Tear the Alpha's Vow

Chapter 4 — The Bridge Aftermath

Nicholas had his jacket around Victoria's shoulders. She was shaking but steady on her feet. He kept his arm around her like he was guarding a small fire.

“I thought I lost you," he said. No speeches. Just that.

“You didn't," Victoria answered. She leaned into him, simple as breathing. “I don't want you hurt. I don't want you doing things you don't want to do. Not for me."

“You think I'm doing that?"

“I think you push yourself into shapes to satisfy other people," she said. “I can take gossip. I can take waiting. I can't take the idea of you turning hard to prove you're strong."

His jaw loosened. “Tonight wasn't about them," he said. “When I saw you slip, I only saw you."

“Then hear me," she said. “I love you. I want you safe. Be who you are with me. Don't punish yourself and call it honor."

He gave a short laugh that sounded like relief. “I hear you."

“I can wait," she said. “I'll stand the looks and the whispers. I just don't want you broken."

“Waiting isn't fair."

“I'm not asking for fair," she said. “I'm asking for you."

“You have me," he said, and looked toward the path. “But I need to get you out of sight."

“I'll go with Sam," she said. “You calm the hall. Do what you must in there. Don't twist yourself when you're with me."

He brushed a thumb along her cheekbone, as if relearning the map of her face. “I won't."

She kissed the corner of his mouth, quick, grateful, alive. “Thank you for coming," she whispered.

“Thank you for staying," he answered.

Sam appeared and led her toward the lower path. The jacket swallowed her as she left. Nicholas didn't move until the trees hid her. Then he turned toward the house.

His eyes found Diana's. He crossed to her. “Are you all right?"

“I am."

“Thank you for telling me to go," he said softly. “I won't forget."

“Good." She kept her tone calm. “Don't forget what matters."

They held each other's gaze for a beat. He seemed ready to speak, then looked at the room full of witnesses and stopped. “Later," he said.

“Later," she echoed.

Nicholas faced her in the foyer. “I brought Victoria here because she almost fell," he said. “She'll rest tonight. It's temporary."

“I told them to prepare the east room," Diana said. “Morning light helps."

“You don't object?"

“I object to cruelty. Care is not cruelty."

He searched her face for a trap and didn't find one. “You are generous," he said, almost uneasy with how easy she made it.

“I learned what it costs to do the opposite," she said. “I won't pay that again."

“Diana… I care about you."

He flinched at the title. “Let's talk."

“In the morning," she said, and went upstairs.

She took off her jewelry and sat still until her breath evened. A knock came. “Enter."

Nicholas stepped in. “Are we all right?"

“We are what we are," she said. “We'll see what that becomes."

He came closer, then stopped. “You expected me to go to the bridge. Why?"

“Because if you didn't, you would live with it like a stone in your chest. Regret rots faster than gossip."

A reluctant smile. “You sound older than both of us."

“I am."

He hesitated. “I want to do right by you."

“Then stop doing wrong to my family," she said. “That's a start."

Something flickered in his eyes. He hid it. “We'll talk politics later," he said, which was a way to end the talk without admitting anything.

“Good night," she said.

He left. The house settled. She lay down and stared at the ceiling. When sleep didn't come, she rose, put on a light cloak, and walked the corridor. The east room lamp burned low. A maid sat outside with knitting in her lap. Diana nodded and stepped in.

Victoria slept on her side, face turned to the window. In sleep she looked younger, not a rival or a symbol, just a girl who almost fell. Diana stood by the sill and let herself feel what she felt: not kindness, not hate, something hard and clean. Choice.

She made a promise to herself, not to the room: I won't be the woman who waits for mercy. I'll move first. I'll keep the people I love safe, even if I have to do it alone.

She left as quietly as she came. On the landing she paused at the balcony. A voice below turned her head. She stepped outside and looked down through the dark.

Nicholas and Victoria stood under the pines where the lawn dropped toward the service road. Sam must have brought her back to avoid a scene. The night kept them hidden from most windows. Not from this one.

“Are you sure?" Nicholas asked. His voice was raw in a way it never was in council.

“I'm sure," Victoria said. “I don't want to pretend I'm brave. I just want you." She rose on her toes and kissed him.

He didn't resist. He met her, full and certain, hands on her face like it was the one true thing left. No audience. No script. No hesitation. She answered him with all the breath she had. When they had to stop, she laughed a little and kissed him again. His reply was unguarded and complete.

Diana watched until she could put a name to what she saw. This wasn't confusion. It wasn't a test. It was a choice. They had made it and sealed it. The knowledge cleared her head like cold water.

“Fine," she whispered to the night. “Then I choose, too."

She went back inside and shut the door. The promise hardened. By dawn she had a quiet list in her mind: speak to her parents early; ask Lily to track who entered and left the study; find the spare key to the fourth drawer; call in two small favors owed to her father; keep anything with her mother's initials out of reach; stop believing apologies that came after consequences. None of it required a scene. All of it required a spine.

She lifted her chin. He and Victoria had made their choice with a kiss. She would make hers with action.

She went to work.

She wrote the plan in her head like a recipe: measure risk, cut it in halves, taste for lies, add proof until the story holds. She would copy the ledgers before anyone noticed they were gone. She would learn which guard changed shifts at dawn and which one owed her mother a favor from years ago. She would tell her father nothing he could be forced to repeat, and tell her mother everything she needed to sleep. If kindness opened a door, she would use it. If calm did, she would use that instead. She would not shout. She would not weep. She would remember that silence can be a tool when the room belongs to someone else.

And when the time came to say no, she would say it once, clearly, with her whole name behind it.