Cassidy #2
Hudson’s eyes light up, and he nods. “Exactly. I don’t see any notes here about the model’s specific scents, which is concerning, because that’s what we’re needing to work from.”
I make a note, highlighting that quickly. I understand what they’re saying, and I honestly agree with it.
“That distinction is central,” Henry adds. “We are not selling the fantasy of becoming desirable. We are selling the inevitability of already being so.”
I bite my inner cheek so hard that my body reacts in panic rather than upset. I know that Henry has no idea who I am and the struggles I am currently battling, but, fuck, that message sounded very targeted.
The inevitability of being desirable.
Who has ever felt that… confident? That wanted?
Nobody is awarded love just for showing up. You’ve got to earn it day by day, by putting in the effort and being perfect.
I know from experience that the more I can do, the more I offer to help, the more needs I anticipate—the more I’m cared for in return.
When I show up and put in the effort, then the relationships thrive. People value my presence in their lives.
I get to be loved.
And yet, this whole campaign now seems to revolve around love and acceptance being an inescapability.
Hudson turns another page, studying the concept board printed in front of him. “The omega range in particular will need careful handling. I am impressed that there’s a good range of diversity in the casting, but amplification is a delicate promise.”
Penny nods. “Because it could read as exposure.”
“Precisely,” Henry agrees.
The room goes quiet in that subtle, horrible way rooms do when a conversation becomes important. I keep my gaze on my notebook when I feel a second pair of eyes land on me.
I don’t look up. I don’t want to draw any more attention.
“Cassie.”
My stomach drops, and I hesitantly look up to the table, where all of them are looking at me.
“As the only omega in the room, I’m curious what you think of the campaign,” Hudson asks, and my heart thumps in my chest.
I freeze, my pen hovering above the page as all eyes turn to me. The weight of their attention presses on me like a physical force, too many alphas focused on one hidden omega.
I’m not supposed to be the focus here—I’m just the note-taker, the invisible omega who shouldn’t be noticed.
My mouth feels dry, my tongue heavy, and the back of my neck prickles where my scent glands sit hidden beneath my collar.
“Cassidy,” Harlan says, his voice tight with warning. “Don’t worry about answering that.”
He looks at the other alpha with something unreadable in his expression, and I drop my gaze back to my notebook, pressing my pen into the page hard enough to go through it.
“Don’t put her on the spot like that,” Harlan snaps, shifting just enough that his body angles between me and the rest of the table, and although everyone else is no longer looking my way—Silas still is.
His eyes leave a trail of heat across my skin, and it’s so tense, so uncomfortable, that I can’t ignore it.
“Cassie is here for a purpose, and this is not the time to set her up for failure.”
“It wasn’t meant to come across that way, little omega,” Hudson says, directing his words to me and not to my boss—the alpha challenging him. “I do apologise. I wasn’t asking in any official capacity, just out of curiosity, is all.”
“Probably best to satisfy your curiosities elsewhere, Hud,” Ava teases, and her smile is soft when I look her way. “It seems the little omega is spoken for.”
“She is an employee of our company and will be taken care of the same way I would for any omega,” Harlan snarls, sounding even angrier than before.
I flinch, and sadly, it doesn’t go unnoticed by any of the alphas in the room. Even with my scent muted beneath neutraliser, an omega’s fear is undeniable.
The tension in the room becomes almost unbearable as Harlan’s words hang in the air. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame.
I never wanted to cause any problems. I’ve tried so hard to be good at my job—to do whatever he needs. And yet, I can’t stop messing up over and over.
My skin feels too tight, too exposed under the beautiful lights, every hidden inch of me fighting the urge to curl in and make myself smaller.
“I—” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “I think the danger is making the omegas feel too observed.”
Harlan’s eyes narrow, his hazel eyes snapping to mine, a warning in their depths, as his nostrils flare. My throat tightens, but I force myself to continue.
I’ve already started now. The only thing that would make this worse is embarrassing him by being stupid.
“Omegas are already aware that people notice them,” I continue, keeping my head lowered so as to not agitate my boss further. “Their scent, their reactions, their emotions—especially in a public setting. We’re often made to feel like we’re… on display, even when we’re just existing.”
And maybe that’s why I learnt so young that making yourself useful makes you worthy of existing.
It makes people want to keep you around.
“I see,” Ava says carefully.
Henry’s writing something down now, and Silas is still staring at me, but there’s an almost warmth to his attention right now.
“So, whilst it’s important to have the… connection and the story, it’s also important that it’s not exposing.” I twist my pen between my fingers, biting my inner cheek hard enough to draw blood, as I wait.
Hudson’s expression sharpens. Not because he’s proud but because I’ve challenged his vision.
I’m an idiot.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
I should’ve—
“That’s very insightful and agrees with what my mate has already said,” Hudson says, surprising me when he nods. “Please, continue.”
All eyes are on me again, but this time, with a different quality—less predatory, more curious—except for one. Penny, the female beta looks like she’s swallowed a lemon as she practically sneers at me.
I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I do as I’ve been asked.
“The products work because they harmonise with instinct,” I continue carefully. “They don’t force a reaction. They support what’s naturally there.”
My pulse pounds harder, the words I’m saying hitting me like an attack as my blocked scent glands throb.
They support what’s naturally there, but what if there’s nothing left? What if I’m so empty that there’s nothing to amplify?
“And I think the campaign should feel the same way,” I say, forcing my voice not to shake. “The omegas shouldn’t look like they’re trying to attract attention. They should look comfortable enough in themselves that attention happens naturally.”
Like they deserve to take up space.
Like they’ve never once worried people only keep them around because they’re useful.
Like they aren’t one mistake away from becoming inconvenient.
Henry slowly lowers his pen. The clatter of it on the table echoes through the room before he claps.
Loudly.
I flinch, and Ava nudges him immediately.
“Don’t scare the poor thing,” Ava hisses at him.
“Sorry,” Henry says, not sounding sorry at all. “That’s exactly the kind of thing we’ve wanted to hear. You definitely know what you’re doing, Mercer, and I’m happy to go ahead with this direction.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks so fast it burns.
I duck my head immediately, gripping my pen tighter.
If they knew the kind of omega I actually was—knew that I failed more than I succeeded—they wouldn’t care at all about my opinion.
I’m not the kind of demographic Aurelion would care for, not the type of consumer they’re appealing to.
I’m not soft or effortlessly wanted. I’m not the sort of omega people want to notice.
If anything, my entire life has been built around helping those burdened with me.
I’m most definitely not someone worthy of amplification.
The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of terminology, timelines, projected launch schedules, and budget discussions that are far above my pay grade.
Just like my initial interruption was, too.
I write until my hand aches, doing my best not to miss a single comment, knowing that Harlan’s already angry with me.
Every time I think I’ve finally stopped shaking, someone asks another question, or Harlan cuts somebody off in that sharp, effortless way he has, and my stomach knots all over again.
He’s furious, and I know it’s because of me.
By the end of it, my notes are a mess of highlighted sections, rushed arrows, scribbled reminders, and half-legible shorthand.