Omniscient's POV

Ignoring everyone was, at this moment, the best solution for Alex. The warnings no longer made sense, the disapproving faces were blurred and dismissed as he continued going after her. Even though he kept uttering the name "Grace," she remained clinging to that man who was like her drug. Because since being by his side, she felt protected and respected.

Rosa grew tired of the situation; she preferred to distance herself a bit and decided to watch from afar how her sister was completely smitten with the blonde. Meanwhile, under the table, she was busy investigating a good reason for Alex to realize and stay away from Eric.

She stopped asking people when Max approached her and talked about Grace. Of course, the dark-haired woman wasn't stupid; she knew that the whole story, or at least most of it, was made up. Her urge to know more was heightened by the knowledge that there was a smokescreen, but she had to keep her composure because the leader was beginning to notice.

She preferred to go to the records, but it was difficult after the third round since there was now 24-hour surveillance, which meant that Max was starting to realize that Rosa was getting interested in finding out the truth. But he justified his actions by giving her another chance because he was "benevolent."

She knew the basics; she discovered that Grace was from Amity, her birthday is August 15, and she will soon turn 19 years old. There are two articles that Erudite wrote about her, discussing strength and personal growth. Grace was the top of her class, a leader with very high expectations, and she surpassed each one of them. And then nothing, she doesn't know much more. The information was denied to her, and insomnia kept her from sleeping.

Grace was the best, and Rosa bets that's what caught Eric's attention. And if she was an exceptional servant in Dauntless, why does everyone want her dead now?

For Rosa, Zeke made it very clear that she shouldn't investigate further, that she shouldn't even think about looking for Grace, so she can't count on him. However, the idea of searching for Grace doesn't seem far-fetched to her.

So, she was on the hunt for the brunette. Her obsession with uncovering the truth astonished her; this went beyond just wanting Alex to open her eyes. She wanted to know just how much filth was hidden within Dauntless, and the thought that she might be on the wrong side terrified her.

And while Rosa risked her neck, Alex was grinning from ear to ear, watching the man who had shown her the stars just moments ago light a cigarette. She leaned back against the headboard, covering her nakedness with a white sheet. The redhead took part of the sheet and draped it over her chest. She couldn't resist and laid her head on the blonde man's legs. He didn't take long to pass her the cigarette.

"I never knew how relaxing a cigarette could be after sex," Alex said before inhaling the nicotine.

"Mmhm," he confirmed with a hum from his throat what the redhead had said.

He took the time to look at her, capturing the moment when her red lips made contact with the cigarette. She inhaled, and after a few seconds, exhaled the smoke before passing it back to him.

And the emotional void didn't take long to make him feel vulnerable. He had to take a deep drag on the cigarette, hoping the pain would be replaced by the smoke. He didn't mind sharing the cigarette, having sex, and enjoying it beside the woman who kept him company, but there was a problem—the emptiness left by Grace. Because, although he refused to admit it, he missed the look of disapproval and the cough his girl would make whenever he lit a cigarette.

With her, they lasted longer since he never had to share and tried not to do it in front of her.

"There's a party in the pit tomorrow, it's Max's birthday. You'll be there, right?" Alex asked.

"No, I can't. His damn gift is a break from his job; I'll be at the wall all day doing his stupid tasks," the blonde scoffed, remembering how foolish he'd been to volunteer for the work.

"So, I won't see you," the redhead concluded with a pout.

"No," he finished.

The girl got up from his legs, fixed her hair, and discarded the sheets to put on her underwear.

"So, I'll have to enjoy you today?" she curved her lips with a seductive tone as she moved around the room.

Eric immediately made a face, contemplating his day. Of course, he had things to do. His priority was a box with a hidden message from the founders, and the second most important thing was finding the three fugitives and deciding what to do with the woman he had grown to love.

But he was a leader, and he could easily take the day off, something he planned to start doing today. What was supposed to be an hour's break had turned into a full day off.

"I'm all yours for the day. Make sure to enjoy it because not everyone has that privilege," he flashed a smile before placing the cigarette back between his lips.

The redhead decided to ignore that comment; it wasn't worth making a scene over. They didn't always have the luxury of spending the entire day together. So, she chose instead to approach the mirror, check her figure, fix her hair, and adjust her bra strap.

She made a face as she noticed the bruise on her right buttock. She had to let her hair down and turn to the side to see the mix of colors: purple, green, and yellow. It hurt, but she could bear it. The real problem arose when she turned around and saw the small bruises on her back.

And while her mind screamed at her to stop this, her heart clouded her judgment, excusing those wounds as the result of rough sex. For her, Eric wasn't bad; he simply lacked tenderness when touching her, often losing control and dominating her in ways she wasn't used to.

