14. Emmeline
14
Emmeline
“ W
here are you going, Omega?”
Sterling’s voice is low, his hazel eyes wide and wild as they lock onto mine.
I can’t react. I can’t think. My brain can’t brain, and my body is locked in place.
Because he came.
Sterling came for me.
To stop me? To scold me? To claim me?
I have no idea, but the words won’t form to ask him. I just stare, my chest tight with shock, something clawing up my throat that I’m terrified to name.
Terrified. Weak. Pathetic.
“You’re so quiet right now, but you were very mouthy just before,” he murmurs, his voice quiet and meant only for me.
Sterling steps closer, caging me in against the door. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel his presence so intensely—commanding, arousing, and inescapable.
Is it getting hot in here?
“But last night on the phone, you had plenty to say. Where’s your confidence gone, little storm?”
Little storm.
The words steal my breath, my heart stumbling over itself.
That’s twice now that he’s called me that.
A shudder runs through me, my omega straining towards him, desperate and greedy for the name— for this claim— like it’s something we’ve spent our entire lives waiting to hear.
“Little storm,” I mouth the words to myself, the syllables thick on my tongue, as my heart races erratically against my rib cage.
Sterling might not have acknowledged the bond between us. He may not yet have felt it.
But I have.
My omega has.
We know what he’s choosing to deny, and it’s equally as infuriating as it is painful.
This man, this beta, is ours. In all his intensity, in all his precision, fate deemed me worthy of being his.
He’s mine.
So, why can’t he accept me as his?
“Little storm,” he confirms. His tone is reverent, gentle, and, without hesitating, he brushes my tears away.
His sharp gaze is dissecting my every breath, and I’m terrified to think what he’s getting from me.
I’m a mess. A heart-broken, terrified mess.
“I think I’ve handled today… poorly,” he murmurs. “Don’t you?”
I nod, still trembling under the weight of his stare. The heat in my core is burning.
I truly hope that my scent neutraliser lasts and my panties stay dry.
I can’t have my arousal be the thing that ruins this.
I can’t.
“I like that you’re not holding back.” His fingers brush against my temple, and my eyes flutter shut at the touch, surrendering to it before I can stop myself.
This is bad. This is really bad.
His knuckles ghost along my cheekbone before he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
The touch is so careful, so deliberate, that my stomach clenches painfully, my nerves electrified.
Fuck.
“Do me a favour?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve one, I know. But can I ask anyway?”
A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. My fingers clutch at my throat, nails digging in, as I try to calm myself.
“I’m pathetic enough to say yes.”
Sterling’s expression darkens. His hand darts towards me, his fingers gripping my chin as he tilts my head up. My heart stops, my lungs seizing, as I have no choice but to look at him.
Or back down and close my eyes or something equally as cowardly.
“Do not ever refer to yourself as pathetic in my presence.”
The words scrape over my skin, rough and burning. My throat locks up. I want to argue, to push back, to laugh in his face—but the way he says it?
It’s not angry or commanding. It’s not dismissal or annoyance.
It’s full of belief.
How is that even possible?
His touch feels like tiny little needles prickling at my skin as I stare back at him in fear.
“Understood?” He cocks a brow so nonchalantly.
I try to find words, but he’s broken me, short-circuited every logical response I could have.
Every single nerve in my body is alight with need—with desperation. The air is thick with danger and lust, and I don’t think it’s one-sided.
Sterling and I are pressed so close together. I can feel his breath on my cheek, feel the heat from his body, and the cold weight of my fear takes root.
I could spend the rest of my life like this.
No, Emme, you couldn’t.
“I can try,” I force out. It’s not quite a lie, not really. My uncertainty is clear to us both.
His lips quirk like he sees right through me, and I don’t know whether it’s safe to relax or not. “Good.”
Then softer, almost hesitant, he asks, “Can you shower for me? I need to know.”
And just like that, my breath stalls. A sharp, painful snap echoes in my ribs. The moment between us—this fragile, burning thing—evaporates like it never existed in the first place.
The simmering sparks between us, the growing intensity and heat… it’s all disappeared as if the even the universe itself couldn’t have prepared for Sterling’s stupidity.
I blink, and then blink again.
“Can I— what?”
“Shower.” His tone is infuriatingly level. “I need to know.”
My stomach twists. The fragile moment between us having shattered like glass, and I’m devastated. My body reacts before my brain does, my hands pushing against his chest, shoving him back like I’ve been burned.
