Harlan
The Luminaire Foundation Gala is exactly the kind of event I usually tolerate without wanting to kill someone.
It’s predictable, the people are easily managed, and occasionally, there are decent connections to be made.
The event tonight is for a cause I actually give a damn about, which helps.
Even if it means dealing with all the hungry people wanting something tonight.
Some want favours. Some want visibility. Others just want access to the right people.
Most of them are polished enough to hide what they want beneath expensive smiles and champagne flutes.
Tonight, though, I’d rather set the entire fucking building on fire than spend my night around the fake bastards.
“You’re radiating hostility,” Silas murmurs beside me as we step through the entrance hall.
I don’t look at him. I don’t think I can control my face if I do.
Or more accurately, I don’t want to.
“You’re imagining things.”
“Mm.” His deep voice is dry with disbelief. “And you’ve only checked your phone fourteen times on the drive because?”
I slide my mobile back into my pocket without answering. The truth would be humiliating.
Cassidy promised me she’d rest. I should have been able to believe her.
Instead, my brain has spent the last twenty-six hours replaying every exhausted expression, every apology, every trembling fucking breath she took whilst trying to convince me fainting in my office was somehow an inconvenience to me rather than a glaring sign something was seriously wrong.
She spent all day yesterday curled up in her makeshift office nest with Isaac hovering nearby. I avoided them for most of the day, unable to stand the way her fear kept souring the air when I knew it was because of me.
I got nothing done. Too busy texting Isaac, demanding proof she was still breathing every ten minutes.
The beta was probably sick of me—and the other two—but never once complained.
When four o’clock hit, I went to her office to dismiss her, and she looked marginally better.
Marginally.
“Slap a smile on, and get your pheromones under control,” Silas says, dipping his head at a couple as we pass them.
I have no idea who they are and don’t care either. The faster I show my face, the faster I can leave.
“I don’t smile.”
Silas’s low chuckles piss me off, and I elbow his side. He doesn’t even stutter.
Cunt.
Before we enter the room, Silas grabs my arm and tugs me aside, turning us so we’ve got some semblance of privacy.
“She’s fine, Harlan,” Silas says quietly. “She’s alive, she’s safe, and right now she’s probably at home buried in her nest.”
Fuck. That was not the right thing for my brother to say.
Now, all I can picture is her curled up in that nest yesterday, small and warm and surrounded by her own scent.
At least until she looked at me and remembered to be afraid.
She seems to genuinely believe I hate her. The memory twists hard beneath my ribs.
“I don’t give a fuck what she’s supposed to do,” I snap, and he frowns. “She doesn’t do what she’s meant to do, and that’s how we got into that situation yesterday.”
“I thought you didn’t care about her?” he asks, humming thoughtfully.
I glare at him, unwilling to continue this argument. He looks infuriatingly composed tonight, and unless I’m willing to make a scene, he’s going to stay that way.
His tuxedo is black-on-black, fitted so perfectly it’s irritating. His broad shoulders stretch the expensive fabric cleanly whilst dark amber cufflinks glint beneath the ballroom lights. His dark hair is styled neatly back from his face, though several strands have already started slipping loose.
“You dragged Isaac into it,” he continues smoothly. “That was a catastrophic enough admission of emotional incompetence without you sulking afterwards, too.”
Oh, wow, big fucking words.
As if I’m stupid enough not to realise the insult buried inside it.
“I was not sulking.”
“You made her cry, Harl. Repeatedly.”
I say nothing. Because, unfortunately, he’s correct.
Silas studies me for another second before sighing quietly. “You made her feel worse, Harl.”
Guilt flashes hot and vicious through my chest. Annoyingly, it’s not the first time since yesterday.
“She was already upset.”
“You still made it worse.”
The worst part is he doesn’t even sound accusatory. It’s as if he’s telling me the day of the week or the weather.
It’s more irritating than if he’d just tried to start a fight.
At least then, I could win.
Before I can answer, a familiar scent brushes the air beside us, instinctively pulling both of us upright.
Smoked bergamot and sandalwood tickle my nose, familiar and comforting.
“You two are bickering already?” Adrian asks dryly as he approaches.
My father looks exactly the same as he always does at these things—immaculate and unreadable beneath a tux that probably costs more than most people here are donating tonight.
Beside him, Celeste loops her arm through Julianna’s, soft cashmere vanilla and warm amber perfuming the air around them.
My mums both smile immediately upon seeing us.