But all of that was dismissed when Eric approached her from behind, took her by the waist, and planted several kisses on her shoulder.

"Did I hurt you?" Eric murmured in a deep voice.

"I'm fine," she immediately responded, looking at him through the mirror. She smiled, trying to dismiss her worries and make him her priority.

Eric nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Good. I'm going to take a shower, then I'll order some food, and we can eat in the living room."

Then he left, stepping out of her sight and entering the bathroom, leaving her alone. Alex had nothing else to do but look around the room—impeccable, except for the sheets. The color scheme of Eric's floor was exceptional; everything matched perfectly, a distinctive trait of his, although it was actually Grace's room. He had taken the initiative to decorate it.

With a smile on her face, she decided to approach his wardrobe. Eric's scent was intoxicating to Alex, and the idea of wearing one of his shirts for the day seemed like a great idea. But when she opened the wardrobe, her brow immediately furrowed, and bitterness settled on her tongue as she noticed perfectly folded women's clothing.

She wasn't surprised, it was something she somehow knew. Eric's former partner had lived with him, so it was obvious they would share a wardrobe, and given what happened, she wouldn't have had time to pack her things. But she couldn't help it; despite not even knowing half the truth, she felt jealous. Why hadn't he gotten rid of the clothes? It seemed like he took the time to dust them off and keep them in good condition.

And beyond everything else, she noticed a large, black knitted sweater. Without thinking twice, she grabbed it. Once she unfolded it, she realized it wasn't a medium size, and felt relieved because Alex believed it was Eric's sweater and, by some twist of fate, it had ended up among the women's clothes. She dared to smell it, confirming it smelled like Eric, so she put it on.

But what Alex didn't know was that Eric had given that sweater to Grace, and since he gave it to her, there hadn't been a day when she didn't wear it. But Grace always made sure it smelled like Eric, leaving the redhead mistaken.

With a smile, she closed the closet and approached the mirror, noticing how big the black sweater was on her, reaching halfway down her hips. She adjusted her hair, loving the feeling of wearing something of Eric's. She could hear him getting ready to come out of the bathroom.

Finally, he emerged, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He was so focused on getting dressed that he didn't notice Alex, who was standing on the other side of the room.

Eric got dressed with his back to her, putting on a black t-shirt and jeans, leaving the vest aside.

"I was thinking about some BBQ ribs, and for dessert, a cheesecake..." he trailed off as he turned around, stopping mid-sentence when he saw the redhead dressed. "Where did you get that?" he asked sharply, with a hint of anger.

"I found it in the closet. I-I'm sorry, I didn't know if I could take it, I just wanted something comfortable," Alex murmured timidly.

"Take it off, it's not yours," Eric ordered with a certain demand, walking toward her.

"Why?" she asked, confused. "It looks good on me, it's comfortable."

"Take it off," Eric insisted, stepping closer to her and grabbing the sweater with the intention of taking it off.

For Alex, there was no problem; she was sure that if he had asked nicely, she would have taken it off and the issue would have ended. But that wasn't what happened. Instead, Eric was determined to maintain the aggression, not only in his tone of voice but also in the way he grabbed her to remove the sweater—an attitude she didn't understand and hated not understanding.

"No, stop." She pushed him away. "What's wrong with you? You never cared when I took your clothes," she asked, bewildered.

Eric was furious, irrationally angry as he looked at the redhead wearing that sweater, and he hated seeing that image—she wasn't worthy of wearing it. He exhaled in frustration. "Yeah, my damn clothes, Alexa. So, answer me, where the hell did you find that sweater? Huh? You weren't in my stuff, right?" he asked, raising his voice. The redhead could only nod, confirming it. "Then, take it off."

"Is it hers?" she asked in a whisper, her voice fragile and tinged with pain. "And why does it smell like you?"

"That's none of your damn business. Take it off," he growled, grabbing a part of the fabric and pulling her closer.

"Of course, it's my damn business!" the girl shouted, her voice filled with hurt, tired of feeling like the intruder, like the other woman, and not having that privilege. In a fit of anger, she broke free from Eric's grip and took off the sweater, raising her hand to show it to him. "What we have doesn't have a name, I know that, but we have something, Eric. And I want to help you, I want to heal that broken heart of yours, but I can't do it if you don't get over her—if you still have this sweater in your room. You need to get rid of her clothes once and for all..."

Alexandra was interrupted in the worst way possible, a terrible act that even surprised Eric himself. But his anger overwhelmed his regret, and he refused to show any remorse in front of her, even though he had slapped her so hard that her head turned as far as her neck would allow. He had no intention of apologizing.

