3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Adrian
I snatch a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, needing something to occupy my hands in this overcrowded space. The new Brynwald Tower's foyer is a testament to excess, with soaring marble columns stretching forty feet toward a domed ceiling painted with classical scenes. Crystal chandeliers, each worth more than most people make in a year, cast prismatic light across the gathered elite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer panoramic views of the city skyline far below. Money whispers in every detail, from the hand-carved obsidian baseboards to the subtle scent-neutralizing systems built into the ventilation.
“Two more hours,” I murmur to Cole, his discomfort rippling through our pack bond. He's standing too stiff, his jaw clenched as a claimed omega walks past, her scent a cloying mix of sweetness and her alpha's marking. He ducks his head, a long wisp of his dark hair obscuring half his face with the movement. The leather of his expensive shoes creaks as he shifts his weight. He’s clearly fighting the instinct to retreat. “If we didn't need Hardwick's support for the Genesis Project...”
“We wouldn't be here at all,” he finishes, his fingers brushing the bond mark on his neck.
Three silver circle scars are embedded into his skin, the same marking on my neck and our pack-mate Zane’s, too. One for each of us.
Cole’s gesture is subconscious, seeking comfort through our connection. His struggle is loud through our bond, the way he both yearns for and fears the idea of an omega. His past haunts him still, though he never speaks of it.
Zane nudges my shoulder, his sky-blue eyes glinting with forced humor beneath the chandeliers' light. “Good thing we have our charming pack leader to smooth things over. No one can resist those dimples.” His tone is light, but his tension bleeds through the bond. He understands as well as I do how much rides on whether I can endear myself to the Senator. Again.
“Don’t forget the sexy after-five stubble. The Senator is only a mortal female, after all,” Cole smirks.
“Fuck off,” I reply without heat, running my fingers over my cheeks and wincing at the rasp. It’s been a long day between the start, endless meetings and now this event.
My gaze drifts away from the beta woman in red who's been watching our trio all evening. She's stunning—all curves and confidence in a clinging dress that hides nothing. Exactly the type we might have shared in the past, before the weight of the world settled on our shoulders.
The pack bond thrums with shared purpose, shared worry. Cole's anxiety about being near omegas, Zane's carefully hidden fear that we’ll never find an omega who will complete us, and my own determination to see this through. We chose each other, formed our own pack years ago when we were ideal alphas finding our way in a world teetering on a fine edge. The matching marks on our necks prove a bond stronger than blood.
I catch Cole's eye, sending reassurance through our connection. If he never accepts an omega into our pack, so be it. That’s if we’d ever be lucky enough to have one. His happiness matters more than tradition, more than the growing pressure to claim one of the increasingly rare omegas. But with birth rates dropping even further—only one omega born for every fifty alphas—and with research telling us the virus that slowed the birth rates of omega down sixty years ago is on the rise, it’s more important than ever to increase funding into our research. The questions that have bothered us for years resound in my mind. Why has the Senator reduced funding, and why isn’t the government taking over that funding? Why not open research to other companies, not just ours?
“Hardwick's here,” Zane mutters, nodding toward the entrance where Senator Evelyn Hardwick sweeps in, her tailored suit a statement of power. Dr. Sylvia Mercer follows close behind her, the Senator’s well-trained shadow, her sharp eyes already scanning the crowd, cataloging potential allies and threats. “Time to work those dimples, brother.”
I drain my champagne, squaring my shoulders. Everything we've built, everything we're fighting for, depends on convincing these females to fund our research. I’m about to approach the Senator when a pack of alphas surrounding an omega brush past.
“Christ,” Cole mutters as the group passes, his distress bleeding through our bond. “She looks so young.”
I watch the young omega, surrounded by her pack of at least eight alphas, all of them easily in their fifties. She's tiny, barely reaching their shoulders, dressed in expensive silk that does nothing to hide how fragile she is. Her honey-blonde hair falls forward, concealing her face, and I’m not sure if it’s trained behavior or natural shyness.
“Haven graduates are supposed to be at least twenty-three before being claimed. That's the law the last time I looked,” Zane mutters, echoing my thoughts .
The pack moves as a well-oiled machine, the alphas creating a protective barrier around their omega, but there's something predatory in their formation that makes my instincts bristle.
The omega's hands shake as one of her alphas hands her a glass of water, choosing it from a tray of wine and other drinks. Something about that omega nags at me, an itch I can't quite scratch. I remember the omegas I knew from university before The Haven Institute was founded. Before Hardwick's protective legislation she brought in, and omega attendance was made mandatory. They were rare even then, but they walked with their heads high, laughed openly, chose their own paths. Nothing like this fragile creature surrounded by her wall of aging alphas.
“Twelve years that place has been operating, and what do we know about it? Nothing gets out except crafted media releases about omega protection and education.”
