The Alpha King Who Saved Christmas

Poison (MARCUS 's Pov)

“Sydney, please...just answer me.”

I don’t know why I’m whispering when I’m alone.

My phone is pressed so hard against my ear that my jaw aches, the call already dumped to voicemail, the same dead, hollow click I’ve heard a dozen times tonight. The red Call Failed banner might as well be laughing at me.

Blocked.

Everywhere.

I drag my hand through my hair and stare at my reflection in the mirrored wall of the executive hallway restroom. The man looking back at me doesn’t resemble the guy who walked into the Hamilton Empire State this morning wearing confidence like a tailored suit.

This man looks wrecked.

Eyes bloodshot. Tie loosened. Collar undone. Like something valuable slipped through my fingers and shattered on marble floors I’ll never scrub clean.

“Seven years,” I mutter. “Seven damn years…”

The word regret hits late. Too late. Like a delayed bruise that blooms only after the bone has already cracked.

I replay it over and over...

the way Sydney’s face went pale, not angry, not screaming. Just… broken. Like she didn’t even have the strength to fight for us anymore.

That’s what kills me.

If she’d yelled, I could’ve argued. If she’d cried, I could’ve begged.

But she looked at me like she didn’t recognize me.

And then she ran.

The restroom door swings open hard.

“You okay?” Tyra’s voice slices through the silence, sharp heels clicking as she steps inside like she owns the place. She always does that...

moves like the world should part for her.

I don’t answer.

She leans against the counter beside me, checking her lipstick like nothing monumental just imploded. “You disappeared,” she says lightly. “People are asking where the supervisor ran off to.”

I finally look at her.

Really look.

Perfect hair. Perfect dress. That self-satisfied curve to her mouth that I used to mistake for confidence.

Now it looks like poison.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.

Her eyes flick to mine, startled for half a second before irritation takes over. “Excuse me?”

“I said you shouldn’t be here.”

Tyra scoffs. “Marcus, don’t start acting like this is on me. She walked in. That’s not my fault.”

My chest tightens. “You knew.”

She stills. “Knew what?”

“You knew she was coming backstage. You knew tonight mattered to her.”

Tyra rolls her eyes. “Oh please. Sydney’s always playing saint. Charity this, children that. She was never right for you.”

That sentence lands wrong.

Really wrong.

I straighten slowly. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Tyra turns, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? Marcus, she’s soft. She drags you into orphanages and fundraising dinners and—”

“She has a heart,” I snap. “Something you wouldn’t recognize if it slapped you.”

Silence stretches.

Then Tyra laughs. “Wow. So this is regret talking.”

My phone vibrates.

Hope explodes in my chest—

—until I see the notification.

Sydney Walters has blocked you.

Again.

I stare at the screen like it might change if I keep looking.

“She blocked you, didn’t she?” Tyra says softly, peering at the phone.

“Don’t,” I warn.

“She’ll cool off,” Tyra continues, stepping closer. “She always does. And when she realizes you’re better off without her, she’ll—”

I step back.

Physically. Instinctively.

“I don’t want you touching me.”

That finally wipes the smirk off her face. “Marcus—”

“Tonight was a mistake,” I say. My voice shakes, but I push through. “Not Sydney. You.”

Her expression hardens. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Tyra’s eyes darken. “You’re choosing her? After everything?”

I think of Sydney’s laugh when the kids at Cradle Heart cling to her legs. The way she believes in people even when they don’t deserve it.

I think of how safe she felt.

“I already chose,” I say quietly. “And I lost.”

Tyra straightens, fury flashing. “You think she’s coming back after what you did?”

I don’t answer.

Because that’s the fear gnawing through my ribs.

Because for the first time, the future looks empty.

“I’ll fix this,” I say, more to myself than her. “I’ll apologize. I’ll explain.”

Tyra laughs again, colder this time. “Explain what? That you tripped and fell into my mouth?”

The words sting because they’re close enough to the truth.

I grab my coat. “Stay away from her.”

“You don’t get to give orders,” Tyra snaps.

“I do when it comes to Sydney.”

I leave her standing there, heels planted, ego bruised.

The hotel feels different as I walk through it now.

Too big. Too cold.

Every corner reminds me of her...

how she smiled at the staff, how she believed in me when I said I loved her.

My phone vibrates again.

Unknown number.

My heart slams as I answer without thinking. “Sydney?”

A pause.

Then a man’s voice.

Low. Controlled.

Dangerously calm.

“This is Drake Hamilton,” he says. “And if you try contacting her again tonight...”

My blood runs cold.

“...we’re going to have a problem,” he finishes.

I swallow hard. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

There’s a brief silence.

Then he speaks, each word deliberate.

“The man who will make sure you never hurt her again.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone, heart pounding, dread pooling in my gut.

Because I don’t know who Drake Hamilton really is...

...but for the first time tonight, I’m terrified I’ve already lost the war.

“And Marcus,” his voice echoes in my head, “this is just the beginning.”