11. Emmeline
11
Emmeline
A nother day, another headache from dehydration, and another sleepless night. The nausea medication the doctor prescribed me isn’t working for the most part, and I’m struggling to keep anything in my stomach.
The good news is, I’m clearly drinking enough not to collapse again.
The bad news… well, that’s everything else about my life, it seems.
I chickened out last night, unable to face the reality of my situation. Instead, I cried, and vomited, and cried some more. I begged for this nightmare to undo itself, wishing that I’d wake up and realise it was all a dream,
Clearly, that failed because this is real life—no matter how much it resembles hell.
But I can’t continue burying my head in the sand. Today is Thursday, my leave ends tomorrow. Surviving the weekend with this hanging over my head is an impossibility. I won’t be able to face work on Monday, knowing that I might see them, that I will see them.
I need to clear the air. I need to tell them.
My baby deserves it, and, honestly, so do I.
Then I can figure out what to do—with work, the Omega Centre, and the pregnancy as a whole.
“It’s time to get my shit together,” I say out loud, hoping the universe hears me and will hesitate before throwing a wrench in things. Again .
I drag myself out of my nest and smooth down my freshly washed hair. A whimper slips from my throat as I leave the carefully constructed safe haven, the space that I’ve been perfecting since being released from the hospital.
My body twinges at the loss of warmth, at the missing weight of blankets against my skin. The sharp spike of discomfort is immediate—wrong, unnatural.
My fingers skim over the thick nest lining, and the soft fabrics. I’ve added as many soft things as I can gather, the nest growing larger as I annoyingly create room for the two mates that haven’t even acknowledged me.
The two men who don’t even want me.
I ache to bury myself back inside, to soak in the remnants of my own scent and to protect what little stability I have left.
But no matter how comfortable it is, I can’t hide in my nest forever. It’s time to prepare for work on Monday… and for telling Uri and Sterling about my baby.
Our baby, I suppose, since they’re a pack.
Mine… and theirs.
Ours .
My hands are steady, my breathing stable, as I work through setting up the week. The lie is almost convincing.
I refuse to have a weekend full of anxiety and stress, and the knowing that the uncertainty will be gone tomorrow… it helps. I shove the thoughts aside and begin working. I spend a lot of time rubbing absentmindedly at my wrist, as if my own touch can soothe the unease from sinking into my scent glands.
I don’t get nearly enough joy from my sticker placements today or from plotting out my to-do list, but the calm it brings will have to be enough. I retreat back into my nest, knowing I need the comfort for this next part.
With a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone and key out the message I’ve been dreading.
Emmeline
It’s time.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Evander
What the fuck do you mean ‘it’s time’?
Time for what, Emmeline Whitmore?
Emmeline
It’s time to tell Uri that I’m pregnant.
He deserves to know and to have an opinion.
I’m not surprised when my phone immediately rings and that it’s my brother who is calling. No matter how nervous I am, I answer the phone, giving him the chance to berate me properly.
He deserves that much, since I’m taking the coward’s way out by doing this when he’s not here.
I shudder, unable to imagine his reaction.
“You’re what?” Evander demands. There’s a growl in his voice that has me shrinking back, wanting to hide, wanting to escape.
My hands tremble from where I’m clutching the phone, but there’s nothing I can do to ease his frustration.
“Don’t do that right now, Em. Wait until I’m home, and we can do it together,” he pleads. “You’re not—Emmeline, don’t do it, okay?”
My breathing is shaky, and my entire body is trembling from my nerves.
Not from my brother—not really. I can handle him on his worst day.
But from the call I have to make after this.
“I have to,” I whisper, the words barely making it past my throat. It’s tight, and the lump inside it won’t disappear. “I can’t keep hiding. Not when I’m back to work on Monday.”
“Work?” He sounds horrified. “Fuck, Em. You know what they’re like—these arrogant alphas with their fucking packs and their territorial bullshit. After leaving you, they deserve nothing . Fuck, they could try to force?—”
He cuts himself off as my heart drops, but I know exactly what he means. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, to where my baby is growing.
“I won’t let them,” I say with more conviction than I feel.
