The young clerk stiffened. "Really? Sorry for that. I'll take it right away!"
Without another word, he hurried from the counter.
Meanwhile, outside, the sky grew heavy with clouds, as if the heavens themselves conspired to weigh Soren down the moment he arrived at the penthouse.
Then the door opened.
And there stood Ryley—wrapped in Clyde's presence, drenched in his scent.
He had tried, in his own quiet way, to be considerate. He wore a turtleneck, had covered himself in extra layers, but it didn't matter.
The truth clung to him, unmistakable.
And when Soren's gaze drifted lower, his breath hitched. Just beneath the fabric, peeking out at the collar, were the unmistakable bruises—the marks of the Alpha's claim.
Soren had known. Of course, he had known.
But seeing it this way, standing face-to-face with the proof, made it real in a way he had never allowed himself to believe before.
