Chained By the Alpha (Cleo and Zayn) novel Chapter 20

• Cleo •

Nothing makes sense to me anymore. I feel like I can’t trust anyone at the moment as I sit on the sofa in the living room while Zayn waits to be sent some video footage that will prove killing Deacon was justified, yet death is never the answer. There would have been other options. I can’t picture Deacon ever doing that to me. It makes me question everything more. I have known Deacon for years and Zayn for three months, yet he expects me to believe Deacon is capable of something so vile. I’m torn between the Deacon I know and the evidence Zayn claims to have. It’s difficult to trust my instincts when my emotions are clouded by doubt and confusion. I never thought I would find myself in such a predicament, questioning the character of someone I thought I knew so well. It has me questioning Zayn and his intentions. Why would he keep this secret and help me search for my boyfriend, only to say this now?

Zayn’s phone rings loudly, and he starts downloading the supposed footage.

“Is that it?” I ask as he stares at his phone. He clenches his jaw, watching whatever it is. I stand up, and he curses under his breath. “What is it?” I ask. Zayn looks up at me, his face a mask of emotion. He quickly shuts his phone screen off, looking angrier.

The air is heavy with tension as Zayn paces in front of me, desperation evident in every movement. His silver eyes lock onto mine, pleading for understanding. “Cleo, please, just listen to me,” he begs.

“Show me, you said you have proof!” I tell him, and he looks like he is about to toss his phone, his anger growing by the second. “I have it, but please, baby, you need to believe me, the footage—” I hold my hand out for his phone, ignoring his words; he said he has proof, and I want to see it.

Betrayal gnaws at me like an insistent beast. I cross my arms defensively and glare at him. “And why should I? You have lied to me from the start. Now give me the phone, Zayn, or I am leaving,” I snap at him. He takes a step back, his face a mask of confusion. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and then speak again. “What have you got to hide? Just show me.”

“Because I love you, and this isn’t helping!” he exclaims, his voice cracking. He reaches out to touch my arm. I yank it away, unable to stand even the slightest contact with him right now.

“Love? Is that what you call this?” I scoff, feeling my vision blur with unshed tears. “You’ve done nothing but lie to me, Zayn! And for what?”

He clenches his fists, the muscles in his tattooed arms and chest trembling with barely contained emotion. “I did it to protect you. I swear, Cleo, everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“How can I trust that, Zayn? This whole situation has left me questioning everything, including your love for me. I need more than just words to believe you now.”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“Protect me? By keeping secrets and manipulating me?” I shake my head, anger and hurt swirling together into a maelstrom of emotions that threatens to overwhelm me. “How can I trust anything you say anymore? You helped me look for my boyfriend, knowing he was dead. Do you understand how sick that is? How fucking callous and cold!”

“Please, just give me a chance to explain.” Zayn’s voice is barely above a whisper, the raw vulnerability in his eyes threatening to break through the walls I’m desperately trying to build around my heart. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

“Anything?” My voice wavers as I look into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception. All I see is pain and longing – the same feelings that are tearing me apart inside.

“Anything,” he promises, his voice thick with emotion.

“Then give me that damn phone,” I demand, my own voice trembling.

Zayn’s tense form paces in front of me, agitation rolling off him in waves. He holds his phone tightly. The video footage paused on the screen, displaying Deacon leading me to his car. “Just watch it,” Zayn insists, eyes pleading, desperation etched onto his handsome face.

He passes me the phone and I peer at the screen that is paused still. Gathering my courage and with a deep breath, I press play, knowing I am about to witness my ex’s death. Tears roll down my cheeks as I watch the footage, knowing this is the last moment I spent with him, according to Zayn.

The footage rolls, capturing the tense scene as Deacon guides me toward his car. Yet I have no memory of this, and it is clear I am blind drunk. Nothing appears overtly suspicious; I lean against him as he unlocks the vehicle, and I start sliding along the car side before Deacon catches me. Deacon appears to be laughing as he opens the back of his car and sets me on the tailgate. I can’t see anything going on because of the tinted windows. Deacon doesn’t appear to be doing anything sinister from this angle. Not that I can see much since there are so many cars in the parking lot.

Zayn moves toward Deacon, who even seems carefree as he addresses Zayn, laughing.

