20. Emmeline
20
Emmeline
“ I
s anyone else nervous?” I ask, clutching at Oscar’s hand as I take in the giant building in front of us. It’s quite busy, which makes sense since we’re at a hospital, but it doesn’t help my nerves.
My scent sours instantly, a sharp tang of distress curling in the air. The bitter one makes my nose wrinkle, and I instinctively shrink in on myself.
My breathing quickens, a whimper curling in my throat before I can stop it. Oscar squeezes my hand before I can fully retreat, his thumb stroking over the scent gland on my wrist in a slow, grounding motion.
I have to bite back the plea for Sterling to drive us back home.
Oscar just smiles down at me, his eyes distant but his expression warm. He shakes his head. “No. I’m used to this.”
Another spike of curiosity builds, but I don’t press him for answers. Sure, I want to understand what exactly he’s used to or how he’s got this experience.
If he wasn’t hiding his scent, I can imagine that the air would be thick with both of our anxiety. Instead, there’s just a blank space where his emotions should be, and that absence unsettles me more than anything else.
In front of me, Paxton exhales a deep and steadying sound, and I’m grateful that his cinnamon-rich scent flares just enough to help subdue the sharpness of my anxiety.
Sterling watches me from the driver’s seat, his sharp hazel eyes assessing me. He holds the gear stick firmly as if, in an instant, he’ll pull away, taking us from here.
“You’ll be fine, little storm, both of you will be,” Sterling says with a reassuring smile. “If you need me, I can stay.”
I do need him. I do want him to stay.
But I shake my head.
“No, it’s okay.” I give him a reassuring smile that seems to fool him.
Even if it was a lie.
“We’ll give you a call once we’re done,” Paxton says before climbing out of the car.
I hold tighter onto Oscar’s hand, and the alpha doesn’t seem to mind as he rubs the back of mine with his thumb, growling low and soothingly.
Paxton opens my door, and it’s Oscar who unclips my belt. I don’t seem to be able to move. To think or function.
My heart is heavy, my thoughts racing, but they’re too fast to grab onto, to fully understand or hear.
“Come on, little treasure,” Paxton murmurs, offering me his hand.
I take it, and the moment my feet hit the pavement, my pulse spikes—too fast, too loud.
I can’t breathe.
I tighten my grip on both Oscar and Paxton, needing both of them to guide me through this.
The warmth of their hands, the steady presence of their scents wrapping around me, should be reassuring.
But my brain won’t stop screaming that something bad is going to happen. That I’ve hurt my baby somehow.
Then how will I cope?
What if something is wrong?
What if the doctor says I’m too weak? That I’m not doing enough?
What if I’ve already ruined everything?
Paxton squeezes my hand, rubbing soothing circles over my palm, his warmth pressing against my side.
Paxton holds one hand, and the second Oscar moves close, I latch onto his, too, pressing into his warmth like I can physically anchor myself to them.
The contact isn’t enough—I want more.
I need more .
My skin prickles with the deep-seated craving for their touch. The weak, pathetic part of me that just needs them, is so desperate for reassurance and for support.
I feel stupid for how quickly I’m relying on them, for how low my guards seem to be where these men are concerned.
I’m pathetic.
But, right now, I can’t help myself. A soft keening sound builds in my throat before I can smother it, and Pax reacts instantly.
He tugs me closer until my shoulder is pressed against his chest, and he nuzzles his head into my hair. I wish there wasn’t such a height difference.
“We’ve got you, little treasure,” he murmurs, his scent wrapping around me as he rubs his wrist against mine.
Oscar’s fingers tighten against mine as the three of us head towards the building. There’s no hesitation from either of them.
“We’re going to floor six,” Oscar says as we step through the glass doors.
His tone is too casual, like this is normal for him, like the weight of the world isn’t hanging over him.
I blink, trying to focus. But I focus on the wrong things. Like the fact that Paxton’s grip is too loose, his scent too calm and relaxed.
Neither of them seem to see the storm cloud raging overhead or feel a tight pressure crushing their windpipes.
