Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 288: Not tonight

Chapter 288: Chapter 288: Not tonight
[Warning: suicidal imagery throughout the Chapter]
The hotel lobby was warm in that quietness with soft lighting, muted music, and polished floors reflecting the evening glow. It smelled faintly of coffee, and winter air dragged in through the revolving doors. Ethan crossed the space with measured steps, boots dull against marble, hard hat tucked under his arm like a reminder of the world he’d just walked out of.
The receptionist straightened as he approached. It seemed like the male receptionist he talked to earlier had finished his shift. This receptionist was young and polite, with a professional smile on her face.
"Good evening, sir. How can I help you?"
"Good evening," Ethan replied, voice calm. He set his ID on the counter, then his project badge. "Engineer Ethan Miller. I’m here about one of your guests. Leon Stuart."
Recognition flickered behind the receptionist’s eyes, that small spark of
"oh... him."
"Yes," she said carefully. "Mr. Stuart is a guest with us.
"Has anyone seen him today?" Ethan asked.
There was a brief pause, then she leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice. "Not today. But he was at breakfast yesterday morning. Around eight. One of my colleagues even reminded him to mark attendance on the dining roster. He seemed... fine. Calm. No sign of distress."
Yesterday. Not today.
So at least they weren’t dealing with a disappearance stretching days into silence. But the lack of anything since then dug in deeper.
"Did he leave the hotel at all?" Ethan pressed gently. "Did housekeeping anything unusual?"
She glanced toward the back office, then tapped a few keys into her computer. "His room service indicator hasn’t changed. No requests. No extensions. And..." Another pause. "It seems he hasn’t left a note regarding privacy restrictions, so technically, welfare checks are permitted if justified."
Ethan breathed out slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough to let rational thought settle back in. "I’ve tried calling. So has the team. His husband isn’t answering either. I’m considering filing an official missing person’s notice, but before I do that, I need to rule out the obvious. Sudden heat. Family emergency. Anything that would justify silence."
The receptionist nodded. "I understand. We need someone authorized, though..."
"He listed me as an emergency contact," Ethan said quietly. "Right after Maverick Stuart. I can provide documentation if needed."
The mask of polite distance shifted into relief. Within minutes, the proper forms were checked, a manager was called, and a spare keycard was printed.
They walked together down the hallway, the carpet muffling each step, the hotel hushed in that late-evening stillness where most doors were closed and lives tucked out of sight. The corridor smelled faintly of detergent and the ghost of someone’s perfume from hours ago.
They stopped in front of the room.
Ethan stood there for a second.
Because there was a very real chance he was about to open this door and walk into something incredibly private. The kind of private that belonged inside a bubble of scent and instinct and intimacy. Omegas in heat. Alphas dragged to instinct. People trembling through something raw and animal and overwhelming. And no matter how professional he was, no matter how level-headed, he really didn’t want to traumatize anyone. Or himself.
He lifted his phone.
One more chance.
He called Leon again.
Ring.
Ring.
Silence.
He tried Maverick’s number.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes briefly, accepting that if something was happening inside, they had either passed out hard... or they weren’t inside at all.
"Alright," he murmured, more to the empty hallway than to anyone else. "If you’re in there, Leon, I really hope you’re decent."
He swiped the card.
The light blinked green.
The door clicked.
Ethan pushed it open slowly, voice already softening as he stepped forward, careful, prepared to apologize to a very aggravated omega or stumble into the world’s most awkward situation.
"Leon?" he called gently into the quiet room.
"And Maverick... If you’re here... please don’t throw anything."
He waited a moment in the doorway, listening for anything that would tell him he’d just walked into an embarrassing misunderstanding rather than a crisis. The room didn’t offer him that mercy. It was too still. Curtains drawn. The air was stale and faintly sweet. The bed was mostly untouched, Leon’s jacket folded neatly on a chair, his glasses beside the television as if he had set them down with the intention of coming right back.
Nothing about it felt like people hiding from the world.
It felt like life had simply... stopped moving.
Ethan’s voice dropped lower, more serious now as he stepped further inside.
"Leon? I really need you to answer me."
There was no reply. No shuffle of sheets. No annoyed omega snapping that he should mind his own business. Just the quiet hum of the heating system filling the silence like it was trying to mask something much worse beneath it.
His gaze drifted to the bathroom door.
That was the only place someone could be.
He approached it slowly, every instinct tightening the closer he got. He knocked once, knuckles meeting wood with a muted sound far too loud in the hush of the room.
"Leon," he called again, firm but careful. "If you’re in there, I’m coming in."
Still nothing. Not even the smallest acknowledgement.
He pushed the door open.
For a split second, his mind refused to register what it was seeing. Then it hit all at once.
The bathtub was filled halfway with water gone dark with blood, the color thick and heavy under the bathroom lights. Maverick’s red hair clung to his temple and neck, darker now, slick from water and whatever else it carried. His body sat slumped against the back of the tub, skin pale in a way no one should ever be. One arm rested awkwardly along the rim, and for a terrible moment Ethan thought he was already too late.
Then he saw it.
A breath.
Shallow. Weak. But there.
"Maverick..." The name left him sharper than he intended, his voice snapping back into absolute control a second later as he dropped to his knees beside the tub. His sleeves were already shoved back without him realizing he’d moved them. One hand steadied Maverick’s shoulder to keep his head above the water; the other went straight to check for a pulse.
There. Faint. Fragile. But there.
He didn’t look away from Maverick as he raised his voice toward the doorway.
"Call emergency services now. Tell them we have severe blood loss, male alpha, still breathing but barely. We’re in room 612. Move fast."
The receptionist’s voice trembled in the hall, but she was already talking, already doing exactly what he needed.
Ethan focused on the man in front of him.
"Maverick," he said quietly but firmly, leaning close enough that his voice had weight, something to follow back if consciousness wanted to slip entirely. "I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re staying with me, alright? You’re not alone. Help is coming. Just stay."
Maverick didn’t respond, but his eyelashes twitched, minute, fragile proof that something inside him was still fighting.
’Cold water. Blood loss. Too long like this.’
Ethan’s mind cataloged every dangerous variable automatically while his hands stayed steady and present, keeping Maverick supported, keeping his airway clear, and keeping him here one second longer. And beneath all of it was a quieter, darker truth settling in his chest.
This wasn’t an accident.
Leon was still missing.
"Hold on," Ethan murmured, jaw set, voice softer now only because anything louder would have broken. "We’re not losing you tonight."