Bound to the Alpha

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Zackary's POV

"Fuck."

I cursed under my breath as I sat up from bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

I had a horrible dream. A nightmare—after such a long time.

Frustrated, I ran my hand through my hair.
Damn it.

I forced myself to stand and walked toward the veranda of my bachelor's pad to get some air.

It was still dark outside. I barely got any sleep, I felt so exhausted, yet I couldn't bring myself to go back to bed.

Once more, I took a deep breath, letting the cold breeze brush against my face.

It's been a month since I moved into this place, just forty minutes away drive from the city.

The guilt from what happened still eats me alive.

After I learned the truth behind the accident.
I just couldn't find the strength to face him.

I sighed deeply before deciding to head back inside.

I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and resumed the work I had left undone. The following days, followed the same routine—each one felt like a looping, senseless clip.

I loosened my necktie a bit. Leaning back in my swivel chair, I shut my eyes tightly. I just got done with a meeting.

It's so fucking tiring dealing with people.

My head throbbed—I hadn't had proper sleep in days. Obviously, with the overwhelming workload, it was impossible not to feel drained.

Fuck. I wish I could just left everything behind.

I let out a long, heavy sigh before standing up and walking to the shelf stocked with brandy in my office.

I opened a bottle and took a swig straight from it.
I shut my eyes as the liquor burned down my throat.

That hits the spot.

These past few weeks, this brandy has been my only company. It's the only thing that's helped me cope through those sleepless nights.

I grabbed a glass, filled it, and stood up. I stared blankly as the sun slowly sank behind the city skyline, my mind drifting off again.

Then, I heard the door open. I turned my head toward Russ, who had just walked in.

How long had it been since I last saw him?
A week ago? Maybe more. I've lost track of time.

I glanced at him briefly before returning my gaze to the lively city view outside. I took a sip of brandy before talking.

"What brings you here?" I asked, using the usual casual tone I always used with him.

"Didn't I tell you to take care of something else?"

He walked over and sat on the sofa before answering, "I just wanted to check on you."

"That's nonsense," I muttered and took another sip, still staring out the window. "I'm doing just fine."

"No matter how you look at it, you're not fine, Zack," he said. "You look miserable."

I didn't respond. I just continued drinking.

What does he think he's saying? I look miserable?
That almost made me laugh. I've always been miserable.