18. Emmeline
18
Emmeline
W ould you like to build a nest here?
Paxton’s words are still playing on repeat in my mind. The tension thrums through me.
I don’t move at first.
I can’t.
The weight of his words, of what it would mean to truly lower my guards this way and to let him see such an intimate, personal moment holds me in place.
To let my boss see such an omega behaviour from me.
My fingers curl tighter in his shirt, not because I need to hold him there—but because I don’t trust myself to let go. If I don’t have him here to hold me in place, if I dare to open myself up to the instincts within… I’ll mortify myself in front of my boss.
I should leave. I should pretend I never even considered it.
But the thought of walking away, of leaving this space empty and cold, feels like suffocating. It’s such a perfect room with the right lighting, and I have no doubt the supplies will be just as high-quality, just as rich.
When my omega whines, the desire becomes too strong, and I know I’ll only hate myself more if I refuse.
If I fight it.
So, instead, I move out of Paxton’s arms and drag my gaze across the room, taking in every inch of the space with new eyes, with a critical look.
I thought it was perfect. But it’s not— not yet .
It will be, though, once I get my hands on it.
My hands move before I fully decide to act, and I start by taking the first pillow from the bed, shifting it aside. Then I add another, and another.
Paxton moves to the doorway, opening the cupboard for me, and I let out the loudest, highest-pitched whine I ever have—but he doesn’t react this time because it’s one of joy .
Of excitement.
Of unrestrained glee.
For so long, I’ve fought against my instincts, against being an omega, that every time I let these urges out of their cage, I’m surprised by how good it feels.
How right it feels.
Every movement I make is watched over by my alpha. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak, but his presence fills the room, firm and steady.
He’s careful not to interfere, not to get involved, and yet, somehow, every single decision I make is with him in mind.
Which pillow would he find most comfortable? How many blankets would he like to lay on? Does he prefer the silk sheets or cotton?
It’s crazy, but, somehow, I just know . I don’t doubt myself. I don’t second guess. I build and create.
And Paxton just watches.
His scent is so light, so full of joy, that I know he’s enjoying this moment as much as I am—although, maybe not actually as much.
This is the first time I’ve ever built a nest with the intention of actually sharing it. It’s also the first time I’ve ever built a nest with someone watching me, scrutinising every move.
But Paxton is letting me do this on my own.
He seems to understand how much I need this.
I swallow hard, pushing past the lump in my throat, and focus on the nest.
Layer by layer, I begin to arrange the space, letting instinct guide me. The pillows form a soft barrier, the blankets twisted and folded until the textures feel just right beneath my fingers.
I shift them once, twice, then again, dissatisfied until it finally— finally —feels right.
It’s a slow process. A careful one.
And the entire time, Paxton watches.
He doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t offer suggestions. He just stands there, silent and steady, tracking my every move with a patience I don’t deserve.
He’s waiting, watching, wondering.
And, fuck, does it terrify the logical me, the rational one, hidden underneath the omega urges.
I try not to think about it. Try to not be jealous at how easily he can give into his instincts. How natural it must feel.
I glance at him warily as a darker thought twists and turns inside my brain. Maybe this isn’t natural because he’s such a good alpha.
Maybe… maybe he’s done this before.
Like he’s been in this situation, watching his own omega build a nest for him.
A strange, awful feeling clenches in my gut, and I stop what I’m doing. My throat burns, and my whine is painful, pitiful, even. Has he… I’m…
Fuck. Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t help the sob that escapes.
“What is wrong, Omega?” Paxton asks firmly. He doesn’t move closer, he doesn’t invade my space.
Another whimper catches in my throat before I can swallow it down.
I press my fingers into the blankets, trying desperately to erase my thoughts, the doubts scratching at the back of my mind.
This nest might eventually be perfect… but I’m not.
I won’t ever be.
My hand shakes as I tuck a pillow into place.
It shouldn’t.
I don’t want Paxton to see, don’t want him to notice the way my breath hitches, the way my entire body curls in on itself as if to hide.
But, of course, he already had.
“Little treasure, don’t ignore me,” he coaxes softly. “Talk to me, Omega, tell me what’s wrong.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating how easily he sees me.
How he sees how pathetic I am.
“I…” My throat feels raw, my mouth so dry. “I don’t think I?—”
“Stop.” Paxton firmly cuts me off, holding his hand up.
I look at him, and, the moment I do, he’s there, crouched in front of me. His hands are warm as he takes mine in his, and, with a soft, gentle squeeze, I choke back a whine.
I can’t break down in front of him.
Fuck, I can’t keep doing this.
