Chapter 114: When Did Your Hate For That Beautiful Beta Turn Into Love?
The office is drowning in roses.
They cluster on every surface—the polished mahogany desk, the low glass table beside the leather couch. A dozen bouquets, perhaps more, each one a quiet declaration from a business partner, a hopeful employee, someone wanting to be remembered by the heir of Roselle Holdings. The cards are still tucked into their stems—white and cream and gold—bearing names I didn’t even bother to read.
I stand near the glass wall, one hand resting in my pocket, the other pressed flat against the cool surface. Below me, the city stretches out in shades of pale orange and deepening amber, the sun sinking slowly into the horizon like a coin dropped into still water. The sky is awash with color—soft pinks, bruised purples, the last gold of a dying day fading into the encroaching blue of evening.
I barely see it.
The day passed in fragments. Meetings I sat through without hearing a single word. Hands I shook without feeling the pressure of their palms. Words I spoke without meaning, hollow sounds drifting from my lips and vanishing into the air like smoke.
My mind was elsewhere, caught in a loop, circling the same image, the same question that has been following me since this morning.
His warm breath against my lips. His flushed cheeks, too warm, too red. That smile—soft, but hollow.
And the scars.
The needle marks on his neck. Too many to count. Too uniform to be accidental.
They clustered along the curve of his throat, just beneath his jaw, faint purple smudges against his pale skin. They looked like someone had pressed a needle into him without care, without hesitation, without thinking twice about the damage they were leaving behind.
Is he taking something?
Some kind of medication?
But what kind of injection leaves scars like that?
I take a long, slow breath, letting the air fill my lungs and settle somewhere deep in my chest. The weight of the day presses against my shoulders, but it’s not the work that tires me.
Why am I thinking so much about this?
I can just ask him. Directly. Face to face.
Tonight.
When I go home, the first thing I’ll do is ask about the scars.
I’m his partner. He should tell me everything. If something is wrong—if he’s in pain, if he’s carrying something alone—I want to know.
My fingers close around the pendant in my pocket. I pull it out slowly, raising it toward the light.
The deep red catches the dying sunlight, glowing like something alive—like a drop of blood suspended in crystal. It shifts and shimmers as I turn it between my fingers, catching flecks of gold and amber from the sunset.
You should have told me, Silas.
If you were hurting. If something was wrong. You should have trusted me with whatever you’re carrying.
The pendant rests in my palm, warm from my touch.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I blink, the city outside coming back into focus, and slip the pendant back into my pocket.
"Come in."
The heavy door opens with a soft click.
A man steps in—or rather, a mountain of flowers steps in.
The bouquet is so large, so impossibly bright, that his face is completely hidden behind it. A riot of colors spills over his arms—pink and yellow and orange and white, no thought given to contrast or cohesion, just pure, unapologetic abundance. It’s the kind of arrangement that would make a florist weep and a child laugh with joy.
I turn from the glass wall, my movement slow and unhurried. My gaze sweeps over him, taking in the ridiculous bouquet and the familiar energy radiating from behind it.
My voice is flat.
"Sum."
He lowers the bouquet with a theatrical flourish, revealing a bright smile and eyes sparkling with mischief. The kind of smile that has gotten him out of trouble more times than he deserves.
"Ellis..." His voice drips with exaggerated affection. "You really are my best friend. Without seeing my face, without hearing my voice—you just knew. Our friendship is truly something special."
Before I can respond, he shoves the enormous bouquet into my arms. It’s heavier than it looks, dense with blooms and greenery, the stems thick and rough against my palms. I take it reluctantly, my fingers curling around the base.
Then he pulls me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me like he hasn’t seen me in years.
The bouquet is so ridiculously large that it’s wedged between us, preventing him from properly reaching me.
"Congratulations, bro!" His voice is muffled by the flowers. "Joining the family business!"
"And thanks for proving how close our friendship really is."
My brows knit together.
"What?"
He pats the bouquet dramatically. "I can’t even hug you properly."
My brows twist, a familiar frustration rising. "Don’t be so dramatic."
He steps back, crossing his arms, a theatrical pout forming on his lips.
"What do you mean?"
I set the bouquet on the couch with a soft thud, brushing a stray petal from my sleeve. The scent of the flowers clings to my clothes now, mingling with the lingering roses already filling the room.
"No one else would choose a flower arrangement like this." I gesture vaguely at the chaos of colors. "Just random colors. No contrast. No thought."
My gaze sweeps over the bouquet.
"It looks like a garden threw up on itself."
Sum places a hand over his heart, deeply offended.
"It’s a special bouquet. I chose each flower with care."
He looks around the office, his eyes scanning the endless sea of petals.
"Anyway. Forget the flowers." His gaze snaps back to me, sharp and curious. "Tell me—how did this magic happen?"
"What magic?"
"Joining the business." His brow lifts. "You were so against it. So stubborn. So ready to burn the whole place down rather than sit in that chair." He pauses. "And now here you are. Standing in the office. Wearing the suit. Looking like you belong."
I don’t answer. I just stare back. Unimpressed. Bored.
Sum studies me, his eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion. The smirk playing on his lips widens, slow and knowing.
"Ellis..." His voice drops to a whisper. "When did you start hiding things from your best friend?"
I glance away, letting my gaze drift back to the sunset painting the sky in shades of amber and gold.
"I’m not hiding anything."
"Oh, really?"
His grin widens.
"I know everything." The words land like a declaration, firm and certain. "Even about you and Silas."
He pauses for dramatic effect.
"You’re really partners now."
I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
"Who told you?"
"Uncle Elias." A pause. "And Aunt Levi."
His grin widens, though there’s something softer beneath the teasing now.
"They were glowing when I visited them. Aunt Levi told me all about it—how they interrupted your private lovey-dovey moment."
He wiggles his eyebrows.
"Apparently, the two of you were on the grass."
The corner of his mouth twitches.
"Then she spent the next five minutes giggling about it."
My face shifts—just a fraction, just enough to betray me.
Mom and Dad.
Of course.
They never change.
Sum’s arm slides around my neck, pulling me closer like we’re sharing secrets in a crowded room. His voice drops, teasing and full of delight.
"Mr. Charming..."
He tilts his head, studying me. "Now tell me." His grin widens. "When did it start?"
The question hangs between us.
"When did your hate for that beautiful Beta turn into love?"
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