Chapter 15: Cheating Bastard

Four days.

I’ve been in this room for four days straight, and I’m starting to lose track of time.

The second dose of suppressants went down easier than the first. Forty-eight hours after the heat cycle, just like Bael’s text instructed. I didn’t reply, and he hasn’t messaged since.

Good.

I stare at my phone now, at the contact still labeled "Unknown Number." Three messages. The watch, Eclipse Bar, the suppressants. I scroll through them sometimes when I can’t sleep, proof that none of this was a nightmare.

I should save it properly. It’s ridiculous to keep it as "Unknown" when I know exactly who it is. But what the hell do I call him?

*Bael* is too familiar, too intimate. What if Feifei sees it flash across my screen someday?

*Mr. Wuchen* sounds like I’m his employee.

*Sister’s Fiance* is too on the nose.

My thumb hovers over the edit button.

I type: *Cheating Bastard*

There, perfect.

Let him see that if he ever looks at my phone.

A knock on my door makes me jump.

"Runze?" Feifei’s voice, concerned. "Can I come in?"

I shove the phone under my pillow. "I’m sleeping."

"It’s three in the afternoon."

"I’m tired."

Silence, then: "I’m coming in anyway."

The door opens before I can protest. Feifei slips inside carrying a tray with soup and crackers, she sets it on my desk and perches on the edge of my bed.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"I’m serious." She presses the back of her hand to my forehead. "Are you still sick? Should we call a doctor?"

"I’m fine, just exhausted."

"From what? You haven’t left this room in days." Her expression softens. "Is this about Wei Jian?"

I blink at her. "What?"

"I know you had feelings for him. And I know it hurt when he got engaged." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought maybe dragging you to all those planning sessions would help give you something else to focus on. But maybe I made it worse?"

Guilt twists sharp and vicious in my chest.

She thinks I’m heartbroken over Wei Jian.

If only it were that simple.

"It’s not your fault," I manage. "I just need some time alone."

"I get it." She squeezes my hand. "But you have to eat something. And maybe shower? The room is starting to smell."

Heat floods my face. "I’ll shower."

"Good." She stands, smoothing her skirt. "Oh, the formal invitations went out yesterday. Two months and two weeks until the wedding. Can you believe it?"

My stomach lurches.

Two months and two weeks.

"Yeah. Crazy."

She smiles, but it’s tentative. "You’ll be there, right? As a groomsman?"

"Of course."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She leaves, and I’m alone again with the soup I won’t eat and the knowledge that I’m the worst brother in existence.

***

Downstairs, I hear Mother’s voice filtering up through the floorboards.

"...at least he’s staying in his room. Better than running around causing problems."

Father’s response is too low to make out.

"I know he’s always been difficult, but this is excessive. Four days, Li Chen. What if he’s actually ill?"

"He’s fine. Probably just sulking."

"Still. Maybe I should check on him again."

Footsteps on the stairs.

I burrow deeper under the covers and close my eyes, feigning sleep.

Mother cracks the door open. I can feel her watching me, assessing.

After a long moment, she sighs and closes it again.

Her footsteps retreat.

I exhale slowly.

They’re not worried, not really. Father’s relieved I’m not out embarrassing the family. Mother’s concern is performative at best, something she’d feel guilty about not doing rather than something she actually wants to do.

I’m a disappointment either way.

Locked in my room or stumbling home smelling like alpha, doesn’t matter. I’m the son who never measured up, the omega who couldn’t even seduce the right person.

My phone buzzes.

I pull it out from under the pillow, expecting another text from Feifei about centerpieces or cake flavors.

It’s not.

*Cheating Bastard: Measurements needed by end of week. Tailor’s coming to the estate Saturday morning. Be there.*

My heart stops.

First contact in four days and it’s a summons.

I stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, delete what I start typing, try again, delete that too.

Finally: *Can’t. Still sick.*

Three dots appear almost immediately.

*Cheating Bastard: Then I’ll send him to you.*

My stomach drops. A tailor showing up here, taking my measurements in my room, my parents hovering, asking why the Wuchen family is sending private services...

*Me: Don’t.*

*Cheating Bastard: Saturday. 9 AM. I’ll have a car pick you up.*

*Me: I said I can’t.*

*Cheating Bastard: Find a way.*

I throw the phone.

It hits the wall and clatters to the floor, screen cracking further.

Silence.

My hands are shaking.

Saturday, two days from now, back to the estate, back to him, back to pretending everything is normal while my body remembers exactly what his hands feel like.

I can’t do this.

Two months and two weeks until the wedding. I just have to avoid him until then, stay invisible, stay safe.

But he’s not going to let me.

My stomach churns suddenly, violently.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m heaving over the toilet. Nothing comes up because I haven’t eaten, but my body tries anyway, desperate to purge something that won’t leave.

When it stops, I collapse against the cool tile, gasping.

The nausea’s been getting worse. Mornings are bad, but it hits randomly too, like now. I blamed the suppressants at first, but those should be gone from my system by now.

Stress.

Just stress.

My body telling me I’m drowning.

I drag myself back to bed and stare at the ceiling.

Saturday.

Two days.

The cracked phone screen glows faintly from where it landed near the door. I should pick it up, check if he sent anything else, but I can’t make myself move.

Instead I lie there, counting the water stains on the ceiling. Seven. There are seven of them, old damage from a leak that got fixed years ago but left its marks anyway.

Appropriate.

My body aches in ways I’m trying not to think about. The suppressants killed the heat, but they couldn’t erase what happened, I can still feel it sometimes, phantom sensations that catch me off guard. The stretch, the fullness, the knot.

I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Any of it. I was supposed to die in that cubicle, alone and unremarkable, choking on bad coffee at twenty-eight. Instead I’m here, twenty-two again but not really, living someone else’s catastrophic life choices.

And making even worse ones.

The soup Feifei brought is still sitting on my desk, probably cold by now. I should eat it, I should take care of this body even if it feels foreign, even if every day I wake up slightly surprised to be in it.

But the thought of food makes my stomach turn over again.

I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter.

Two days until I see him again.

Two months and two weeks until the wedding.

And absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to survive either.