The poor quality of the video and the lack of sound make it difficult to discern the motive behind this attack. This chaotic scene leaves me questioning the reliability of Zayn’s claims. Zayn and Deacon say a few words. Nothing in Deacon’s behavior suggests he is doing anything wrong; he even motions toward me in the car and laughs. Zayn nods, scratches his chin, and then turns into a savage.

My heart sinks as I watch Zayn slam the car trunk lid on Deacon’s head, his face contorted in anger. Zayn steals Deacon’s phone, the screen lighting up as he stands at the back of the car before moving out of the camera’s view, yet I see him pocket the phone as he looks toward the club. He then nervously glances toward the entrance as if fearing he’s being watched. In one swift motion, Zayn grabs me from the back of Deacon’s car and stuffs me into his car.

A car pulls up beside us, and my breath catches in my throat as I recognize the driver – it’s Vance. He seems equally apprehensive, tossing Deacon into the trunk of his car and stealing a worried glance around. He seems to be hoping no one is watching and the scene ends, proving nothing. What did he expect to show me with this footage? It wouldn’t be the first time Deacon and I slept in the back of his car when we were too drunk to drive home.

“See?” Zayn says, stopping the video. “He was trying to hurt you, Cleo. I was protecting you.” My mind races as conflicting emotions surge within me. I want to believe Zayn’s explanation desperately, but doubt gnaws at the edges of my thoughts. The evidence before my eyes seems to contradict his words, leaving me torn between trusting who I know as Deacon and giving Zayn the benefit of the doubt.

I shake my head, anger boiling inside me. “This proves nothing, Zayn! It just shows you attacking him. How do I know you didn’t set this up?”

Zayn’s face falls. “Cleo, why would I do that? I have Deacon’s phone. It has the pictures he sent to Lydia. I can show you.”

My anger flares even more. “You could have sent those pictures! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now? You had his phone and were using it; I saw you!”

“Cleo, please. You know me. I would never—”

“Wouldn’t you?” I ask. My voice is barely a whisper as tears threaten to spill over. “Or were you just trying to control me? To ruin my father?”

“Never! That’s not who I am, Cleo.” His voice is desperate, his eyes filled with anguish. “I would never hurt you like that. And I never meant for any of this to happen. You know me. You have to believe me.”

“That’s the thing, Zayn… I don’t know you! I barely know you at all, and this entire time, you’ve been lying to me.” My voice trembles with the weight of betrayal. “I need to leave.”

Zayn’s eyes widen in shock as I tell him I’m leaving. He steps closer to me, his hand reaching out to touch my arm. I take a step back. I can’t let him touch me, not after what I’ve just discovered.

“Leave? No, Cleo… Where will you go?” His voice is filled with worry and fear, and I can see the pain in his eyes. I can’t let that sway me.

“Anywhere besides here,” I reply, my voice trembling slightly. “I can’t stay with someone I can’t trust.”

The hurt on Zayn’s face only deepens, and I can see the desperation in his eyes as he pleads with me. “Please, Cleo. I’ll do anything to make things right. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Despite myself, my heart aches at his words. I know that deep down, he has grown to love me, however I am not sure that was his intention from the start. Love isn’t enough to make up for the lies and betrayal.

He runs his fingers through his hair, desperation etched deeply into his features, as Zayn’s pleading gaze seems to bore a hole straight through me. The way his silver eyes seem to shimmer, reflecting the unshed tears of someone so vulnerable and desperate for my understanding, is a sight that sears into my heart, leaving it twisted and wrenched in a painful, aching way.

“Damn it, Cleo,” Zayn swears, his hand moving through his dark hair in a frustrated, restless gesture. “You’re just going to walk away? Just like that?” His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of our history together. My heart aches, and I struggle to maintain my resolve. The internal conflict raging within me is like a storm of emotions – love, betrayal, pain, and guilt. Especially knowing I have been an idiot fooling around with Zayn when all along he is the reason Deacon was missing.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil within me. “Zayn,” I begin, my voice wavering despite my determination. “What choice do I have? You’ve given me every reason not to trust you.” The image of Deacon dead and locked in the freezer flashes through my mind, filling me with an overwhelming mixture of anger and betrayal.

Zayn’s face falls at my words, his eyes filled with pain. “Cleo, you have to understand, I never meant for any of this to happen,” he pleads, taking a step closer to me.

“You never meant for it to happen? What about Deacon?” I snap, unable to control my anger any longer. “Did you mean for him to be missing? Did you mean to kill him?”

