanut butter cookies waiting. I’ll be reading here if you decide to join me. No pressure at all, Darcy.”

I wanted her to know that I respected her space, her need for autonomy. I was here, present and patient, ready to share in the quiet moments or the vibrant tales between the pages of a book.

I turned the page, my eyes darting across the lines of text, but my focus was elsewhere. I was attuned to the sounds of the penthouse, waiting for a soft whisper of movement that would signal her approach. I was ready to welcome her into my world, to share in the simple joys that life had to offer, one page at a time.

I was in heaven. The cinnamon roll Jin had brought me was a revelation, each bite sending waves of pleasure through my body. It was so good, it bordered on the sinful. I had been trying to perfect my nest, crafting blanket after blanket, but nothing felt quite right. Everything was off, save for that perfect cinnamon roll.

As I savored the last bite, Jin’s voice filtered through the fortress of fabric I had erected around myself. “Darcy,” he called from the living room, “there are butterscotch peanut butter cookies.” My heart skipped a beat. The knowledge that he knew my favorite cookie—that he had gone out of his way to make them for me. It was as if he had reached into my heart and soothed a wound I didn’t even know I had.

In a moment of weakness, I emerged from my room, drawn by the promise of those cookies. They had always been a source of comfort, a secret shared between Josephine and me. Whenever life at the McCarthy estate became too much to bear, she would slip me a few, and I would savor them, a silent act of rebellion and self-care.

I padded silently on the balls of my feet, not wanting to alert Jin. As I neared the kitchen, I caught sight of the fort he had constructed. It was a marvel of blankets and pillows, and everything in me was itching to throw myself into it. I heard the soft rustle of a page turning, and it struck a chord within me, bringing tears to my eyes. Jin was there, a constant presence, solid and unwavering.

I grabbed a handful of cookies, their warmth seeping into my palms, and made a beeline for the fort. Jin looked up, startled, as I burst into the makeshift sanctuary. His smile, bright and genuine, lit up the dimly lit space. He went back to his book, and I settled in beside him, the scent of butterscotch and peanut butter mingling with the comforting aroma of bourbon.

As I nibbled on the edge of a butterscotch peanut butter cookie, the taste of nostalgia flooding my senses, I found myself drawn to the words on the page of Jin’s book. It was an old habit, one that used to earn me scowls from my tutors back at the estate. But here, in the cozy confines of our blanket fort, it felt right to share the adventure unfolding in print. Jin’s laughter, a sound I’d only recently discovered I loved, bubbled up again as he caught me craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the text.

“Here, let me,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. He shifted slightly, angling the book so we could both see the pages. His finger traced the lines as he began to read aloud, the cadence of his voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The tale he read was one of swashbuckling pirates and hidden treasure, of unlikely friendships forged in the face of adversity. It was the kind of story that made my heart race and my imagination soar.

I leaned closer, the cookie momentarily forgotten in my hand. Jin noticed my engrossed expression and paused, a playful glint in his eye. “You look like you’re about to leap into the pages,” he teased.

I responded with a small laugh, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “Maybe I am,” I retorted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’ve always wanted to sail the high seas.”

Jin’s smile broadened, and he turned back to the book. “Then let’s sail together,” he said, resuming the narrative.

Curled up against Jin’s side, I felt the tension that had been coiling in my muscles begin to unwind. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and I found myself nestling into his side. It was a simple gesture, but it held the weight of the world.

As I shifted, I caught a whiff of something else—Pietro’s dark chocolate and coffee, followed by Harlen’s oak and hazelnut, and then Axel’s cedarwood and spice. The scents were faint, but they were unmistakably there, lingering on the blankets and pillowcases that made up our cozy fort. I glanced around, my eyes landing on shirts tucked into crevices, each one carrying the distinct aroma of one of my scent matches.

Jin had done more than create a fort for me; he had made me a nest. A nest I had been trying to create for days now.

A lump formed in my throat as I realized the depth of Jin’s thoughtfulness. He understood me, understood what I needed when I couldn’t even articulate it myself.

I looked up at him, my gaze meeting his briefly before he continued to read aloud. My eyes slowly drifted shut as his soothing voice filled the air, his tone like a gentle lullaby. I could almost picture the hero battling against the odds, the story unfolding before me like a vivid dream. His steady cadence never faltered, and I found myself falling deeper into the world he created with every syllable.

I tucked my head under his chin, my face pressed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The tears that threatened to fall were bittersweet. I was overwhelmed by the enormity of what Jin had done, the care he had taken to make me feel safe and loved. I fought back the tears. Instead, I focused on the warmth of his embrace, the comforting rhythm of his breathing, and the taste of the butterscotch peanut butter cookie that melted in my mouth.

As I settled deeper into Jin’s side, the fort around us seemed to shrink, the world outside fading into insignificance. All that mattered was the here and now, the beat of Jin’s heart, the strength of his arm around me, and the scents of my scent matches that surrounded us in a cocoon of safety and belonging. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the moment wash over me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.