Chapter 46 Dorian
forty-six
Dorian
Mother is waiting outside the pack house.
Of course she is. She probably left Morrison Auditorium the moment chaos erupted, calculated how long it would take us to drive back here, and positioned herself for maximum dramatic impact.
The pack house. The Victorian mansion on the edge of campus that my family owns, that we've lived in for two years. The property that technically belongs to the Ashworth estate.
She's standing on the front steps like a queen surveying conquered territory.
The claiming mark on my throat throbs like a brand. Vespera's teeth broke skin, drew blood, marked me so thoroughly that everyone who sees me will know exactly what happened in that lobby.
I've never been harder in my life.
"Keep driving," Corvus says from the back seat, reading the situation instantly. "We can go straight to New York. Skip packing."
"No," I say, pulling into the driveway. "If we run, she wins. And I'm done letting her win."
I park and turn to face them. Vespera in the passenger seat, Corvus and Oakley in back, all of us marked and bloody and choosing each other.
"Go inside," I say. "All of you. I need to do this alone."
"Dorian—" Vespera starts.
"Please." I touch her hand. "This is between me and her. Mother-son. I need to be the one to end it."
Vespera studies my face, then nods. "We'll be right inside. You yell, we're out here."
"I know."
They get out of the car. Corvus and Oakley flank Vespera protectively as they walk past Eleanor toward the front door. Mother's eyes track Vespera with open hostility, but she doesn't say anything. Not yet.
The door closes behind them, and it's just me and Eleanor Ashworth on the steps of the house my family owns.
"Dorian Ashworth," Mother says, her voice cutting through the night air like a blade. "Inside. Now. We need to discuss what just happened."
"No."
The word surprises both of us. I've never told her no before. Never defied a direct order from Eleanor Ashworth, matriarch of the family, controller of the fortune, arbiter of our futures.
But that was before Vespera Levine bit my throat in front of hundreds of people and made me hers.
"Excuse me?" Mother's ice-blue eyes—my eyes—narrow dangerously. "You will come inside and explain how you allowed that scholarship Omega to publicly humiliate our entire family."
"She didn't humiliate anyone," I say. "She reclaimed her agency. There's a difference."
"Agency?" Mother's laugh is cruel. "She's an Omega. You claimed her months ago. She belongs to you."
"She never belonged to us," I say quietly. "That was the problem."
Mother looks at me—her son, marked by an Omega, standing in defiance of everything she planned. Her expression shifts through rage to calculation to something almost like understanding.
Then it hardens into pure, cold fury.
"You're infatuated," she says. "It's the fated bond scrambling your judgment. Give it time. The chemistry will fade and you'll realize what you've lost."
"What have I lost?" I ask. "Your approval? Your money? This house?"
"Your future." She steps closer. "Do you understand what you've done? The board will have questions. The donors will have concerns. And that video—" Her voice sharpens. "That video is already everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. TikTok. Everyone has seen you three on your knees for a scholarship Omega."
"Good," I say. "Let them see."
"Dorian—"
"Let them see what it looks like when Omegas claim their power." I touch the mark on my throat, feel the sting and warmth of it. "Let them see what happens when Alphas choose partnership over possession."
"You sound like her," Mother spits. "Like that girl has poisoned you against your own family."
"She didn't poison me," I say. "She woke me up."
"To what? Poverty? Struggle? A life without the Ashworth name protecting you?"
"The Ashworth name never protected me," I say quietly. "It trapped me. Made me think I had to be perfect, had to follow your plans, had to claim Omegas like property because that's what families like ours do."
Mother goes very still. "Are you saying you're leaving Northwood?"
"I'm saying we're going to New York," I correct. "Vespera was offered an Off-Broadway role. We're leaving tonight."
"Tonight." Mother's voice goes flat. "You're throwing away your education, your future, everything—for an Omega you've known for six months?"
"Yes," I say simply. "I am."
"Then you're a fool." Mother's voice goes cold. "And you'll come crawling back when reality sets in. When the bills come due. When she realizes she needs more than passion and idealism to survive."
"Maybe," I say. "But that's my choice to make."
"Your choice." Mother laughs bitterly. "You think you have choices now? Without MY money? Without MY connections?"
"I'll have whatever I earn," I say. "Whatever I build. Whatever Vespera and I create together."