Zayn’s shoulders sag as he stares down at the ground. “No, of course not. I lost it when I found out what he was doing. I am not some psychopath who goes around killing people, Cleo, not without reason,” he murmurs quietly.

“Then why didn’t you tell me what happened?” I ask, tears stinging at my eyes. “Why did you let me believe everything was fine when it wasn’t? How could you let me sleep upstairs knowing he was underneath us? Your story makes no sense! None of this does!”

He looks up at me, his eyes filled with tears of his own. “Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You didn’t know me, and you saw the video. What does that prove besides me losing my temper?” he admits softly.

“Absolutely nothing. The only truthful thing you’ve said so far is that I don’t know you. And you are right about that!” I turn to leave when he speaks again.

“Stay here then, I’ll leave,” he tells me, and I scoff.

“Please, Cleo!” he begs, taking a step closer to me. “Let me do this for you. Just let me keep you safe.”

“Safe?” I scoff, feeling the bitterness rise within me. “Do you think I feel safe with you now? After everything?”

“Look, I know I messed up,” he admits, his gaze locked on mine. “I was trying to protect you, Cleo. I swear, I would never hurt you.”

His words wrap around my heart, squeezing it painfully. “I don’t know if I can believe that anymore, Zayn,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“Then let me prove it to you,” he pleads, his hands gripping my shoulders. I shiver at the intensity of his touch. Memories flooding back to me. “Stay at least until your birthday, please.”

“I…” I hesitate, my resolve wavering. Then I remember the lies and the betrayal, and I force myself to pull away from him. “No, Zayn. I can’t. Not until I know the truth.”

“Please, Cleo,” he whispers. His breath warm against my neck as he pulls me close once more. His lips brush against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. “I can’t lose you.”

“Stop,” I choke out, tears forming in my eyes. My whole body trembles with desire and frustration, my emotions warring within me. “I can’t do this, Zayn. I don’t know who to trust anymore, and you were the one person I hoped I could count on.”

The distance between us feels insurmountable, the gulf of lies and secrets too wide to bridge. My body trembles with the effort of holding back tears – and the undeniable urge to run into his arms and forget everything. He must see the conflict on my face because he sighs heavily

“Alright,” he relents, stepping back and releasing me. “Fine, but I’m not letting you sleep on the streets or without guards.”

He ignores my protests when I tell him I don’t want guards, dialing a number on his phone. “I’m booking you a room. You’ll be safe there. I won’t have you on the damn streets, Cleo.”

As I watch him make arrangements, the cold knot of betrayal tightens in my chest. The man I once thought I knew seems like a stranger now. How could everything have gone so wrong?

A short while later, I find myself standing in the lobby of a modest hotel, a room key card in my hand. The receptionist gives me a sympathetic look. I ignore it. My jaw set as I march toward the elevator, Zayn chasing after me trying to convince me to come home with him. As the doors close, Zayn forces his way into the elevator. I let out a shaky breath, trying to process everything that has happened. “Seriously, Zayn, this is not giving me damn space.”

“Just let me walk you up, Cleo.” He argues, pressing the button to the second floor. We step out of the elevator, and he insists on walking me to the room. We walk along the balcony, stopping at my door.

The cold key card in my hand bites into my skin as I swipe it through the reader. The door clicks open with a soft beep. Stepping inside, the room is small but clean. Its peaceful atmosphere is a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within me. I drop my bag on the floor unceremoniously and Zayn tries to talk to me. I shut the door in his face. He bangs on the door while I sit on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. How did it come to this? How did everything spiral so far out of control?

Eventually, he gives up and realizes I am not going to speak to him, at least not tonight, and I move to the window. I see Zayn talking to one of his men downstairs pointing to the room, before he climbs into the car. I sigh, knowing he assigned me a babysitter. The door to the Chinese restaurant opens, drawing my attention across the road to see my father staring after Zayn’s car. I suck in a breath, then his gaze goes to me in the window. I stagger back, letting the curtain close, wondering if he saw me, though I know he did. He looked directly at me.

The bitter sting of betrayal threatens to suffocate me, and I struggle to keep my emotions in check.

An hour later, a knock on the door startles me from my thoughts, my pulse pounding in my ears. My eyes dart around the room, searching for something to use as a weapon if need be. With a shaky breath, I wipe away the tears clinging to my lashes and stand, opening the door cautiously.

