Before Easton could take three steps, Alston moved.
Alston slapped a hand over his mouth. His face turned a sickly shade of green. The toxic side effects of the black-market suppressants were tearing up his stomach lining.
He shoved himself out of the booth, knocking his knees against the table, and bolted toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.
Easton stopped dead in his tracks.
He watched Alston's retreating back, his chest tightening at the sight of the Omega's desperate, stumbling run.
Emelia scoffed loudly. She left the divorce papers on the table, grabbed her Birkin bag, and marched after Alston, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor. She wasn't done torturing him.
Easton turned his head. He caught the eye of the restaurant manager, who was rushing over to apologize for the fallen chair.
Easton held up a single finger, stopping the man in his tracks.
"Clear the hallway to the restrooms," Easton commanded. His voice was low, but it carried absolute authority. "Now."
The manager recognized the CEO of Marks Tech instantly. He nodded frantically and waved the waitstaff away, blocking off the corridor.
Easton walked into the dimly lit hallway.
He stepped into the deep shadow of an alcove, perfectly concealed from view. He stood perfectly still, his breathing silent.
Emelia stood outside the closed door of the men's restroom. She didn't go in. Instead, she pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed a number.
Easton leaned his head back against the wall. His Enigma hearing picked up the faint ringing from the phone's earpiece.
The call connected.
"Bray," Emelia whined, her voice instantly dropping into a sickeningly sweet, helpless tone.
Easton's jaw clenched. He twisted his watch band.
"He won't sign it," Emelia complained. "He's just sitting here crying. He's trying to hold onto your money, Braydon. You need to cut off his family's factories today."
Through the phone, Braydon's voice sounded exhausted and annoyed. "Emelia, I told you to back off. If you push him too hard, he'll go to the trust lawyers. I need him to sign it quietly."
"Well, you better figure it out," Emelia snapped, dropping the sweet act. "Because I got the medical report this morning. We need to talk now. You better fix this before it's too late."
The words hung in the air.
Inside the restroom, there was a loud crash. A heavy plastic soap dispenser hit the tile floor.
Alston had heard her.
Easton's eyes darkened. He felt a sharp, phantom pain in his chest, mirroring the absolute devastation he knew Alston was feeling on the other side of that door.
Braydon went dead silent on the phone. "Are you sure?" he finally asked, his voice tight.
"Yes," Emelia lied smoothly. "So fix this."
She hung up the phone. A triumphant, vicious smile spread across her face. She reached out to push open the restroom door to deliver the final blow to Alston.
A large, heavy hand shot out of the shadows and slammed flat against the wooden door, holding it shut.
Emelia gasped and jumped back.
She spun around and found herself staring at a massive chest in a navy suit. She slowly looked up into the terrifying, golden eyes of Easton Marks.
Easton looked down at her as if she were a cockroach he was about to step on.
He let a fraction of his Enigma pheromones bleed into the air. It wasn't the protective cedar he used around Alston. It was pure, suffocating gunpowder and dominance.
Emelia's knees buckled. She slammed her back against the wall, her hands flying up to her throat as she struggled to breathe. The biological terror of an Enigma predator paralyzed her vocal cords.
"If you ever come near him again," Easton whispered, his voice a lethal, vibrating rasp, "I will erase you from this city. Do you understand?"
Emelia couldn't speak. She nodded frantically, tears of pure terror spilling down her cheeks.
Easton pulled his hand back from the door.
Emelia scrambled away, clutching her bag to her chest, and ran down the hallway like she was being hunted.
The corridor fell dead silent again.
Easton stood outside the restroom door. He could hear the ragged, suppressed sobs coming from inside. Alston was crying, trying desperately to muffle the sound with his hands.
Easton raised his hand. His knuckles hovered an inch from the wood.
He slowly lowered his hand. The pure, concentrated agony bleeding into Alston's chamomile scent slammed into Easton's Enigma receptors like a freight train. His own pheromonal dysregulation flared violently, a blinding spike of pain driving behind his eyes. His chest heaved as he leaned heavily against the wall, fighting the urge to tear the door off its hinges. He couldn't go in there. His biology was completely out of control, and if he stepped into that small space, his Enigma instincts would take over and he would violently claim the Omega right on the bathroom floor. The physical agony of resisting his own nature forced him to retreat.
Easton reached into his pocket. He pulled out the clean, folded silk handkerchief.
He placed it gently on the edge of the decorative marble sink right outside the restroom door.
He took one last look at the closed door, turned around, and walked away.
