CHAPTER 135: CHAPTER 135 FALLING APART.

Two weeks later.....

A young man bolted upright in bed, eyes roaming the unfamiliar room. His memory was foggy and a dizzy tide threatened to pull him under. He tried to force a memory to surface—anything—but all he could see was a mirror on the wall. Stumbling across the floor, he stood before it and barely recognized himself.

His brunette hair lay in a tangled bird’s nest, his eye sockets sunken, his lips as pale as chalk. He ran his hands over the face that used to be smooth and found rough skin; he was wearing a pyjama that reeked of antiseptic.

Nothing in the room told him where he was. He moved toward the door and was about to open it when three men arrived before him and yanked it open, staring at the man in front of them.

"Get ready—he might get violent," the man in the middle warned, and they all tensed.

Violent? The word shocked him. How could he be violent? Before he could speak, a clank at his wrists announced handcuffs.

"Fuck!!!" he breathed. How long had they been there? The cuffs held him fast as they hauled him out, gripping his hands and forcing him along.

"Stop it—you’re hurting my arms," he complained, but they ignored him. They passed through corridors and passages until they reached a large hall crowded with people—men and women in the same white pyjamas as him.

"The hell..." he muttered and was shoved into a chair.

"Respect yourself. Count yourself lucky—despite your actions a legal process hasn’t been conducted," sneered one of the men who had brought him in. "You were once a respected billionaire." Another spat, "You can now suffer. This asylum won’t do you justice—you’ll rot in jail, you pompous prick." They snickered and walked away.

Shameful thing? What shameful thing had he done? What was his name? Why wasn’t anything registering? Flashes of memory skittered through his head: someone blond, emerald eyes, a charming smile.

"I love you, Xylander—forever, until the end," he heard—had whispered—that promise, and it made him get up.

The scrape of his chair drew looks, some questioning, but he ignored them, trying to piece the face together. It felt like someone had been waiting for him to recover—but here he was, losing pieces of himself.

The click of heels grew louder. A woman marched into the hall, scanned the room, then settled at his table. She smirked and sat in the empty chair at the edge of the seat.

"Well, good morning, Xylander Wolfe. How are you this beautiful morning?" she purred. He shook his head.

Being called Xylander unlocked another fragment.

"Xyle, honey, can you help me with my dress?" That same voice—those enchanting emerald eyes and that well-defined body—spoke to him; the memory came back like a touch. He shuddered as another recollection flitted in: a soft hand grazing his jaw, tantalizing and gentle.

"Are you with me, Xylander? I asked how your day went," the woman snapped, waiting for a reply. Xylander turned to her but stayed lost in the memory.

"Don’t you dare turn away when I’m talking to you." She slammed her hands on the table with a mocking glare. "That arrogance won’t get you anywhere. You own nothing now, Xylander. As far as we’re concerned, you’re just a normal man—or worse, a prisoner of society." A malicious grin spread across her face.

Xylander sat unmoved; his hazel eyes were calm, steady as ever as they met hers.

"You can eat my ass, lady—but you won’t get a shit from me." The curse startled the woman; it was the first coarse thing he’d said since he woke.

She rose as if to strike him, then held herself back. "I don’t know why you’re here, but our system is corrupt. Someone as evil as you belongs in jail, suffering—not in an asylum. That poor girl—her life was snuffed out. Don’t you think she wanted to live?" Her voice dripped venom.

All that talk didn’t shake him. He couldn’t remember killing anyone. What she was saying didn’t fit.

"I’m leaving. I don’t know why I’m here in the first place." Xylander declared and rose to stand. The woman made a call immediately.

"Bring your men and subdue him—he’s violent again," she ordered, then cut the call and rushed after him as he began to walk away.

Memory slammed into him—the last thing he remembered was Daniel.

Oh no—Daniel. Where was he? Their baby? Alex? Draven? Where was everyone?

"Have you seen anyone called Draven, Daniel, or Alex?" he turned to ask the woman.

She watched him and gave a sly smile. "So now you speak to me. I thought you were only playing arrogance." Her tone made something inside him flare.

"Talk to me now, or live to regret it," he warned, but she only feigned concern, eyes cold as she studied him.

"Still thinking you’re something, right? Well, Daniel—your infamous groom—called the authorities on you and accused you of homicide and murder." Her words hit him like ice; he staggered back in shock.

That was impossible. Daniel—the love of his life, the soon-to-be father of his child—wouldn’t do such a thing. He couldn’t accept it.

"You’re delusional, woman. My husband is a loyal person. Stop with your bitter lies—he didn’t do this and never would." He said it with a deadly seriousness, voice steady despite the fear.

"Okay. Before I start—my name is Shelly Houston, and I’m Nicole Shelton’s half-sister." She announced, which made Xylander go rigid. She brought out her shiny phone, tapped, and pulled up the latest news.

"Well, doubting Thomas—this is your evidence." She pushed the screen toward him. A video played: his arrest drama. In it, Daniel stood among the press, crying.

"I never knew he was this despicable," Daniel sobbed into the microphone. "I married him for love, but little did I know he was a monstrous pig who preys on the innocent. He tried to assault that woman, and when he couldn’t, he threw her off the building." His body shook as he spoke.

People around him murmured and comforted him. When he calmed, he took back the microphone.

"So what I can say to Xylander Wolfe is that you have lost, man. If you can hear me—the same way you took everything from the innocent little one, the same way your entire family has been snatched from you—you have lost. You will either rot in jail or be sentenced to death." Daniel’s words threaded through the room; the media nodded in agreement, and the weight of the accusation crushed Xylander.

His chest fractured. What is going on? I don’t remember any of this. It can’t be me...

Others were taken away to their quarters, leaving Xylander alone.

"Now go back to your quarters. You see what I told you—you’re an animal and will always remain so," Shelly chimed in.

Xylander’s mind replayed that chilling line. "You took everything from that little one..." Why did he sound like another person? Could it be that it wasn’t Daniel? Where was Daniel?

He didn’t get to dwell long. Bands of armed forces—law authorities—streamed in.

"You’re under arrest for sexually assaulting a minor and causing her death," the commander announced, slipping another pair of handcuffs onto him and dragging him up. He was hauled away.

Assaulting a minor? He didn’t do it. That wasn’t him—please...

No one listened. Outside the asylum people began to protest, voices rising into a storm.

"Die!! He should die—he’s a criminal!" "Criminal—an animal in human form!"

Their words pierced him. As they pushed him into the van, an even worse sight met him: on a wall, a poster of Daniel Lancaster labeled "Omega whore." People carried placards and marched—a public hunt.

"He shouldn’t be allowed to live—an Omega in our midst. Kill him."

Xylander wanted to scream. How had it come to this? Who had leaked their secret? Someone had snitched—but who was the traitor? Where were the others?

For the first time in ages, Xylander felt truly alone. If he was going to survive this, he realized with cold conviction, he could only do it by himself.