I’m a mess. A fucked-up, hormonal mess, and I can’t expect my boss to deal with it.
I can’t.
“Say it,” he urges. “Say whatever it is you’re thinking.”
I shake my head, shame bubbling up inside me.
How am I meant to admit this to him? How am I meant to tell the poor man fate declared mine that I’m not good enough?
That I’ll never be able to match up to… to what he expects.
What he deserves.
“I’m waiting, Omega,” Paxton says, still soothing but with an edge of firmness.
“I’m not a good omega,” I whisper, the words being pulled out of me without permission.
Paxton’s grip on my hands tightens, and his gaze darkens almost as much as his scent does.
Damn, is it getting hot in here?
“Why do you think you’re not a good omega?”
I freeze, my entire body stilling, even my brain and those horrible unrelenting thoughts.
Everything just comes to a stop.
Why ?
Is he really asking why ?
My lips part, and yet, no words come out. I don’t have a single thing to say.
Why am I a bad omega?
Does he… can’t he see?
Doesn’t he understand?
“You feel this way for a reason, Emmeline,” he says gently. “Can you talk me through it?”
I shake my head.
“Then, just listen. You are everything an omega is supposed to be,” he tells me, the words slow, deliberate, and impossible to misinterpret. “You are kind. You are generous. You are smart. And you are ours.”
A fresh wave of emotion threatens to drown me. My tummy flutters, and I wish he wasn’t holding my hands so I could hold onto my tummy.
So I could feel my baby.
Fuck, I can’t wait until I can feel my baby move.
“Do you understand me?”
I nod, tears dripping down my cheeks.
“I don’t feel like I am, though.”
The confession is barely more than a whisper, but I know he hears it.
Paxton exhales, tilting his head slightly before shifting forward, pressing his forehead to mine. “After the day we’ve had, after the shit we’ve put you through, I can understand that feeling. However, it doesn’t make our connection any less true, little treasure.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the warmth from settling deep in my bones.
His pretty words and promises don’t touch me, not properly.
But to my omega? To the weak, pliable consciousness inside of me who just wants to be loved by an alpha?
She’s hooked.
Captured under his spell like he’s a siren offering her the world.
Fuck.
“You deserve this,” he continues, his breath warm against my skin. “This nest. This pack. This life.”
He barely knows me. How can he make these huge decorations when he doesn’t even know me?
Doesn’t even understand the kind of person I am.
My goals. My needs. My wants.
Paxton leans back just enough to meet my gaze. “You are enough, Emmeline. You always have been. I don’t know who in your life has ever allowed you to believe otherwise, but, trust me, for the rest of our lives, I’ll be right here to remind you of it.”
A sob bubbles up before I can stop it, and my omega whines and whimpers. Paxton doesn’t resist in pulling me close to his chest, the vibrations trying their best to soothe me.
I don’t believe him. I truly don’t believe him.
But my omega does.
She wants him—she wants an alpha, her pack, her scent matches.
She wants it all.
But, right now, I’m too tired to fight her—to fight him.
So, I just let myself breathe in his cinnamon and vanilla scent and do my best to calm down.
To pretend I’m okay.
That I can do this.
Paxton rubs my back gently, never once rushing me, never once forcing me to speak or do anything.
And it’s only when I finally calm down that he pulls away.
His scent has calmed, and he’s back to being indulgent and steady.
Fuck, I could kiss this man.
He just… gets it. Gets me.
“Finish what you started, little treasure,” he commands, and I nod without thinking.
My omega obeying without a second thought.
Traitor.
I rearrange the blankets, knowing now that I need him closer, need to stop any kind of barrier between us. I smooth my palm over the blankets, rearrange the curtains that surround the nest, and do my best to iron out the soft ridges in the fabric so that it is perfect.
The only thing that would improve my nest is them . My alphas.
If I had their clothes. Their scent.
If I could cuddle in their blankets and their pillows.
But even my omega knows that, right now, that’s not what I need—what our alpha needs.
This is about him.
He needs me. He needs clean and fresh.
He needs a blank slate.
“It’s done.”
I stand back, proudly taking in my design. The nest is built, perfect in a way I didn’t expect, and warmth curls around me even before I step inside.
My fingers twitch at my sides. My body begs me to sink into it, to curl up and let it become mine. But I can’t do it alone.
I don’t want to.
Not this time.
I glance at Paxton, hovering just outside the nest. He meets my gaze without hesitation, like he already knew this moment was coming, and the smile he gives me is truly blinding.
Beautiful, full of dimples, and joy.
“Come,” he demands, taking charge, acting as my alpha should.
