5. Sterling
5
Sterling
“ W
here the fuck you going smelling like that?” I demand, giving Uri a dirty look.
He’s standing outside his office door, and the moment I speak, his posture locks into place. Defensive. Protective.
Someone—or I suppose something —is in his office, and he doesn’t want me to see.
Uri runs his hands through his extremely messy black hair, and shrugs, his voice carefully even. “Just for a run.”
For a run… on a Sunday morning, after not being home all night, wearing a pair of rumpled slacks and a white dress shirt.
I don’t need to smell his lies, to know he’s talking shit.
“You are drenched in scent neutraliser,” I say, stepping forward and sniffing the air near his shoulder. Not a trace of him. Nothing.
I frown, inhaling again. Not even the faintest whiff of our pack’s fabric softener. Nope, instead, there’s only sterile, scentless emptiness.
My stomach clenches, my scent instinctively pushing outward like my body is trying to claim space against the unnatural blankness. It’s wrong—especially for Uri.
He hunches into himself slightly, like he knows that I’ve caught onto something. His scent should be all over this hallway. Alphas don’t usually mask themselves like this, and Uri… well he only does it when he’s hiding something.
If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d be amused at how blatantly obvious he is.
“I just wanted to try a new route, and didn’t want anyone getting uncomfortable,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a slight twitch in his left eye, and it’s perfectly clear that the Alpha is lying to me.
Don’t get me wrong, Uri’s always been sensitive about his size and this is something he would do—and has in the past. He hates how he looms over people, how his voice rumbles in a way that makes people—omegas, especially—shiver.
He’s a huge fucking Alpha, with a very exuberant presence, that he struggles to taper down. From wearing a more casual office attire, to speaking quieter than his natural tone, to even walking slower to try and appear non-threatening.
But for him to drown his scent today, when the office is absolutely empty, is suspicious. It’s something concerning.
He didn’t come home last night, and hasn’t checked-in with any of us since lunchtime yesterday when he told Paxton how the new HR hire needs fired for their fuck-up.
So what the fuck has happened between then and now?
We don’t tend to work on Sundays if we can avoid it. Well, at least we don’t work in the office building. My entire pack are self-proclaimed workaholics, and we clock in far more hours than we should.
Good thing we’re salaried, or Oscar would be raging at the overtime.
“I see,” I say slowly, dragging the vowels out as I rake my gaze over him. He’s shaken—nervous. Something has happened.
I watch his throat bob, his scent pulling back, dulling under the thick layer of neutraliser.
“Well, I’ve got a meeting in twenty so I need to go get sorted. Will you be back here soon?”
His eyes dart to his office, and there’s a look on his face that I don’t understand. Longing? Regret? Concern?
I fucking hate that he’s covered in nullifying soaps, because I’d give my left testicle to know what’s going on with him right now.
“Yeah. Thirty minutes, max.”
I could point out how thirty minutes is barely enough time to work up a sweat, never mind test out a new route, but I don’t bother. He’s clearly trying to hide whoever is in his office from me—from the pack—so the longer I keep him here, the less chance I have of figuring it out.
So instead, I nod, pat his shoulder, and walk past his office and into mine. My door faces his, and I leave a crack in the opening, just in case. The office building is completely closed today to anyone that isn’t a member of my pack—the security system I designed makes sure of that.
The executive floor is the most locked-down part of this building. While the lower floors buzz with creative chaos—models, clients, freelancers coming and going—up here, every movement is tracked, every designation signature logged. Some may call it overkill, but after the last attempt on our lives, the pack gave me carte blanche on securing our private areas.
So if my suspicions are correct, well, I’ll be able to get a lot of information on Uri’s secret companion.
I’m just curious as to who, or more accurately, what kind of woman he’s hiding from us.
Ever since we filed the paperwork to become an official pack eight years ago, he’s the only one who hasn’t come to me with the information for a girl he wants to date, fuck, or even someone who is harassing him.
The only one.
He’s not a virgin, having gotten around far more than the rest of us in university, but since the shit with his Lacey, I’d swear he’s taken a vow of celibacy.
“Ow.” The hair on the back of my neck tingles at the soft, muttered word, and I can’t deny the whine she lets out belongs to an omega.
Fuck . Uri’s with an omega ?
Every hair on my body stands on end, and my stomach tightens as a rush of something foreign prickles over my skin.
I charge over to my office door, but as she stumbles, I don’t open it any further even though the curiosity is burning inside of me.
Uri’s slept with an omega.
The scent of sex and slick lingers in the air, but it’s laced with the pulse of pheromones. The scent of her heat rich and cloying in the air. I take an extra inhale before I can stop myself.
It’s just to memorise their scent—the betrayal. Right?
I’ll never admit to being a creepy… voyeur.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I strain to catch another sound—anything. I might not have the coveting instincts of the rest of my pack do when it comes to omegas, but I’ve fucked one before, and know how pretty they can whine.
I peek out the door when she’s a good distance away, but all I can really see is the state of the back of her head over the desk. Her long brown hair’s a mess, truly, and she’s limping as she walks.
