2. Cassidy
CASSIDY
I’m jittery, my scent glands already prickling with nerves, a faint trace of nervous sweetness leaking into the air.
My stomach knots as I stand in front of my bed, still unsure about what to wear today.
I’ve got three outfits ready, but choosing the right one is proving impossible.
I want to look confident—but not too bold.
Capable, but not bossy.
Professional, yet approachable.
Feminine—without anyone deciding that means I’m manipulating them.
It’s a delicate balance to strike. One wrong signal, and someone will decide they know exactly what kind of omega I am.
I pick up the navy blue blouse and hold it against my chest, studying my reflection. This one might say ‘I’m serious about my job,’ but it’s much too stuffy.
Like I’m already bracing for an attack.
I need comfortable, safe clothing. It’s the only thing stopping me feeling too exposed—my shield against the world.
The first thing people notice about me isn’t my portfolio or my work ethic.
It’s my designation.
After that, everything gets filtered through their assumptions about what an omega is supposed to be.
Omegas are supposed to be sweet.
Fragile.
Manipulative.
Spoiled.
And useless in the workplace. I grumble and move on to the next outfit.
The pale yellow dress is probably too delicate for Harlan’s bristly temper—and too soft to hide how tense I already feel.
With a frustrated sigh, I run my fingers through my still-damp hair. This wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking if I wasn’t so desperate to prove him wrong.
The kind who bats her eyelashes for special treatment.
The memory makes my stomach twist.
I replayed that conversation half the night, trying to understand how I walked into his office and immediately confirmed every incorrect assumption he had about me.
I thought I was better than that.
Smarter than that.
I never thought—stop it, Cass. You’ll drive yourself crazy.
“None of these will work,” I mutter, tugging at my hair in frustration.
I glance at my nest, wondering if I could just stay curled in it for the rest of my life.
If I could be happy never leaving. Living in the comfort of my blankets and fabrics.
The thought is dangerously appealing. My nest is warm. Safe. Predictable. Full of my own scent and nothing else.
The only place in the world where nobody expects anything from me.
Nobody who comes to my home sees me as a problem. They certainly don’t see me as someone they have to manage.
Unfortunately, I know from experience that I wouldn’t survive the rest of my life like this.
I’m terrified to go into work today, but it’s my one chance to prove I’m useful. To prove I’m not the problem I’ve been labelled as.
To prove I can succeed.
Because if I don’t… maybe they were right about me all along.
“Screw it.”
I grab my favourite light blue blouse from the wardrobe.
The small white stars are delicate and feminine, yet the blouse still feels approachable.
Plus, it makes my skin glow. I’m allowed to be a bit vain, sue me.
I pair it with white slacks that fit me perfectly—professional, without looking too severe.
Balanced.
Competent.
Like someone who belongs in this office—not just someone who’s been sent here as punishment.
I slip on a pair of comfortable flats and nod at myself once in the mirror. I meet the criteria.
Let’s hope my new… mentor doesn’t find fault in it.
Because if he does, I’m not sure what part of me there’ll be left to fix.
The moment I step out of the lift onto my new floor, my nerves are back with a vengeance.
I’m lucky it’s so early because I haven’t run into more than a few people—none of whom know me.
But now that I’m on his floor… what if I’m already late?
What if he’s unsatisfied with my appearance? What if he expects me to already know what I’m doing?
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter in my chest.
This is my chance, I remind myself. No matter how intimidating Harlan is, I have to make this work.
As I enter the open office area, I instinctively glance towards Harlan’s office. The lights are off.
Thank fuck.
Movement catches my attention, and I turn slightly, spotting someone who doesn’t seem like he belongs here.
A man stands in the other doorway, leaning against the frame, watching me.
He’s exceptionally tall. Broad enough to fill the frame of the door. Dark hair swept back from sharp brows, his expression composed to the point of being unreadable.
Older than me by at least a decade—mid-thirties, maybe more.
He isn’t speaking. Just watching. Waiting.
It’s not the leering look most men give unmated omegas. It’s more curious—distracted, even.
It should be unsettling.
It isn’t.
Something about him feels… safe. I can’t explain why, but my body settles around him anyway.
Probably more than I should.
Awareness skims across my skin, subtle but insistent, and my scent slips free before I can stop it—too sweet, too revealing, blooming in the quiet room.
Unfortunately, his scent is hidden. Even without it, I can tell what he is. Even with the distance. Even without confirmation.
