CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 95

The silence between us felt heavier than any threat. I was still kneeling, my palms pressed against the cold marble floor of his quarters, my breath trembling in the dim light that filtered through the curtains.

Alpha Zach sat across from me, silent, composed, dangerous as ever. He hadn’t moved since I entered. He didn’t speak aloud, didn’t make a single sound, but his presence filled every corner of the room like smoke.

And then-it happened.

I heard his inner voice

"Inner voice: She looks like a wildflower by the roadside..."

The words slipped into my mind, soft and unexpected not mocking, not cruel. For once, his inner voice didn’t cut like a knife. It lingered, curious. Almost admiring.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Inner voice: So small. So fragile. Yet still trying to stand against the wind."

My heart thudded once painfully, sharply. I froze, unable to look up, afraid that if I moved, I’d shatter the fragile moment.

Was he talking about me?

No. He couldn’t be. Not him. Not Zach. The same man who once threatened to strangle someone for breathing too loudly couldn’t possibly think something that sounded almost gentle.

But the voice continued, low and slow like a distant hum that only I could feel.

"Inner voice: She doesn’t even know she’s trembling," he mused, his thoughts rolling through my head like waves. "Pathetic. And yet... strangely beautiful."

My pulse quickened. I wanted to stop hearing. I wanted to stop feeling. I wanted to block him out, to cover my ears and scream just to drown out that impossible tone in his voice.

Admiration. Genuine admiration For me?"

I bit my lower lip so hard I nearly tasted blood. My shoulders shook, and I dared a glance at him. He was still sitting there same unreadable face, same cold eyes, looking at me without any visible trace of emotion.

But in his mind he was thinking those words.

I had always known his inner voice the cruel, taunting one that whispered of power, of control, of strangling and punishment. But this was different. Too quiet. Too human.

"Inner voice: If she were a flower, no one would notice her. The kind people step on without realizing," he continued, tone somewhere between mocking and tender. "And yet she still tries to bloom."

My chest constricted. My throat felt dry. I didn’t understand what to do with this version of him the one that existed only in whispers.

I wanted to run. I wanted to stay. I wanted him to stop thinking and keep thinking all at once.

The sound of the wind outside brushed against the glass windows, making them tremble faintly. The room felt too quiet so quiet I could hear the faint hum of my own heartbeat.

I swallowed hard, my voice small. "Alpha do you need something?"

He blinked slowly, as if he’d forgotten I was capable of speech. His lips barely twitched, but no sound came out.

Inside his head, though

"Inner voice: She speaks like she’s afraid her words will break."

I flinched. My hands tightened into fists. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that I could hear every thought that slithered from his mind into mine.

It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want this power. It wasn’t mine to have. It felt like eavesdropping on something sacred and cursed all at once.

I dared to look up again. His gaze met mine. His lips still hadn’t moved.

"Inner voice: Even when she looks up, she trembles. Wildflower," he whispered in his mind again. "So fragile. So unaware of her own pull."

That word wildflower echoed through me like a tremor.

It wasn’t a word people used here. Not for omegas. Not for someone like me.

For a moment, my fear cracked open just enough to let confusion slip through. Why would he think that? Why would someone like him cold, cruel, perfectly composed think something almost poetic?

I shifted, the wooden floor creaking under my knees.

His eyes flicked down, and then the voice changed again, back to its usual edge smoother, colder, like the surface of a knife.

"Inner voice: Pathetic thing. She probably thinks I’ll spare her if she looks sad enough."

And just like that, the spell broke.

The warmth I thought I’d felt vanished, leaving behind the familiar dread, the crawling sense of danger that came with every breath in his presence.

I lowered my head immediately. "Forgive me, Alpha," I whispered.

He didn’t reply.

The silence pressed down again, thicker now. But I could feel it the duality in him. The man who wanted to crush, and the man who, for a fleeting moment, admired the thing he meant to destroy.

He stood up. The sound of his boots against the floor made me flinch. My instinct screamed to move back, to retreat, but I stayed frozen, head bowed.

He walked past me, silent. No glance, no word.

But the whisper lingered, the faintest trace of thought brushing my mind as he opened the door.

"Inner voice: Wildflowers don’t survive long here."

Then the door closed behind him. And I finally exhaled the breath I’d been holding.

My body felt weak, trembling with confusion and terror.

Why would he think that?

Why would someone like him call me something so gentle?

My fingers dug into the hem of my dress as I stared at the door he’d left through, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely think.

The Alpha the monster of this pack had just called me a wildflower in his mind.

And I’d heard every word.

The words floated into my mind, and my breath caught. My eyes shot up before I could stop myself. He was watching me not with his usual icy disdain, but something else. Something softer, more curious.

Did he just—? A compliment?

My heart stuttered violently. No one had ever described me like that. Not beautifully. Not kindly. Not even in passing.

I wanted to step back, to run, to hide, but I couldn’t move. His inner voice kept whispering, deep and lazy unaware that I could hear every syllable.

Those eyes... too honest. Too easy to read.

It’s annoying. She makes me feel?

He stopped. His thoughts cut off abruptly, like someone had slammed a door shut in my mind. Then he spoke aloud, voice suddenly sharp. "You’re late."

I blinked, startled. "L–Late?"

"You should have been here before sunrise."

I opened my mouth, closed it again, then lowered my head. "I—I’m sorry, Alpha."

He didn’t reply. He walked past me, his scent brushing against me like warm smoke. My pulse spiked uncontrollably, and for a terrifying second, I thought I might faint again.

The silence between us thickened until it hurt to stand there. He sat back down, flipping through some papers, completely ignoring me. I stood there uselessly, unsure if I should stay or leave.

And then, once more, his thoughts whispered through the air.

She really does look like she might break if I say one wrong word. I bit my lip hard, fighting the heat that crawled up my neck. My hands trembled at my sides, and I quickly turned away before he could notice.

Why. why could I hear his thoughts? Was I cursed?

It had started the day I met him — the day the psycho Alpha nearly broke me with his voice, with his presence. Since then, I’d been able to hear those quiet murmurs that no one else could. It wasn’t constant; only when his emotions stirred. When he was angry, or curious... or, like now, disturbingly gentle.

It was driving me insane.

I forced myself to focus on the tray, rearranging the utensils even though it didn’t need it. My heartbeat refused to calm down.

Behind me, I could hear the sound of his breathing, steady and deep. Every part of me was aware of him of his presence filling the entire room like invisible fire.

Finally, he stood up again.

"You may leave."

The words were clipped, dismissive.

But even as I turned to go, I heard his thoughts once more.

Don’t look back. If she looks back now... I might not let her go.

My steps faltered, but I forced myself not to turn. I reached the door and pushed it open with shaking hands, the cold air outside biting into my skin as if to remind me that I was still alive.

When I finally made it back to the omegas’ quarter, Joan was waiting by the doorway with that familiar frown of worry.

"You look pale," she muttered, pulling me inside. "What did he do this time?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, setting down my apron. "He just... didn’t eat much."

Joan eyed me suspiciously. "You’re lying again."

I smiled faintly, though my stomach churned. "Wouldn’t it be better if I was?" That night, I lay on my thin mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling. I could still hear the faint echo of his inner voice in my mind.

A wildflower by the roadside.

Why would someone like him cold, ruthless, feared by everyone think something like that about me?

It didn’t make sense. None of this did.

And yet, the whisper of it lingered soft, haunting, and utterly impossible to forget.

Outside, the wind howled through the night, carrying the faint scent of rain. I curled up tighter, trying to silence my thoughts, but all I could hear was his voice. Wildflower. No one had ever made a word sound so dangerous.