“You won’t have a choice if you—” He exhales sharply, and I can picture him pacing his office, knuckles white around his phone. Poor Isaac is probably in for a rough afternoon. “At least let me be there. Let me back you up.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. But this is a step I need to take on my own, one that shouldn’t be tainted by his fears and his panic.
This isn’t about me but about them .
“I hate your courage,” my brother snaps, but he’s tired himself out, despite only having a short tirade, and has lost most of his frustration. “I hate it.”
“I know, brother, I know.” My voice is quiet, my tone meek, but it’s the best I can offer.
I’m scared, too.
“Call me after, okay? Tell me if I need to go murder some cowards today. I’ll do it, little star.”
I giggle, but we can both hear the exhaustion in it. “You’d not even force Isaac to do it?”
My brother laughs. “Not a fucking chance. Although, I think he’d try and fight me for the opportunity.”
“I love you. I’ll speak soon,” I reply before he can try to drag our conversation out. I wouldn’t put it past him to have Isaac on the way to try and stop me.
With my brother’s promises of support ringing through my brain, I dial the company and put in Uri’s extension code.
My hands are shaking, and I end up keying in the wrong number. The edges of my vision blur as I concentrate too hard, the room tilting dangerously. I take a steadying breath and restart, managing this time, despite the nerves.
One ring.
Two.
And—
“Hello, this is Mr Rothschild’s office. May I ask who I am speaking with?” A familiar voice answers, and my eyes widen, my heart stuttering.
This is not who should’ve answered the phone.
His voice slides through the phone like warm honey. His beta tone seeps into my bones, and even through the crackly line, his voice resonates on a cellular level.
I fucking hate the effect he has on me.
Sterling Carter… the one man I desperately did not want to have to speak to today.
He already knows more than he should, and, honestly, I have no doubt he’ll piece it together immediately when he hears that Uri got an omega pregnant. A reckless, stupid omega.
He’ll understand, and it’ll be another reason for him to refuse to acknowledge me—to refuse to acknowledge our bond.
“Hello? Is there someone there?” he asks, and if I’m not mistaken, he sounds amused .
My head tilts slightly to the side before I catch myself, my omega’s immediate response making me grit my teeth in frustration.
Does he know it’s me? Surely, he couldn’t.
Even with caller ID, my number wouldn’t be saved into the office phone—not into Uri’s anyway.
I whimper as warmth spreads through my chest, despite my nerves. My traitor omega wants to purr at the sound of our scent match’s sinful voice.
Bitch.
But my chest vibrates with the instinctive response. A soft sound, barely even there, but the damage is already done. I forcefully suppress the reaction, disgusted with my behaviour, and Sterling’s breathing hitches as he notes my reaction.
Fuck.
“Who is this?” he demands, and even without being an alpha, I can’t resist the command in his silk-covered steel tone.
There’s an embarrassing part of me that preens, wanting desperately to talk to him, to be accepted by him.
And I struggle against the compulsion to answer.
“Emmeline Whitmore.”
“I see. What can Uri do for you, Emmeline?”
My heart skips a beat, the knot in my tummy undoing before coiling up once more, tighter than before. His dismissive tone hurts me.
It shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, but I have to smother down the whine of distress that tries to be heard. The rational part of my brain watches helplessly as pregnant omega hormones hijack my carefully constructed control.
She’ll ruin my life if I let her.
So far, the only real pregnancy symptoms I've noticed is the morning sickness—all day sickness, really—and the hormonal imbalance. This unexpected passenger of mine seems determined to amplify every emotion, turning even the smallest slight into an overwhelming flood of feelings.
My hands instinctively move to my still-flat stomach, protectively shielding my little one from Sterling’s coldness. The gesture only makes me more frantic, desperate to prove our worth to our potential pack beta... to our mate.
The conflicting impulses make me dizzy.
Or maybe that’s the dehydration.
“Could you ask him to call me back once he’s in the office, please,” I beg, my vision darkening at the edges. “This is important.”
Sterling’s laugh is bitter, and I burrow into the blankets in my nest, trying to find comfort from them since there’s none on this call.
Uri’s blue tie is wrapped around my wrist, and I take another inhale of his fading scent. It works beautifully in calming me—and some of the nausea.
But it’s not enough to take it away completely.