They just feel… normal . Like this is all routine.
As we wait for the elevator, I clutch their hands tighter, my heart hammering. Every flutter of my tummy causes a wave of panic to shoot through me, each wave more intense than the last.
I take in the sterile, clinical atmosphere of the lobby, hating the overwhelming blend of unfamiliar scents pressing in on me. The sharp tang of antiseptic, the murkiness of too many emotions blending together. Well, except my own, that is.
Stress. Anxiety. Fear.
I can smell the notes of those in my scent as clear as day.
It’s suffocating.
My stomach churns, and I know this nausea isn’t something the presence of my alphas can fix.
My scent twists, and I hate how obvious my weakness is.
People seem to walk so quickly here. Their fast, rapid conversations are barely able to be discerned.
Paxton’s scent spikes without hesitation to calm mine, and as selfish and stupid as it is, I wish that Oscar’s wasn’t hidden. His grip tightens on my hand, and there’s a low, almost silent growl thrumming from his chest.
But it’s not the same.
The lift dings, and the moment the doors open, I want to turn around. To continue living in ignorance.
I tense, smelling battery acid and charcoal. I look to my left, spotting the alpha in the wheelchair with an IV attached being pushed out by his omega.
Fuck.
This is a place for sick people. And I’m… what? One of them?
You don’t come to a hospital and get good news, right? That defeats the point of them.
Paxton and Oscar step in to the mostly empty lift, leaving me no choice but to follow unless I want to let go of their hands.
Another prickle of unease builds in my chest, but I push it down, filing it away for later.
The space is small, sterile, the scent of metal and cleaning products lingering in the air. It feels like a trap—like a death sentence, even.
Fuck, was I always this dramatic or is this just the pregnancy?
“Do you think we’ll be able to see the baby today?” Paxton asks.
My gut clenches. My throat bobbing uselessly.
Oscar shakes his head. “They’ll likely do an internal, but there’s not much to see. Baby is too small.”
“Oh, you’re pregnant?” an omega in the lift asks eagerly. He’s taller than I am but still a little shorter than both Paxton and Oscar. With coppery curls and dimples, he’s quite pretty.
His scent is extremely sweet, sickly, even—honey and something I can’t place.
He’s beautiful. Striking.
And very, very intimidating.
“Felix,” Paxton says, nodding his head. “How are you doing?”
“Pax!” the omega cheers, grinning at my alpha. I tense as Paxton lets go of my hand to embrace his friend.
The two men share a weird man-hug thing, both clapping each other on the back, whilst I stand there gaping at the act.
Oscar doesn’t move, doesn’t react, even, so I lean closer into him, taking more of his warmth and stability.
“Congrats to you all,” Felix says, nodding at Oscar. He seems to know them well enough not to approach and try to hug my other alpha.
Oscar doesn’t react, but Felix doesn’t seem offended.
“Thanks. What are you doing here?” Paxton asks, raising a brow. “Everything okay?”
Felix laughs and gives a firm nod. “Yes, of course. Just volunteering some time whilst I’m free.”
“Where’s your security?” Paxton’s voice darkens, and the lift floods with his protective brand of dominance.
My whine can’t be held back, and Oscar immediately reacts, blocking me from view, tugging me so that I’m only looking at him.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, gently cupping my cheek. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine, I promise.” I blush, aware that there’s other people here, able to hear me.
That they’ll know I’m an omega.
That I’m weak and can’t control myself.
They’ll see my powerful alphas and immediately judge me and my worth at their sides.
I hang my head as Oscar breathes out a tense exhale and let him hug me to his chest.
“It’s my fault,” Paxton says, rubbing my back.
“It’s mine,” Felix offers, his voice a little shaky and weak. “I’m really sorry for upsetting your alpha, little omega.”
“Little?” Paxton and I echo at the same time.
I pull away, giving the other omega a funny look. “I’m not little .”
He laughs, and there’s something about the way his scent lightens that I can’t help reacting to.
He’s nice. Gentle.
Safe.
