CEDRIC POV
The corners of my mouth lifted slightly as I watched Eamon's brow furrow, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
It was almost amusing—he had spent months urging me to leave it all behind, yet now, confronted with the reality, he seemed utterly caught off guard.
"Come now, Eamon, there's no need to look so astonished."
"For months, I've been urging you on this, and for good reason—I'm your friend, one of the few who still finds your sour face somewhat tolerable." Eamon's voice softened. "But do you mean it? Have you retired? Have you told Scarlett?"
His words tumbled out, breathless and hurried as if they were spilling over one another in a race to escape.
"She is aware." I traced the rim of my glass. "She is not pleased."
"She'll have to come to terms with it," Eamon muttered, raising his glass in a quiet salute. "To your long life, my friend. May happiness and peace find their way to you—you've earned them."
I caught a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror—a shadow of the man I used to be. The lines on my face had deepened, and my eyes held a weariness I didn't remember forming.
I turned away, disgusted with myself, unable to join the toast.
Happiness?
Maybe, in brief moments.
But peace?
No.
Never peace.
The past clung too tightly, its grip too strong, too relentless.
"You're at it again." Eamon nudged my arm.
"At what?"
"Scowling all the prospects away."
Ah, yes. The prospects. The tiresome procession of well-bred nobility, all with their vacant smiles and fluttering fans. "Glad to see I haven't lost my touch."
Eamon shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Are you planning to scowl the entire night?"
"Probably."
"Your lack of enthusiasm is almost painful to witness," Eamon remarked, as he took a leisurely sip of his drink. "Meanwhile, I'm in excellent spirits. Something about the start of a new season always gets my blood pumping." He wiggled his eyebrows. "And as for your brother, he's probably bouncing off the walls with excitement at the thought of all the upcoming soirees." He paused, a faraway look settling in his eyes as he thought about Gareth. "I can hardly wrap my head around the fact that the little brat's finally grown up."
"Gareth is eager," I confessed. "He's reached the age where he can take a mate."
"Is he still... a handful?"
A smile tugged at my lips at Eamon's delicate attempt to address my brother's reckless tendencies. "If by that you mean does he still leap headfirst into any situation without a shred of caution, then yes, he remains quite the handful."
Eamon nodded, his gaze wandering across the room.
"Just think about it," he murmured, eyes bright. "A new season's harvest—omegas, betas, and perhaps even a few striking alphas—ripe for the choosing."
"Doesn't interest me."
Eamon ignored my comment, his eyes still scanning the room. "Take a glance over there."
Reluctantly, I followed his gaze, my eyes landing on a cluster of women near the grand piano. They all looked remarkably similar in their puffy dresses, layers of pastel fabric blending into a single blur of ruffles and lace.
Their painted smiles were bright, eyes darting about like birds ready to flit away at any moment. I searched their faces, one after another, but found nothing that stirred even the faintest spark of interest in me.
Off to the side of the group, I noticed a petite man standing slightly apart from the women. A beta with delicate features and a mop of unruly curls that fell over his forehead. He was cute in a boyish way, his cheeks glowing a bright red when he caught my gaze.
Too innocent for my taste.
I could almost smell the naivety on him, the way he clutched his hands nervously, shifting on his feet like a child trying to avoid trouble.
Harmless, sweet, and utterly uninteresting.
"They would likely approach if you'd just smile. Maybe you'd remember what it's like to be alive, Cedric. To actually feel something other than—
—emptiness."
Smile?
Here?
The room was awash with an undercurrent of pheromones, each distinct scent betraying a hidden emotion—excitement, desire, desperation.
The air was heavy with it all, and as a dominant Alpha, I was attuned to every nuance, every delicate shift in the atmosphere.
"How can you feign enjoyment in this charade?" I retorted. "Your brain's turned to mush."
"Hardly," Eamon replied with a broad grin. "My brain turned to mush years ago, back when we drank that awful absinthe at school."
"We?!"
Eamon threw his head back and laughed, loud and boisterous. Heads turned, curious eyes narrowing at the source of the disruption.
I met each gaze with a cold, unyielding stare of my own. One by one, the onlookers faltered, their eyes dropping, their interest swiftly redirected elsewhere.
Eamon's laughter died down to a chuckle as he leaned closer, still grinning. "But tell me," he said, his voice low, "have you seen that beta over there?" He tilted his head toward the man with the unruly curls. "He's been sneaking looks at you all night, trying to catch your eye."
"Too innocent."
"Innocent, you say? Maybe on the surface. That's the fourth son of Baron Wentworth, if I'm not mistaken. Barely any title, but according to Briony, he's quite skilled…"
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You have a penchant for gossip these days, Eamon. When did you join Mrs. Fairchild's book club?"
"You wound me!"
Mrs. Fairchild.
The woman was a notorious gossip who thrived on whispered secrets and half-truths. She knew every scandal, every discreet liaison, every ruinous misstep of the ton before most involved had even blinked.
How she did it was anyone's guess.
"You used to love a good dalliance."
I snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite myself. "Perhaps once, but I'd rather not bed a child masquerading as a man. And that one?" I nodded toward the beta, who was now flirting with a newly widowed Earl. "He still has the scent of milk about him."
Eamon laughed again, "He's a year older than Gareth."
"Exactly!"
"Do you know what the ladies of the ton are saying?"
I didn't respond; I merely raised an eyebrow.
Eamon pressed on. "They're all wondering when you'll take another mate, Cedric."
Another mate.
The very idea seemed absurd, almost laughable.
But it wasn't laughter bubbling up inside me. It was something darker, something clawing at my insides, threatening to spill out. Cordelia's face, eyes wild and unfocused, flashed in my mind—Godfrey? Help me... He must never know...
A memory dragged me back to the summer estate years ago before everything went wrong.
I had just returned from a long ride across the fields, the wind still whipping through my hair, the taste of freedom fresh on my lips. As I dismounted, patting my horse's neck, I heard laughter—soft, intimate—carried on the warm breeze.
I turned the corner of the stable and stopped.
There, under the old oak tree, Cordelia and Godfrey sat close together on a blanket. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting playful shadows on their faces. They were laughing, their heads bent close as if sharing a secret the world wasn't meant to hear. Cordelia's hand was on Godfrey's arm, a light touch that seemed almost accidental.
Cordelia looked up, her eyes bright with amusement. "Oh, Cedric! Godfrey told me the most ridiculous story from his time in town." She flashed me a smile, her lips curving in that familiar, easy way that used to make my heart melt.
Godfrey grinned and shrugged, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something unreadable that I ignored back then.
I laughed it off, walking over to them and sinking down on the blanket beside Cordelia, the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass filling my senses.
I wanted to believe it was nothing—just a moment between friends. But now, as I looked back, that memory twisted in my mind, darkened by everything that came after.
I forced my gaze to remain fixed on the amber liquid swirling in my goblet, my hand tightening around the crystal as if it could somehow tether me to the present.
"They can speculate all they like, but it won't change a damn thing."
"Come now, Cedric," Eamon chided gently. "You can't blame them for being curious. You've been alone for—"
I cut him off with a sharp look.
None of them knew the truth.
They couldn't comprehend the weight of carrying a dead love and a living hatred in the same breath.
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