I need space from him. I need to be able to breathe my own air. I’m no longer comfortable being in this close proximity to him.
What if he does scent me? What if I’m wrong? What if they think I’ve lied about it all?
What if, what if, what if…
“Are you for real right now?” I shove at his chest again since he hasn’t moved.
My legs are trembling, and my breathing is coming out shaky and fast.
There’s dark spots at the edge of my vision.
I’m so angry.
So frustrated.
And so, so hurt.
“It’s not an unreasonable ask.” He seems amused, rolling his eyes as if I’m being so ridiculous.
My stomach churns in frustration, and I’m half-nervous that I’m going to throw up. Again .
It would be mortifying, but if I could at least empty my stomach all over him, that would be worth it.
Is this really what he needs from me? This is what convinced him to rush after me, to corner me here?
Whilst I’m standing here like a gaping fool, letting him play me like a fiddle… he’s been just waiting for the right time to strike?
My throat burns, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes.
“You’re an absolute fucking idiot,” I snarl, bitterly lashing out.
My omega’s whines and whimpers are smothered under the weight of my fury.
The heat of anger is better than the ice cold of rejection.
Of pain.
“And there’s the fire,” he says with a cheeky grin. “I do quite like it.”
The condescending tone. The smugness.
I want to scream.
I want to cry.
“Yeah, well, there’s the dickhead behaviour again .”
I hate how calm he sounds when I’m a hissing ball of spite. I’m like a drowned cat scratching and shrieking at the owner who just stands there full of logic and rationality.
Fucking prick.
I just want to go home. To cry in my nest, and add Uri’s stolen jacket to the stolen tie, and spend all day inhaling the scent.
To let myself pretend that everything is going to be okay.
“What do I gain from you showering, Emmeline?” he rolls his eyes, his tone dripping with patronisation. Combined with the cocky pointed look and the clear nonchalance, I want to murder him.
I’ve never thought I would actually be capable of murder.
It turns out, I just needed to be pushed to the right limit.
How fucking dare he talk to me like I’m some stupid idiot.
Obviously, I understand why he wants this. But that’s not the point.
Not only is he being the rudest prick I’ve ever fucking spoken with, but he’s acting as if me doing this tiny, small thing would be such a big deal.
“I’d love for you to take a bath,” I snap, and without waiting a beat, I add, “so that I can drown you in the water for being so fucking rude.”
Of course, he laughs, deep and authentically, and my anger bubbles even further. My anger is irrational, but I can’t seem to calm down.
“He wants you to shower so he can smell your natural scent,” Oscar shouts, shattering the illusion that Sterling and I are alone. Oscar’s volume doesn’t match ours—too loud, too direct—and I glower at the beta in return.
Sure, Oscar’s probably just trying to help.
But, right now, Sterling can face my wrath at the tactless alpha.
No, actually, fuck them both.
“Hey, Emmeline, I have a favour to ask you,” I say, sarcastically. “Is there any chance you have something with your natural scent on with you that I can use to confirm our bond?”
I stride past him, into the office, and the chill of the over-enthusiastic air conditioning causes a chill to wrack through me. The glass conference table gleams under the lighting, and I catch a glance of my reflection—wild, panicked, angry .
I lift my handbag from the floor, yanking the zipper open in one smooth move. Without hesitating, I grab the t-shirt I brought with me and throw it at his head as he follows into the room behind me.
“Here. En-fucking-joy.” I stare him down as he tentatively holds my t-shirt in front of him, his pupils already dilating.
Clearly, he can sense what I already fucking know.
And… well… he’ll be able to scent the baby, too.
“You know, I think I like you when you’re angry,” Oscar says with a grin. Unlike the other two alphas who are staring at my t-shirt as if it’s the jackpot, Oscar’s unbothered. His hand reaches out to briefly touch Uri’s hand before he adjusts.
“Oscar,” Paxton says quietly, almost as if in warning.
The small interaction reveals volumes about their dynamic, and, despite it all, I find myself curious.
I shouldn’t care. I really, really shouldn’t care.
“That’s good,” I mutter, a headache forming at my temples. Sadly, it’s not one that Uri’s scent can fix for me.
I’m emotional. I’m tired.
And, honestly… now that I don’t feel sick, I’m starving.
“I think Sterling just likes you, though, based on the way he’s practically eating your t-shirt,” Oscar adds, smirking at the beta. “I think I want a turn.”