“Why do you need security?” I ask softly, leaning back against Oscar’s chest.
My alpha wraps his arm around my waist and lowers his head to my neck but, otherwise, doesn’t engage in the conversation.
“Felix is a model,” Paxton says, and my eyes widen. “We’ve worked on a few campaigns with him. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise him.”
I shrug. “I don’t spend any time with the models.”
“What a shame that is,” Felix teases. “You work at Opus?”
I freeze, and the familiar feeling of shame bubbles up inside, churning my stomach and shattering my heart. Now a colleague— kind of —knows that I’m fucking my bosses.
That I’m pregnant with their child.
Fuck.
What am I doing? What kind of career will I have? I’m back to work on Monday and I’m, what… courting the CEO, dating the CSO, and, well, doing something with the CFO?
What will everyone think?
Paxton shifts closer, his scent flaring, cinnamon and spice filling the air between us.
It should be soothing.
It almost is.
But behind me, Oscar is too still. I can feel it—the tension in his body, the way his jaw is locked. He’s holding something in, and I don’t think it’s concern over Felix’s presence.
My teeth chatter, despite not being cold, and I’m grateful when the doors open on floor five, and Felix gets off. He wishes us another round of congratulations as the doors close.
We’re the only ones still in the lift, thankfully, but it doesn’t seem to have soothed my alpha any more than it has me.
I force myself to look at him, my fingers curling in his.
“Oscar?”
His grey eyes flick towards me, but it’s like he’s not really looking at me. His brain is miles away, and I don’t know what he’s focused on, what numbers he’s crunching or what kind of situation has him plagued.
“What?” His voice is flat, controlled.
“You seem… tense.”
His left eye twitches, his grip on my waist tightening.
“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s clearly a lie. His words were too sharp and fast.
Paxton shifts slightly, his gaze flicking between us. I don’t believe Oscar for a second. I just don’t think I have the energy to push.
The doors ding open, and the conversation dies before I can even start it.
Because, suddenly, there’s no time to worry about Oscar’s tension when we’re finally here.
Oscar leads us along the corridors, not hesitating when there’s multiple options we could take.
There’s no sign he seems to be following, he just… knows.
It’s eerie, and I get the feeling it’s more than just because he’s an owner here. Did he research exactly where to go when booking the appointment?
Or… has he been to this department before? With his sister?
With someone else?
“Just through here,” Oscar mutters, pressing the buzzer on the locked set of doors in front of us.
The sterile scent of disinfectant clashes with a metallic tang—blood?
It’s too much, and bile rises in my throat. I cannot be sick now.
I won’t.
My fingers tighten around Oscar’s as I scan the hall, my heart pounding painfully in my chest.
The words he says to whoever is on the other side of the buzzer are muffled, and I can’t focus hard enough to hear.
I don’t want to.
As we wander down the corridor to the waiting room, I’m amazed by how many pregnant women are here.
I don’t know why Oscar’s familiarity with this place makes me anxious—the fact that he knows exactly where to go, exactly which door to push through, exactly who to nod to in greeting should be reassuring, right?
But it feels like he’s done this before.
Sure, he’s tense beside me, his jaw ticking every few seconds, but he doesn’t let go of me.
I focus on that.
On the weight of his hand wrapped around mine, on the solid warmth of Paxton just ahead.
On the fact that I’m not alone.
“Mr Sinclair, Mr Remington.” The receptionist greets them both with a polite smile, but when her gaze lands on me, her nostrils flare, and her eyes widen slightly.
I resist the urge to shrink back.
What’s going on? Why is she looking at me in such… shock? Such disgust?
I cringe in on myself, my heart hammering against my rib cage.
“Miss Whitmore,” she continues, the surprise still evident in her voice, though she quickly smooths it over with professionalism. “The doctor is expecting you. Right this way.”
Expecting me.
Of course, we wouldn’t have to wait. I almost feel sorry for the other women in the waiting room, who are likely just as uneasy about their own pregnancies.
I nod mutely, letting her guide the three of us down the hall.
