The whole room had swallowed it—his worried gaze, his soft-spoken words, the perfect mask of innocence.
All the while, it was Ryley quietly pulling the strings.
He'd laid the snare himself, used Starla to lure Vincent in, and stood back as the trap nearly destroyed that bastard.
And now, here he was again—drawing Clyde in, weaving his charm around the Alpha like silk, tightening it with every breath, every glance.
Because not even for a second could he let Clyde see past the mask.
"Clyde…" Ryley's voice came soft, almost a breath, as he tilted his head, brown eyes wide with concern.
His hand rose, delicate fingers brushing over Clyde's face, thumb tracing the Alpha's jaw like he couldn't bear to see him troubled.
"You're carrying so much… it hurts me to see it."
The tension in Clyde's brow slowly faded as he met that gaze— so warm, so gentle.
He let out a long breath, leaning into Ryley's touch, as if the weight on his shoulders slipped free just from being near him.
