CHAPTER 48: INTEGRATION.

Louis’ POV

"When it comes to Charles, you’re always so mellow, dramatic, pitiful.

Michael’s found him," Bill said as he walked toward my chair, hands in his pockets.

I didn’t look up.

My eyes stayed on the document in front of me — words I wasn’t actually reading — because looking at Bill meant dealing with the expression I knew he was wearing:

Annoyed.

Judgemental.

And fully ready to lecture me.

"I’m not dramatic," I muttered.

Bill snorted loud enough to echo.

"Right. That’s why your aura spiked so hard earlier that even the receptionist considered calling emergency protocols."

I stiffened. "...I was calm."

"You shattered a pen."

"That pen was cheap."

"Louis, it was metal."

I stayed silent.

Bill sighed and leaned against my desk, watching me like I was a puzzle he was tired of solving.

"You told Michael to update you the moment he found Charles," he reminded. "So don’t act shocked that I’m here doing exactly that."

My chest tightened.

I finally looked up.

"Where is he?" I asked quietly.

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Do you want the professional answer or the friend answer?"

"Just tell me."

He slid a tablet toward me.

The screen lit up with a photo Michael had taken from afar.

Charles.

Wearing someone else’s clothes.

Standing next to someone taller, broader...

Alexander.

My heart gave an unpleasant twist.

He looked... calm.

Warm.

Close.

Too close.

Bill watched my reaction carefully.

"Yeah," he said, "Michael confirmed it. They’re together."

I exhaled, slow and shaky.

He chose to be with someone else today.

He didn’t choose to see me.

"What did Michael say?" I asked.

"He said Charles refused to meet you."

The words hit harder than I expected.

Refused.

Not avoided.

Not postponed.

Refused.

My jaw tightened.

Bill continued, softer now, "He also said Charles looked... comfortable. With Alexander."

I swallowed.

Comfortable.

With someone who wasn’t me.

"Louis," Bill said, watching me a little too closely, "don’t do something irrational."

I laughed under my breath — humorless, sharp.

"I don’t do irrational things."

Bill raised a brow. "Then what do you call pacing your office like a caged animal for the last 48 hours?"

Silence.

He folded his arms. "So... what do you plan to do? Go to him? Wait? Pretend none of this bothers you, even though it obviously does?"

I stared at the tablet again.

At Charles.

At Alexander.

At the space between them that wasn’t really space at all.

"I don’t know," I admitted quietly.

And for the first time in a long time...

That uncertainty terrified me.

"I know I’m not in the position to tell you what to do," he said, letting out a soft sigh as he leaned against the desk, "but just choose Charles."

My jaw tightened. "Bill—"

"Alistair isn’t for you," he interrupted gently.

A bitter laugh slipped out of me. "You never thought he was for me."

Bill shrugged, but his eyes stayed fixed on mine, steady and annoyingly perceptive. "Because you never believed it either."

I looked away, swallowing the truth I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

"Louis," he continued, voice quieting, "every time it’s Charles, you panic. You push and pull. You shut down. You explode. You feel too much."

He paused. "And everything you feel for Alistair... it’s small. Safe. Convenient."

My chest tightened. "Maybe that’s what I want."

Bill shook his head slowly. "No. You want real. You want terrifying. You want the thing that keeps you up at night and wakes you early in the morning."

He stepped closer.

"You want Charles. You always have."

I clenched my hands, heat rising in my eyes—anger or fear, I couldn’t tell.

"And you know what scares you the most?" he added softly.

I didn’t answer.

"That he wants you back."

"I’m scared," I confessed, my voice lower than I expected. "I’m dangerous. My family isn’t sunshine and flowers. We may be rich, but Bill—our hands are in dirty waters."

He didn’t flinch. He never did.

"You are the most powerful," Bill said with a small, crooked grin. "The next head after your father."

I laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. "Exactly. You say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better."

"It’s supposed to make you remember who you are." His eyes darkened, a hint of something sharper beneath the warmth. "Didn’t you plan on ending them? Your useless family members—betrayers, backstabbers... threats to your happiness."

My jaw clenched.

The voice in my head—the one I hated, the one that sounded too much like the men who raised me—whispered He’s right.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The silence told him everything.

He smirked slightly. "Louis... loving someone doesn’t make you weak. But letting your family destroy him? That makes you a coward."

My breath caught. The words burned.

