Louis' POV
My biological clock never failed me.
Even if I went to bed late, six a.m. always dragged me back to consciousness.
Not that I even slept on the bed last night.
I'd crashed on the new sofa Alistair bought for our room—small, firm, and absolutely not meant for an alpha's shoulders. But I couldn't bring myself to lie beside him. Not after… yesterday. Not after the way my chest kept pulling me toward Charles like a tide I refused to acknowledge.
I didn't understand it.
Why was I afraid of my own mate?
I showered, dressed, and headed downstairs.
Mother was already seated, prim and unreadable. Father and Alistair came in shortly after and took their places, but Charles was nowhere in sight. Mother's expression tightened—that look she wore whenever Charles didn't immediately fit into her expectations.
Maybe he overslept, I thought. He always had that lazy-morning softness to him.
Before I could say anything, Alistair volunteered to go check on him.