Uri snarls low in his throat, and I can’t hide my whine. Warm brown eyes dart my way, and I try to give him a reassuring smile.
I don’t think it works because his lips thin, his expression tightening.
Oops.
“I want it back, so do not dare slobber all over it,” I say, giving the beta a foul look so that I can hide beneath my anger once more.
I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to show them my exhaustion or let them understand how terrified I am.
I don’t want to be vulnerable any longer.
I can’t.
“You’re so beautiful to have such vicious words,” Uri says, and I turn to him, my confidence wavering slightly at the intensity of his look.
I wrap my arms around myself, unconsciously sniffing at the collar of his jacket.
“I don’t really want to talk to you right now.”
I rub at my temples, the non-pregnancy-induced headache having fully taken hold.
I’m not surprised.
This has been a long day, despite not even being here an hour, and I’m done.
I want to get away from here and take a nap in my nest. I want to relax, and eat, and read back.
Or, honestly, just nest. I’ve got another thing to add, and I just know that my office nest is nowhere near perfect enough to house it.
“Well, she didn’t lie,” Paxton says dryly as we all look at the beta who is still sniffing my shirt.
Honestly, it’s a little mortifying. I wonder what his bloodhound nose is picking up.
I only wore the shirt for an hour or two whilst I napped. I didn’t want them to get any hint of distress or upset and struggle to control themselves.
But I knew that they’d both need to confirm that I am in fact pregnant and that I am Sterling’s scent match, too.
As much as I’m forced to act like a bumbling idiot in their presence, I’m most definitely not one.
Paxton’s fingers are tapping on the table as he looks at me with such a pained expression. “May I have the t-shirt, Emmeline?”
I wave him on, low-key amused when Sterling tries to keep a hold of it. With the way both their pupils are fully dilated, if I were a member of HR, I’d haul them in for drug testing.
Can I make them do that naked?
With a growl, Paxton yanks the shirt, and Sterling has no choice but to let go.
The beta strides away from Paxton just as the alpha brings my t-shirt to his nose and inhales deeply.
We don’t even wait a second before he growls, “Mine.”
I shiver, my body tingling. My omega is satisfied, content, even without the ability to sense it ourselves.
But do I demand Paxton go shower? No, because I’m not a fucking fool.
Scents are personal, and if they’ve all chosen to wear scent-neutralising products today, there’s a reason for it.
Unlike Sterling, I’m more than willing to accept that.
Scent neutralisers are amazing products, and they benefit us in so many ways. Hell, the company has specific scent-free areas to help with our instincts and to aid the business.
But they don’t last forever. I showered with it, and unless I get overly emotional— or even a little bit turned on— I’ve got about four hours or so before it starts to fade, and my natural scent will come through.
The sprays last less time since they don’t get as good of coverage, but, even still, you’re granted a couple of hours.
“Does she smell nice?” Oscar asks tentatively. The way he’s holding back from absorbing any of my scent is interesting.
As if he’s scared.
I just don’t understand what he’s scared of. Being disgusted? Me? Being taken over by a rut?
Good thing I decided that I’m not going to be emotional any more.
“I am right here.” I try to tease him, to keep my tone level and my anxiety at bay. I think it works. Oscar just shrugs, clearly unbothered by my presence.
It shouldn’t hurt the way it does.
I look around the room again, and, despite how settled my omega is, I’m not.
Not even a little bit.
Paxton’s face is hidden under the pale blue of my t-shirt as he moulds it to his skin. Sterling’s glaring at him, although I don’t know if he’s judging or jealous.
Uri’s the only one who is slightly normal, but, even then, he’s making me uncomfortable by being so focused on me . There’s an edge to his scent, a darker, intriguing tinge that I just don’t understand.
“I’m going to be honest, this feels a little weird.”
Uri laughs, giving me a warm smile. “How are you feeling?”
“In terms of?” I ask, not sure what he wants to hear.
The diplomatic answer a boss may ask from his employee?
An honest answer from an alpha who left his omega without a word after her heat?
An emotional answer from a hormonal pregnant omega?
Uri’s brows furrow. “The pregnancy? The declaration you’ve just given before leaving? Your feelings? Anything, really. You’re… an enigma.”
I feel soft fingers brushing against my thigh, and I startle, not having realised that I was this close to Oscar.
His expression is distant, and I know he’s not thinking properly as he touches me.
But the effect on me is undeniable either way.