As I need him to.
He moves forward, steps inside slowly and carefully, before helping me inside. He doesn’t break anything. He doesn’t alter it.
He just pauses, kneeling to the side of me as I burrow under the warmth of the blankets, into the safety of our nest.
I should be nervous. I should be second-guessing myself or letting my brain twist and turn and break into pieces.
But instead, I’m just… content.
“May I lie with you, Omega?” he asks.
I purr, the mere suggestion eliciting such comfort. I nod, and he smiles once more, getting under the covers with me. His warmth presses against my side, and I awkwardly drag my body closer until we’re touching everywhere we can.
We stay like this for so long, the silence stretching between us, filled with something I can’t name.
Something I won’t name—the four letter word kind of terrifying at this stage.
But the longer we sit together, the more my mind starts to whir, and my panic builds. I can’t help but think back to her . To the mysterious omega I’ve created in my brain, to the one I could never match up to.
The woman who Paxton loves.
Loved?
I don’t know. She’s not even real. For all I know, this is all a figment of my anxious mind.
“Have you ever had an omega before?” I blurt out the question, unable to hold in my curiosity. The second they’re out, my pulse stutters.
I shouldn’t have asked.
He exhales, long and slow, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, his fingers trace an absent pattern over my thigh, soft, comforting, steady. Too steady.
The room feels different now—like the air has thickened, like something unseen is pressing down on us.
I’m still curled in his warmth, but, suddenly, I feel cold.
Paxton shifts, just slightly, and my breath catches. I don’t know what I’m waiting for—what I’m dreading.
The hesitation in his body, the unease in his scent. It’s not good.
“For a time,” he says, and his voice is heavy. Quiet. Troubled.
Oh, no. This isn’t… it’s not a good story, is it? They didn’t part ways on good terms, or… fuck .
Did she die?
Did… did she die?
My heart clenches. He doesn’t expand. He doesn’t say anything else. Just cryptic, measured, and distinct.
Fuck.
“What happened?” I whisper, watching as the tension pulls at his jaw and the way his throat bobs with his gulp.
Fuck.
His lips press into a thin line, his scent souring. I hold in my frown, not liking the way that I’ve upset him, and he’s dirtying our nest because of it.
His upset scent will soak into the fabrics, the reminder of the time I pushed him into this mood there for everyone to know.
They’ll realise I’m a bad omega.
A bad mate.
I want to cry for his pain, for his anger at the world. I can feel it simmering away, burning and moulding against him. He’s not over this, any of it.
And here I am, selfishly prodding and demanding. But before I can recant my words, to apologise and smooth it over, he speaks.
“Lacey happened,” he hisses, the words bitter and dangerous.
And, just like that, the warmth of the nest feels a little less safe—a little less comfortable.
“You sound angry.” I nudge his hand with my head, and he takes the hint, moving it to my hair. Gentle scratches on my scalp have my omega purring, my entire body softening against his.
“It’s not a good story.” His voice is quiet, uneven.
I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “I want to know.”
I need to know, to understand their history.
He exhales, and it’s clear that he’s not ready to dive into this with me. Not ready to open up and share his past.
But my mind is racing with what-ifs. The woman in my mind, she’s flawless—graceful, beautiful, the kind of omega I could never be.
“This here, this would’ve sent her into a rage,” he says, the venom in his tone startling me from the relaxed state he was putting me into.
I still as my body seems to supercharge with electric currents. My nerves are lit up, and every breath feels far too hypersensitive.
“At the time, we thought she was perfect, that we were the problems. When I couldn’t soothe her omega, I thought I was a bad alpha. When Uri scared her, he’d berate himself and punish himself. When Oscar got lost in hyper-focus, and she was lacking attention, she’d—well, let’s not go there.”
“No, please do,” I whisper.
Paxton’s eyes harden, and when he brushes my hair out of my eyes, I’m shocked by his tenderness towards me.
“She wasn’t a nice girl, Emmeline.” His voice is flat, too controlled, too measured.
My throat tightens. I don’t know what answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
Paxton drags a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping the strands tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He looks away from me, heaving a breath.
“She wasn’t a typical omega,” he continues. “Where omegas are built to comfort, to soothe, to love… she was warped in a way that made those emotions impossible to have.”
The unease in my chest deepens.
“She was ill?”
He scoffs, but there’s no humour in it. “I wish that were the case.” He clenches his jaw, his grip on my hand tightening. “If she’d been sick—if she hadn’t been fully aware of what she was doing… we could’ve helped her, supported her. It would be easier to forgive.”
