To ruin an Omega novel Chapter 474

Chapter 474: Design

FIA

The knock at the door pulled us apart. I sat up slowly, scrubbing my face with the heels of my palms. My cheeks were hot and tight from crying. Cian pressed a kiss to my temple before sliding off the bed, padding barefoot across the room to answer.

I watched him move. My breath caught as his shirt stretched across his back when he reached for the door handle. The familiar sight sliced through me, causing my chest to tighten and my breath to become shallow with sudden longing.

He exchanged quiet words with the server, then wheeled in a cart laden with covered dishes. The metal domes concealed whatever the kitchen had prepared, but the scents escaped anyway. Rich butter. Roasted meat. Something herbed and earthy that should have made my stomach growl.

But the food barely registered. Hunger twisted into something sharper, and my nerves hummed as my attention snagged on Cian; every detail of him pressed urgently against my mind.

Cian tipped the server and closed the door, turning back to me with that soft, worried expression he’d worn since I hung up with my father. "You should eat something."

His voice rolled through me, deeper than usual, or maybe I was attuned to it in a new way. The sound resonated in my chest, warmth unfurling low in my belly.

I nodded, scarcely aware of his words, while my gaze fixated on the elegant line of his throat; I could see a pulse flickering there, which caused my own pulse to pound in response and left my cheeks flushed tight.

"Fia?"

I blinked. Forced myself to focus on his face instead of cataloging the lines of his body. "Sorry. Yes. Food."

He studied me for a long moment, then crossed to the cart. Started lifting the domes away to reveal the plates underneath. The motion pulled his shirt tight across his shoulders again. I tracked the movement without meaning to.

The scents grew stronger—garlic, rosemary, and golden butter melting around roasted vegetables—yet beneath it all, something wilder cut through: pine, earth, and the unmistakable, clean scent that was Cian alone.

I stood, intending to help him, but my legs trembled as heat flushed through my body, my skin prickling with sensitivity; I clung to the footboard as dizziness spiked and panic darted under my ribs.

The room swayed slightly. I put a hand on the footboard to steady myself.

Cian looked up sharply. His nostrils flared. The plates he’d been holding hit the cart with a soft clatter as he set them down very, very carefully. All his movements were suddenly very controlled.

"Fia..."

That was all he said. Just my name, in that rough and questioning tone, and the sound of it sent a shiver down my spine.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words slipped away. My thoughts scattered like startled birds. The anger from my father’s call, so sharp moments ago, now felt distant and muffled.

Other needs crowded in, demanding my attention and warping my priorities; I wanted both comfort and connection, but couldn’t decide which impulse to follow.

The way Cian’s chest rose and fell. The gold was beginning to bleed into his dark eyes. The tension suddenly thrummed through the bond between us, carrying his awareness, his recognition, his reaction.

Heat raced across my chest and throat, and each heartbeat thundered in my ears while lights sparked at the corners of my vision; my hands shook as I reached for a plate, need surging through my trembling fingers.

I managed two steps toward the cart before my knees turned to liquid.

Cian moved, catching my elbow before I could stumble. His fingers wrapped around my arm, and the contact sent sparks racing up to my shoulder—something brighter than pain and far more intense.

He jerked his hand away as if burned, putting three feet of space between us in one smooth, urgent motion.

"I’m fine." The words came out breathy and not convincing at all.

"You’re not." He stayed exactly where he was, spine rigid—giving me space even though I could see the effort it cost him. His hands had curled into fists at his sides.

My skin felt too tight, too hot, even with the cool air humming through the suite. I wanted to peel my dress away, to press myself against anything cold.

Or maybe something even warmer than I was now.

I looked at Cian and felt the bond surge, showing me everything—his wolf rising, clawing for the surface, his rational mind scrambling for control. My scent had changed, flooding his senses, triggering something primal and immediate.

Oh, the phone call. My father’s voice. The rage, grief, and betrayal that had overwhelmed me just minutes before. I knew intense emotion and stress could trigger heat in pregnant Omegas, as I had read. However, I never expected it to happen to me.

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