“I think… I think that it’s in your hands now.” I press my hands to my stomach, grounding myself in the moment.
Do I sound confident? Uneasy?
Can they see my hands trembling? I quickly pull them up inside Uri’s sleeves just in case.
“Well, that’s a good decision to have,” Uri says carefully. “Because I’m insulted that you think I’d happily walk away from my child.”
I flinch. My throat tightening. I can’t look at him, can’t face that disappointment in his gaze.
As if I am the one who made a mistake.
As if I’m the one who walked out on him.
It fucking hurts.
I raise a brow. “Should I have expected anything different when you snuck out without saying a word?”
Sterling’s eyes widen. “You left without telling her?”
“He left whilst I slept, yes.” I avoid looking at Uri’s pained expression or Paxton’s euphoric one. “Look, you all have lives. A business. A pack. You don’t need this.”
“Who are you trying to convince here, Emme?” Oscar asks, giving me a tender smile. “Yourself? Or us?”
I blink back the tears that well up, refusing to let myself lose it once more.
They don’t need that.
And I don’t want to give it to them.
“Am I wrong?”
“Of course, you’re wrong,” Uri snarls, slamming his hand onto the table. I startle, but any reaction anyone could’ve given is halted by Paxton’s words.
“Then why tell us at all?” Paxton’s voice cuts through the room without an ounce of tact.
The question is casual. Offhand.
If it came from Oscar, I’d have taken very little offence, but from Paxton?
They hit like a slap. My breath stutters, and the four of them wait.
Expressions varying from accusation to disgust—to despair .
I flinch, wrapping my arms around myself. The question itself is probably not meant to be so cruel, so cutting, but it still reopens a wound I’ve barely patched together.
A sore spot that I hate.
I press my palms into the sides of my stomach. My fingers are trembling, my teeth chattering, despite clenching my jaw so tightly together, and nothing I’m doing is enough to calm the raging storm inside of me.
He’s knocked the breath out of my lungs as my brain works in overdrive. I recall all the times my dads uttered their regrets about not knowing about my mum’s pregnancy, about how much they missed, how much of a burden her death is on their souls.
As I got older, they seemed to mention more and more about how they wished Jessica would’ve been here to help. It wasn’t a coincidence these regrets were only ever aired when there was some complication or some issue with my omega status. These days, it’s clear that their main reason for wishing my mum survived… was so that she’d be able to deal with me.
It hurts.
But I can’t explain this to him—to any of them. They’re already giving me such strong looks of pity and disgust. I’ve lost their respect. How can I explain in a way that won’t make me sound so pathetic?
I just can’t.
The silence stretches between us, heavy, suffocating. My chest tightens with each passing moment, and yet, they seem content to wait me out. The windows on the back wall show the city moving along, indifferent to our drama, a direct contrast to the tension inside.
Shadows from passing clouds darken the room momentarily, then retreat, mimicking the waves of tension flowing between us.
It’s clear in their demeanour they’re not used to being told no, to being ignored. And unlike me, they’re more than knowledgeable on how to play the game.
“My mum… she never told my dad’s that she was… that she was pregnant with me,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my words. To not let on that I’m hurt, that I’m destroyed .
But the words are too thin, too fragile, too exposed .
Uri’s gaze is all too knowing, and I swallow hard, avoiding his piercing stare.
“Why?” Sterling asks, his voice tightly controlled.
He’s the most ornate man that I have ever met, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was because he was just a dick. But I think it’s more than that. He’s guarded, careful.
Precise.
In their position, with the amount of money they’re worth, the lifestyle they have… I’m not surprised, no matter how much it hurts.
Honestly, I’m surprised they’re even giving me the time of day. My omega longs to scent Paxton and Oscar, to feel that completion, to know if Oscar’s math can be trusted.
If Paxton’s instincts are true, even without our scents to confirm it.
I keep feeling flutters in my stomach—flutters of hope, not a baby, no matter how much my omega tries to convince me they are.
I let out a slow breath. “We’ll never know.” I brush my hair out of my eyes, meeting Oscar’s gaze. “Fifty percent, after all.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sterling demands.
“That her mum died, bro,” Uri says quietly. “I’m sorry, Emmeline.”
“I never knew her since she died in childbirth.” If I keep my tone steady, if I stick to the facts… then, maybe, it won’t hurt as much.
“Fuck, Emmeline,” Paxton whispers, shaking his head. “I have no words.”
