4. Emmeline
4
Emmeline
I roll over groggily, the mid-morning sunlight streaming through unfamiliar floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the city skyline. Pulling the Egyptian cotton sheets up and over me, I try to burrow into the intoxicating blend of spicy black pepper, sweet honey, and my own lavender?—
“Oh, fuck!” I shove the blankets back, my eyes flying open, as reality crashes in.
I look around the unfamiliar room—well, it was unfamiliar before I ravaged my boss in here.
Not once.
Not twice.
But, you know, four times.
Each encounter is burned into my memory with devastating clarity, my body carrying the imprints of Uri’s touch.
Speaking of... I scan the bedroom, expecting to find something— anything —to explain why he’s gone. Something to indicate this wasn’t just another heat-induced fever dream.
The sheets are cold, but his scent lingers, thick and recent.
Too recent.
My lips press together. How long has he been gone?
On his nightstand sits a glass of water, barely touched. My fingers ghost over the rim as unease curls in my stomach.
He wouldn’t— no . He left.
That’s all I need to know.
My omega stirs uneasily, whining at his absence, and I force down the ridiculous pangs of panic and disappointment. I can’t afford to fall apart now.
I’ve spent the last five years working my way up from junior coordinator to finally becoming a manager in my own right. I’ve defied the odds of my designation, refusing to let my dad Marcus’ offers to “smooth the way” into a “respectable administrative role” hold me back.
Now, here I am, in my boss’ bedroom, undoing years of careful professional distance in one heat-drunk night.
I’m an embarrassment.
I wipe my tears and scrutinise Uri’s room to distract myself. His bedroom is exactly what I’d expect from him—minimalist but luxurious, quite like the man himself.
Dark walnut furniture grounds the space, while strategic touches of chrome catch the sunlight. The crisp white bed sheets… well, they were crisp before we destroyed them. I think my favourite part of his room is the wall of windows that offers a view that would cost most people a year’s salary. The same view I watched change colours as Uri...
No, Emme, do not go there.
Every part of his bedroom is perfectly arranged, except for the chaos we created last night. I hoped he’d still be here when I woke, that we could at least pretend to be professionals about this.
Instead, I’m left with rumpled sheets that still hold our combined scent, an overwhelming urge to nest, and the crushing weight of disappointment pressing against my chest.
My twin brother’s voice rings through my mind, the words he gave me when I came to him for advice—“If someone walks away from you, little star, you let them. The right people don’t need to be convinced to stay.”
Easy for him to say when he was the perfect alpha son in a legacy of business alphas, never needing to beg or plead for love or affection.
Evander’s always been my biggest supporter, the only one who has truly believed that I could thrive in the business world like our dads have.
A true contradiction to my dad Damian, who, when asked for advice, told me, “An omega in business is already challenging enough, Emmeline. Don’t give them more reasons to regret hiring you in the first place.”
My dad Alexander is always just coldly disappointed in me, and my dad Victor has only ever had time to try and arrange mating matches for me with his business associates…
I can’t face coming to them, sharing how I’ve disappointed the family once more.
Fuck.
But, maybe, this doesn’t need to be the end. If I can just get a hold of myself…
“Stop it, Emmeline,” I snap at myself, pinching the back of my hand to allow the pain to ground me. “You’re not going to sit here and cry.”
I’m not. Right?
I slowly stretch, ignoring the aching I feel, and move out of the bed. The carpet is soft, my toes sinking into it, and I don’t even let myself sniffle.
I will not give him my tears.
I won’t.
I slowly drag myself into the bathroom and use the toilet. I ache, a burning sensation in my thighs, and there’s spotting of blood.
I didn’t think we were that rough.
“It’s okay,” I reassure myself, even as my chest aches with the weight of my lies. “I don’t want an alpha. Not really.”
My omega whines, pain filling her—at my denial, at Uri’s disappearance, at being alone this close to our heat—and I taper down the feelings. I might not want him… but it’s harder to ignore the professional implications of last night.
Uri is my boss.
I slept with my boss.
Four times.
The fact that he’s my scent match… well, I have no idea if that makes it better or so much worse.
He’s gone, and I can’t understand why. Uri’s meant to be a nice guy, and, sure, I doubted him yesterday, for a moment… but he’s nice .
Something doesn’t fit right. He didn’t seem like the type to fuck and disappear?—
No, Emmeline, stop it now.
I shake my head, physically forcing the thoughts away. If he wanted to be here when I woke, he would’ve been.
He could’ve left a note.
He could’ve woke me.
There’s a million things he could’ve done, but he didn’t.
That is what matters.
