The Three Who Chose Me
Chapter 36: More Than a Punching Bag

Chapter 36: More Than a Punching Bag

Josie

"Is this because neither of my brothers is trying to talk to you?" Varen’s voice was low, almost casual—but I wasn’t fooled. There was tension beneath it, sharp and wounded. "And now you’re just... using me as your last option?"

The words hit harder than I expected.

I opened my mouth, ready to deny it, but nothing came out right away. My lips parted and closed again. I searched his face, but it was unreadable—guarded like stone. I hated that I was the reason he looked like that.

"That’s not fair," I whispered. "Varen, it’s not like that—"

"Isn’t it?" he cut in, a bitter smile ghosting his lips. "I’ve always known I came last when it came to my brothers. That wasn’t the surprise, Josie. But I didn’t expect to be last with you too."

His words twisted into me like a dagger, and I flinched. I hated that he felt that way—hated that I had made him feel that way. I fumbled for something, anything, to say that could undo what my silence had done. But all I could do was follow him as he quietly walked me back to my room.

He didn’t say another word, and neither did I.

***************

I didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, I laid there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as his voice echoed again and again in my head.

"Last."

The word made my chest ache.

And he wasn’t wrong. Somewhere between trying to survive, trying to hold myself together, and trying to figure out where I belonged, I had pushed him aside.

Yes, Varen had taken me to that spy-infested hellhole. But he hadn’t done it out of cruelty. He thought he was helping. He believed I could handle it, because he believed in me.

And what had I done after that?

I’d treated him like he was disposable. And now that I needed comfort, now that I was scared and broken, I ran to him... like an afterthought.

Shame burned in my gut as I pushed off the bed and told the maid I needed to see him. I told her I wanted to make things right.

She beamed like I’d just told her she’d won the lottery.

"Omega Josie," she said, her eyes twinkling as she practically spun around, "this is such a beautiful idea!"

I let her dress me in something soft but pretty—a pale blue dress that clung to my waist and flowed down like water. She curled my hair lightly and added gloss to my lips. Then, she handed me a warm tray filled with food she said Varen liked—sliced meat, seasoned rice, and grilled vegetables.

"Go," she said with a nudge. "He’s always in his office at this time."

---

I found him exactly there—Varen was seated behind his massive desk, three men standing in front of him, deep in conversation.

He glanced up the moment I stepped in. His eyes darkened instantly, his posture changing with a snap. Possessive. Alpha.

"Out," he said, without even raising his voice.

The three men stiffened but didn’t hesitate. They left quickly, and I didn’t miss how they avoided looking at me, eyes trained to the floor like I was made of fire.

I blinked at the sight.

Varen leaned back in his chair, watching me with hooded eyes. "They wouldn’t dare to look at you now," he said, almost idly.

I gulped. And I believed him.

He had that quiet power—dangerous, commanding, with a sharp edge to his control. He didn’t need to shout to get obedience. He was the type of Alpha that made you forget how to breathe with just a look.

He tilted his head, still watching me. "Come here."

I stepped forward slowly, heart hammering against my ribs. I held the tray in trembling hands, and I couldn’t explain why I was suddenly so nervous. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Or the way my legs felt a little weak just being in the same room with him again.

When I got close enough, he reached out and pulled me right into his lap. My breath caught as he settled me easily against him, one arm sliding around my waist like it belonged there.

"I... I brought you food," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He took the tray from my hands, set it on the desk, and opened the container with one hand. The other never left my waist. Then, he picked up the fork and started eating—just like that. Effortless. Confident.

I couldn’t look away.

God, I shouldn’t have been turned on by a man eating.

But something about the way he chewed—his jaw tight, eyes hooded, dominance oozing from every angle of his body—it just made me burn from the inside out. My thighs clenched involuntarily.

His hand slid up, fingers brushing softly through my hair. "You’ve been quiet," he murmured between bites. "Talk to me."

I swallowed. "I just... wanted to say I’m sorry. For how I treated you before. For running when things got messy."

His fingers continued to thread through my hair, slow and soothing, but his voice was rough when he replied. "You were scared. I get it."

"I shouldn’t have shut you out," I whispered. "I shouldn’t have made you feel like the backup plan."

His hand stilled. I looked up to find his eyes locked on mine—dark, unreadable, intense.

"You did," he said, not cruelly, but honestly. "But I should’ve known better. I should’ve fought harder for you."

I bit my lip. "Still... you didn’t deserve it."

He was silent for a while, chewing his food slowly, then setting the fork down with a soft clink.

"You can use me as your punching bag, Josie," he murmured, brushing a thumb across my cheek. "If my brothers act up, if the world turns against you—hell, if you need someone to scream at—I’ll be here."

I felt something inside me crack open at those words.

He wasn’t saying them to manipulate me. He wasn’t asking for anything. He was offering himself to me, entirely—his patience, his strength, his loyalty.

My voice was shaky when I whispered, "I don’t want a punching bag. I want to build something with you, Varen."

His eyes flashed.

And then he growled—low, deep, primal.

The sound vibrated through my bones before his mouth slammed against mine.

There was no hesitation. No slow build-up. Just fire and possession and the kind of hunger that made my whole body ignite.

I gasped, lips parting, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding past my lips, claiming me like he was starving. His hands tightened on my waist, dragging me closer into his lap, and I melted into the heat of him. My fingers buried in his hair, tugging, anchoring. I kissed him back like he was air and I was drowning.

The kiss deepened. Rough. Desperate. Raw.

He kissed me like he didn’t care if the world burned as long as I stayed in his arms.

And I... I kissed him like I didn’t care about anything but the way he made me feel—wanted, desired, chosen.

Every thought disappeared. Every fear melted.

All that remained was the sound of our breath, the clash of lips, the overwhelming pressure of his mouth on mine.

And that’s exactly where it ended—with me in his arms, tangled in his heat, and kissing him like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

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