Silas gets hugged first by Celeste—as usual. My omega mum truly dotes on her precious little boy.
“Oh, darling,” Celeste sighs dramatically, adjusting his bow tie despite it already being perfect. “You look exhausted.”
He grimaces. “Thank you, Mum.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, patting his cheek.
Julianna snorts softly beside her before dark eyes settle on me instead.
“And you,” my alpha mum says calmly, “look homicidal.”
Silas laughs outright.
Traitorous bastard.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
Three identical expressions of disbelief meet me instantly.
Adrian’s brow lifts slightly.
Celeste outright pats my arm in sympathy.
Julianna just looks unimpressed.
“Harlan,” Celeste says carefully, her tone deceptively gentle. “What’s wrong, my love? I thought you wanted to be here.”
Too many answers rise immediately.
An exhausted omega collapsing in my office.
The smell of fear saturating through the scent neutraliser.
The way she apologised whilst crying.
The promise she made me before leaving with Isaac.
The fact that she’s my fucking scent match.
Instead, I adjust my cufflink and lie directly to my mother’s face.
“Work’s been frustrating lately. New campaign is a headache.”
Silas makes a quiet choking sound beside me, moving out of reach of my elbow.
Bastard.
Julianna’s eyes narrow instantly, but before either of them can interrogate me further, Adrian glances towards the ballroom entrance.
“We should head inside,” he says smoothly. “The opening speeches are starting soon, and we’ll want to be seated.”
Thank fuck.
I fall into step beside my family as we move deeper into the gala, the ballroom unfolding around us in gold light and soft music.
The Luminaire Foundation has always dragged in obscene amounts of money.
Crystal chandeliers spill warm light across towering floral arrangements and white linen tables, whilst waiters weave seamlessly through the crowd carrying champagne and impossibly delicate canapés.
Around us, conversations blur into polished noise. Nobody tries to get my attention, not yet anyway.
Typically, we do dinner early on, then the real networking begins.
My father walks at the front of us, commanding attention without ever seeming to try. Adrian Mercer has never needed volume to dominate a room. His alpha scent and presence do that for him.
He’s built like me. Lean instead of bulky.
Age has sharpened him, rather than softened him.
Silver threads through his dark ash blond hair at the temples now, immaculate beneath the ballroom lights, and the severe cut of his black tuxedo only emphasises the controlled elegance he’s built his entire reputation on.
Beside him, Celeste looks effortlessly beautiful. She always does.
Champagne blonde hair falls in soft waves over one bare shoulder, warm gold silk hugging her graceful frame whilst diamonds glimmer subtly at her throat.
Everything she does looks effortless, with soft cashmere vanilla and amber lingering faintly in the air around her.
Julianna is the opposite kind of intimidating. Broader. Sharper.
More in control.
The black suit she wears is tailored to perfection, emphasising strong shoulders and the powerful build age has done nothing to diminish.
Dark chestnut hair streaked with silver is pinned sleekly back from her face tonight, exposing sharp brows and eyes far too observant for my current mood.
Together, they look like the kind of people nobody says no to.
And somehow, despite all of that, still painfully fucking capable of noticing when something’s wrong with me.
Unfortunately.
Silas nudges my shoulder as we approach the ballroom entrance properly. “You’re brooding again.”
“I’m walking.”
“Menacingly.”
“Fuck off.”
His grin widens slightly as I accidentally brush against someone.
I turn to apologise when I catch it.
Strawberries.
Vanilla.
Cream.
Warm omega—mine, mine, mine.
My entire body locks instantly. It’s not fucking possible.
My gaze snaps to hers before I can stop myself, irritation already rising violently beneath my skin.
Because there she is.
Cassidy fucking Hargrove.
The reason for my current bad mood, and now the reason my fucking knot decides to wake up.
She doesn’t seem to notice me, and I keep walking, unwilling to lose my temper right now.
But she lied.
She has broken her promise.
She should be home resting, not standing under chandeliers tricking everyone into believing she’s fine.
Her hair falls in loose curls tonight, smooth honey-brown strands brushing the bare skin of her back. She’s wearing a champagne-coloured dress that looks understated until you actually look at it properly.
Silk. Backless.
The fabric drapes instead of clinging, which somehow makes me notice every fucking movement more, the soft line of her hips visible every time she shifts beneath the ballroom lights.
Gold jewellery glints subtly against her skin—a fine chain at her throat, delicate bracelets around one wrist—but it’s the shoes that irritate me most.