My hands move of their own accord, tugging the bedsheets off the bed. The omega in me can’t resist the corner closest to the windows, where morning light and Uri’s lingering scent create the perfect conditions.
Back and forth, I move to the bed and the wardrobe, gathering blankets, pillows, clothing —anything that’s carrying our mixed scents, anything with mine or his... especially his.
My omega is deliberate. Every item placement is carefully considered. My usually analytical mind surrenders to instinct, ensuring our nest is perfect.
So that maybe he’ll come back to us, and he’ll see that I’m a good omega.
She preens at the chance to prove our worth beyond quarterly reports and campaign metrics, desperate to show him that we can be what he needs.
I wipe my tears and continue designing the area. The nest takes shape around me, a beautiful fortress of comfort and safety, the scent of my alpha carefully woven into my surroundings.
It should feel safe. It should feel right.
But as I relent and settle into the soft fabric of my nest, my body curling instinctively, I wait for the relief to settle in.
But it doesn’t.
My chest tightens. The emptiness presses in, thick and suffocating. My hands fist into the fabrics, but no amount of blankets can make up for his absence.
A wail tears from my throat before I can stop it. My body trembles, an icy-cold feeling seeping into my bones.
My nest is empty.
Incomplete.
Wrong.
Something inside me fractures, my omega scratching and crying in pain.
Uri’s scent surrounds me, but he’s not here, and the realisation of that tears through me like physical pain.
“My alpha left me,” I whisper, the words burning my throat. The same throat that, last night, I had begged him to?—
Fuck, this.
Fury rises as sudden and violent as a summer storm. I scream as I jump to my feet. I tear down the carefully constructed walls, flinging the clothes around the room and out of the nest.
I scream, and I sob, and I dismantle what was meant to be our sanctuary. Pillows fly, blankets scatter, and I rip it all apart.
He did this to us.
He took this from me.
He left me—us.
He left.
“Why would he leave?” The words tear from my throat as I clutch my chest, breathing unsteady. My omega whines, both of us broken by his betrayal.
His absence feels like a physical wound, but as I survey the chaos I’ve created, relief seeps in.
“This isn’t me. I didn’t want this.” I wipe my eyes and take a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want this for myself. It’s okay. It was for the best.”
My omega cries, but I build the mental walls high enough that I don’t have to continue hearing them.
Instead, I slowly and methodically hunt down my clothes and get dressed. My leggings are coated in my slick, in my arousal, but I barely smell it as I pull them on.
My underwear is gone, and I give up searching for it. I just need to leave. I need to go home, shower, and scrub his scent from me.
I need to leave—just like he did. I am more than just my omega instincts, and I can handle this.
I scan the room once more, making sure I’ve got everything with me, and spot something tucked beneath the bed—a dark blue tie, hidden ever so slightly by the shadows.
My breath catches.
My omega begs.
I should leave it.
I should turn around and walk away.
Instead, I stand here frozen, staring at the offending item, my fingers twitching. A battle rages inside of me—pride against instinct, logic against desperation.
It’s just a piece of fabric—it shouldn’t matter.
It won’t matter.
But it does.
With one final scan of Uri’s bedroom and a shaky breath, I snatch it up and press it to my nose. The scent of him clings to the fabric, still rich with his black pepper and honey, and my throat tightens.
He’s not here to judge me—nobody is.
My omega purrs as I tuck it into the waistband of my leggings, hiding it under my t-shirt.
No one will ever know.
I carry my heels in one hand and creep out of his office, letting the door softly thud close.
“Ow,” I mutter, tiptoeing through the empty executive floor. There’s not a single person in sight, and I’m so grateful for it.
Don’t get me wrong, being here on a weekend feels wrong—the silence is deafening, creating an anxiety that wasn’t there before.
Or at least, it’s easier to blame the silence for my panicked state.
The lack of keyboard clicks and muffled voices. There’s no strategy meetings spilling from conference rooms or phones ringing.
There’s not the familiar laugh from Uri that carries through the corridors as he goes on one of his famous “walking” meetings.
Stop it, Emmeline. Stop doing this to yourself.
The sharp scent of industrial cleaner cuts through the air, momentarily masking the evidence of my poor decisions. But even the rancid scent of bleach can’t fully eliminate the mixture of alpha arousal and omega heat lingering on my skin.
I stumble slightly, my muscles protesting last night’s activities. I whine to myself but continue creeping to the elevators. I’m pretty sure I’m alone here, but I refuse to check just in case.
My body aches, my legs especially, and I hate the fact that I’m out and about this close to my heat. Last night felt… far too good, and I know that I’m not going to be able to have some random alphas see me through my heat.
After experiencing Uri’s touch, his scent, his safety … no other alpha will do.