He exhales sharply, and I shudder. “No, Lacey wasn’t sick, she wasn’t mentally ill or struggling. She was just… cruel.”
Something cold trickles down my spine at the same time that Paxton leans forward to wipe a tear from my cheek.
“I don’t want to hurt you by discussing her, little treasure. Her poison doesn’t ever need to taint you—to taint us .”
“But she hurt you.” I purse my lips.
This woman, this omega, she’s going to plague my thoughts. No matter what he’s shared here, I’ll compare myself to this imaginary woman, think of all the ways she was better.
Of all the ways I’m worse than someone he calls poison .
“I think… I think I need to know.” I shiver, and he brushes a soft kiss to the back of my hand. “Is that okay?”
Please, please, please.
I know it’s probably not healthy. That I’m probably fucked up in the head.
Definitely.
“It’s more than okay. You deserve to know my history, and Lacey… well, she’s the biggest problem that ever could’ve existed.”
“She really hurt you all,” I say again, even though it feels like such an understatement.
Paxton laughs, but it’s humourless. “Unfortunately so. We were blind, Emmeline, so fucking blind. We spent years letting her twist our insecurities, pitting us against each other.
“She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to break us, and we all fell for it. Fell for her lies, her manipulations.”
I don’t realise how tightly I’m gripping his arm until his scent shifts, soothing me the way only an alpha can.
I force my fingers to loosen and let him cuddle me in closer. I can’t let go.
I won’t.
“I don’t know who had it worse.” He shakes his head. “We were all fools, captive to her lies.”
My stomach twists. There’s something heavy in my chest, something raw and aching.
I don’t want to ask.
I don’t want to know.
But the pain in his voice, the weight of his silence—it claws at me.
“How did she do it?”
Paxton’s fingers tighten around mine before he smooths them over his skin, grounding himself.
“She started small,” he murmurs. “Like all abusers do.”
That word. Abuser. It seems to smack me in the face, and it finally wakes my brain up.
This… this is his trauma. This is something I shouldn’t be prodding at. Shouldn’t be forcing him to talk about.
I press my face into his chest, shaking my head. “You don’t need to tell me.”
“I want you to understand. It might help. Help you understand us all a little more.”
He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. His next words come slow, reluctant.
“I won’t share about Sterling or Uri.” He hesitates, and something flickers in his expression—something dark. Something protective.
“That’s their story to tell,” he murmurs. “If and when they’re ready.”
I shiver, biting the inside of my cheek. Uri.
But the expected wave of pain doesn’t crash into me. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much.
He left, but, right now, that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened.
It’s not the most painful or scary.
In fact, if it’s at all related to this woman, maybe… maybe I could understand it.
“But I want to share, and Oscar, well, if her name is ever mentioned around him, you’ll understand. He doesn’t want anything to do with her, won’t even acknowledge she existed. I don’t blame him, not with how she treated him.”
“He won’t mind you telling me?” I ask softly. He shakes his head.
“She was cruel to Oscar. She knew exactly how to get to him,” he says flatly. “Made him feel like an afterthought. Like he was useless. She’d ‘forget’ he was even in the room, talk over him, dismiss everything he said.
“If he tried to call her out, she’d laugh and say he was overreacting, that she wasn’t ‘doing it on purpose.’ If he pushed or we did, it would be worse. She’d melt down, and we’d push it to the side to reassure her.”
I swallow hard, a sick feeling twisting in my gut. Poor Oscar.
Poor, poor Oscar.
“Oscar, for all his brilliance, is… easy to overlook when he gets focused on something. She turned that into a weapon. She’d cite his hyper focus for her reason for not wanting him around. She would turn it all around on him.
“She made him think he was a burden. That none of us needed him. That we’d be better off without him.”
Paxton lets out a bitter laugh. “And the worst part? We didn’t even notice what she was doing to him. Not until it was too late.”
I suck in a breath, my heart clenching tightly. He gently smooths out my hair, giving me a sad look.
“You’re allowed to hate her. You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to feel for him, for us,” he says gently. “And if you want me to stop, tell me.”
“I think I need to understand.”
He nods. “I thought as much.
“And you?” My voice shakes.
Paxton hesitates, his fingers stilling against my skin.
“She made me believe I was failing them,” he finally says. “Every single day.”
I don’t move.
“She played the perfect omega in public. She smiled, cooed, acted like she was devoted to me, but behind closed doors?”
His lips press into a thin line. “She was never satisfied. Never happy. If I wasn’t paying attention to her, I was neglecting her. If I was, I was smothering her.
“If I spent time with the others, I was abandoning her. If I tried to keep us all together, I was controlling her.”