"Change, and get out. I don't want to see you when I get back." Eric's threatening voice made her tremble, his deep and intimidating tone causing the tears she had been holding back to finally fall.

Eric left her alone, the sound of the door slamming made her jump so violently that she let out a sob that broke her down completely. It was the first time anyone had ever raised a hand to her like that, and she could confirm that Eric's blow was more painful than any other fight she had endured during her initiation.

No one had witnessed the incident, not even the cat sleeping in the living room. But she felt humiliated, defeated, and discarded like worthless trash. With her dignity in shambles, she changed her clothes and left the apartment in silence, choking back the sobs she tried to hold in until she reached her room.

It was the first warning sign that Alex recognized, and while hope might guide her to leave him, the harsh reality was that the redhead was blind to it, only waiting for Eric to apologize so she could love him unconditionally again.

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

After an entire bottle of liquor, his throat hoarse from laughing in the pit and his knuckles red from punching one or two daring fools, he thought it was a good idea to visit the tattoo section. The thing is, Eric wasn't aware that it was 2 in the morning, and even though there was still some activity, most of the tattoo artists were closing their booths—especially that girl he had been going to since his first tattoo. But he was patient; the alcohol made him sit down in the girl's personal booth and wait for her since he had threatened one of the tattoo artists in search of that amazing girl.

But his disappointment was strong when, instead of seeing her distinctive green hair, he saw some golden curls entering the place. Eli, the woman who agreed to substitute Eric's special tattoo artist, turned around feeling helpless before the blond man who wiped the smile off his face upon seeing her.

"You're not Victoria," Eric pointed out.

"I know, it's just that she's already asleep, but I'm fully capable of doing any tattoo, I..."

"No," he interrupted her with a soft, light hiss.

"I don't care who you are, I want Victoria."

Eli's lower lip trembled as she watched the blond man rise from the leather sofa.

"Sorry, Eric, I swear I can't wake her up, but I have several designs, let me show them to you," Eli said, turning around to grab her backpack and pulling out her tablet with the intention of showing him her artwork. But when she turned back to Eric, she was met with the barrel of his gun pointed at her forehead.

"I don't doubt your skill, but you're still not Victoria, so move your pretty ass and go get her," Eric ordered, irritated.

"Please," she whispered, emotions spilling over. "She gets in a terrible mood when woken up; she'll kill me if I do it, her temper is awful..."

"Oh, no. The one you don't want to see in a bad mood is me if you don't follow my orders." He slowly cocked the gun, savoring the sight of her trembling. "You have five seconds to get out of here, or I shoot."

And as soon as he threatened her, the girl bolted from the place, running toward the rooms to fetch the woman who would probably hit her when she knocked on the door and woke her up.

***

"I have breaks, Eric, and I sacrifice them for you. But at night, I sleep, and it makes me sick to be woken up," the girl shouted, furious as she stormed into the booth, her eyes still sleepy and her jaw clenched.

"Hello, Victoria," Eric greeted her with a satisfied smile.

The girl was tenacious, brave, and frankly, she wasn't afraid of the blond man. She had stopped seeing him as her leader when she realized he was just a defenseless lamb.

At first, Eric would go to her strictly for business—no chit-chat, just her doing her job. But ever since Grace left, Eric had made a point of chatting up every bold woman he could, except Victoria rejected him, and that piqued his interest. It turned into a purely friendly relationship, though neither of them would admit they were friends.

"What the hell do you want?" she growled.

"A tattoo, isn't it obvious?" he scoffed.

Victoria rolled her eyes, turned around, and grabbed her tools to start tattooing again. "I miss when you used to ignore me," she muttered bitterly.

"Oh, come on, Vicky, I've been the only thing that gives your life meaning," he said with a smirk.

And in a way, he wasn't lying. Ever since Eric took a liking to her, even respecting her, he had made sure she was safe in the tattoo shop. Victoria had always had problems; no one took her seriously, and to this day, no one dared to speak ill of her, thanks to Eric. But she wasn't going to tell him that he managed to keep the other tattoo artists in line, and she definitely wasn't going to thank him.

She sat at her desk and, with a sigh, spoke. "What do you want?"

"A crown, but I want it intertwined with olive leaves. You'll know how to do it—I want it for myself," Eric said with a shrug.

"A crown for a king, Eric?" Victoria asked, narrowing her eyes as she looked at the guy, believing she knew him better than he knew himself.

"No, for a queen," he murmured.

***

"Why this tattoo? What does it mean?" Victoria asked as she placed the finished design on a stencil, positioning it on his arm near the bicep.

