Chapter 119: Chapter 119
I was elbow-deep in paperwork when I heard it—Christian laughing. Not the polite chuckle he used during formal meetings or the soft laugh I usually heard when we were alone. This was real laughter, the kind that made his whole body shake.
I peeked through the crack in his office door.
Christian sat sprawled in his desk chair, feet propped up on the edge of his desk like some kind of normal person instead of the uptight Alpha who usually sat with perfect posture. Marcus stood by the window, mid-story, gesturing wildly with his hands.
"—and then Connor’s tablet just flew out of his hands straight into the mud," Marcus said, barely getting the words out through his laughter. "You should’ve seen his face."
"It contained three months of patrol data," Connor protested from the couch, but even he was grinning. "Three months, Marcus."
"Should’ve backed it up to the cloud."
"I did back it up. That’s not the point."
Christian’s shoulders relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in... god, weeks? Maybe longer. The permanent tension he carried around like a second skin had just... melted.
I quietly closed the door and went back to my own work, smiling.
Wednesday evening became a thing.
I noticed because Christian started blocking off time on his calendar—7 PM to whenever, marked "Strategy Session" in Connor’s neat digital handwriting. The first couple weeks, I figured it was exactly what it said. Pack business, territory discussions, boring alpha stuff.
Then I walked past Christian’s study one Wednesday night and heard the distinct sound of beer bottles clinking.
"I’m just saying," Marcus’s voice filtered through the door, "if we moved the northern patrol route fifteen minutes earlier—"
"The data doesn’t support that." Connor’s response. "Morning patrol efficiency is highest between 6:15 and 6:47 AM. Your proposed change would—"
"Connor, buddy, you have to learn to go with your gut sometimes."
"My gut doesn’t have access to five years of compiled statistics."
Christian’s laugh. Again. That real, genuine sound that made my heart do weird, fluttery things.
I knocked and opened the door without waiting for permission—Luna privileges.
All three men looked up from where they sat in a circle around Christian’s coffee table. Pizza boxes. Beer bottles. Connor’s tablet was propped against a stack of books, displaying some kind of color-coded patrol schedule. Marcus had his feet up on Christian’s fancy coffee table, and Christian hadn’t murdered him for it.
"Don’t mind me," I said, grabbing a slice of pizza. "Just passing through."
"There’s plenty if you want to stay," Christian offered.
"Nah, you boys have fun with your strategy session." I made air quotes around the last two words.
Diana ambushed me in the hallway as I left. "They’ve been doing this for three weeks now."
"I noticed."
"Christian hasn’t looked this relaxed since... actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this relaxed." Diana leaned against the wall, smiling. "It’s good for him. Having friends."
"Friends? I thought Marcus was his beta and Connor was his—"
"Analyst. I know. But look at them." Diana gestured toward the closed door. Laughter echoed from inside. "That’s not a work meeting, Sophie. That’s friendship."
Huh.
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop the following Wednesday. Technically.
I was just walking past Christian’s study to get to the library, and the door cracked open, and I heard Christian’s voice go quiet in that way it did when he was talking about something painful.
"My father used to make me train alone," Christian said. "Every day. Just me and him and a stopwatch. If I didn’t meet him, I wouldn’t eat dinner."
I froze in the hallway.
"He said alphas don’t need friends. That friendship makes you weak, makes you vulnerable. That a good alpha stands alone."
Silence.
"That’s bullshit," Marcus said finally. "Sorry, but it is."
"I know that now. But when you hear something every day for eighteen years..." Christian’s voice trailed off.
"My father said something similar," Marcus admitted. "Different words, same message. Be strong. Be independent. Don’t trust anyone. That’s why I left my birth pack."
More silence.
Connor cleared his throat. "My parents keep asking when I’m going to find a mate."
Oh, Connor.
"Every phone call," Connor continued. "Every visit. ’Connor, you’re twenty-eight now. Your siblings have all settled down. When are you going to meet someone?’ And I just... I don’t know how to tell them I’m terrified I never will."
My heart cracked a little.
"I bury myself in data and patrol schedules because at least those make sense," Connor said. "Numbers don’t care if you’re mateless. Statistics don’t judge you."
"Connor—" Christian started.
"I’m fine. Really. I just... sometimes I wonder if something’s wrong with me, you know?"
"Nothing’s wrong with you." Marcus’s voice was firm. "The mate bond happens when it happens. You can’t force it."
"I know. Doesn’t make it easier."
The conversation shifted after that, but I couldn’t move. Christian had never told me those details about his father’s training. I knew it was bad, knew Christian’s childhood was lonely, but hearing him describe it so plainly...
I waited until their conversation turned back to lighter topics before continuing to the library.
That night, I found Christian sitting on our bed, staring at nothing.
"Hey." I sat beside him. "Are you okay?"
