The Reborn Omega's Revenge (Valencia) novel Chapter 84

Chapter 84 

Chapter 84 

Valencia’s POV: 

“Dante–stop… it hurts!” 

His armis were wrapped around me like a vice, his hold crushing suffocating. My ribs felt like they were seconds away from cracking under the sheer force of his embrace. I gasped, clawing weakly at his chest, my fingers trembling against the scorching heat of his body. 

YW 

For a terrifying moment, I thought he wasn’t going to let go. It was as if he couldn’t hear me–or maybe he didn’t care. His entire presence radiated desperation, an overwhelming need that made the air feel suffocating. He clung to me like I was the last thing tethering him to reality. 

But then, after what felt like an eternity, his grip loosened. Slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed, he pulled back, his hands lingering on my arms for just a second before he finally let go. 

I sat up as soon as I could, my lungs aching as I dragged in deep breaths. My entire body trembled from a mixture of exhaustion, lingering fear, and something else I couldn’t quite name. My heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my 

chest. 

When I glanced up at Dante, I froze. 

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His face was drawn, his lips pressed into a tight line. But what truly caught me off guard were his eyes. They were rimmed red, his cheeks faintly flushed, his expression unguarded in a way I’d never seen before. 

He had been crying. 

For me. 

He had cried because he didn’t want me to leave him. 

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t look away from him, my mind racing. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen a man fight for me, but it was the first time I’d seen raw, unfiltered anguish like this. Jaxon had never shown this kind of weakness. Ever. 

Had Jaxon ever cried for me? Had he ever been this vulnerable? He had made promises, sure–ones he always seemed to forget. But had I ever seen this intensity in him? This kind of devotion? 

I glanced at Castor’s egg resting safely beside me. For the first time, the fear I had carried–that Dante would take him away from me–didn’t seem so real anymore. 

All of a sudden it was like a slip of fabric that had been blinding me for a long time, was now slipping off. Letting me peek at the reality of things. 

Dante reached for the bedside table, picking up a glass of water. Without looking at me, he held it out. “Drink,” he said, his voice low and commanding. 

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I hesitated, my hands shaking slightly as I took the glass from him. The chill of the water against my fingers grounded me for a moment, and I brought the glass to my lips. 

The moment the water touched my tongue, a bitter taste bloomed in my mouth. I frowned, lowering the glass. “Did… did you put something in this?” I blurted before I could think better of it. My eyes widened in realization. It had definitely sounded like an accusation. Like I was implying he had drugged it or something. 

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Chapter 83 

I didn’t dare meet his gaze, too mortified be my own winde 

To my suprise, Dante’s responer was calm, almost matter of fact “Suppressors, he said simply “I don’t think I can keep my head clear when you’re dripping in heat pheromones like the 

My cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and I nodded quickly, unable to form a coherent reply. I hesitantly brought the glass back to my lips and drank, the bitterness mingling with the sharp pang of shame. 

As I lowered the glass, something caught my attention. A faint slimmer on the back of Dante’s hand. 

Scales. 

Golden and turquoise, shimmering faintly as the light caught them. My heart stuttered as I stared, a mixture of awe and uncase flooding me. 

His eyes followed my gaze, and the gold in them flared, catching the light and making them burn even brighter. His gaze was intense, almost suffocating, like staring directly into a wildfire. 

I suddenly became hyper–aware of my state. The towel I had wrapped around myself after my shower now felt painfully inadequate, barely covering my chest. 

His earlier words about my pheromones echoed in my mind, making heat rise to my cheeks again. 

I clutched the towel tighter, pulling it higher over my breasts as if it could shield me from his penetrating gaze. 

Dante’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. There was something animalistic in the way he looked at me, something that made my breath catch in my throat. 

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, his voice low and steady. But there was an edge to it, a dangerous undercurrent that made the air feel heavier. “How do you plan to make me believe you?” 

My heart sank. Right. He’d said he didn’t believe me—that he didn’t believe I wouldn’t run again. 

Could I blame him? 

I wouldn’t have believed myself either. 

All of this–everything—had started because of what I’d overheard. Because of that one conversation between Caius and Dante. At this point, Dante had made himself clear: he wouldn’t let me leave, whether I wanted to or not, apparently didn’t matter. My only choice was to stay. 

But to my surprise, that realization didn’t fill me with the kind of fear it used to. It was there–fear, simmering under the surface–but it wasn’t all–consuming. 

If I was going to make him believe me, I would have to believe myself first. 

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I met his gaze. “First,” I said, my voice low, “tell me. Will you separate me and Castor?” 

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