I’ll have to cancel with the omega centre and suffer through this heat alone.
Yes. That’s the reason. I don’t want to have a sub-par alpha—not that I don’t want to cheat on my scent match.
The thought sends a fresh wave of despair through me. I clutch my heels tighter, focusing on the bite of stilettos against my palm instead of the ache in my chest. Just make it to the elevator. Just—fuck it.
Who am I even trying to kid?
I can’t ever be with another alpha… even after Uri left me… I just can’t.
My heels click together in my hand as I come to a stop outside the lift, and when I press the button, nothing happens.
Oh, fuck.
I don’t have my ID badge, and there’s no way to activate the lift.
Because, of course, this walk of shame absolutely needed another complication.
What the fuck am I going to do?
A subtle shift in the air sends a prickle down my spine. The hairs on my arm rise, and it’s like there’s laser beams shooting into my back.
The scent of green tea and mint cuts through the lingering sting of bleach, crisp and unmistakable. My stomach clenches, instincts latching onto the presence behind me before I even turn.
I don’t want to turn.
But my omega does.
His scent lightens—he’s amused, I think. With a silent breath, I slowly turn myself around, clutching my heels tightly in my hand.
And there he is.
Sterling Carter.
Uri’s Beta packmate. Opus Media’s head of security.
And one of the very last people I could ever want to see right now…
Damn it.
Like Uri, his scent is alluring, and my mouth waters at the implication of finding another one of my scent matches in another one of my co-workers.
My throat dries, and I meet his hazel eyes with a wariness that somehow travels through the distance between us. Of course, he’s gorgeous, even when not wearing his usual tailored suits.
Instead, he stands here in a pair of tight black joggers and a long-sleeved skin-tight, white athletic t-shirt where every single muscle is on display for my viewing without a care in the world.
Fate is laughing up there from her viewing box.
Sterling isn’t like Uri. Where Uri is all leashed power, Sterling is precision and control. He watches me like a hawk, gaze sharp, unreadable. His expression gives nothing away—not recognition, not interest.
Just… nothing .
Sterling’s posture screams old money and generations of security training—it’s in the way his eyes constantly scan the space, how he positions himself between me and the exit.
Even in workout clothes, he carries himself with the same precision that made his family the go-to security force for half of the city’s elite. But the fact that he can blend in as a beta makes him more dangerous than any alpha security guard.
It’s rare to see him as dressed down as he is today, since he’s usually impeccably dressed in tailored suits and driving expensive vintage cars.
There’s a signet ring on his hand that gives my inner omega some very… dirty ideas, considering he’s not yet acknowledged us.
“Sterling,” I whisper, my eyes dropping to my feet as I feel my cheeks heating up. “I mean, um, Mr Carter. I’m, um, I’m?—”
His nostrils flare. He scents me.
And for a brief second—so fleeting I might have imagined it—something flickers across his face.
Then, it’s gone, and his face is once more impassive.
“Do you need me to let you out?” His voice is smooth, detached. Not a hint of warmth.
My omega whines at the indifference.
I flinch but nod my head. “Um… yes, please.”
I peek up at him from under my lashes, searching for anything—disgust, intrigue, acceptance. His hazel eyes meet mine for the barest moment, his nostrils flaring once more, but the master of the poker face smooths his expression into something colder.
Sharper. Dismissive.
Not disgusted. Not exactly.
But something close.
Something worse.
I take a hesitant step back, not sure I trust my omega at keeping her hands to herself with him this close to us.
Uri might have eased my heat flare up… but standing here by Sterling’s side, I can feel my body stirring, preparing itself for another tryst with another forbidden man.
An omega is never sated, after all.
“What’s your name?” he demands, the command clear in his voice despite not being an alpha who can enforce it.
I so desperately want to let his skin brush against mine as he leans past me to press his identification card against the sensor.
Instead, I hold myself back like a good girl.
“Emmeline Whitmore.” I keep my voice quiet, ducking my head, as he peers at me once more.
“What are you doing here?” His words are heavy with his frustration, and I cower inside. The lift can be heard whirring quietly as it comes up to this floor, but Sterling’s impatience is filling the area with dread.
He taps his foot on the floor, the sound causing me to flinch each time.
“I was working on something with Mr Rothschild.” I meet his eyes, praying he doesn’t ask for anything else. He sneers, and I arch a brow, gaining some confidence. “I know that the building is usually closed to staff on a Sunday, but this was a time-imperative project, and I’m off work for my heat for the next two weeks.”
He’s not fast enough to hide his reaction, and the frown on his face amuses me for some stupid reason. Why should I care if he’s displeased?
