Chapter 211: Still Breathing
The news of the shooting reached Brooklyn, and she froze. Her device slipped from her fingers onto her lap as tears filled her eyes. She cried until Ken told her Emma was still breathing.
At once, she grabbed her device and tried calling her, but the call wouldn’t go through.
"She can’t take calls right now. Not until she wakes up," Ken said, pulling her against his chest.
Brooklyn buried her face in him and shook her head.
"Why are people so cruel? What did Emma ever do to her? She wouldn’t even hurt a fly."
"Nothing," Ken said, wrapping his arms tighter around her. "She’s simply jealous."
Her fingers tightened around the device, but it still slipped slightly against her palm before she caught it again. Warmth drained out of her hands.
Brooklyn Ashford—most people called her Lyn—stood there, tall and steady. Dark hair fell over her shoulders in loose, heavy curves, shifting only when she breathed. Her cheekbones caught the light every time she turned her face, sharp enough to make her look almost delicate from a distance, until you met her eyes.
The bond with Ken had settled into her without a fight, like it had been there all along waiting to be named. No one had stepped forward to challenge it, not even with her bloodline on paper—Omega-born, and Ken, the High Fang Regent’s pup.
Emma had made that possible. The thought lingered quietly, the way certain truths did when there was nothing left to argue with.
Ashley Ashford never missed a call without slipping in advice. His voice would come through the device steady and familiar, like he was still standing right there beside her, making sure she was doing things the "right" way.
Emily carried that voice with her after each call, even when she set the device down. She was soft-hearted, gentle in the way she moved through things, just like Emma. But the world she stepped into didn’t sit right on her skin yet.
Small things made her pause. The way people greeted each other. The way decisions were made without asking twice. Things that were normal here still felt strange to her, like she was always a step behind everyone else. She kept thinking she would tell Emma about it once she’s back—about all of it, everything building up before the chaos of the shooting.
But the words never came out.
England had been harder than she expected, especially when Arianna started showing up.
She remembered the sound of heels in the hallway, the way conversations stopped mid-sentence. Arianna would walk into Ken’s duty chamber like she belonged there, or appear in their home without notifying them—too close, too polished, too bold. Brooklyn would stand still, fingers tightening around whatever she was holding, watching the air change between them without anyone needing to say a word.
It left her unsettled. Quiet in a way she didn’t know how to explain.
Still, she never confronted it. Not once.
Now she sat with her device in her hands, staring at the blinking cursor. Her thumb hovered, then moved.
She started typing to Emma—about England, about the strange customs, about Arianna, about the things she hadn’t been able to say out loud. About the way she kept meaning to talk or react, and never did.
And somewhere in the middle of it, she added the only thing she could think of to soften it—
that maybe Emma would tell her about her honeymoon too.
***************
Three weeks had passed, but it still felt like it was happening right now.
She stood at the skyport, eyes fixed on the sky. The moon hung high, the moonfall bright in a quiet way that didn’t feel comforting. Far above, she could still trace Emma and Brandon’s flight fading into the distance, climbing higher until it was just a small light swallowed by the sky.
Her chest tightened. The longer she watched, the heavier it felt. Tears spilled down before she could stop them. She turned suddenly and buried herself against Ken, gripping him as she broke down.
"Lyn, it’s okay," Ken said softly, holding her steady.
She nodded against him, but the tears kept coming, washing away her makeup and leaving streaks on her cheeks.
Ken guided her toward the royal convoy. The ride back was quiet, almost too quiet, like the whole house was holding its breath. Emma and Brandon’s absence sat over everything. Nothing felt the same.
Back inside, they moved through their routine in silence. A bath. Fresh clothes.
Later, she sat by the golden table near the window, wrapped in a nightgown, staring out like the sky might give her something back. The full moon hung there instead, bright and distant, as if it had taken their place.
She didn’t notice Ken at first. He was already on the bed, watching her.
He lifted a hand slightly, calling her over.
She hesitated, then turned her face back to the window.
Ken got up and crossed the chamber. Quiet steps. No rush.
"Three weeks," he said gently, brushing her hair back from her shoulder. "That’s what they said."
His fingers lingered for a moment before falling away.
"I feel it too," he added. A faint smile touched his mouth as he leaned in a little closer. "But we still have each other."
He tried again, nudging her lightly, playful, trying to pull her out of the silence.
This time, her shoulders shifted. A small breath escaped her.
And then, slowly, she turned. A weak smile came through the tears.
"Yeah," she whispered.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
She let out a soft laugh, eyes lifting to him like he’d said something unusual.
He stepped closer anyway, voice dropping. "My heart... I want to kiss you."
His chest brushed hers as he closed the space between them. She shifted off the table instinctively when his breathing deepened, like he was holding himself back too tightly.
"Ken..." she murmured under her breath, glancing at the table, then back at him.
He didn’t wait long. One hand found her waist, guiding her back until her shoulders met the window frame. The moonlight spilled over them as he tilted her face up and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle at first—hungry, urgent—but it softened as she responded.
Her eyes closed.
Her hands slid up his chest, gripping his shirt as she kissed him back just as fiercely, meeting him without hesitation.
He lifted her easily and set her back on the table, staying close the entire time, like he wasn’t ready to let go.
Neither of them pulled away.
He tugged her nightgown away and let it fall somewhere behind him.
She sat back on the table, watching him for a moment as he moved closer, eyes locked on hers, a small, knowing smile on his face.
His hands found her waist and drew her in.
The world outside the window disappeared as they closed the space between them.
Her breath caught, and her fingers curled into his shoulders as he held her close, the heat between them building fast, familiar, overwhelming.
She forgot the skyport. Forgot the departure. Forgot everything that had been sitting heavy in her chest.
It was only him, only now.
"Ken..." her voice broke out softly against his shoulder.
He paused just long enough to meet her eyes, like he was listening without words.
She pulled him back in.
The table shifted slightly under them, legs scraping the floor before he steadied it with one hand and let out a short laugh, still holding her close.
They both froze for a second—then smiled, breathless, caught in the same moment.
He lifted her off the table and carried her to the bed without letting go of her.
She didn’t resist.
Later, the chamber was quiet again, the moonlight spilling across the sheets as they stayed tangled together, breathing slowly, foreheads almost touching.
No distance between them anymore.
"Oh, my heart... I think I’m gonna cry again," he whispered.
"Don’t," she said with a soft grin, pressing her fingers lightly to his lips. The ball kept rolling between them as she watched him fall apart a little under her control.
"What do I do, Lyn? It feels too good... I feel like I’ll scream," he said, voice shaky with energy.
"Then don’t," she murmured, leaning in.
He caught her and kissed her instead—deep, unsteady, like he couldn’t get enough. She melted into it, holding him close as everything around them faded into heat and breath and tangled closeness.
Moments later, they lay there breathless, the air still heavy between them.
"We broke the leg," she said suddenly, glancing at the table.
Ken followed her eyes and laughed.
"I can fix it," he said, rolling out of bed.
A few minutes later, he tightened the loose leg back in place like it had never snapped.
He came back and pulled her close again, resting her head on his chest. His arms stayed around her, steady and warm.
She relaxed against him, eyes growing heavy.
Not long after, she drifted off to sleep.
The ringing cut through the chamber again and again from Ken’s device on the table.
He exhaled through his nose, swung his legs off the bed, and tugged his pants into place before walking over. His eyes dropped to the screen. A small sigh left him as he tilted the device away and dropped it back on the table.
"Who is it?" Brooklyn asked from the bed.
"Arianna," he said, already turning back.
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