We’re led into a private suite—not an exam room, not a waiting area, but something entirely different.
Luxurious, even.
A large leather couch sits against the wall, and there’s a fully stocked refreshment station in the corner. Apple juice, orange juice, even sparkling water.
It’s insane. I’ve never had to worry about money, and I’ve always had the finest things.
But this kind of treatment?
I could never have imagined.
The lighting is soft and warm, nothing like the harsh fluorescents outside. Like it’s specially tailored to an omega’s needs.
This isn’t a regular appointment. This isn’t a regular patient room.
This is… well, for the rich and privileged.
How the fuck does that now include me?
A knot of tension coils in my gut. Before I can question my alphas, a soft knock sounds at the door, and a woman steps inside, her scent immediately calming the panic.
Omega. Just like me.
Pomegranate. Freesia.
Soft, nice, gentle.
She’s a little older, maybe in her late twenties, with light brown, gentle eyes and golden-streaked curls pulled into a low bun.
“Good afternoon,” she greets, smiling warmly. “I’m Dr Darcie Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Whitmore.”
She doesn’t look at Paxton or Oscar. She’s focused solely on me.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Whitmore?—”
“Please, call me Emme,” I say softly. “I’m a little nervous.”
“I can see that, but trust me when I say you’re in excellent hands, okay?” she says, moving over to the chair at the computer. She grabs a pair of gloves, pulling them on without hesitating. “I want to take some history from you before we get into things.”
“I gave all her history to your assistant when booking the appointment,” Oscar cuts in, sounding far too tense for my liking. I reach for his hand, but he moves out of reach. I don’t know if he realises that he’s hurt me or if he’s too out of it to notice, but Paxton immediately fills in.
Sitting right next to me, he takes my hand, squeezing gently. He rubs his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand as he presses the warmth of his body against my side the best he can.
“I understand how thorough you are, Oscar, but we’ve had this conversation many times,” Dr Chapman says quite sternly. “Emmeline is not your sister, and she has a voice I want to hear.”
Oscar’s entire body stiffens, and Paxton tenses by my side. I watch as Oscar’s eyes darken, and I imagine if he weren’t doused in scent-neutraliser, his scent would be bitter.
“What history?” I ask, glossing over the conversation, trying to give Oscar the out he so clearly craves.
“Are your heats regular?” Dr Chapman asks, immediately switching off the stern look and once more being gentle and kind to me.
I nod and answer the rapid-fire questions she asks. Do I use birth control regularly or just during my heat? Just during heats.
Have I ever had a miscarriage? No.
What pregnancy symptoms have I been having? Plenty.
“Okay, that’s enough for now,” she says smoothly. “I want you to undress from the waist down and get yourself comfortable on the examination chair in the next room.”
Dr Chapman gestures to a door I hadn’t even paid attention to.
“If the date of your last period is correct, you should be around six weeks along, and we should be able to get a clear look at your little one today,” she says with a smile.
Six weeks?
“Six weeks?” Paxton’s brows draw together, the pressure on my hand tightening. “But they only—” He pauses, looking at me for confirmation. “It was only two weeks ago, right?”
I nod rapidly, my stomach flipping. How have we gained an additional month to our little baby’s life? To her incubation time?
“Conception starts from the first day of Emme’s last period—and for most omegas, that’s a full month before their heat begins,” Oscar says, looking at Paxton like he’s stupid. “For Emme, I’m calculating she’s closer to seven weeks.”
“So it’s not… just two weeks old?” I ask, still processing. I don’t care if Oscar thinks I’m stupid. I’m fucking terrified.
Has my body really been… preparing for our baby all this time without me even knowing? Without me realising?
“How about we leave the calculations to me today, Oscar,” Dr Chapman says, and there’s a firm warning in her tone.
I flush, not having known this at all. I’m not two weeks pregnant but nearly two months ?
This makes no sense. Has an egg just sat there waiting to be fertilised for an entire month? Is that how pregnancy works? How my body functions?