“Dad,” I breathe out in surprise as I find my father standing there. My father stands before me, his normally stoic expression now softened with concern. His eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. I take a deep breath, my heart racing. I can feel my tears welling up as I take a step forward and wrap my arms around my father.

He hugs me back tightly, and I feel a wave of emotion wash over me, half expecting him to shove me away. Yet growing up, there was no place I felt safer than on his shoulders or in his arms. That was until all this mess since that stupid Council meeting.

When I step back, he holds up a bag of Chinese food.

“Hungry?” he asks, his graying hair and tired eyes give him an air of vulnerability I’ve never seen before.

“Cleo,” he says gently, his voice betraying his own hurt. I nod and he passes me the bag. After a moment, he says, “I’m sorry,” and his voice cracks with emotion.

“What are you doing here?” The question tumbles from my lips unbidden, my defenses crumbling in the face of his unexpected presence.

“I saw Zayn banging on the window of your room, so I figured I’d check on you,” he replies, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I came to make sure you’re alright.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I really didn’t mean to interrupt you, especially after… I knew you wouldn’t take my calls, and Zayn won’t let you near me. I just wanted to make sure everything was ok.” He smiles weakly, his expression a mixture of guilt and something else.

“Well, I’m sure you see that I’m not?” The words burst forth, raw and accusing. “Everything I believed in has been shattered. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

“Trust me,” Dad says softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I know what’s best for you.”

“Is that why you banished me?”

He drops his head, looking ashamed. “I did that out of anger. I never should have, Cleo. By the time I came to my senses and returned, you were gone, you went with him.”

“Zayn said he was trying to protect me,” I murmur, the weight of my uncertainty heavy in my voice.

“Zayn has his own agenda, Cleo,” my father replies, his grip on my shoulder tightening. “You need to focus on what’s best for you and our pack.”

“How can I do that when I don’t even know what’s true?” The ache in my heart is unbearable.

“Give it time,” my father advises, pulling me into a tight embrace. His familiar scent washes over me, bringing with it a sense of comfort and safety I haven’t felt in so long. “Things will become clear eventually.”

After a few moments, I reluctantly let him go. “How did you get past Zayn’s man downstairs?” I ask him.

“Knocked him out.”

I place my hands on my hips. “Really, Dad?”

“I put him in the garden, it’s not like I left him on the stairs to be trampled.” I roll my eyes, and he moves to the small kitchenette and grabs some forks before handing me a plastic dish full of Chinese. “So are you going to tell me what you and Zayn were arguing about?” he asks.

As we cross the invisible line marking our territory, memories cascade through my mind. The forest that surrounds our pack was once a place of joy and freedom, where I ran carefree as a young girl and laughter echoed off the trees. Those days are long gone, replaced by the weight of responsibility and the sharp sting of betrayal.

My father glances at me, concern etched in the lines of his face. “Are you okay?”

I forced a smile, knowing he can see right through it. “Fine.” The lie slips out easily. I’m far from fine. The events of the past week have left me reeling, and my heart is heavy with the weight of it all.

As we near the pack house, my thoughts turn to the marriage treaty. And knowing I will have to see Alpha Dane. I just hope my father sticks to his word and doesn’t force anything because if he does, I may have no choice but to go rogue and risk insanity. I can’t shake the feeling of foreboding that has settled in my gut, a sense that this meeting will not end well; how could it after everything that’s happened?

I push those thoughts aside and focus on the present. We are here, and there is no turning back now.

The tension between us simmers, thick and palpable, as we drive the rest of the way in silence. The familiar gates leading into our small, gated community finally come into view, and I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance at the screen to see Zayn’s name illuminated.

As we pull into the driveway of my family’s home, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the chaos awaiting me. It’s going to be a long night.

“Welcome home, Cleo.” My father’s voice breaks through my reverie as we pull up to the house. It looks just how I remember it; imposing, grand, and yet utterly lifeless.

“Thanks,” I mutter, stepping out of the car onto the concrete driveway and peering up at my childhood home. Despite the familiarity of it all, an unease rolls through me.

I follow my father into the house, my gaze drifting over familiar surroundings. Every portrait hanging on the walls, every piece of furniture seems to whisper my life growing up here—a life that now feels like it belongs to someone else entirely.