He clearly doesn’t want to acknowledge me—to acknowledge that we’re scent matches.
“I see,” he says dryly. “And you’ve been here… all night?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, glancing at the lift’s numbers changing. Two floors away. I only need to stomach this for another few seconds.
“I have, yes.”
“I see.” His tone is somehow even dryer, and far more judgemental.
And yet, there’s still an undercurrent between us, still an electrifying feeling.
My body wants him.
My omega needs him.
And I… am saved by the bell. The lift doors open, and I’m ever so grateful for their scent-nullifying design. The bleach is gone, Sterling’s mint and green tea disappears entirely, and it’s just me, and… Uri , and sex.
What a delicious combination to be giving off to the head of security. No wonder he’s so disgusted.
I gently place my hand on his forearm, biting the inside of my cheek at the feel of his deft muscles.
His nostrils flare slightly, a breath inhaled so subtly that if I weren’t watching for it, I wouldn’t have noticed.
He scented me.
But whatever flicker of reaction was there is gone in an instant, buried beneath layers of cold detachment.
His eyes narrow as I carefully slip each of my heels on, but he doesn’t move, he stands there, letting me use his body for my needs.
Just like Uri did last night.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mr Carter,” I say, striding into the lift with what I hope seems like nonchalance. I press for the ground floor and move to the back of the lift, praying he doesn’t try to get in with me.
“Miss Whitmore?” Sterling’s voice stops me just as the doors begin to close.
My hand trembles as I reach for the door button, each second stretching as I debate pretending I hadn’t heard him.
But I can’t do that to one of my bosses. I force myself to meet his sharp hazel eyes, trying to channel the confidence I project in board meetings.
His scent wraps around me, a reminder of everything I’m trying to ignore.
“Next time you do the walk of shame, maybe have a shower first if you don’t want to out yourself.”
His smirk is devious, a calculated jab, but beneath it—just for a flicker—his jaw tightens. His fingers twitch. His eyes darken for a fraction of a second before he buries it beneath icy detachment.
As if he’s suppressing something… like fighting the connection he feels to me.
Then he turns on his heel and walks away, whistling to himself as I cringe.
The doors close, and I let out a whine. My mortification should be enough to kill me.
Sadly, it’s not.
How am I ever meant to face any of these men again?
My nerves are fried, my skin still too sensitive. I’m constantly fluctuating between too hot and too cold. It’s a bitter feeling.
I’m mortified by needing to leave through the foyer to get home, terrified of who might see. Of what getting caught by another person will do to my professional reputation.
Last night with Uri has curbed my heat-like symptoms for now, but my body knows it’s just temporary relief.
One walk of shame could undo everything I’d built on my own.
But at least rather than being attracted to my scent, anyone who sees me will keenly be aware that I’m a slut who has been scent-marked by an alpha completely out of her league.
Hell, more than that, they’ll realise I’m an omega on the edge of her heat who has just been rejected by her scent match.
To my delight, there’s not a single person in the foyer, and the front door is open for me to leave through. I ignore the looks from people as I walk past—they don’t know me, I don’t care if they judge my walk of shame.
My head hurts, my stomach tightly coiled together, and I don’t know if that’s due to anxiety, fear, or my heat, but I don’t like the feeling.
The car ride home flies by, my brain far too chaotic to focus, and I do myself a favour and turn my phone off just in case.
I have no doubt Uri won’t bother reaching out. He made it clear that he doesn’t want me, after leaving this morning, but if I cut off the chance of connection, my omega and I won’t be waiting for our phone to ring.
Instead, I shower, scrubbing my skin red-raw, getting rid of every bit of his scent. The scent-neutralising soap is rough against my sensitive skin this close to my heat, but I don’t care.
I want the hot water to burn the skin that he touched away.
I want to separate every part of me that has ever touched him.
And I want to hide my tears in the steam because that’s where they belong.
Once I’m clean, I dry myself off and put on my comfiest onesie. It’s an allowance I only ever give myself when I’m due a heat because, heavens forbid anyone sees me looking this much of a state.
Only once I’m free from his overwhelming scent do I trudge through to my bedroom nest and burrow myself into the familiar fabrics. It’s just me in here—just lavender and chamomile… and a dark blue tie.
I curl up on myself, layering blankets and fabrics over the top of me, and hold his tie to my nose.
I take a deep inhale of his scent, and the volume of my omega’s purr could be mistaken for an earthquake. The black pepper is strong, the honey decadent, and I don’t bother stopping the onslaught of tears.
Not now, not when I’m in my nest, safe, hidden away from the world.
It’s not enough.
It will never be enough.
Yet, I cling to it anyway.