And perfectly crafted omegas.
Hardwick calls the Haven Institute her crowning achievement. It's a refuge for young omegas who are taken at sixteen, supposedly to protect them from a world that grows more desperate for them every year. The idea is also to shield alphas, who will go into a mad rut if they meet an unbonded omega. Honestly, I doubt any self-respecting alpha couldn't control himself around a small omega. It wasn’t always like this. Back when we were at university, omegas were just as free to attend as anyone else. We managed to keep ourselves in check, even when freshly presented and full of alpha pheromones, despite the world's turmoil over declining omega births.
“They keep the omegas for seven years. That’s a long time for any sort of training,” I murmur, watching the omega's careful, measured movements as her pack guides her through the crowd.
The omega facilities across the country are not like universities. There is no going home for summer breaks. No weekends back with family. There are only two days a year that families are legally permitted to visit their omega children. Christmas and the child’s birthdays .
So wrong. Over the years stricter laws have crept in. The insidious tightening went unnoticed… until it went so far it wasn’t unnoticed anymore. Sophie, Zane’s omega sister, has been protesting for omega rights for years now, and no wonder. Her rights have been systematically stripped from her. She’s old enough to have experienced the changes over the years and is lucky to have a supportive pack behind her. I make a mental note to send her more money to fund her cause.
The omega spies Mercer and her entire body turns rigid. She stops dead in her tracks, the blood draining from her face. One of her alphas—the oldest, with steel-gray hair—wraps his arm around her waist. It looks protective to casual observers, but I catch the way his fingers dig into her side.
He whispers something in her ear, and she starts to walk again, her gaze on the floor. The pack smoothly changes direction, heading for the exit. As they pass Mercer, another alpha in their group, younger, but with the same predatory grace, tips his head in acknowledgment. Mercer’s gaze flicks from the omega to Hardwick. A barely there action I’d have missed if I wasn’t watching.
“Tell me you saw that,” I murmur to my bond brothers, unable to shake the chill that something isn’t quite right.
“The way she froze?” Zane nods, a small furrow appearing between his brows.
“And the look one of her alphas gave the director,” I say.
Cole doesn't respond immediately. His distress spirals, the mess of dark emotions tangling with old grief. He's thinking about Lily again, the omega he partially bonded with at eighteen, before everything changed. Before she died in what the official reports called a “heat complication.”
“Cole,” I say softly, sending strength through our connection. “Stay with us.”
“I'm here,” he manages, but his fingers are white-knuckled around his glass.
Zane moves closer, providing a second physical anchor point for our distressed brother. “What happened with Lily wasn’t your fault.”
Cole’s eyes flash to Zane. A muscle tenses at his jaw. He throws back his whiskey and sets it on a nearby table. “It’s too hot in here and I still smell that omega. I’ll see you back home. ”
I watch Cole's retreating back until he disappears into the crowd, guilt churning in my stomach. His pain is raw and bleeding even after all these years. I should have known having him here tonight was a mistake.
“Don't,” Zane says quietly. “You can't protect him from everything, Adrian. Especially not memories.”
“He's getting worse,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “The grief, the guilt… it's eating him alive, and I don't know how to help him.”
Zane downs his drink, setting the empty glass aside. “The lab results showed it wasn't Cole's fault, but you know him. He'll carry that guilt to his grave.”
I nod, already planning to check on him when we get home. At least he can let his guard down in his own space.
“I shouldn't have made him come.” I thought having all our pack here would sway Hardwick.
Get her to facilitate, not impede, the progress of my requests through the bureaucratic process.
“Let's just do what we came here to do and get out of here,” Zane suggests, straightening his jacket. “The sooner we secure this funding, the sooner we can leave.”
“Agreed.” I square my shoulders, pushing my worry for Cole to the back of my mind. We have a job to do. “Let’s go charm the good Senator.”
Together, we move through the crowd to where Hardwick holds court, our bond humming with shared purpose… and shared concern for our absent brother.
“Adrian, Zane.” Senator Hardwick greets us with her politician's smile when we’re finally able to speak with her after the last beta couple wanders off. Her tailored suit probably costs more than most people make in a month, but it's her eyes that draw attention, constantly moving, never quite settling, scanning the crowd behind us for more important connections. Dr. Mercer stands at her shoulder, sharp and watchful as always, her presence a shadow made flesh. “Such a pleasure to see Pinnacle represented tonight. ”
“Senator. Dr. Mercer,” I respond smoothly, though the words are ash. These women hold our company's future in their hands. Without their support, our research into the Mortalis Strain will grind to a halt. The weight of that knowledge sits heavily in my gut. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Where's your third?” Hardwick's eyes narrow slightly, her nails tapping against her champagne glass.
“Cole wasn't well. He had to head home early.” I keep my voice neutral. The Senator knows as well as I do about Cole’s history.
