Chapter 1 #2
Family stuff. Right. The lie I'd told to explain why I needed to work remotely for the next few days while I got my suppressants stabilized and figured out what the hell I was going to do about the fact that I'd just met my fated mates.
"Of course," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady and professional. "That's what I'm here for. So, I wanted to walk through the December content calendar and the new sponsorship opportunities—"
"Before we dive into business," Lucas interrupted gently, "are you okay? You look... stressed."
Because I could still smell him. Even through a video screen, even back in my apartment, I could smell cedar and vanilla like it had seeped into my skin.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just a busy morning. Now, about the GamerGear sponsorship—"
We spent thirty minutes discussing content strategy, sponsor integration, and his New Year's stream plans. Lucas was professional and engaged, asking good questions, trusting my expertise.
But his eyes kept searching my face like he was trying to figure something out.
Like he could sense what I was desperately trying to hide.
When the call ended, I sat in my silent apartment and stared at the blank screen.
I'd built my entire business on one simple principle: professional boundaries were sacred. No dating clients. No personal complications. Keep work and personal life completely separate.
It was the rule that had made Rodriguez Influence Management successful. The rule that let me compete in an industry that already looked at omegas with skepticism. The rule that proved I could be objective, professional, untouchable.
And in one catastrophic morning at Pike Place Market, that rule had become impossible to keep.
Because how do you maintain professional boundaries with your fated mates?
How do you pretend three alphas didn't recognize you as their omega?
How do you go back to normal when your entire world had just rearranged itself?
My phone rang. Mom.
I almost didn't answer, but ignoring Janet Rodriguez-Williams was impossible. She had a sixth sense for when something was wrong.
"Mija," she said the moment I picked up. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I'm fine."
"You sound like you're about to cry. Try again."
I looked around my minimalist apartment, all clean lines and neutral colors, everything precisely organized.
My desk faced the window overlooking Elliott Bay, my filing system color-coded, my schedule mapped out in fifteen-minute increments.
This was my domain. My carefully constructed world where I was Michelle Rodriguez, successful entrepreneur.
Not some omega who'd fled from her fated mates like a frightened rabbit.
"Mom," I heard myself say, "can I come home for a few days?"
Silence. Then, carefully, "Of course, baby. Always. What's wrong?"
"I just... I need some space. From the city. From work. From everything."
"Michelle." Mom's voice gentled. "Did you meet someone?"
I laughed, and it came out slightly hysterical. "You could say that."
"An alpha?"
"Three alphas. A pack." I rubbed my face with my free hand. "My newest client's pack. All three of them. At the same time. This morning."
Mom sucked in a breath. "Oh, mija."
"Yeah."
"And you ran."
"I ran so fast, Mom. I practically left skid marks on the cobblestones."
"Because of your work policy."
"Because of everything." My voice cracked. "Because I don't have time for this. Because pack bonds with clients are a professional nightmare. Because I've spent eight years building a reputation that could crumble if anyone thinks I'm using a mate bond to keep clients exclusive. Because—"
"Because you're terrified," Mom finished softly.
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer.
"Come home," she said. "Your room is ready. We'll figure this out together."
"What if they try to contact me?"
"Then you decide what you want to do. But you don't make that decision while you're panicking in your apartment. Come home. Let me feed you. Let Bill make his tamales. Let your family take care of you while you think."
I looked at my calendar—packed with meetings, deadlines, client calls.
Then I looked at my hands, still shaking.
"Okay," I whispered. "I'll pack a bag. I can be there by dinner."
"Good girl. Drive safe. I love you."
"Love you too, Mom."
I hung up and sat in the silence of my apartment.
Through my window, I could see Elliott Bay sparkling in the morning sun. Somewhere out there, across the city, were three alphas who'd looked at me like I was their missing piece.
And I'd run from them.
Because that's what I did when things got complicated. When emotions threatened my carefully constructed control. When the walls I'd built around myself started to crack.
I ran.
But as I pulled out my suitcase and started packing, I couldn't stop thinking about dark eyes that had said "You" like it was the most important word in the world.
Couldn't stop smelling cedar and vanilla and spruce and woodsmoke and leather and bergamot.
Couldn't stop feeling the phantom touch of hands on my shoulders, strong and gentle and absolutely certain.
My phone buzzed. Another email from Rowan Park.
I opened it before I could stop myself.
Michelle,
I need to be honest with you. I recognized you at Pike Place Market. I know you recognized us too.
I've been thinking about you for six months. Your emails, your efficiency, the way you fight for Lucas like he's your pack even though you've never met him in person. And then I saw you, and everything made sense.
I know you're scared. I know this is complicated. But please don't shut us out. We can figure this out together.
If you need space, we'll give you space. But we're not giving up on this. On you.
- Ro
I read it three times.
Then I closed my laptop, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the door.
I needed space. Distance. Time to think without three alphas' scents clouding my judgment.
I needed my family. My childhood home. The safety of Cedar Falls.
And then, maybe then, I could figure out what the hell I was going to do about the fact that I'd just found my fated pack.
And they were absolutely, definitely, completely off-limits.