Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 58

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Timothy didn’t need much convincing. I could see the curiosity in his eyes — the sort of curiosity that digs until it finds an answer. Good. That’s exactly what I wanted. There were too many small, ugly things in this situation that didn’t add up. Instinct told me this had deeper layers.

“Go,” I said, my voice low enough to cut through morning quiet. I wasn’t in the mood for Timothy’s banter; we both knew he didn’t refuse a direct order.

“Fine!” Timothy sprang from his chair but held up a hand. “One thing: I’m not interested in her that way. I don’t want a black eye over some—”

“Go.” I dismissed him with a wave, and watched him leave. Flynn’s groan as he followed was expected. “Updates by morning. No exceptions.” I repeated it until the words landed. Then I sat alone with the curve of my thoughts — everything about this smelled wrong.

Standard POV Format

There was a knock on my door; Timothy announced himself in a voice that somehow made my stomach tighter. “Go away,” I called, panic prickling under my skin. If Perry found another man in my room — even his gamma — he’d explode. I couldn’t take another one of his storms.

Timothy strolled in with that infuriating smirk, like he owned the place. “How are you feeling?” he asked, already eyeing the bandage on my hand. I tugged my sleeve down to hide it.

“Nothing,” I muttered, focusing on the cartoon on-screen though I wasn’t watching it.

He kept asking odd questions. “How many clothes do you have?”

“What kind of question is that?” I snapped, which only made him laugh. He had that annoying, easygoing way that grated at my nerves.

Then — without warning — he headed straight for my walk-in closet. “Wait—” I scrambled after him, panic rising. He rifled around like a kid in a toy store until he stepped back and blinked.

“There’s nothing here,” he said, incredulous. The closet looked abandoned except for a battered backpack shoved into a corner. Heat flooded my cheeks.

Timothy shrugged. “I’ll handle it later. He’ll know we’re gone; he probably already does. We’re here now — might as well make the most of it.”

I did not want to be seen collapsing into a display of normalcy. My only plan was to survive long enough to finish the next drop of poison — nothing more. Yet Timothy talked and pulled me through crowds like he believed I deserved a moment of ordinary life. For all his teasing and grin, he genuinely seemed to want to help.

I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. But for the first time in weeks, a tiny part of me unknotted and allowed the idea that someone might be on my side.