Jimmie's POV
Instinctively, I yanked my hand away from Devon's. My breath caught in my throat.
Had I imagined it?
No.
He growled.
Devon fucking growled.
I froze, my heart punching against my ribcage like it was trying to escape. His eyelids fluttered, and for a second—I swear on everything—I saw something stir beneath them. Without thinking, I placed a trembling hand over his glowing gold eyes, shielding them from the nurse… Shielding it from the world.
That damned spark still pulsed in my fingertips.
Then the chaos came.
Doors slammed open. Voices came rushing in—Franco, the doctor, Eleanor.
Eleanor.
Her eyes, red-rimmed, empty just minutes ago, flashed wide with confusion and panic. She looked from Devon to me, to the nurse, then back at me again like I had pulled off some resurrection trick. The silence was a thick, unbearable blanket.
"What happened here?!" the doctor barked, trying to stay composed, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual as she turned to the nurse, who still had her hand clamped over her mouth.
The nurse pointed. She couldn't speak. Her entire body trembled.
All eyes shifted to me. I swallowed. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I looked at Franco. He was frowning, confused, his jaw ticking. His eyes pierced through me like I had just unlocked a mystery he'd been circling for weeks.
The machine beeped again.
Once.
Twice.
Steady. Real. Alive.
"The machine…" Eleanor said it quietly and almost disbelievingly. Her voice was barely more than a breath.
"That's impossible," the doctor muttered, already stepping forward, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck. She paused in front of Devon and gave me a look, gesturing toward my hand.
I was still covering his eyes.
"Mr. Portland, please…" she said gently.
But I couldn't move. I was terrified. What if they weren't his eyes? What if that gold is taken over? What if I had sparked something that shouldn't be awakened?
"Jimmie?" Eleanor's voice cracked gently through the tension.
I shook my head, not at her, not at anyone—just at the overwhelming truth. God, help me.
Then suddenly, it wasn't my decision anymore.
Devon… Devon moved.
His hand reached up, weak but purposeful, and he gently pulled mine away from his face.
And there they were.
His eyes.
Not golden. Not otherworldly. Just… his eyes. Warm. Dark brown. The same ones the world knew. The same ones that have me feeling things I shouldn't.
Eleanor gasped, a sob bursting out of her. She didn't wait for confirmation. She rushed forward, gathering his muscular but fragile frame into her arms.
"Baby…" she whispered like a prayer. "Oh my God… you're here… you're really here…"
Devon smiled barely, but it was there.
I exhaled, almost collapsing from the weight of it all. But Franco was still watching me, hard, silent. His stare said everything: I know something happened, and you're not saying what.
I shrugged helplessly.
What was I supposed to say? That I might've accidentally resurrected the Alpha President by touching him? That the rejected bond I'd run from had somehow become the thing that brought him back?
This nightmare was over.
But something else… something bigger was just beginning.
—
Later That Night… Presidential Suite
Devon refused to stay at the hospital. Said he hated the smell. Said he felt better. We all knew that wasn't the real reason.
Franco and I exchanged a glance, both knowing it had more to do with what he was. What we were.
Back in the suite, staff greeted him like a walking miracle. He smiled faintly, politely… but his gaze kept flickering. Kept searching. And every time it landed on me, I felt it. That pulls again. Stronger now. Like the touch had unlocked something we couldn't put back.
The moment Eleanor stepped out to take a call, it happened.
He stood.
Like he hadn't just come back from death. Like it had never touched him. His steps were sure. Too sure.
"Sir—should you be up?" I asked, not even bothering to hide the surprise in my voice.
He stopped in front of me. So close I could feel his breath.
"You gave my wolf a chance," he said softly. There was awe in his tone. And something deeper. Something unspoken.
"I didn't know what I was doing," I muttered. "I didn't even know if I should do it…"
"I felt you," he said. "Your fear. Your guilt. Your hesitation. All of it. I heard your heartbeat, Jimmie. It wasn't just your hand that touched me. It was you. All of you."
I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.
"I have questions," I whispered. "I don't understand any of this. Why did you withdraw? Why did you never tell me? What am I supposed to be in all this?"
He nodded slowly. "You deserve the truth. All of it. And I'll give it to you. I won't hide anymore."
There was silence then. Heavy. Electric.
"Starting with this," he said, reaching for my hand again.
