House of Aphrodite: New York (House of Aphrodite Omegaverse #1)

Chapter 1

Rowan

I ’m as nervous as a nine-tailed cat in a warehouse full of rocking chairs as I enter the lobby of 30 Hudson Yards. The moment I step inside, it feels like I’ve walked into another world. One built for power, precision, and people who don’t wait in lines.

The lobby is massive, all sharp lines and clean edges, with ceilings so high they feel like they might scrape the sky. Light floods in from glass walls, bouncing off polished stone floors and casting everything in a cool, sterile glow.

I slow down for half a second, taking it in. Every inch of this place screams money; quiet, confident, unapologetic. It doesn’t need to prove itself because it already owns everything that matters.

Security doesn’t even look up as I pass, their focus locked on monitors behind the sleek, white marble desk. Past the turnstiles, a wall of elevators gleams like a row of sealed vaults. People move with purpose here, heels clicking, phones pressed to ears, jaws set like they’ve already conquered the day.

I adjust my jacket and keep walking like I belong. Because whether I do or not, I’m already inside.

I make my way to the directory, scanning it quickly until I find House of Aphrodite. Butterflies dance in my stomach. My scent increases. I’m the most fragrant Beta I know. Most Beta’s don’t have an overpowering scent. Some say they have none. We do it’s just usually, subtle. My stomach clenches. My designation, rather lack thereof, is a great shame to my family.

I’m the only girl of five children. The youngest. The biggest disappointment of the Hart family. A long line of alphas and Omegas, and here I am, a lowly Beta. I moved out when I was eighteen. I started a ClipStream account when I was sixteen and started building my audience. I didn’t know what I wanted then, but soon after my interest, no, my obsession with all things Omega started. I can never be one, but I can still be part of their lives.

I design nests and have twenty-two million followers on ClipStream alone. That’s not including the following on other social media. I make money, more than enough.

An embarrassing amount, actually. I haven’t spoken to my family since the day I moved out. Not one of them has bothered to check up on me, not even to wish me a happy birthday or Merry Christmas.

I mean, I knew I was persona non grata, but I never imagined I’d be dead to them because of my designation.

I’m not here today because I need a job. I’m here because this is my dream job.

Cole Kingston and his best friend Xavier Creed founded the company seventeen years ago, while both men were attending college. I’ve dreamed of being a part of them since I was seven years old. A little girl who knew she’d be an Omega like her mother, and her grandmother, and all the women before them.

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat at the bitter disappointment of not presenting as an Omega. I give myself a mental shake and look at the directory again. House of Omega, floors ninety-nine through a hundred and one. My meeting is with Massimo Ricci, the company's premiere designer and CCO, Chief Creative Officer.

My legs tremble as I make my way to the bank of elevators and find one that reaches the top floors of the building. By the time the door opens, several people join me in the elevator. We stop a few times before reaching the hundredth floor.

The doors slide open with a quiet whisper, revealing an elegant reception area that steals my breath. My heart skips, my pulse quickening as I step onto a plush, ivory carpet so soft it feels indulgent beneath my heels.

The space smells faintly of lavender and vanilla, a gentle fragrance designed to soothe Omegas. It stirs something inside me: longing, envy, and excitement all tangled together. Dark, polished wood accents gleam warmly beneath golden chandeliers, each shimmering crystal cascading like frozen waterfalls from impossibly high ceilings.

Huge, abstract paintings line the walls, splashes of muted colors adding a touch of quiet sophistication to the room. A sleek, walnut reception desk sits proudly at the center, attended by an impeccably dressed receptionist who smiles politely, already noticing my arrival.

But it’s the view behind her that leaves me truly speechless. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame an endless panorama of New York City, skyscrapers glittering in the midday sun. Up here, everything feels possible.

For a heartbeat, I'm frozen. This is where dreams live.

I clutch my portfolio tighter, gather my courage, and step forward, hoping no one can sense how out of place I suddenly feel.

I glance around, noticing for the first time the clusters of beautiful Omegas scattered throughout the room, waiting gracefully in chairs or standing near windows, posing effortlessly as though they’ve already secured the role. Each are stunningly perfect, men and women whose confidence radiates softly from their relaxed postures and quietly elegant clothing. Their gentle, alluring scents mingle subtly in the air.

Fresh florals, sweet fruits, calming herbs; an intoxicating blend that simultaneously comforts and unsettles me. Compared to their effortless authenticity, my Beta presence suddenly feels awkwardly out of place, an impostor among royalty. They must be here for the Aphrodite tryouts. Each year, the company has an Omega spokesperson/model that represents them. They get a lavish contract. It comes with an apartment, a hundred grand salary and a shit ton of bonuses.