My Fated Alpha's Cruel Game

Chapter 280: Chapter 280 Uncomfortable Truths

Elena’s POV

Ruth doesn’t waste time on small talk when she ambushes me.

She catches me just outside my office door as the afternoon light fades to dusk, the building emptying around us in that particular way that makes every word feel more urgent. I’m pulling on my jacket when she steps directly into my path, planting herself there with the determination of someone who has no intention of moving.

"You’re punishing yourself," she states without preamble.

I pause, one arm halfway through a sleeve. "I’m handling things."

"No," she says, her tone brooking no argument. "You’re retreating. There’s a distinction."

I finish putting on my jacket with deliberate slowness, using the motion to buy myself a moment. "You’re reading into things that aren’t there."

A soft sound escapes her, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Try a different excuse."

I smooth down the front of my jacket, the gesture more about creating space than actual necessity. "I’ve had a busy schedule."

"You’ve been avoiding," she corrects sharply. "You’ve rearranged meetings, ended conversations before they could develop, haven’t been sleeping properly. You haven’t eaten a full meal sitting down in three days."

"I ate yesterday."

"You stood at the counter picking at a sandwich like the chair might bite you."

I turn to meet her gaze directly. "What exactly do you want from me, Ruth?"

She doesn’t even blink. "I want you to stop pretending this is some kind of tactical decision."

The silence that follows feels loaded. I can sense my jaw clenching, that familiar defensive mechanism sliding into place like armor.

"I’m perfectly fine," I tell her. "This has nothing to do with punishment."

Her eyes narrow with the precision of someone who knows exactly what they’re looking at. "Then explain what it does have to do with."

I falter. Just for a split second. But it’s enough.

She seizes the opening immediately.

"You shut yourself off after the envoy situation," she says, pressing her advantage. "Not professionally. Personally. You started treating Asher like getting too close might compromise your position."

"That’s not what happened—"

"You treat wanting things like it’s a weakness," she interrupts. "And weakness like it’s a direct threat to your control."

The accuracy of her words hits like a physical blow.

"That’s unfair," I manage.

She tilts her head slightly. "Is it really?"

I look away, focusing on the empty hallway where fluorescent lights buzz quietly overhead, where no one else can witness this dissection of my behavior. "I don’t punish myself for anything."

"You deprive yourself," she counters without missing a beat. "It’s different. One feels like justice. The other feels like safety."

I release a slow breath through my nose. "You’re overanalyzing the situation."

"Am I?" she asks. "Because what I see is someone who looked at how power was trying to manipulate her and decided the safest response was to become untouchable. Unreachable."

"That’s absurd." ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"Is it?" she echoes. "You didn’t panic when they tried to use you as a bargaining chip. You panicked when you realized that intimacy could become part of their calculations."

I remain silent.

She waits, patient as stone.

"This is what you do," Ruth says, her voice gentler now. "When boundaries get blurred. You retreat into control because it protected you before."

Something tightens in my chest.

"Survival instincts aren’t character flaws," she continues. "But they’re not the same as actually living."

"I didn’t choose this situation," I say.

"No," she agrees readily. "But you need to choose how you respond to it."

I face her again, irritation rising sharp enough to taste. "And what exactly am I supposed to do? Just stop being careful?"

She studies me for a long moment. "No. You’re supposed to recognize what you’re doing. And decide whether it’s actually protecting you anymore."

She steps to the side, clearing my path to leave. "You don’t owe me an answer. Just don’t lie to yourself and call it strength."

I walk away without saying another word.

Later that night, sleep proves elusive.

I lie flat on my back, staring up at the dark ceiling, counting each breath while listening to the compound settle into its nighttime quiet. My body feels drained, but my mind refuses to cooperate. Thoughts drift and circle back, unwelcome but persistent.

Control.

The concept everything seems to revolve around lately.

Control over my environment. Control over timing. Control over who gets close enough to matter.

I can still remember learning which emotions were too expensive to show. How desire could become a weapon in someone else’s hands. How wanting something meant giving others the power to decide whether I deserved to have it.

The survival strategy had been straightforward then. Don’t want. Don’t reach. Don’t need.

The memories surface without invitation. Small moments. Decisions that crystallized into unbreakable rules over time.

I shift onto my side, then back again. The sheets feel tangled and too warm. I push one leg out from under the covers, then pull it back. Restless. Frustrated with my own inability to settle.

Ruth’s words replay themselves anyway.

You treat wanting things like it’s a weakness.

And weakness like it’s a direct threat to your control.

I sit up abruptly, running both hands over my face before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The bathroom light is harsh when I flip the switch. I brush my teeth automatically, catch my own reflection in the mirror. My eyes look alert despite the exhaustion. Sharp. Guarded in ways that have become second nature.