Andrea’s gaze snapped to her. "And you find this amusing?"

Sylvia looked at him pleasantly. "I find several things amusing. One of them is that image of you in a wedding dress with a nipple poking through the sheer material and a grudge against Dean."

Andrea’s face changed.

Not much. He was too well trained for that. But Sylvia had been trained by years of friendship with Dean, which meant she knew how to spot the exact moment a beautiful person with a grudge discovered that someone outside their expected hierarchy was not afraid of them.

Thomas turned his head slowly toward her.

Sylvia gave him a small, innocent shrug that fooled absolutely no one.

"What?" she said. "It was memorable."

Andrea’s mouth tightened. "You are very bold for someone with no standing in this room."

"I was invited to drink," Sylvia replied. "You opened the door without knocking. I’m fairly sure that makes you the decorative trespasser."

Thomas’s gaze dropped briefly to his glass.

Sylvia could tell he was trying not to laugh.

That made her feel slightly better and much worse at once.

Andrea saw it too, and the venom in his expression sharpened. "How charming. Is this what you do now, Thomas? Sit with betas and let them mock people above them?"

Thomas’s amusement disappeared.

The room cooled.

Sylvia felt it, not as pheromones—she was a beta, and whatever dominant pressure moved through the space did not reach her the way it would have reached an alpha or an omega—but as atmosphere. As the shift of a large, controlled man deciding where the line was.

Thomas stood.

His height unfolded from the chair with calm, brutal inevitability, seven feet of disciplined strength rising between Sylvia and Andrea without quite placing himself in front of them.

That somehow made it worse.

He was not shielding her because she was weak.

He was standing because Andrea had become rude enough to require it.

"Do not speak about her like that," Thomas said.

Andrea’s eyes flicked to him, anger brightening with something more wounded beneath it. "So she matters now?"

"Yes."

The answer was immediate.

Sylvia’s hand tightened around her glass.

Oh, that was dangerous.

Thomas saying yes like it was the simplest thing in the world, like Sylvia’s worth did not require explanation, rank, gender, biology, or usefulness.

That was the dangerous part.

Andrea laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "You are pathetic."

Thomas’s face did not move. "Possibly."

"You sit there drinking with her while I am being threatened by your childhood friend, banned from the battlefield, treated like some failed asset—"

"You are not being treated like a failed asset," Thomas said. "You are being treated like someone who failed."

Andrea went silent.

The sentence struck harder than a raised voice would have.

Sylvia, who had been half ready to insult him again, closed her mouth.

Thomas took one step away from the table. "I waited for you to come speak to me honestly. Instead, you came here to insult the person sitting with me because you were angry I did not stay alone and wounded in a way convenient for you."

Andrea’s jaw tightened. "You think she understands anything about us?"

"No. She understands enough about cruelty to recognize it when you use it."

"That is absurd."

"It is accurate."

Andrea’s dark blue eyes turned colder. "You let Arion poison you."

Thomas’s mouth curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "Arion did not have to do much. You helped."

For the first time, Andrea looked truly hurt.

Then, because apparently the man preferred pride to survival, he turned that hurt into something uglier.

"I hate you," Andrea said.

The words were quiet.

Sylvia felt them hit the room like breaking glass.

Thomas absorbed them without flinching. He looked at Andrea for a long moment, and something in his expression shifted.

"All right," he said.

Andrea blinked.

"All right?" he repeated, as if Thomas had failed to follow the script.

"Yes," Thomas said. "Thank you for finally telling me the truth."

Andrea’s lips parted slightly.

Thomas continued before he could recover. "There is nothing between us anymore."

The silence that followed was vast.

Andrea’s face went pale beneath the fine color of his skin. "You do not mean that."

"I do."

"You are angry."

"Yes."

"You are humiliated."

"Yes."

"You are using this woman to make a point."

Sylvia stiffened, but Thomas spoke before she could.

"No," he said. "I am sitting with Sylvia because she found me after I left Arion’s office, asked one honest question, and did not try to make my answer serve her. That is already more kindness than you have given me in all these months."

Sylvia stared at the tabletop because looking at him felt suddenly impossible.

Andrea’s expression twisted. "How touching."

"It is," Thomas said.

That stopped him again.

Thomas’s voice remained calm, but every word had weight now. "You had every opportunity to tell me you did not want me. You could have told me you hated the arrangement, hated Rohan, hated the mark, hated the way my pheromones reached for you. You could have told me I was not the alpha you wanted. You could have told me you resented what I represented."

Andrea’s throat moved.

"You did not," Thomas continued. "You kept your silence because silence let you keep the position without giving warmth. You let me compensate for you during the season. You let me cover the absence. You let me think waiting was generosity when it was only useful to you."

"That is not—"

"It is."

Andrea stopped.

Thomas looked tired now, but the exhaustion had changed. It was no longer waiting for permission to become anger.

"You were right about one thing," Thomas said. "I should not have let it continue. I should have reported the problem earlier. I will answer to Arion, Otto, Hendrik, Marianne, and Heather for that. Those consequences are mine. But I will not take yours too."

Andrea stared at him.

Thomas stepped aside slightly, no longer between him and the door but between him and the version of the future Andrea had assumed would remain available.

"There are two dominant alphas from Draxil whose families have already indicated interest in a stabilizing match," Thomas said. "Both are politically suitable. Both need a dominant omega. If you want an arrangement based on rank, leverage, and what your designation can buy, I will not stand in your way."

Andrea went utterly still.

"You would send me to Draxil?"

"No," Thomas said. "I would stop pretending you were ever coming to Rohan for me."

That, finally, broke something visible.

Andrea’s eyes brightened with fury and something worse beneath it. "You think you can discard me?"

Thomas’s soft brown eyes did not soften. "I think I can stop choosing you."

Sylvia felt her own chest tighten.

Andrea looked as if he might strike him.

Then Thomas said, quietly, "I am done dealing with your shit, Andrea."

Sylvia almost dropped her glass.

Andrea’s expression went blank.

As if Thomas swearing at him with that level of calm exhaustion had done more damage than Arion’s threats.

"You will regret this," Andrea whispered.

Thomas gave him a faint, tired smile. "I already did."

Andrea stood there for another breath, beautiful and furious and suddenly much smaller than he had looked when he had entered.

Then his gaze cut to Sylvia.

Sylvia lifted her glass, still seated, still tired, still mildly tipsy, and smiled with all the pleasant viciousness Dean had ever taught her.

"Careful," she said. "The fountains are hostile tonight."

Thomas made the mistake of laughing under his breath.

Andrea turned sharply and left.

The door closed with enough force to make the crystal glasses tremble.