As she rounds the desk properly, I see she’s in a pair of black leggings that mould to her ass in the best ways, and a light pink blouse that is rumpled.
There’s a pair of red-soled heels in her hands, and I know they’re pricey, even if I can’t recall the brand properly.
So she’s a well-off omega. Interesting, and not what I would’ve expected from Uri.
And the way she moves?
Controlled. Measured. Too composed.
This isn’t an omega lost in the haze of an alpha’s knot. No, this is a woman trained to play a part.
The omega presses the button for the lift, but nothing happens, since she didn’t scan one of our office employee cards. Her shoulders hunch over, and I can’t help myself.
I need to see her. I need to… I need to know.
I step out of my office, my steps heavy and with purpose, so that I can get her attention without startling the manipulative thing.
Her head jerks up, wide blue eyes, locking onto mine.
And fuck. She’s beautiful.
Not just the way that omegas usually are—delicate, soft, tempting—but in the way that makes my beta instincts fucking rage.
I’m trained to spot when something is wrong—when there’s a danger. And that instinct is flaring out in full force now, because something isn’t right.
Her eyes are wide in fear, and yet her scent barely changes. She’s a well-fucked omega. I can’t even pick up her scent in the midst of the pheromones and sex.
“Sterling,” she whispers, her striking blue eyes dropping to her feet, as her cheeks redden. “I mean, um, Mr Carter. I’m, um, I’m?—”
An employee? Is she really an employee here?
Fuck me, Uri .
Has nobody told the poor bastard not to shit where he eats?
“Do you need me to let you out?” I ask, gesturing my head towards the lifts, but staying outside of my office door so that I don’t overwhelm her by getting too close, too fast.
I might be a dick, but I’m not going to scare Uri’s secret omega.
Not yet, anyway.
She flinches, her shoulders pulling in instinctively, but she doesn’t lower her gaze. “Um, yes, please.”
As I approach, her scent overwhelms me, and I scrunch my face up. It’s different for betas. We don’t get the hormone-drunk haze that Alphas do when smelling a pretty omega, and we don’t have the instinctive submission that hits omegas.
Instead, I get pure information. This girl is covered in sex, and every note of her scent tells a story.
The lingering traces of anxiety under the sex pheromones, the way that Uri’s scent has merged with hers at a practically molecular level, and the subtle undertone of something that I wish I could identify.
Her scent is so strong, such a sharp contrast to Uri’s blankness from this morning. But underneath all of the pheromones, is something so… alluring. Sweet, floral, soft .
Calming—welcoming, even.
Who is she? Where did she come from? What is that smell?
Fuck, I shouldn’t care, but I really do.
“What’s your name?” I demand, beeping my card against the reader so she can press the button to go down.
I hope she gives me her full name, so I can do a background check on her. Omegas are dangerous, and ones that look her… well, they’re the worst of them all.
Manipulative, toxic, and far too beautiful to be missed.
“Emmeline Whitmore.” She’s subdued, keeping her eyes to the ground, and trying her best to stay out of arms reach.
Is she afraid I’m going to hurt her?
Has… no, I can’t even go there. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that Uri could have hurt this woman. No .
But she’s clearly nervous around me—and I’m a beta. How does she cope around alphas if she’s this… timid?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, as the lift starts to move inside the elevator shaft. I raise a brow, tapping my foot when she doesn’t immediately respond, knowing that our time is running short.
I’m pretty content as a Beta, but damn, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give for an Alpha bark right about now, to get her to answer.
“I was working on something with Mr Rothschild.” She raises her head, her beautiful blue eyes meeting mine, and I watch her gain confidence as she stands firm. She steels her shoulders, her posture altering, and she arches a brow.
Fuck that shouldn’t turn me on the way it does.
I don’t know what her game is. I don’t understand why I’m reacting to her.
I’m a beta, and she’s… bad.
“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.”
I smooth out my frown, knowing that I’m losing time with her. Her sudden confidence enthrals me, but it’s a very big red flag considering she’s been so timid until now.
Omegas are manipulative, it’s clear to see this one is no exception. She’s realised we’re alone and acting like a broken little coward won’t appeal to me, because I’m not biologically forced to cater to that pathetic behaviour.
Instead she’s took a gamble that I’ll respond better to confidence—to arrogance.
My dick might, but all she’s done is open my eyes to the kind of person she is.
“I see,” I say, dryly. I take another small inhale, trying to figure out the mystery of her scent. “And you’ve been here… all night?”
She crosses her arms under her tits, and I don’t know if she thinks I’m going to eye them up. I’m not.
She looks up at the lift’s numbers, and I scan her throat, relieved as fuck to not see any bruising or hickeys.
Uri remained in enough control, to not even be tempted by her pretty throat.
Pretty? I mean average.
“I have, yes,” she says, and the coolness of her tone doesn’t impress me.
“I see.”
We stare at each other, the energy between us crackles with anticipation, but before I can think of something else to say, there’s a ding, and the elevator doors open up.
