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“Well, Aria,” he says, “I think you’ve more than earned your white belt.”
He reaches into a nearby equipment bag and pulls out a crisp white belt, holding it out to me with a smile. “Congratulations. You should be proud of yourself.” There’s a hint of something more profound than just a teacher-student relationship in the depths of his gaze. It’s as if he’s silently promising that he’ll be there, a guardian in the shadows, ready to step in if I need him.
I need to stop making up stories in my head about this asshat. Oh, but he’s so pretty.
He hands me the belt, and I trace my fingertips along the silky surface. It’s more than just a simple garment, it represents all I have achieved and overcome.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting Zane’s gaze. My fingers trace the crisp edge of the belt, its weight in my hands far more significant than mere fabric. “For everything—the lessons, the encouragement… It means more than you know.” I swallow hard, fighting back the sudden swell of emotion. This belt isn’t just a marker of skill, it’s a talisman against my fears, a shield against my past. For the first time in ages, I feel a glimmer of true hope.
Zane’s expression softens. “You’re welcome, Aria. I’m just glad I could help.”
He has no idea that this belt represents freedom from Noah and any future where he could possibly hurt me. I barely keep my tears from falling and have to take several deep breaths while Zane watches me carefully.
“I…ah…” Clutching the belt to my chest, I blink rapidly at him. “Thanks.”
“One more thing.” He steps over to the wall of cabinets and opens one, pulling out a package. “I think a small should do it.” He hands it over to me. Inside is a black uniform. “This is your gi. Wear it to every practice.”
My fingers tremble as I take the gi, holding onto it tightly. Honestly, I can’t wait to put it on and prance around in it.
“Come on,” he says, gently turning me around. His hand lingers on my shoulder a moment longer than necessary, and when I glance up, I catch a flicker of something protective, almost possessive, in his eyes. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by his usual stern expression. “Let’s get you home.” As we walk out, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on behind that carefully controlled façade of his.
18
ARIA
Once again, I find myself in Zane’s fancy car while he drives through the darkened streets of Puritan City. I feel like I’m living in some weird noir comic and he’s the hero. The scent of leather and a hint of his cologne—something earthy and masculine—fills the air, adding to the strange comfort I feel in his presence.
“Where to?” Zane asks, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
I hesitate for a moment before giving him my address.
He nods, putting the car into gear. As we pull away from the curb, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve made a mistake in trusting him with this information.
My gaze travels to the sharp angles of Zane’s jawline, chiseled and defined. His hands grip the steering wheel with determination, as if it is a personal challenge he must conquer. The muscles in his arms flex, and I can sense the tension radiating off him. The car is an extension of him, his control over it absolute and unwavering. He always looks so damn intense, as though he can’t help but make each moment more extreme. His eyes, deep and smoldering, hold secrets that seem to pull me in, making it hard to look away.
Antihero, perhaps. He doesn’t fit neatly into the categories of hero or villain, and there’s a sense of mystery surrounding his intentions. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is driving him to act kindly, and for now, I’m content not knowing the reason behind his actions.
He didn’t want to get to know me. He didn’t want to understand who I am when we were at the diner. Then, when I showed up at the dojo, he wasn’t nice per se, but he treated all the women the same, so I shouldn’t feel special.
But I want to feel special.
Being a girl is hard, and an omega? Impossible.
I sigh and lean my head against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the city lights blur by. The hum of the engine is a soothing background to my racing thoughts. The silence stretches between us, thick and oppressive.
Finally, Zane breaks the stillness. “Are you all right?” he asks, his piercing gaze flicking between me and the road. “You seem preoccupied.” His jaw clenches, as if wrestling with his next words. “Is there something you’d like to discuss?” His voice is gruff, but there’s a hint of concern beneath the rough exterior.
I shrug, not sure how to answer. “I guess. Just…a lot on my mind.”
He nods, his eyes never leaving the road. “Anything you want to, um…” He pauses as though he’s never said the words before. A muscle in Zane’s jaw twitches as he concentrates on the road, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “To talk about?”
I bite back the retort I want to make about how hard that was for him. He’s being nice. He looks like he should be mean and cruel, and I don’t know how to handle this version of him.
I hesitate, biting my lip. Part of me wants to spill everything, to confess the fears and doubts swirling inside me, but another part, the cautious omega instinct, holds me back. All right, that’s the self-preservation instinct.
My inner omega is a hussy.
“Not really,” I lie, my voice barely above a whisper.