And the worst part?

They were true.

---

Bill’s words hung in the air like smoke.

Coward.

I shouldn’t have reacted.

I shouldn’t have let that word sink into my bones the way it did.

But I felt it.

A coward hides.

A coward watches from a distance while someone else stands next to the person he—

No.

I shut the thought down.

My fingers dug into the edge of the desk until it creaked.

"...I’m not a coward," I said finally, the words almost a whisper.

Bill didn’t look satisfied. He never was.

He straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves like he was preparing for battle.

"So?" he asked softly. "What are you going to do? Send someone? Wait for him to come crawling back? Or are you actually going to fight for the first thing you’ve ever cared about?"

I breathed in sharply.

Fight.

The irony burned.

I had fought wars in boardrooms.

Fought enemies my family didn’t even know existed.

Fought my own instincts every day of my life.

But fighting for Charles?

That felt like walking into fire barefoot.

"...He chose to be with Alexander today," I muttered.

Bill gave me a long, tired look. "Or he chose to be with someone who doesn’t make him feel like he’s standing on thin ice."

I flinched.

He didn’t let up.

"You think you’re protecting him," Bill said, voice low. "But you’re isolating him. Confusing him. Making him feel unwanted while you pretend to act unaffected."

My throat tightened. "I’m not unaffected."

He raised a brow. "Then you better start acting like it."

I swallowed hard.

My heartbeat was a drum against my ribs—too loud, too uneven.

Bill softened then, the way he only ever did when he saw me unravel.

"Louis," he said quietly, "you either lose him because you’re too afraid to try... or you fight for him and deal with whatever comes."

I stared at the photo on the screen one more time.

Charles in borrowed clothes.

Standing close to Alexander.

Looking... safe.

Safe in a way he never looked around me anymore.

My chest twisted painfully.

Bill stepped back from the desk, giving me space.

"Call Michael when you decide," he said gently. "But don’t wait too long."

He walked toward the door, hand on the handle—

"Bill."

He paused.

I didn’t look at him.

I couldn’t.

"...Tell Michael to prepare the car."

There was silence.

Then a slow, relieved exhale.

"Finally," Bill said, a small smile in his voice. "You’re waking up."

The door closed.

I let my head fall into my hands, breath shaking.

God... what am I doing?

But it didn’t matter anymore.

For the first time in days—

I wasn’t frozen.

I was moving.

And that terrified me more than anything.

"Finally."

The word rippled through my mind like a cold finger trailing down my spine.

I froze.

Not physically — I’d trained myself out of those kinds of reactions — but deep inside, something tightened.

Something I had spent years burying under discipline and logic and fear.

"...Finally what?" I asked it silently, jaw tightening, breath shallow. "What do you mean by that?"

A pause.

And then—

"I can’t wait," the voice purred, warm and ancient and unmistakably pleased,

"for us to integrate."

My blood ran cold.

Integrate.

I gripped the edge of the desk, nails pressing into wood.

"Don’t," I hissed inwardly. "Not now."

"Oh, Louis," it murmured, amused, affectionate in a way that sickened and soothed at the same time,

"you’ve been suppressing me since you were eleven. You really thought that would last forever?"

My throat constricted.

I had hoped so.

"It’s time," the voice continued, low and resonant, "for you to stop running from what you are... and who you belong to."

My pulse hammered.

"Who I belong to?" I echoed sharply. "I don’t belong to anyone."

A laugh — soft, knowing.

"You do. You always have."

My grip faltered.

No.

No, no, no—

"And once we integrate," it whispered, "you can finally be with your mate."

My stomach dropped.

Mate.

The word shouldn’t have meant anything.

Except it did.

It landed somewhere deep, somewhere I had spent years avoiding, denying, refusing to look at because if I did—

If I did—

I would see the truth I wasn’t ready for.

My breath trembled.

"Stop talking," I said quietly.

"Why?" it asked gently. "Is it because you know exactly who I mean?"

I shut my eyes hard.

A flash.

Charles’ face.

Not smiling —

but looking at someone else with a softness he used to reserve for me.

My chest seized.

"Don’t," I repeated.

But the voice only hummed, satisfied.

"It’s already happening, Louis. You’re awakening.

And once you face him...

there won’t be any pretending left."

I inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open.

Because suddenly—

I wasn’t just terrified of losing Charles.

I was terrified of what would happen if I didn’t.