His voice turns sharp.
“She told me I was a bad alpha. That I was never enough for her. And when she finally left, when she showed her true colours…” He laughs, but it’s humourless. “I believed her. I thought she was right. That I had failed them. That everything was my fault.”
The ache in my chest is unbearable. The pain, the fear, the hatred… it all burns.
“I hate her,” I whisper, and the words don’t even feel strong enough.
Paxton finally looks at me, his brown eyes heavy with something deep, something raw.
“We did, too,” he says softly. “But we let her go. She doesn’t own us anymore, Emmeline. She never will again.”
And I know he means it.
But this is a fresh wound for me, a fresh scar, a fresh memory to haunt me.
I don’t know what damage she did to Uri or Sterling, but, by the sounds of it, it’s going to be a lot.
I swallow hard. My body shakes. My whine is uncontrollable, and, this time, it’s from me .
There’s no shame in it.
No embarrassment.
Because my pain, my fear, it’s all for him—for my alpha.
For my mate.
“What happened to her?”
A slow, cruel smile pulls at the corner of Paxton’s lips. “She’s rotting in a cell where she belongs. She’ll see life in that place, don’t you worry.”
A shudder rolls down my spine, but I don’t know if it’s fear or relief.
She’s locked up. For life.
But life isn’t really life, is it?
This woman, this omega who hurt them, could come back into our lives.
She could come for them.
What would she do to them when she found out they’ve moved on?
That I’m pregnant?
Oh, fuck.
My breathing comes out in heavy, shallow pants. My heart constricts.
“She could come back,” I say frantically. “She could… she could hurt you all again. She could?—”
“No,” Paxton says firmly. He shifts forward, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “She’s gone, Emmeline. She’s never coming back. It’s done.”
“Done,” I repeat softly.
“Done,” he echoes, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “You’re safe. We’re safe. Everyone is safe.”
I close my eyes, exhaling against the warmth of his skin as my heart rate begins to slow.
We’re safe.
Everyone is safe.
“What’s your favourite food?” Paxton asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“What?” I laugh, shocked, I think.
He grins down at me, waggling his brows. “We’ve had a heavy day and an extremely heavy talk. I thought we could talk about something else. Focus on lighter topics. Easy topics.”
“And you decided asking an omega— a pregnant omega— what her favourite food was is the easy topic?” I ask, giggling into my hand.
He smirks. “Prove me wrong, baby.”
I laugh again, and, just like that, the tension in my chest dissipates, my body relaxes, and I lose the anxiety.
Well, most of it.
I just relax with him.
He’s made it that easy.
“Anything with cheese is automatically an eight,” I say with a smile. “I’d kill for chocolate. Cake. Sweets. Okay, I have a terrible sweet tooth. Give me a cheesecake, and I’d genuinely do anything for you.”
“I was thinking more like ‘pizza’ or ‘ramen’,” he teases, tickling my side. “But I’m glad to know dessert is on your list.”
“What about you?” I ask.
He smirks. “Give me a multipack of crisps, and I’m golden. Or salted popcorn. Either or.”
“Ew. Salted?” I shake my head. “Not a chance. I’m a sweet girl, all of the way.”
“None of us eat sweet, actually, so at least you won’t have grubby hands trying to fight you for your popcorn.”
He asks more questions, and I find myself drifting off almost. In that weird lucid half-awake, half-asleep state where it would be so easy to flutter into dreamland, but I’m enjoying where I’m at far too much to let go.
“What’s your favourite colour?” I murmur, half-asleep as I cuddle with my alpha.
The soothing patterns he’s tracing into my skin are sending me to sleep.
“Gold,” he murmurs, pressing another gentle kiss to my neck. He’s so touchy, and I love it—I crave it. “What’s your favourite flower?”
“Dahlias.” I yawn, turning my head from him to get a bit more comfortable. I’m warm, covered in soft blankets, and I truly feel so at home.
So safe.
“Dahlias are a lovely flower. They symbolise elegance, which you have in spades.” He kisses my neck. “Beauty, which is obvious to even a blind man. Devotion and… love.”
I shudder. “That’s… wow.”
The air thickens once more, a sweet aroma clinging to the usual spiciness of my alpha’s scent. Not just vanilla, but something… more .
I don’t want to let myself be fooled.
Even after his promises, after all his honesty and the truth he’s shared… I don’t think I’m ready to believe.
To hope.
He makes it sound so simple. Like I was always meant to be here in this nest, in his arms.
But my panic doesn’t just disappear because someone tells you it should. And believing in forever—that would mean believing I’m worthy enough to be loved.