My scent glands pulse with needing, searching for something stronger, for something real . I tug the fabric closer, rubbing it against my throat where my skin is most sensitive.
A desperate, pathetic move, that does very little to trick myself.
“I’m sure it is, Emmeline,” he drawls. The darkness in his tone, the malice, sends a shiver down my spine. “The thing is, where you’re concerned, Uri’s always going to be busy.”
“I’m sorry?” I freeze, my breath catching as I anxiously wait for Sterling to say something. To correct himself and tell me he was just kidding.
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” he replies, sounding unbothered by my hurt. “Now, you have the choice to explain to me what you need from Uri or you can take your complaint to HR when you’re signing your exit paperwork.”
“Exit paperwork?” I sit up, anger filling me at the insinuation. “You’re threatening to fire me?”
“When the safety?—”
“Safety? You think I’m a safety risk to Uri ?” I scoff down the line. “Have you seen the size of that man? Have you seen the size of me ? Sure, you go ahead and cry that the tiny, little omega is a safety risk to him. That’s going to go down well for you.”
His breathing spikes, and I bet his scent darkens. Fuck, I wish I were there to smell it.
“Now, listen here?—”
“No, you listen here, Sterling,” I snarl, pushing down my natural instincts to please.
He’s technically my boss, but honestly, I don’t care about upsetting him, not when he’s treating me as if I’m so… disposable.
So worthless.
This isn’t just about me, not anymore—it’s our baby. I can’t let his rejection of me, his refusal to care, be something that endangers our child’s future.
I won’t do it.
Whether he wants me or not… I want this child.
I want this child.
My spine straightens, shoulders squaring as my hand presses firmly against my abdomen. The gesture feels natural now, instinctive—a silent promise to the tiny life depending on me, that for as long as I can, I will be here for them.
So fuck Sterling Carter and his attitude problem. I don’t understand what’s wrong with him, but I don’t care.
I won’t tolerate this from him.
“You’re being a major prick, considering who you are to me. What—you think it’s okay to not acknowledge our bond, that you’re my scent match, too, because why… you’re a coward who gets off on scaring omegas through the phone instead?”
He splutters on the other end, but I don’t stop my tirade.
All the anxiety, all the fears, that have been building ever since the doctor’s appointment, ever since I realised that we conceived are unleashed on my… on the beta of my baby’s daddy’s pack.
“I’ve been terrified to come back to work for fear of running into either of you, and you decide to try and make that worse by intimidating me? By using your position as CSO to force me into submission before I even come back into the building?
“I’ll have you know that not only is this illegal, it’s absolutely disgusting. Cowardly, rude, and not the kind of behaviour I would’ve ever expected from men like you and Uri. I hope you and your entire pack are ashamed of themselves.
“You might refuse to acknowledge me. You might not want me as a mate, as an omega. That’s your choice. If you choose to reject fate, then all I can say is good fucking riddance. I’d have been miserable with you if this is how you want to treat me.
“So, good day, Mr Carter, as the next time we speak will be in an HR meeting—but it won’t be when I’m signing exit paperwork. It’ll be one with me, my union rep, and probably a lawyer for good cause.”
“Are you quite done?” he demands.
“Yes.” My jaw slams shut, and for whatever stupid reason, I don’t hang up the phone.
“What the fuck do you mean that we’re scent matches?” he snarls, and I freeze, not sure if he’s just lying to me—trying to keep up the charade. His fury sounds authentic as if he truly didn’t notice—didn’t consider the possibility.
“That’s not possible.” His tone is full of anger, full of distrust. “I would have noticed. That’s my job—it’s what I do. I’m trained to recognise these things.”
The line goes silent for several seconds, the only sound is his measured breathing. I can almost picture him running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his composure slipping.
I can’t breathe, my heart pounding against my chest. Have I spent the last week twisting myself up for no good reason? Convincing myself that I’m not good enough for him… and this whole time he didn’t realise?
Do I believe that?
Do I… do I trust that?
“Where are you right now?” he demands. His voice has lost some of the edge, replaced by something I can’t quite identify. “Clearly, you’re no longer in heat, so I want to see you.”
“Now?” Breathless. Desperate. Pathetic.
Come on, Emmeline, get your head in the fucking game.