Oscar has moved to stand by the window, his back to us, shoulders tense as he rocks slightly on his heels. He’s unsettled, uneasy with what I’ve shared.
I don’t know why—he predicted this with his equations and all.
“Well, I do,” Sterling says with a frown. “You came to tell us to ease your guilt, right?” I nod, unable to lie to him. “And yet, you won’t even give us a chance to be there for you?”
I don’t deny it.
I can’t.
“You won’t let us in,” Sterling murmurs.
Paxton’s voice is softer than Sterling’s. “We don’t want to be here just for the baby, Emmeline, we want to be here for you, too.”
Something inside me cracks, small but deep.
I don’t want it to.
I don’t want to believe him.
Because if I do—if I let myself hope —then what happens when they change their minds?
What happens when the weight of it all gets too heavy?
What happens when Uri walks out again? An act he’s still not explained, either.
My omega whines, reaching for them even as I force myself to stay still. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat thick and suffocating.
I’m scared, but she’s not. She wants them—she needs them.
“That’s… that’s nice,” I say, my voice flat, my nails digging into the fabric of Uri’s jacket sleeves. “But you don’t have to say that.”
“We’re not just saying it,” Paxton says firmly.
Oscar clears his throat, still not looking at any of us. “Based on typical pregnancy timelines, and your current week estimation, we still have approximately thirty-nine weeks or so to prepare. Especially since this is your first.”
My mind goes blank as I gape at his back.
“I’ve already calculated childcare costs against our current holdings, and, financially speaking, we should establish a trust immediately,” he says, his tone having shifted to clinical precision.
“That’s enough, Oscar, bro,” Uri says firmly. “We’re panicking Emmeline.”
I shake my head, stepping back, pulling back from them.
I need space. I need air. I need to get out of this room before I break apart in front of them. Again.
But before the panic can take full hold, something worse happens.
My stomach grumbles.
Loudly.
So loudly we all pause.
Heat burns up my neck, mortification settling deep in my chest. I don’t have time to defend myself before Uri rises to his feet, the wheels of his chair scraping against the floor in a sharp, decisive movement.
“When did you last eat?” Uri demands. “You’re pregnant. You’re eating for two. You need to eat.”
As if I don’t know that.
I look down at my feet, my fingers twisting together in the oversized sleeves. “I’m fine. We don’t have to?—”
“You’re pregnant,” he repeats, his voice edged with frustration. “You need to eat, Emmeline. It’s not optional.”
My stomach grumbles again, betraying me for the second time in as many minutes. I don’t have the energy to keep up this conversation.
“I think we’re going to shift location,” Paxton says smoothly, taking control of the situation. “You’re hungry, and I think we all have a lot more to discuss.”
“It’s barely 10 am,” I say, despite the protest in my stomach at denying it more food. I’m starving, truly. I want something warm and filling.
And then I can nap in my nest.
“Perfect,” Sterling says, already pulling out his phone. “We’ll head home and order something on the way.”
I blink. “ Home ?”
Are they… their home? They want me to go to their home? With their scents? With their bedrooms? With their clothes?
Don’t they understand how tempting that offer is? My omega is excited, but I’m frozen.
They want to take me to their home.
Sterling’s gaze flicks to mine, unreadable but still so arrogant. “ Our home.”
My pulse stutters.
My stomach clenching with nerves.
I can’t do it.
No, I really can’t.
I shake my head, mentally retreating. “I don’t think?—”
“Would you like to invite your brother over?” Sterling interrupts smoothly. “He can meet us there. That way, you won’t have to worry.”
“Her brother?” Oscar asks.
I pale, the thought of Evander being here amongst my pack… this pack.
“My brother ?” I echo, not sure who is more nervous between Oscar and I.
Sterling lifts a brow, his expression turning knowing—almost challenging. Did he think I made Evander up?
That I was lying to him yesterday?
He’s trying to bait me into a fight that I don’t want.
I’m tired, and hungry, and emotionally wrung out.
Paxton’s smile widens as if Sterling gave him the exact ammunition that he needed. “Perfect. Emmeline, love, can you give him a quick call? That way he should be able to meet us there before we arrive. No nerves required.”
I stiffen. They know exactly what they’re doing.
My stomach flips, but it’s not from hunger.
No.
They planned this. This whole thing.
Every word, every question, every carefully laid fucking trap. They’re closing in, leaving me with no choice, no escape , backing me into their world, their rules, their home .
And worse?
My omega is thrilled.