The moment we step into the foyer, Lydia and Linda are upon us, their eyes flashing with a mix of shock and anger that I’m back. Linda’s hair is pulled back into a severe bun, and her black dress is pressed and impeccable as always.

She looks like a stern governess from a child’s nightmare, and I can feel her disapproval radiating off her as she stares at my father for an answer. She doesn’t say a thing, but Lydia in her daisy pajamas hasn’t got Linda’s self-control.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, her voice sharp and accusing. “Why are you here?” Her voice is sharp like a whip.

“Lydia,” my father growls, his voice resonating with the authority of an Alpha.

“Watch your tone. Cleo is here because this is her home.”

Her lip curls, unsatisfied. “After everything—”

“Enough!” My father’s snarl cuts through the air. “You’re on thin ice already. Don’t push me further or pack up and go live with your father at Bluesteel.” Lydia’s eyes widen in shock at my father’s harsh words. She looks like she wants to argue but wisely keeps her mouth shut.

I swallow back a mix of emotions, feeling like an outsider in my own home. Linda goes to no doubt back Lydia, yet one growl from Dad shuts her up quickly.

Lydia quickly glances at Linda, and whatever silent communication passes between them, I don’t know, she stomps upstairs, slamming the door behind her. Linda follows behind her, casting one more disapproving glare over her shoulder. As soon as the door slams behind them, my father sighs, running a hand through his graying hair.

“I’m sorry about that,” he mumbles, “You know how they can be. Your room is still the same; nothing has changed, your stuff still remains untouched.” I nod.

“Try to rest,” my father suggests, his voice softening. “We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

“Sure.” I nod, though sleep is the last thing on my mind. My old room awaits me, preserved in time as if it’s a shrine to the girl I once was before everything became so complicated and out of my control. I push open the door wider and I am greeted by a wave of nostalgia so strong it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.

I sit on the edge of my bed, tracing the patterns on the quilt with my fingers. The fabric still holds faint scents of lavender and pine—the same scents that used to lull me to sleep. Tonight, they do nothing to calm the storm raging inside me.

I let out a frustrated sigh and lean back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Everything is so different now. My room, once my hiding place from Lydia, my safe space, now feels foreign and unfamiliar.

As the night stretches on, I find myself unable to sleep. Every tick of the clock is loud and incessant like its ticking down to when the other shoe will drop. I don’t know who to trust.

I can’t stop thinking about Boyd and the suffocating life I will have if I accept this arranged marriage. A life where I will be nothing more than a pawn in a power play between packs. At least I would be able to take my pack back… or so I try to remind myself.

Deep down, I know it’s not just about reclaiming my pack. It’s about my freedom, my autonomy, and my right to choose who I want to spend the rest of my life with.

I toss and turn in bed, trying to quiet the storm raging inside me.

Closing my eyes, I try to push away these thoughts and focus on finding a solution. Maybe there’s still a way out of this predicament. Maybe Dad will understand and let me get out of it, maybe he has changed.

However, I know that’s just wishful thinking. The moment our families agreed upon this marriage, it became a matter of honor for both packs. To back out now would be seen as a weakness and an insult, and I won’t be forgiven for a second time. How can I marry Boyd, and what will happen if Zayn is, in fact, my mate? I can’t ignore a mate bond.

Unable to sleep, my thoughts continue to swirl around my head like a neverending storm. Every time I close my eyes, I’m bombarded with images of Boyd’s smug face and the thought of being trapped in an arranged marriage.

My phone vibrates again, and this time, I can’t ignore it. Zayn’s message stares back at me, and something within me shatters.

Zayn: Are you okay? Why aren’t you answering?

How can I tell him I’m anything except okay?

I take a deep breath before responding, trying to come up with a way to downplay the situation without lying.

Me: I’m back home.

The word feels foreign on my fingertips as I type it out. A wave of sadness washes over me as I realize this is no longer my home. Not really.

I switch off the phone before I can receive his response, the weight of the world pressing down on me until I’m gasping for air.

As much as I want to run away from all of this, a part of me knows there’s no escaping it. My pack needs me now more than ever, especially with our recent losses. And if there’s any chance of saving them, then I have to play along with this arranged marriage.

But what about Zayn? What if he is telling the truth about us having a mate bond? Does that mean he senses something is wrong? Maybe he does, and that’s why he keeps messaging me.