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “Not today. Tomorrow? My, um, my?—”
“Your what?” he sounds agitated, panicked, even. On instinct, I want to push forward, to soothe him, to support him.
Damn it.
“My brother—my twin. He’s, um, I shouldn’t drive at the moment, and he’s not here, and?—”
“Calm, Omega,” he says, and there’s a change in his tone, in his attitude towards me. The command seeps into my skin, low and even, carrying just enough weight to make me pause.
If he were an alpha, it would’ve been impossible to resist. As it is, the internal panic doesn’t settle completely.
But I do clamp my jaw shut and stop the protesting, the stuttering. My body relaxes a little, and I don’t like that even Sterling has this hold over me.
Evander will be furious if I go today. If I don’t let him know what’s happened, what the plan is.
Hell, he’s probably going to beg to accompany me to it.
“Tomorrow. At the office? Or would you rather somewhere else?”
“The office would be fine.” My tone may be steady, but, physically, I am anything but. Uri’s tie in my hands is not enough to ground me, not enough to settle me.
He didn’t know.
He did not know.
And now… well, what is going to happen? Sterling didn’t know, but Uri did. They’re a pack… my vision swims as a wave of queasiness rises from my core, turning my insides to mush.
I drop the phone and grab the bin. My body convulses, my stomach clenching and unclenching, as it tries to expel what little is left inside.
It hurts, my throat raw and burning, as everything inside revolts.
I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry I can’t be stronger for you.
I clean my mouth with a wipe and toss it into the bin before laying back down. My head lands on my phone, and I grumble.
“Emmeline!” I hear Sterling’s panicked shouts, and I gasp, grabbing the phone once more.
Shit .
“I’m here, I’m fine,” I utter. My cheeks heat up, mortification filling me that he heard. That he was witness, even virtually.
“What the fuck is going on over there?” he demands. “Are you ill? Do you need a doctor? I can get your address and?—”
“I’m fine.” I cut him off, despite the excitement I feel. “Don’t worry. I’m okay. Tomorrow?”
He sighs. “Tomorrow. What time works for you? Nine? Is that too early?”
“Nine is fine.” My hands are trembling, so I tug the blanket higher, keeping them warm under it. “If you send an invite through to my portal?—”
“I think this is best kept off the books, Emmeline,” Sterling says, but where, before, it would’ve been a sarcastic drawl or an arrogant mock, this time, it’s gentle. “Come to my office, okay? The exec floor is empty that early, and I don’t have any meetings at all, so we’re unhurried.”
“Your office… not… not Uri’s?”
His breath hitches. “Uri, too?”
“Yes.”
“My pack and I are scent-sensitive, Emmeline,” he says, and my brows draw together, not sure what he’s implying.
“Okay?”
“So if you’re a scent match to me and Uri…” he trails off, but my brain is still barely functioning, still drowning in embarrassment. “I’m trying to say that there’s an extremely high possibility that you will find bonds with Oscar and Paxton—the two other alphas in our pack.”
My stomach drops, and I think this is when my brain completely short circuits. There’s not a chance that I can come up with actual words. That I can process this.
Two more?
Oscar?
Oscar.
Oscar!
A deep purr slips from my throat, louder than any before, and Sterling’s laugh is soft.
Soothing. Weirdly nice.
“I see that’s not as big a concern to you right now,” he says calmly. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk. About you and Uri, about you and I— especially about the two of us. I can hear in your noises that you’re probably not very coherent right now, so take a nap for me.
“You were poorly, and since you’re alone right now, you should listen to me. Sleep. Relax. I’m going to send you a text from my personal number, so please don’t hesitate to use it. I’ll be checking in. Speak soon, little storm.”
The phone clicks off, and I can’t even fight the request.
The exhaustion is instant, pressing behind my eyes, weighing down my limbs. My scent starts to shift again, as sleep pulls at me.
My body knows what it needs—safety, warmth, pack . Even if all I have is a tie, even if the scent is too weak, too old—it’s still something .
I curl deeper into the blankets, inhaling slow and deep. I hum in satisfaction.
I’m lulled into sleep, my tummy fluttering with hope.
Maybe…. maybe it’ll all be okay.