Page 31 of Accidentally Forever

The words should be reassuring, but they don’t land that way. I watch as he dials, pressing the phone to his ear, his posture shifting, eyes hardening as he listens to whoever is on the other end. The conversation is low, mostly murmured words, short grunts, the occasional sharp exhale. Puma isn’t the type to waste breath on unnecessary talk. If there’s a problem, he gets straight to the heart of it. But whatever he’s hearing, it isn’t good.

When he turns to us after hanging up, my stomach twists. “Just got off the phone with one of the galleries in the next city over. They’re hearing it too. People are clutching their wallets.”

That means it’s not just our clients. It’s not just whispers. It’s the entire fucking industry coiling around us like a noose, tightening with every passing second. Art is built on reputation. Trust. The illusion of prestige. If people start second-guessing us, hesitating before making a purchase, questioning the legitimacy of what we sell—we’re fucked.

Before I can even process the weight of that, Puma’s phone buzzes again. A name flashes across the screen and my stomach fucking drops.

“Why the fuck is the lawyer calling you?” I growl

Puma exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before he picks up. “I’m assuming in everything you find, a client or two is probably suing us for selling them a fraudulent painting, right? I’m surprised it took them this long.” Puma lets it go to voicemail before throwing me a firm glare, silently telling me not to try anything. “I know how tempting it is to try and figure out who it is but it doesn’t matter. The damage is already done," he continues. "They don’t need proof to tarnish our name. Even if the painting turns out to be real, it’s the initial scare that gets everyone."

Fucking hell.

This is what I hate about the art world—the way whispers carry more weight than facts, the way speculation sinks deeper than truth, the way people who have never set foot in a gallery or touched a brush in their lives suddenly become experts when there's a scandal to latch onto. It doesn’t matter if we win this fight. The stain will linger. It always does.

Beside me, Lance exhales sharply, fingers pressing into his temples like he's trying to fight off a headache of his own. "What now?"

Puma sets his elbows on the counter, leaning forward just slightly, his gaze steady, unshaken. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the way he controls the room without raising his voice—it’s always been something I admired. "We tread carefully. For now, don’t answer or respond to a goddamn thing. Let the lawyer figure out our plan of attack." His eyes flick between me and Lance, making sure we’re listening. "But the only thing I want you two to focus on is Sofie’s heat for the next few days. That’s it. Make sure she’s comfortable. Make sure she has everything she needs."

The distraction is welcomed because I can definitely give Sofie my full attention, just as soon as she comes back. "What about Violet?" I ask, wondering why Puma didn’t mention her.

And that’s when I see it—the shift in Puma’s expression. The slight quirk of his lips, the way his eyes darken just enough to make something twist low in my stomach, the glint of something sharp, something almost predatory. He leans back, smirking like he already knows exactly where my mind is going, like he’s been waiting for me to ask. "Taking care of Violet is my job."

Lance chokes on his breath, turning away as he coughs into his fist, but I don’t miss the way his shoulders shake just slightly, the way his amusement bleeds through even as he tries to fight it.

I’m just glad Puma’s opening his heart up again and if anyone can break down those walls, it’s Violet.

Chapter twenty-five

VIOLET

Sofie barely waits for the car to roll to a stop before she’s shoving the door open and bolting up the stairs. Her excitement radiates off her in waves, a stark contrast to the nerves that used to grip her so tightly. For so long, I worried she’d never want this. That she’d reject every part of being an Omega, that the fear would keep her from fully stepping into herself. That the weight of it all—the expectations, the stigma, the loss of control—would bury her before she ever had the chance to breathe.

But now, she’s giggling, her hands trembling not with anxiety but with excitement as she fumbles with the lock, dragging us toward the tiny apartment we left behind. All for a goddamn pillow.

But it’s not just a pillow, is it? It means so much more to her and now I understand why.

Gray and I follow, the Alpha chuckling under his breath, the sound settling something deep in my chest. He takes his time climbing the steps, like me, watching her bounce with anticipation, letting her have this moment.

Inside, the apartment is exactly how we left it—small, cramped, filled with echoes of the life Sofie and I built together over the last three months. The weight of memory presses against my ribs, a strange mix of comfort and something harder to swallow. This was home for so long, the space where we survived, where we figured shit out one day at a time, where we only had each other to rely on.

Gray’s hand finds mine, bringing me back to the present as Sofie darts into the bedroom. His grip is firm, fingers brushing against my skin like he’s testing the waters. Before I can react, he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. Heat rolls through me, curling low in my belly, seeping into my bones, making it harder to breathe for a different reason entirely.

"Princess." His voice is rough, threaded with something deeper, something almost longing as he catches my gaze. "I wish we hadn’t let it end that day."

The weekend that wasn’t supposed to mean anything but did. The nights that bled into mornings. The slow unraveling of everything I thought I knew about him, about myself, about what we could have been. The thing we never named before it slipped through our fingers. The way it felt to wake up alone, to realize whatever we had was over before it even had the chance to begin.

I press my lips together, hesitation flickering for half a second before the words slip out. "Me too. But," I add, exhaling slowly, forcing myself not to look away, "even though I wish we had come back together sooner… maybe it was for the best."

I glance toward the hallway where Sofie disappeared. The time apart, the choices made, the lives lived in between—it all led back to this moment, to this second where everything hangs in the balance.

"Things needed to happen before it would ever work out," I whisper, turning back to him. "Before the universe could bring us back together."

Gray moves before I can, slipping behind me, his body solid and warm as his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me against him. The heat of his chest seeps through my shirt, like he’s making damn sure I feel him, making sure I know he’s here. A slow shiver rolls down my spine as he dips his head, lips pressing against my temple, the kiss soft, lingering, almost careful. “Then I’m glad it worked out,” he mumbles.

I hate how easy it is to melt into him. Hate how natural it feels, how familiar. Like we never left. Like the years between then and now were nothing but a pause, a breath—not a full stop, not the ending it was supposed to be. I’ve been closing myself off for so long so that I could focus on Sofie that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to trulyfeel.Puma and Gray in less than a day have reminded me.

Gray hums low in his throat, his arms tightening just slightly, enough to make sure I don’t pull away as he asks the same question I’m thinking. "How the hell is it so easy for you to just step back in like you never left?"

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