Instinctively, I know he’s an alpha. My body reacts to him first—pulse skipping, senses sharpening, every nerve suddenly alert.
Plus, it’s confirmed by the instinctive pull to please.
To present.
To submit.
His gaze doesn’t waver. It stays fixed on the hollow of my throat.
Like the pull of my scent glands is dragging his attention there whether he wants it to or not.
My pulse stutters.
We’ve never met. I’d remember him for sure. Yet something about him feels strangely familiar.
I’ve been staring back at him for too long, and I quickly avert my gaze, heat rushing into my cheeks.
“You must be Cassidy,” he says finally. His voice is a low rumble that fills the quiet space between us. “Harlan’s new… assistant.”
I straighten my posture, trying to project confidence I don’t feel, as I meet his gaze once more. The shift in the air—the looming presence of his authority—is unmistakable.
Power sits in this alpha’s bones.
“Yes, that’s me,” I confirm. “I’m here early to get a head start before Director Mercer arrives.”
The man pushes off from the doorframe and takes a step forward. My stomach lurches, but he doesn’t come any closer.
Still out of reach.
Still safe.
“Do you make a habit of that?”
I glance around the empty room, suddenly unsettled by the knowledge that I’m alone with this alpha.
He could do anything to me—crowd me, scent me, back me into a corner—and nobody would know.
“Of what, sir?” I ask.
Something flashes in his dark eyes that I can’t read. “Arriving before your superior—before your colleagues.”
The way he says it makes it sound less like a question and more like a judgement.
I shift my weight, unsure if this is a test.
“I thought it would help to familiarise myself with the environment before starting,” I admit.
It’s not a lie. I thrive on routine, and now in a brand-new place with so many more people—important people—and all their scents to deal with… I owe it to myself to be prepared.
“Arriving early doesn’t impress anyone,” he says dryly.
Defensiveness twists in my chest.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m trying to do my job well.”
He studies me for another long moment, then one corner of his mouth curves up.
He’s strange.
“Don’t call Harl ‘Director,’” he says, and my eyes widen. “Sir or Harlan. Never Mr Mercer.”
“Um, okay. I’ll remember that.” I bite my lip and grip the strap of my bag to ground myself.
Every detail about this man feels important—like I’m navigating a minefield, trying to avoid a bomb going off.
“May I ask who you are?”
“You could,” he says darkly. I shiver. “How are you handling the transition so far?”
I smooth out the frown. “I’m… excited to prove myself useful to Mr—Harlan.”
The alpha tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I see. So, Harl made you feel like a babysitting project? Probably a spoiled omega one at that?”
I glance at Harlan’s closed door and say nothing. I don’t want to say anything against my boss—my supposed mentor.
“You don’t need to hide the truth from me, moonlight,” he says, lingering on the nickname.
I freeze, my heart thudding as I beg my body to walk away.
To leave.
My smile feels brittle.
“There’s nothing to say,” I say brightly. “Harlan won’t have any problems from me. I’ll be the best trainee he’s ever had.”
Or he’ll hate me even more. Who knows?
“Harlan can be an asshole. But he’s exceptionally talented, and once he invests in something, he commits,” the man continues.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I swallow hard, uncertain how to respond to this stranger’s assessment.
“That’s… good to know.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that,” I reply quickly, adjusting the strap of my bag. “I just don’t understand what you want.”
The alpha pushes off from the wall completely now, taking a few steps towards me. Heat skims low in my belly, and my scent turns sweeter before I can stop it.
“Out of all the portfolios submitted for this year’s intake,” he says, “Harlan selected only one that he thought deserved a place on the graduate programme.”
My breath catches. The alpha’s dark eyes hold mine, calculation in his gaze. My heart pounds, and another wave of scent slips from my glands before I can lock it down, thickening in the air between us.
“He—he did?” I stutter, biting my lip as a knowing expression crosses his face.
He smirks, and a shiver runs down my spine. “Yours.”
My heart lodges in my throat. I stare at the alpha, trying to process what he just told me.
Harlan—the man who made it very clear I wasn’t welcome—had specifically chosen my portfolio?
“I don’t understand,” I manage to say, my voice sounding distant in my own ears. “Why are you telling me this?”
The knowledge settles differently than I expect.
It feels strange to be chosen for my talents.
Not for my surname.
Not for the optics of my designation.
For my talent.
For me.
The alpha watches my confusion with that same inscrutable expression, as though trying to solve a puzzle. He takes another step forward, his presence fills the room like something physical.