Chapter 25: The Last Door On The Right

Chapter 25: The Last Door On The Right Kaya I finally allow Ron to examine me, and to my surprise, he barely lays a hand on me. His touch, when necessary, is light and clinical—more careful than I expected. Yet, despite his professionalism, I don’t miss the flicker of curiosity in his deep-set eyes as they trace the countless scars marring my skin. Every time his gaze lingers a little too long, I instinctively flinch. And he notices. I know he does, because the moment our eyes meet, he offers me a small, reassuring smile and withdraws, putting distance between us. "Well, there are no external injuries," he says, peeling off his gloves. "And I don’t see any immediate signs of internal damage either." I exhale softly, but my relief is short-lived. Ron reaches into his canvas bag again, pulling out a set of syringes and test tubes. "I need to take a blood sample to run some tests." The moment I see the gleam of the needle, a shudder rips through me. My body tightens, curling in on itself as if I can make myself disappear. My arms wrap around my legs, drawing my knees to my chest like a desperate shield. "Why?" My voice is barely audible, yet sharp with fear. "What are you going to do with my blood?" Memories come rushing back, thick and suffocating. Needles piercing my skin. Cold, sterile hands restraining me. The distant hum of voices analyzing, dissecting, treating me like an experiment rather than a person. Please, Goddess, don’t let it happen again. Ron hesitates. His hands lower slightly, subtly tucking the syringes out of sight, as if I’m a frightened child spooked by a doctor’s visit. His hazel eyes lock onto mine, studying me with quiet intensity, and I can practically feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing against me. It’s a good thing I don’t have a mind link. If I did, I’d probably break under it. After a long moment, he finally exhales and offers me a warm, genuine smile. "Let’s do it another time." He’s lying. I can tell. But he’s doing it for me. And for that, I am grateful. I don’t want to be poked and prodded again. I’ve had enough of that in Dark Wood. I force a smile, nodding just enough to show Ron that I’m not completely frozen in place. He hesitates for a second, studying me as if making sure I won’t break, then turns to leave. That’s when it finally hits me—I couldn’t have come here alone. "Excuse me," I say carefully, my voice raspy from dryness. I swallow hard before continuing. "The woman I came with... how is she?" Ron stiffens. It’s subtle, but I don’t miss the way his body tenses, nor the flicker of something unreadable that crosses his face. "Oh." The single syllable slips out, and that alone sends a shiver crawling down my spine. Oh? I narrow my eyes, silently demanding an answer, but he avoids my gaze. The air in the room shifts, thickening with suspicion. "She is..." He hesitates, his fingers curling slightly as if grasping for the right words. "She doesn’t seem to be in as good of a condition as you are." A pause. Then, with clear reluctance, he adds, "For one, she refuses to let me examine her." That’s... odd. My fingers brush against my chin as I process his words. She has never been shy. Never hesitant. If she’s resisting medical attention, then something must be wrong. Ron watches me for a moment before exhaling and rising from his seat. He clears his throat, shifting back into his professional demeanor. "Anyway... I’ll report my notes to Alpha Magnus. But so far, I believe rest and good food should be enough to get you back on your feet." He pauses at the door, his expression softening. "Would you like anything specific to be cooked for you? It’s not common here, but we can arrange for a meal to be delivered if that would make you more comfortable." That’s the second time someone has mentioned that being served isn’t common here, and it only makes me feel more uneasy. Back in Dark Wood, I wasn’t exactly served either. Damien would order the omega girls to bring me food and clothes when necessary, but that didn’t make me some pampered, helpless invalid. Maybe I’m just being too defensive. Too suspicious. Perhaps they really are just trying to be kind, and I’m the one who doesn’t know how to accept it. I’m not used to this. "No," I finally say, shaking my head lightly. "Thank you, but I’m not really hungry right now." Ron simply offers a warm, understanding smile and turns toward the door. He’s already halfway there when a sudden urgency grips me, and before I can stop myself, I lurch forward, my voice breaking the silence. "Wait—do you think I can visit her? Shelly. The girl I came here with." Ron halts mid-step, lowering his gaze as if carefully considering his response. I don’t expect much, but as he parts his lips to speak, my heart still clenches in anticipation. "Second floor, last room to your right. You’ll find your friend there," he says at last, his voice steady, his ever-present smile still in place. Then, with a small dip of his chin, he turns and walks out, leaving behind a silence so profound it almost feels like he was never here at all. Second floor, I repeat to myself, already shifting my gaze toward the walk-in closet. Last room to the right. I push off the bed, my body humming with restless energy. Inside the closet, a selection of women’s clothing has been neatly arranged for me, but most of the pieces are far too big. I barely pay it any mind. If anything, the fact that a man who knows absolutely nothing about my body picked them out feels strangely liberating. I grab a loose black T-shirt and a pair of oversized joggers, cinching the waistband as tightly as possible to keep them from slipping. The last thing I need is for them to fall and flash my bare ass to random passersby. I’m not particularly concerned with my appearance, but I’d rather not make a fool of myself on my very first day in a new pack. Once I’m somewhat satisfied with my appearance, I step toward the door—but before actually exiting, I pause, my gaze sweeping the hallway. I don’t know why I do it. No one is supposed to be on the Alpha’s floor without permission, yet I can’t shake the habit of checking my surroundings. Caution has been ingrained in me for far too long. Satisfied that the corridor is empty, I slip outside and head for the staircase. My steps are slow, measured, as I count each one beneath my breath, as if keeping track of them might somehow steady the unease coiling in my chest. Second floor. Two floors down from the Alpha’s, but still one above the level dedicated to omegas. Shelly would like that. Maybe it’ll help her feel safer. Turning the corner, I begin counting the doors along the hallway—ten in total. It doesn’t seem like much, but then again, this house is massive, likely divided into wings just like Damien’s estate was. I push the thought aside and keep moving, my pace light but purposeful. Finally, I reach the last door on the right. I hesitate for a fraction of a second, inhaling deeply to steel myself. Then, raising my hand, I knock lightly, my knuckles rapping against the wood. My body tenses as I wait for a response, my heart drumming a nervous rhythm in my chest. "Shelly?"