“Ah,” Hardwick's knowing smile turns predatory. “Perhaps what your pack needs is an omega. Or maybe another omega in your case. They have such a... stabilizing effect on alpha temperaments.”
Zane tenses beside me, his anger pulsing through our bond.
“An omega is what many packs need these days, Senator, although it pains me to admit that fewer are being born each year,” I reply, brushing my shoulder against Zane’s to let him know I feel his tension. He relaxes with a long exhale.
She laughs as though I've said something terribly amusing. “Oh, Sylvia might have one or two suitable candidates for you to consider. Haven produces such well-trained omegas, don't they, dear?”
“Omegas aren't products to be selected from a shelf,” I say, unable to completely hide my distaste. “They're people, with their own thoughts and choices.”
“Of course, of course.” Hardwick waves off my concern. “But they need a firm alpha hand to guide those choices, wouldn't you agree? Skylar especially needs to be kept in line.”
I remember the one time I met Hardwick’s omega at a charity gala. He'd stood silently behind his pack, eyes fixed on the floor, responding only when directly addressed by his alphas. I remember him being so quiet. So unanimated . “Yes, how is your omega?”
“At home, where he’s most comfortable.” Lines crinkle around her eyes when she smiles, but there’s no warmth. “He was one of Haven's star pupils, did you know that? Sylvia does such a good job at helping them integrate into alpha life. ”
Dr. Mercer inclines her head. “He was truly exemplary.”
I hate that we need people like this to support our research, and with stringent legislation, no other companies can help, not even under these dire circumstances. If I could somehow get to the President, instead of senators who rule territories like their own private domains, then things might be different.
“I would like to inquire about our funding request, Senator,” I say, keeping my voice level despite my growing frustration. The champagne in my system has already drained, but I need to keep my anger in check. “Understanding and potentially reversing the Mortalis Strain's effects should be a priority for everyone. Especially alphas. With omega births continuing to decline.”
Hardwick adjusts her perfectly tailored jacket in a deliberate manner, as if to delay her answer and remind us she’s the one in power. “The senate takes these matters very seriously.”
Mercer's laugh is sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the gathering like broken glass. “It's not as though omegas will be the ones making scientific breakthroughs.” Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “They have other... contributions to focus on.”
Zane's rage spikes, matching my own. How quickly they've normalized the systematic destruction of omega rights, the laws preventing them from higher education, the mandatory reporting of omega presentation. Parents face imprisonment for trying to protect their children from the system, and omegas themselves...
I remember the university I attended, where omega students once studied alongside alphas and betas. Now those same institutions have “omega-free” policies, celebrated as progressive measures for public safety.
“Our request for additional funding and researchers?” I press, trying to keep the conversation professional despite the rage in my chest. “Our preliminary results show promise, especially in understanding how the Strain affects genetic expression during fetal development.”
“We must be extremely careful about who we allow to work with such sensitive research. Omegas are so rare, after all. We can't risk any... inappropriate approaches to the problem. Your Cole, above all else, should understand how fragile omegas really are. How careful we must be,” Mercer says.
I keep my growl quiet. “We've expanded our facilities specifically to accommodate more researchers. The labs are ready, the infrastructure is in place.” The expanded facilities at Pinnacle sit empty, waiting for researchers we can't hire without approval.
“I'll bring it up at the next senate meeting.” Hardwick’s eyes fix on something over my shoulder, and her demeanor shifts. “Now, if you'll excuse us, gentlemen. Sylvia, there's Alexander Rothschild. We must discuss his pack's latest donation to Haven.”
The dismissal stings as they glide away and integrate into the circle of old money alphas gathered near the bar. Rothschild's pack and their associates are all sharp suits and sharper ambitions.
“Don’t you think they should be concerned about this?” I barely hold on to my helpless frustration and do something that could not only jeopardize Pinnacle, but every omega yet to be born. “Their apathy doesn’t make sense.”
Zane's hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me. “Let's go home. Cole needs us more than this circus needs another set of trained monkeys.”
“Two months,” I mutter, watching Hardwick laugh at something Rothschild says. “The next senate meeting isn't for two months.”
“Come on. We've played our part tonight. Smiled at the right people, made the right noises. It will not get us where we want to be right now,” Zane says.
He's right. We've done what we came to do, even if it accomplished nothing but reinforcing how precarious our position is and that Cole's continued distress is a dark undercurrent to our shared connection.
The marble floors echo our footsteps, each one taking us farther from the glittering facade of power and closer to what really matters. Tonight's failures can wait. Our brother can't.
As we step into the cool night air, I can't shake the image of that young omega's face when she saw Mercer. Something is very wrong with this society, and we're running out of legitimate ways to fight it .
But that's a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, we have a bond brother to take care of.