“It’s confusing, I know, Emmeline, but Oscar’s not wrong,” Dr Chapman says with a soft nod. “We’ll have a clearer idea of gestation once we’ve scanned you.”
Two months.
It’s insane.
“I’ll give you a knock before I come back in,” she says gently. The door clicks softly shut behind Dr Chapman, leaving the room in a weighted silence.
Six weeks.
Maybe seven.
I don’t know why that number feels so massive when, logically, I should have expected it. I just assumed the baby was only two weeks along—only just beginning.
But now? It’s real.
A heartbeat could be there. Something to prove that this isn’t just some idea, some thing happening to me.
I could see a baby.
My baby.
Paxton’s warm grip tightens around my hand, his deep brown eyes searching my face. “Are you okay, little treasure?”
I nod, but my throat is too tight to form words.
Oscar hasn’t moved from where he stands, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. His scent is still neutralised, but I know it’s a mask—a thin shield barely holding back whatever’s simmering beneath the surface.
He’s tense. On edge.
I see it in the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his breath is just a little too controlled.
My alpha wants to reach for me. I can feel it.
But he doesn’t.
And I hate how much that hurts.
Instead, his stormy eyes flick to Paxton. “You’ll help her get ready?”
A spike of unease ripples through me. My throat tightens, my scent gland pulsing.
He’s not staying?
Is it the thought of my undressing? Is he trying to give me privacy?
Doesn’t he understand that I don’t want privacy when it means losing his support?
I don’t want distance. I don’t want absence.
I can’t have it.
“Wait, I don’t mind you staying whilst I get ready,” I say quickly, my fingers tightening around Paxton’s before I can stop myself. “You’re not?—”
Oscar exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll be right outside, Emme. I’ll be back in with the doctor.”
“But—”
His eyes meet mine, and something flashes there. It’s not rejection.
It’s something darker. Something buried deep.
Paxton stiffens beside me. “Oscar?—”
“I just need a minute,” he says shortly, his voice tight. “Just—just a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
I let him go.
I give him the space he’s clearly asking for.
It doesn’t matter whether I keen at the distance, at the lack of touch, at the absence of his presence. It doesn’t matter if I’ve got to smother every whine and whimper to protect his feelings.
He needs this.
Oscar turns and strides out of the room, the door shutting with a quiet finality. The silence he leaves behind is thick.
Unsettling.
Once again, I’ve chased one of my alphas away. It hurts. It really fucking hurts.
Paxton shifts closer, pressing a steady hand to my back. “Let him breathe, little treasure. He’s just feeling a little out of control, and he doesn’t want to burden you with it, okay? Let’s head next door, and we can get you ready.”
I exhale slowly, forcing the tension in my shoulders to ease. “I just don’t understand why he’s acting like this. I thought… I know he’s nervous, but isn’t this what he wanted? To see the baby? To know?”
Paxton’s fingers skim a slow, soothing path along my spine. “Because he’s terrified of losing something he didn’t think he’d ever get to have.”
I swallow hard. And then I nod because what else can I do?
I don’t want to beg for Oscar’s secrets. I can’t force him to watch me take my panties off. I can’t force any of this.
Paxton doesn’t rush me, doesn’t force me to move. He just waits, his warmth steady, his presence a calm anchor in the storm brewing inside me.
Finally, I sigh and stand.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do this.”
The exam chair is cold beneath me, the paper crinkling under my thighs as I shift and move around to try and get comfortable. My ankles are held up by the stirrups, and the darkness of the room is a little overwhelming.
I think with my current nerves, I’d rather be in the harsh brightness of the waiting room.
Paxton sits beside me, his hand firm over mine, his chest vibrating with his low growls. But it does very little to change my mood, to fix my anxiety. The air is too thick, my thighs trembling.
The door opens, and Dr Chapman steps back inside, her expression soft, reassuring.
“Ready?”
No.
Not at all.
“Sorry, I was just outside,” Oscar says, breathing heavy as he stands in the doorway. Relief fills me, and I relax ever so slightly. “Have I missed anything?”