Mother straightens her shoulders, slips back into Eleanor Ashworth, matriarch.
"Fine," she says. "Leave. Follow your Omega to New York. But when you do, understand that you're making a choice too. The Ashworth fortune comes with conditions. Loyalty. Obedience. Appropriate marriages."
She pauses, letting that sink in.
"Your father and I discussed this on the drive here," she continues. "We're in agreement. Choose her, and you choose a harder path. No trust fund. No family connections. No easy opportunities." Her smile is sharp. "This house? Family property. You'll need to be out by morning."
I should feel shame. Fear. Panic.
But all I feel is relief.
"I'll manage," I say. "We'll manage."
"You'll fail," Mother says. "And when you do, don't come running back expecting me to save you."
She turns to leave, then pauses.
"Your brother said the same thing," she says quietly. "When he chose his male Omega over family. He said he'd manage too."
My heart stops. "Julian?"
"Gone seven years now. Living in Brooklyn with his pack, working three jobs to make ends meet, too proud to ask for help." She looks back at me. "Is that the life you want? Struggling? Barely surviving?"
"If that's what it takes," I say. "Yes."
Mother shakes her head. "Then you're more of a fool than I thought. You have until sunrise to clear out. After that, I'm having the locks changed."
She walks to her car—a black Mercedes parked across the street—and drives away without looking back.
I stand there for a moment, letting it sink in. Cut off. Disowned. Free.
Then I walk inside to face my pack.
The three of them are in the living room when I enter. Vespera on the couch, Corvus pacing, Oakley standing by the window.
"Well?" Vespera asks.
"We have until sunrise," I say. "She's changing the locks on the pack house."
"Of course she is," Corvus says. "Family property."
"I'm sorry," I say to all of them. "You're losing this place because of me."
"We're leaving this place because of us," Vespera corrects. "All of us. Together."
She's right. This isn't Dorian Ashworth's failure. This is four people choosing each other over everything else.
"So let's pack," I say. "Take what we can fit in my car. Everything else stays."
We split up. My room—the master bedroom with the walk-in closet full of expensive clothes I never wanted—becomes a decision point. What matters? What's just weight?
I take clothes, laptop, documents. Photos of Julian from before he left. My acceptance letter to Northwood that meant everything once and nothing now.
The furniture was here when we moved in. Ashworth family pieces, expensive and cold. Let Eleanor keep it.
"You're sure about this?" Corvus asks, appearing with his laptop bag and a single suitcase. "No second thoughts? No regrets?"
"Are you?" I counter.
"I ran probability assessments all through the performance," he admits. "Success rate for our pack surviving in New York without family support is approximately forty-three percent."
"That's terrible odds."
"It's also forty-three percent better than our chances of survival if we stay here and keep being what our families want us to be." He adjusts his bag. "I'll take those odds."
Oakley appears with his belongings. "Vespera's already done. She's waiting downstairs."
"Already?" I check my watch. "It's only been thirty minutes."
"One duffel bag and a backpack," Oakley says quietly. "That's everything she owns."
The contrast hits hard. I'm deciding which expensive things to abandon. She owns so little she packed in minutes.
But by the time we reach New York, we'll all own the same amount: each other.
We load my BMW—a high school graduation present—until every space is crammed with bags and boxes. The Victorian mansion behind us looks imposing and cold. Not a home. Just a building.
Vespera is leaning against the passenger door, changed into jeans and one of Oakley's hoodies, her duffel at her feet. The claiming marks we're all wearing are hidden under scarves and collars, but I can still feel mine throbbing.
"Ready?" she asks.
"More than ready," I say.
She looks at me for a long moment, studying my face. "Your mother found you."
"How did you—"
"I could feel it through the bond. The conversation. The choice you made." She touches my chest, right over my heart. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For choosing me over her," she says simply. "I know what that costs."
"She cut me off," I admit. "Financially. Socially. Completely."
"I know." Vespera's hand slides up to cup my jaw. "And you chose me anyway."
"I'd choose you every time," I say, and mean it with every fiber of my being.
"Good." She kisses me, hard and possessive, tasting like victory. "Because we're about to be very poor and very stubborn and very much in love."
"Sounds perfect," Corvus says, loading the last bag.
"Let's go before security figures out we're missing curfew," Oakley adds.