But before his fingers could touch mine, Eleanor's voice rang through the corridor. She was coming back.
Devon's eyes didn't waver. "We're not done, Jimmie."
And in that second, I knew—he didn't just mean the conversation.
We were far from done.
--
The morning came too soon.
I hadn't slept—not really. I lay there in the quiet, eyes open, heart twisted, trying to make sense of what happened.
Devon was alive. Alive because of me. Because of a connection I'd spent the better part of my life denying, outrunning, and pretending didn't exist.
What the hell does that make me?
I moved like a ghost as I got out of bed to the bathroom, each breath shallow, every step unsure. My clothes felt too tight. The fabric of my shirt dragged against my skin like it didn't belong there. Like I didn't.
I stood in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling with my collar. I could barely look at myself. Could barely breathe. The man looking back at me had eyes I didn't recognise. Haunted. Cracked. Changed.
Last night played on repeat in my head.
Devon's voice echoing through me, weak but certain:
"We're not done, Jimmie."
Those four words had sunk their claws into me, dragging up everything I'd buried. The look in his eyes. The weight of what passed between us. The truth I refused to speak aloud.
And still… still I'd said yes to coming in this morning. Because when I was about to leave the suites last night, Eleanor had turned to me, her voice calm but firm.
"I have things to take care of, Jimmie. And I need my PA now more than ever. Unless…"
She paused, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly. "Unless you're tired of the job?"
I didn't even let her finish the breath between those words.
"No. I'll be there. I promise."
Of course, I said yes. Of course, I'll show up.
But now, standing here, pulling my jacket over stiff shoulders, I realised something:
I had no idea what I was walking into.
I didn't know what I was to Devon— yet.
I didn't know what I was to myself…. Not anymore.
All I knew was that I was ready to taste the waters.
To move at his pace. To stop running.
To face whatever this thing between us truly was.
And that scared the hell out of me.
A knock shattered my thoughts like glass.
"Jimmie!"
Clementine. Her voice was sharp, tight, and something in it made the hair rise on the back of my neck.
I turned, heart immediately on alert. "Clem? Is everything—"
The door swung open before I could finish. She didn't wait. She never waited, but this time it was different. She looked winded. Curls wild, cheeks flushed, like she'd run a marathon just to reach me.
"Clem?" I blinked, stepping toward her. "What's going on?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she shoved her tablet into my hands, screen already lit up.
And then I saw it.
The footage.
The leak.
It was a grainy security feed from the hospital. Someone had pulled it from a restricted line—maybe a nurse, maybe someone else higher up. The whitewashed emergency unit. Devon's body was on the bed. The flatline. Me. Walking in. Sitting down.
And then—
The moment that changed everything.
My hand reached for his.
Fingers brushing.
The spike of the monitor.
The flutter of his chest.
The jolt of life.
And his eyes—
Gold. Burning. Alive.
I took a step back. The tablet nearly slipped from my hands.
My throat closed. Cold sweat clung to my back. My mind screamed no no no, but it was too late.
The world had seen it.
So much for trying to contain things, I thought bitterly. I could practically hear the doctor's voice echoing in my head—"We want the family to have private time before anything becomes public."
Yeah? Well, too late for that now.
Clementine was staring at me, her eyes narrowing as the shock faded into something else.
Curiosity.
Suspicion.
"Jimmie…" she said slowly. "What was that?"
I didn't respond.
She stepped forward, eyes flicking from the screen back to me. "You don't just accidentally bring the President of the Republic back to life with a handhold."
My jaw tightened. I turned away, but she didn't stop.
"Talk to me, Jimmie."
Her tone was softer now, almost pleading. But still—I couldn't speak.
My heart was pounding out of my chest.
I opened my mouth, trying to find some version of the truth that didn't sound like a fever dream or a scandal—
And then, just as I tried to breathe, a notification pinged on the tablet again.
Clementine's eyes dropped.
BREAKING: "RESURRECTION OR REVELATION? — THE PRESIDENT, THE PA, AND THE TOUCH THAT SHOCKED A NATION"
Her mouth parted.
She stared at the screen.
Then she looked back at me. This time, not just curious.
Not just confused.
But knowing.
Deadly serious.
Demanding.
I felt the weight of the moment crush down on my shoulders.
The world wasn't just watching Devon anymore.
It was watching me.