Chapter 8
Massimo
I ’m focused on Rowan . Her scent is all over the room; honeysuckle and juicy peaches layered with nutmeg. Or it should be. Right now it’s frayed, singed at the edges. Burnt peach cobbler. The scent of an Omega in distress.
I stay close, careful not to touch her but doing everything I can to ground her. My voice is low, steady, threading soft Italian between breaths. She’s trembling, overwhelmed by the two Alphas already posturing across the room. Cole and Xavier are doing a piss-poor job of hiding their reactions, and it’s only making things worse.
Then another scent hits the room. It slips in like a quiet storm. Wild honey first, deep and golden. Then rain, clean and fresh, like the air just before a downpour. And beneath it all, vanilla and the softest brush of musk.
My breath catches. It’s not just familiar. It’s mine. My head snaps toward the source, instincts firing before logic can catch up. I see a man just inside the door, tall, composed, watching Rowan with a fierce intensity he doesn’t even try to mask.
I recognize the face from our video calls. Sébastien Ricci. The new Master Perfumer. But at this moment, he’s something entirely different. He’s my scent match. And not just mine. Rowan’s scent shifts the second his hits the air. It softens. Warms. Grows stronger. She reacts to him like she reacted to Cole. Like she reacted to me.
Both of them are matches. The realization slams into me like a blow to the chest. Is that even possible? I stagger back a step, eyes on Sébastien, then Rowan, then back again. My scent spikes: leather, amber, citrus and spice curling hotter, stronger around me. I growl before I can stop it.
Cole growls right back. Xavier curses under his breath. And everything in me tightens as the truth settles like gravity. They’re both mine. Ours.
And they're both my employees. Shit! Fuck! Damn. Where the hell do we go from here?
The professional line I’ve walked for years isn’t just blurry now. It’s disintegrating. I’m the Chief Creative Officer of House of Aphrodite. I’ve spent my career building this brand, designing for Omegas, celebrating them. I’ve kept my instincts in check, my urges in line.
But now? Now my scent match is sitting in front of me, trembling in a chair, her body reacting to every Alpha in the room, and my other match just walked in the door smelling like a goddamn dream and looking at her like he’s ready to kill or die on instinct alone.
And I can’t breathe. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to rein it all in, trying to think . I’m the calm one. The reasonable one. But my scent is rising, sharp and heady. Rowan’s blooming right alongside it. And Sébastien? He’s slicking up in real time, still kneeling beside her, looking like he’s about to unravel completely.
This is bad. This is so bad. And yet, it feels like the most right and natural thing I’ve ever felt. I glance briefly toward the door, half-expecting Veronica to somehow be able to help me navigate this mess. She stands there, eyes wide, her hands frozen in mid-motion as she takes in the scene. Her gaze flicks between Rowan, Sébastien, and my partners and pack.
I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. Veronica Wells is a consummate professional, sharp as a tack, but even she seems a little lost right now. She’s been with the company for years, keeping things running smoothly, handling everything from the most delicate meetings to the wildest demands. But this? This isn’t something in the employee handbook.
She straightens, clearing her throat as though trying to regain control over the situation. "Is everything alright, Mr. Ricci?" she asks carefully, her voice edged with confusion.
I force myself to focus on her, willing my thoughts to calm. "Not... exactly," I mutter. I can’t make eye contact with her, not while everything in me is still spinning. "We’re... figuring things out."
Behind me, Cole’s and Xavier’s growls grow louder, unmistakable in their aggression. I hear Xavier’s voice first; low and rough, but still controlled.
“What the fuck, Massimo?”