Chapter Fifteen
Ted POV
I'm stuffed.
Like, uncomfortably full. I don't think I've ever had a full meal in my life—not one with actual spices, cooked meat, plated courses, and dessert. Real dessert. Creamy, rich, warm.
I don't know what to do with myself. I feel warm and oddly heavy, like my body's been given something it doesn't know how to digest—not just the food, but the kindness.
I sit back in the chair, staring at the soft glimmer of polished wood and gold accents. A servant quietly wheels the trolley of empty dishes away. I murmur a thank you, and she nods, smiling.
I'm being waited on.
Me.
It's surreal.
The door clicks open a moment later. Niall Alden walks in,he drags a chair out, turns it around, and sits down across from me, arms resting casually on the backrest like this is a casual conversation and not some fever dream I've stumbled into.
"Good?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say. "The food was amazing."
"Glad to hear it." He leans forward, gaze steady.
"So, I've thought it over. Keeping you here against your will is… counterproductive."
He says it like he's proud of himself for arriving at such a basic human conclusion.
"I have an offer," he says.
"I fell in love with you. I want to marry you. I want you to be my omega. Give me a year of your time. Just one. If after that, you still don't want to stay, I won't stop you."
I blink. "That's… dramatic."
"That's Alden," he replies without irony.
I snort, rubbing the back of my neck. "And what's in it for me?"
His eyes narrow, but not cruelly. "Money."
I shoot him a glare, offended.
"Don't give me that look," he says. "You work three jobs, you barely eat, and you live in a building that should be condemned. It's not an insult. It's a fact."
He pulls out his phone and types something in. He shows me the screen.
My heart jumps.
I try not to react.
He adds two more zeroes.
I choke. "That's—"
"Insane?"
I cough. "That's impossible."
He shrugs. "You're underestimating Alden wealth. This doesn't make a dent. Honestly, I don't even know how much we have anymore. No one does. But don't go bragging about this outside. It might cause problems—especially with the Association already foaming at the mouth."
I stare at him. He looks dead serious.
"So," he continues, "if at the end of the year, you don't love me, you walk away. Free. With more money than you could ever need. Never enter another dungeon again. Never work three jobs. Never be afraid of being sold out by your own family."
He says it like it's obvious. Like it's nothing. Like it's easy.
It's not.
It's everything.
I bite my lip. The air feels thick. My stomach, already full, churns with something heavier now.
"I want it in writing," I say, voice low.
His smirk returns. Confident. Triumphant.
"Done. You'll have it by tomorrow."
He stands up, all graceful arrogance. His presence is overwhelming—even when he's doing something as simple as leaving the room.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Ted. Sweet dreams."
I watch the door click shut behind him.
I sit back, exhale slowly, and press my hands to my face.
What the hell just happened?
I agreed. I actually agreed.
I don't even know.