Paxton shakes his head, and Oscar closes the door, moving to my side. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t get too close, instead stands at the perfect angle to see the ultrasound screen.
Dr Chapman snaps on a fresh pair of gloves.
“This will be an internal ultrasound, given how early you are,” she explains. “It won’t take long, and I’ll talk you through everything as we go. Okay?”
I nod again, even as my pulse kicks up, and my vagina seems to flutter in anticipation. I stare in horror at the giant white wand that she picks up and covers with some kind of gel.
I’ve never had an internal done before, and, fuck me, I never will again if this is the length I have to take.
Paxton rubs slow, careful circles over my knuckles, his voice low, gentle. “We’re right here, Emmeline.”
I take a shaky breath.
Right. I’m not alone.
Dr Chapman starts the process, and, for a brief second, it’s uncomfortable but not painful, and then nothing. It’s easy to feel that she’s not inserted the entire probe inside me, just the tip, and I relax even further.
The screen beside her flickers to life, black and white swirls moving too fast for me to truly notice anything.
I hold my breath. The room is silent.
All four of us are captivated by her movements on the screen. She’s pressing in some places, moving around and adjusting her stick, but I still don’t see anything recognisable.
Anything that looks like my baby.
Dr. Chapman’s eyes narrow slightly at the screen, her expression unreadable.
My stomach plummets. Something’s wrong.
I know it. I can feel it in the way the seconds drag on, and she doesn’t speak.
The way Paxton’s grip on my hand tightens.
My chest clenches. I can’t breathe.
I grip Paxton’s hand harder, trying to force myself to stay still, to not burst into panic.
“What—” My voice breaks. “What’s wrong? Is… is the baby okay?”
Dr Chapman blinks, then smiles at me.
And then—sound fills the room, a whooshing sound rushing to my ears seconds before a soft, rhythmic thump-thump-thump.
Fast. Steady. Strong.
My eyes widen. Oscar inhales sharply. And Paxton fucking glows.
“That,” Dr Chapman says gently, “is your baby’s heartbeat.”
The sound seems to fill the room, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.
She adjusts the screen, turning it properly, and points to the screen, and I see my child. So small. So lovely.
“This is your baby, Emme,” she says softly, but it wasn’t needed.
A strangled sob escapes me.
Oh.
Oh.
My baby. My baby. Oh, I have a baby.
Paxton lets out a small, relieved laugh, and I watch as he wipes a tear from his eyes.
He looks down at me in awe, grinning. “Our baby.”
His hand trembles just slightly before wrapping around mine. The moment feels just as monumental to him as it does me.
I’ve seen him handle crisis after crisis at work, heard his brilliance and been in awe at how quickly he can diffuse tension.
But, right now, he’s shaken. Not in fear but in wonder .
And I know exactly how he feels.
“That’s—” My voice catches, and it takes me a second before I can speak again. “That’s really them?”
Dr Chapman nods, her warm gaze meeting mine. “That’s really your baby, Emmeline.”
I don’t even notice the tears spilling down my cheeks until Paxton reaches up and brushes them away. He’s brimming with excitement, with joy and love, and I don’t even know how to process his reaction when I’m so lost in my own.
I don’t want to move. Don’t want to do anything but listen to the racing heartbeat that belongs to my child.
“That’s our baby,” Paxton whispers against my temple. “You are everything to me, little treasure, and this… this is the ultimate gift.”
I shiver, looking at the screen. At the large head and weirdly formed body. The tiny arm stumps where our baby is just starting to grow and develop.
It’s real.
I press a shaky hand over my stomach, my heart aching with something so unfamiliar. I whine, and I know that more tears are dripping down my cheeks.
I can’t stop them even if I were to try. I have a baby.
A real, live baby inside me.
And… a pack. Two alphas who want to be here, who care, who want to support me through this pregnancy.
Paxton leans closer, forehead brushing mine. I feel his smile before I see it.
“You’re doing amazing, little treasure,” he murmurs.
And for the first time since stepping into this hospital, I believe him.