To ruin an Omega

Chapter 472: About Time 1

HAZEL

My father stood by Fia’s mother’s grave, talking on his phone with his back to me. He looked gaunt, his suit hanging awkwardly on his thin frame. Sunlight hit his face, making his features look even sharper.

I didn’t care.

My phone felt heavy in my hand, the camera app still open. He had nearly caught me taking a photo of the headstone. He almost turned around at the worst moment while I crouched, trying to capture the name, dates, and the small carved rose at the top.

That would have been inconvenient.

This was the last shit on my list. I had already sat through my mother’s sobbing and her loud, messy crying that seemed to last forever. Delta had picked up the aphrodisiac while I pretended to mourn a grandmother I had only met twice. Both times, she looked at me like I was just an unfortunate event in her daughter’s life.

Which I suppose I was.

My father ended the call. His shoulders dropped, and he tucked the phone into his jacket pocket before turning around. His eyes found mine immediately.

I softened my expression, trying to look concerned but hopeful, the way daughters were supposed to when their fathers seemed upset.

"How did it go?" I kept my voice gentle.

He walked closer and stopped a few feet away. His gaze drifted past me toward the rows of headstones stretching out across the manicured grass.

"She still holds grievances." The words came out tired. Defeated in a way that would have bothered me if I’d had any intention of this working. "But I’ll keep trying."

Of course, it wouldn’t work. It could never work, because Fia wasn’t stupid... not anymore at least, and father’s apology had probably sounded exactly as hollow as it was.

I stepped forward and put my hand on his arm. The gesture felt practiced, because it was.

"Don’t take it to heart." I squeezed his sleeve. "She needs time, but it’ll work out in the end."

His expression changed. Maybe it was gratitude that flickered across his face. He wanted to believe me so much that it made everything almost too easy.

"You should go back to Mother." I dropped my hand and took a small step back. "She needs you right now."

He nodded slowly. Then his eyes focused on me again with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

"Will you be coming soon?"

"Of course."

The lie slipped out easily. I had already said goodbye to my mother in my head in the sense that I had mentally checked out of that conversation. I had already sat through her display of grief and nodded at all the right moments while she talked about how good, beautiful, and talented her mother was.

My father turned and walked away. His footsteps made soft sounds against the gravel path. I waited until he disappeared around the bend before I pulled my phone back out.

The camera app opened with a quiet click. I angled the screen toward the headstone and lined up the shot.

"What are you doing?"

The voice came from directly behind me. Male and familiar enough to make my spine stiffen before my mind caught up with recognition.

Then his scent reached me—sandalwood mixed with something darker that made my throat dry. I swallowed and pushed the feeling away before turning around.

Lysander stood there with his hands in his pockets. The afternoon light caught in his hair, making it look almost bronze instead of the usual dark brown. His expression gave nothing away.

"Well." I gestured at the grave with my phone. "This is Fia’s mother’s grave, and it’s my trump card to helping your father get Fia."

His jaw tightened. Something shifted behind his eyes, but I couldn’t read it.

I lifted my phone to take another photo. A fourth shot would give me more angles to use later. My finger hovered over the screen.

Lysander’s hand came up and covered the camera lens. The movement was quick enough that I didn’t have time to pull away. His palm pressed warm against the phone.

"This is disrespectful."

His words were flat, with no anger, which somehow felt worse than if he had yelled.

I lowered the phone and looked at him. The heat from earlier that morning still lingered under my skin, making everything feel too close and intense.

"This helps you, too, you know." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "If he gets her, you get her too."

I leaned in. His scent grew stronger, and I had to focus to keep my breathing steady.

"You smell like fresh paint." The observation slipped out before I could stop it. "That wasn’t there before."

His expression changed, turning guarded.

"Why are you fixated on my scent?"

My face grew hot. I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Don’t flatter yourself."

He watched me for a long moment. His eyes tracked over my face like he was looking for something specific.

It was starting to feel like a game of mutual feeling-out. So I shot first.

"Were you in her room looking for mementos?" The question came out casual, but there was an edge underneath it.

"Maybe," he confessed. "Still jealous?"

My stomach dropped, but I forced my face to stay neutral. "No. I moved past you a long time ago. I only like people who like me."

"Hmmm... Well, if you must know. I was in her room. The paint was quite fresh." He tilted his head slightly. "The room was small and shabby, too. Any belongings that might have been there were thoroughly combed out. There was no sign of life in it."

He held my gaze. His expression turned cold, and my pulse sped up for a different reason this time.

"It’s telling that this family didn’t care for her." His voice dropped lower. "I’m hurt I didn’t find her first."

His words felt different than I expected. There was something real in them that made my chest tighten.

"That’s so very romantic." I forced a smile that felt wrong on my face. "But you can keep her forever now. So what is the issue?"

"That’s not what I want." He answered right away, sharp enough to make me flinch.

"If that was the case, you should have fought against it." My voice came out harder than I intended. "Instead of looking at me like I’m a monster."

Lysander stepped closer. Close enough that I could see the exact shade of green in his eyes and count the individual lashes that framed them.

"But you are."