She gently presses her hand on my forearm, and heat prickles up my spine. Every single nerve ending zeroes in on that single point of contact.
It’s not attraction—it can’t be.
But my entire body tenses up, my cock growing, my eyes widening at the gall of her act. The touch burns through my t-shirt, sending warning signals through every nerve in my body. There’s a weird urge—both to protect, and to pursue— but I ignore it.
She delicately slips both her heels onto her feet, the move very… practiced from this woman. Another red flag—she’s clearly used to navigating these kinds of situations.
One of the biggest things my parents drilled into me was that my designations is my advantage. Alphas get territorial, omegas get emotional, but betas? We see everything. We blend. We wait.
And when the moment is right… we strike.
Right now, I’m seeing an omega who’s too composed for someone doing the walk of shame. Her movements are too measured, her responses too careful. She’s had practice navigating delicate situations, and that makes her more dangerous, not less.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mr Carter,” she says, her mouth seeming to take extra special care when pronouncing my name. Her heels click as she walks into the lift, and I examine her manicured hands as she presses the button for the ground floor.
Hm, Uri clearly hasn’t felt he trusts her enough to give her access to our private parking structure.
Interesting.
“Miss Whitmore?” I call, unable to help myself. She must press the button inside to re-open the doors, and I look her up and down, letting my judgement show.
“Next time you do the walk of shame, maybe have a shower first, if you don’t want to out yourself.”
I smirk, whistling to myself, as I stroll back to my office. I wasn’t lying when I told Uri I had a meeting today, I just fudged the timing, and what a good plan that was.
Now I got to meet Emmeline Whitmore, the omega employee, who is clearly trying to immerse herself into my pack.
Well, not on my fucking watch.
I’m curious as to how Uri is going to act when he realises his secret omega has done a runner. Will he be annoyed? Or is it expected?
I’m intrigued to see.
I message Paxton, our head alpha, to let him know I’m going to be stuck at the office a lot longer than anticipated, and apologise for missing family dinner tonight. Pack dynamics are delicate, especially since we’re business partners too. We have weekly family dinners every Sunday, shared living spaces, and our pack bonds blur the lines between personal and professional.
It’s what makes us stronger, but it’s also what makes us vulnerable. One wrong move, one misplaced trust, and the whole structure could collapse.
All we need is our omega, to complete us… but that’s something we’ve given up hope on finding.
Once I’ve assured Paxton that I’m safe, I send an email to HR, requesting Emmeline’s files. My authority as Head of Security means I don’t need to justify the request, but I add a note about unauthorised weekend access anyway. Better to keep this official, documented. Clinical.
If she’s as manipulative as I expect, I have no doubt she’ll try and accuse us of anything she thinks she could get away with.
Fucking Uri, and his knot thinking instead of his brain.
Her file will tell me everything about her background, and the kind of person that she is.
I pull open my security system to identify when she arrived and what mood she was is, but my fingers hover over the keyboard, memories of Lacey surging forward instead. Her sweet omega behaviours wormed its way through our pack’s dynamics faster than rumours in an office building.
Every move she made was perfectly calculated, to set us against each other, and the havoc she caused nearly destroyed us.
She’d played Uri and Paxton like master chess pieces, pushing Oscar out so he was left struggling on the edges, all the while feeding company intel to our competitors.
By the time we uncovered her true motives, she’d cost us our three biggest clients, could’ve had us imprisoned for fraud, and she fractured the trust between Paxton and Uri.
I still remember the betrayal in Paxton’s eyes when we showed him the evidence, how he’d withdrawn from pack touches for weeks afterward, how he blamed himself.
Oscar had buried himself in spreadsheets, trying to calculate exactly how much damage she’d done, and worked tirelessly with the authorities to make sure she was hit with the maximum sentence possible.
Even Uri’s easy-going demeanour had wavered, and for months we walked on eggshells around the big guy.
We pulled through, our bonds are firm, and I vowed I would never let something like that happen again.
Never again.
My pack might be ruled by their Alpha instincts, but that’s exactly why they need me.
Uri’s gentle giant routine, Oscar’s brilliant mind, Paxton’s natural authority… none of it matters when omega pheromones cloud their judgment.
But I’m the pack’s shield—the one who stays clear-headed, who sees the threats they can’t.
Or won’t.
Lacey’s influence was my fault—she was my blind spot. I won’t make the same mistake twice, won’t let another omega try to tear us apart.
My fingers press against my pack tattoo on my pectoral, the ink a permanent reminder of the family we built—the structure I swore to protect.
We were fine without an omega. We had balance. Connection.
But the silence in my head is too still, my instincts too aware of the space where something is missing.
This feeling… it isn’t balance.
It’s a warning.
I flex my fingers. An unfamiliar stirring in my gut, an itch prickling across my skin. I don’t want to acknowledge it.
Emmeline’s scent clings to my forearm, from where she touched me to put her shoes on. I can’t bring myself to erase it—something makes my beta try to catalogue it as home .
I push the thought away, hard, clinging to the warning.
Emmeline Whitmore is dangerous.
And omega or not, no pussy is worth our family.