chapter THIRTY-THREE
Reese
I stare at my reflection in my dorm room mirror, trying to decide if I've lost my mind completely.
It feels strange being back in this room after spending last night at the hotel.
Campus security changed the locks this morning, and whatever my father said to the administration after the break-in has them treating my safety like a federal case.
I still don't know who called him claiming to be from Westlake, but the result is the same—I'm back in my space, surrounded by familiar things instead of sterile hotel furniture.
The black cocktail dress I've chosen fits perfectly, hitting just above my knees with a subtle V-neck that's elegant without being provocative.
The fabric is expensive enough to pass muster with Gray's mother, understated enough not to overshadow her, and familiar enough that I feel like myself wearing it.
I've paired it with simple pearl earrings and a matching bracelet—classic, conservative, exactly what a wealthy family would expect from a potential daughter-in-law.
Which is ridiculous, because I'm not a potential anything. I'm just helping Gray avoid an unwanted setup while getting a distraction from my heat.
Right?
I smooth the skirt down and check my appearance one more time.
My hair is pulled back in a sleek chignon, makeup subtle but polished.
I look like the perfect picture of a well-bred young woman from a good family.
The kind of person who knows which fork to use and how to make small talk about charity galas and summer houses.
The kind of person I used to be, before I decided to forge my own path.
My heat simmers beneath the surface, manageable for now but building steadily. Bo's help last night provided temporary relief, but I can already feel the familiar restlessness returning. Gray's promise echoes in my mind—if my heat spikes during dinner, we'll leave immediately. No questions asked.
The thought of him taking care of me sends a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with my biology and everything to do with the way he looked at me in the equipment room. Like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.
I check my phone: 5:25 PM. Gray will be here any minute.
A soft knock at my door makes me jump. "It's me," his voice calls through the wood.
I open the door and watch his expression change as he takes in my appearance. His steel gray eyes darken, traveling from my face down to my heels and back up again with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
"You look..." He pauses, seeming to search for words. "Perfect."
"For fooling your parents, you mean," I say, but there's no bite behind it.
"For everything," he says quietly.
The simple statement hits me harder than it should. I grab my clutch and wrap, needing something to do with my hands. "Shall we go lie to your family about our relationship?"
Gray's mouth quirks up in what might be a smile. "When you put it like that, it sounds almost fun."
His Range Rover idles in the parking lot, black and pristine like everything else in Gray Lockwood's perfectly controlled world. He opens the passenger door for me, a gesture so automatic I suspect it was drilled into him from childhood.
"Nervous?" he asks as we pull away from campus.
"Should I be?"
"Probably." He navigates through town with the easy confidence of someone who's made this drive countless times. "My parents aren't known for their warmth."
"Neither are mine." I settle back in the leather seat, watching familiar campus buildings give way to upscale neighborhoods. "What should I know? About your family, I mean."
Gray's hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.
"My father built Lockwood Financial from a regional firm into a national powerhouse.
He expects excellence in everything and everyone around him.
My mother runs the social circuit—charity boards, country club committees, all the ways wealthy women wield influence. "
"And they want you to marry Katherine Kincaid."
"They want me to marry someone who'll enhance the family name and produce appropriate heirs." His tone is carefully neutral. "Katherine fits their criteria."
"But not yours."
"Not even close." He glances at me. "She's everything I can't stand about our world. Entitled, vapid, more interested in her image than anything of substance."
"Harsh."
"Accurate." The road begins to climb into the mountains, winding through increasingly dense forest. "She also has this laugh that sounds like a dying seagull and makes conversation by listing her recent purchases."
Despite everything, I smile. "Tell me how you really feel."
"I just did." His expression softens slightly. "What about your family? What do they expect from their daughter?"
The question makes me pause. Gray doesn't ask things lightly, and something in his tone suggests he genuinely wants to understand rather than just making conversation.
"Perfection," I say finally. "Academic excellence, social grace, eventual marriage to someone who'll elevate our status even further. They have very specific ideas about what their Omega daughter should become."
"And those ideas don't include commanding eight Alphas on a rowing team."
"Not remotely." I stare out the window at the darkening forest. "They think my designation should determine my entire life path. That being an Omega means I should be grateful for whatever Alpha attention I receive and focus on being an appropriate mate."
"Is that why you hide it? Your designation?"
"Part of it." I fidget with my clutch strap. "It's also practical. People treat Omegas differently in competitive sports. They assume we're weak, emotional, unable to handle pressure. The suppressants let me be judged on my abilities rather than my biology."
"And your family supports that decision?"
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "My family tolerates it as long as it doesn't interfere with their plans. They see the suppressants as a temporary convenience until I find a suitable Alpha to bond with."
"Suitable according to them."
"According to them." The conversation is veering into territory I usually avoid, but something about Gray's calm attention makes the words spill out. "They've actually had someone in mind since I was sixteen. Robert Ashford. His family owns half the shipping industry on the East Coast."
Gray's scent sharpens with something that might be jealousy. "And you're not interested."
"I'd rather bond with a brick wall. At least that would have more personality."
This earns me a genuine laugh, the sound warming something in my chest. "So we're both escaping unwanted romantic entanglements tonight."
"Seems that way."
The road curves sharply, and suddenly we're pulling through massive iron gates marked with an understated "L" in elegant script. The driveway stretches ahead through manicured grounds, perfectly lit by hidden landscape lighting.
"Welcome to Lockwood Manor," Gray says dryly. "Try not to be too impressed."
But I am impressed, despite myself. The house that emerges from the trees is stunning—a massive stone and timber structure that manages to be both imposing and elegant. Warm light spills from dozens of windows, and the circular drive is lined with expensive cars.
"Other guests?" I ask, noting a silver Mercedes and what looks like a Bentley.
"The Kincaids, plus probably my aunt and uncle. My parents like an audience for their matchmaking attempts."
As Gray parks, I take a steadying breath. The heat is building again, a familiar warmth spreading through my system. I can manage it for a few hours. I have to.
"Ready?" Gray asks, though he makes no move to get out of the car.
"Are you?"
He looks at the house, then at me. "With you? I think I can handle anything they throw at us."
The confidence in his voice steadies something inside me. I reach for the door handle, then pause.
"Gray? What happens after tonight? Between us, I mean."
He's quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands on the steering wheel. "I don't know," he says finally. "But I know I want to find out."
It's not a declaration or a promise, but it's honest. More honest than I expected from someone as controlled as Gray Lockwood.
"Then let's go charm your parents," I say.
"Let's go give them hell," he corrects, and this time his smile is sharp enough to cut glass.
As we walk toward the imposing front door, I realize that whatever happens tonight, whatever this thing between us becomes, I'm not facing it alone. And for the first time in years, that doesn't terrify me.
It excites me.