"I don't know," Eric replied.

Victoria rolled her eyes, realizing how difficult it was to get him to open up. She knew Eric wanted to talk to her because she had never pried into his life. Being with Victoria meant talking about both of them without being greedy for details. That's why Eric kept coming to her—despite all the power he had, the girl had never shown any interest in him.

"Fine, don't tell me," she sighed, starting to tattoo.

Eric fell silent. The effects of the alcohol were making him lose his grip on reality. He needed to think things through since what felt like a second to Victoria was ten minutes to Eric in his drunken state.

"I messed up again, Vicky," the blond man murmured.

"What did you do this time, big guy?"

He shook his head, now thinking about her, realizing how much of a coward he had been, the regret suffocating him.

"Do you remember Alex?"

"How could I forget? Your latest acquisition."

"I hit her," he admitted.

Vicky raised her eyebrows, looking at him as if he had three eyes. She couldn't help but be surprised; he could be a ruthless person, but she never imagined he'd lay a hand on a woman, or so she had thought.

"Why?" she whispered.

"She had a sweater that wasn't hers. She couldn't wear that sweater," he said, shaking his head.

"And who can wear it?"

The blond man turned toward her, his gaze intense, revealing the fragility in his eyes.

"Only Grace."

Victoria knew Grace, but only from a distance—both as a leader and as Raphael's friend. Now she knew her as the girl who stole Eric's heart, the reason she had to stay up late and console the blond man, even though he was the one in the wrong.

"And do you feel bad?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted. "In fights, it's different—you hit because it's a battle. In war, you don't have a choice. But hitting her just because she told me I had to forget Grace... That wasn't me."

"Apologize."

There was only one woman he had ever apologized to, and that was Grace. His pride weighed heavily on him now, knowing he'd have to go and apologize to the redhead, even though he genuinely felt sorry. It wasn't easy to admit it.

"But, Eric, apologizing is pointless if you've still got another woman on your mind, because it'll happen again. So, you'd better choose," Victoria continued.

"Will you let Alexandra go?"

"No, I can't," he shook his head.

"And Grace?"

He had to think about it, staring off into space, trying to conjure up her face again.

"Never," he murmured.

"Then what will you do when they find her? Because they'll kill her, and you know it. If you don't pull the trigger, someone else will."

"I know."

Victoria sighed, seeing that even he didn't have the answers. He was still in a mental fog, making him even more dangerous since his decisions could shift at any moment.

She removed the stencil, revealing the freshly inked tattoo on his bicep.

"You know what I think?" Victoria murmured, masking a smile. "That queen you've got there isn't the redhead. She's a fugitive connected to nature; otherwise, there wouldn't be the olive leaves. So you'd better decide which side you want to be on, because your queen won't stand by the bad guys."

Eric had trusted Victoria so much that during one of their late-night conversations, he revealed everything that Dauntless and Erudite had done to Abnegation. But the girl didn't change her stance on which side to support. She was content with her life, satisfied with her work, the perks, and her room. She wasn't about to give up what she loved just to do the right thing. But if there was an attack, she had no intention of shooting at the good guys.

Victoria began packing up her things, having successfully finished her work and feeling satisfied with her artwork.

"Thanks," was all Eric said before leaving.

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

What Alex got for trying to care for Eric was a small bruise on her cheek.

She was wearing comfortable pajamas, sitting on her bed in a fetal position, thinking about what she would do the next day when she walked out the door. Her friend Rosa wasn't answering her messages, and she felt guilty because it was the redhead who had neglected their friendship for Eric.

Only now did she notice the drastic change she had undergone from loving the man who ended up hurting her. Her heart was broken, overflowing with tears and hatred. She had never allowed herself to be a second choice, and now she felt like one. She thought she was falling in love with him, but she was only a distraction because, in the end, it was never about her—it was always about Grace.

But how could she let him go when he had dug so deeply into her heart?

The knocks on the door brought her back to reality, and she quickly jumped out of bed, hoping for comfort, convinced it was Rosa behind the door.

But it wasn't. It was him, with a pained, regretful expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," Eric murmured, his eyes barely open.

The redhead couldn't hold back, and the first tear fell, quickly followed by the second. She hated appearing fragile in front of him. She wanted to hit him, to scream that she wasn't anyone's second choice, but Eric was smart enough to interrupt her, pulling her into an embrace. She buried her sobs in his shirt, and in her weakness, she accepted the hug, letting him back into her heart. Because, in her mind, everyone deserves a second chance.

But this was only the beginning of a story without a happy ending. Because the moment the true love of his life returns, she will be discarded again—this time, for good.