Chapter 55: Losing
Chapter 54
Jack
I remove the photo from the tray, water dripping down the glossy edge, and hang it carefully on the small line stretched across my darkroom.
The red glow of the bulb paints everything in shadows, quiet and still, except for the faint drip of liquid against the basin. One by one, the photos sway on the line like ghosts—snapshots of life frozen still.
I step back and look at them.
My heart does this stupid fluttery thing, the kind that doesn’t belong to a guy like me, but there it is anyway—giddy, restless, warm.
The ocean stretches across one photo, the clouds bending low and heavy, the kind of view that makes you feel both infinite and small. Another shows Lanny in a blur of motion, his little fist raised triumphantly mid–baby babble.
And then there’s Nolan.
He’s asleep on one of the pool chairs, tank top clinging to his chest, his skin tanned golden from the sun. He looks...peaceful. That’s rare for him. No scowl, no sharp glares—just soft. It’s the kind of shot you can’t plan. The kind that makes you ache a little without knowing why.
Ciel mid-laugh, his hair catching the light, his eyes curved into crescents, lips parted like the whole damn world is a joke only he knows. A walking, breathing painting. I could take a thousand pictures of him and it would never be enough.
Tearing my eyes away, force myself to pick up another print from the tray. The chemical smell stings my nose as I clip it onto the line. Slowly, another memory sharpens into focus: Nolan standing at the balcony railing, hair whipped by the ocean breeze, staring out like he’s trying to hold the horizon still with sheer will. He hadn’t known I was there. Or maybe he had, and let me take it anyway. Either way, there’s something in the photo I can’t shake—loneliness, quiet, yearning.
I stand there, surrounded by them.
Their laughter, their silence, their shadows frozen on paper.
Ciel. Nolan. Lanny.
Family.
Is this the family I’ve always yearned for?
*
Looking at my laptop screen, scrolling past endless blocks of text, articles, court rulings, legal loopholes. All of it blurs together, but I force myself to keep reading. For Lanny.
I can’t pretend there isn’t an elephant looming over our heads. Rose’s obsessive male leads. As much as I’d love to believe we’re safe here—wrapped in this little bubble of sunlight and ocean—I can’t. Not with them out there.
These aren’t petty thugs. They’re powerful men. Connected. Untouchable. The kind who treat laws like suggestions, bending them at will.
My eyes burn, but I don’t stop.
Seriously, for a so-called modern world, the rights and views here are practically medieval when it comes to omegas. Laws written like we’re property. Court cases that still use words like "ownership" and "submission."
Seriously? Why?
What is the royal family even doing? They parade themselves as progressive, releasing glossy speeches about reform, but the moment you scratch the surface, it’s still the same old chains. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe these dumb laws are why there’s still royalty at all—keep the hierarchy in place, keep the power unchallenged.
Lanny coos from his blanket beside me, tiny hands stretching into the air, reaching for nothing in particular. The sound softens me even as the fear coils tighter in my chest, heavier and heavier until it’s hard to breathe.
I press my palm over my heart, then to his tiny chest. His little heartbeat thumps steady beneath my fingers. It’s such a fragile sound and yet it’s the only thing anchoring me right now.
I’m not losing him.
I’m not losing Ciel.
I would sooner be dead before I let that happen.
***
Nolan
Jack is attractive when he’s working on something.
I don’t know what it is that has his attention, but he’s been at it for hours—bent over his desk, shoulders hunched, jaw tight in focus. Every now and then he mutters under his breath.
Lanny and Ciel are asleep, the house wrapped in that rare kind of silence I never trusted back in the city. But here... it almost feels safe. Almost.
I carry the hot cup of chocolate into his office, steam curling up to my face. He has a surprising sweet tooth—one of those little contradictions you wouldn’t expect when looking at him. Broad-shouldered, scarred, rough-edged alpha with a glare sharp enough to cut steel... who gets grumpy if you forget to add extra sugar to his cocoa.
"Brought you something," I say, setting the mug down near his elbow.
He glances up, eyes tired but sharp, and for a moment they soften. Just for me.
My traitorous heart skips a beat.
"Thanks, doggy."
And just like that—there go the butterflies, replaced by irritation.
He smirks over the rim of the mug as he takes it in his hands. I swear, he lives to get on my nerves.
"Do you ever get tired of calling me that?" I mutter, folding my arms.
"Not once," he says, taking a long sip. He exhales afterward, a small satisfied sigh slipping out before he catches himself.
I want to snap, but I remember—I’m supposed to be seducing this man.
My eye twitches. I don’t snap.
"Well, you’re welcome," I say instead, voice clipped.
He looks at me over the mug, amused, like he knows I just swallowed down something sharper. "Polite doggy. That’s new."
I grind my teeth, forcing myself to keep my expression even. "Don’t get used to it."
His grin widens, but he doesn’t push, just sets the mug down and turns back to his photos. For a moment I think I’m off the hook—until he gestures at the chair on the opposite side of his table.
"Sit," he says casually, like it’s an order and not a request.
Like I’m a fucking dog.
But I still—like a fucking dog—sit anyway.
Jack doesn’t even look up, just mutters, "Good boy," like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Heat rushes to my face—anger, embarrassment, and something I don’t dare name. It’s sharp and liquid at the same time, crawling under my skin, making my stomach twist. I clench my fists under the table, nails biting my palms.
I don’t know if I want to throw the drink at him or throw myself at him.
Either way, I’m losing.