Chapter 29
Xavier
T he private elevator hums beneath our feet as we descend toward the hundredth floor. I stand a few paces behind Cole and Rajan Dev, hands folded behind my back, posture loose enough to look casual polished enough to be calculated.
I can scent the princess from here. Anaya Dev smells like sugar-drenched roses and something rare, maybe saffron. It’s a soft, elegant scent that wraps around the space like silk. It suits her. Pretty. Composed. The kind of Omega scent that would make any Alpha look twice.
Any Alpha but me. It doesn’t call to me. Doesn’t pull something deep in my gut the way Rowan’s does. And that... that realization burns.
Because no matter how hard I try, no matter how far I run, I can’t forget the way Rowan’s scent sank into my bones. Honeysuckle and peaches. That sharp little kick of nutmeg. Like summer and warmth and danger all wrapped up in one beautiful Omega who was never supposed to be ours.
And now everyone’s acting like she is. Like it’s already decided. Like we’ve been handed some perfect little Omega-shaped puzzle piece we’re supposed to slot into place. But I’m not ready to accept that. Not even close.
The elevator glides down one floor, smooth and silent. Just enough time for me to stew in the scent of expensive perfume and the reminder that the only Omega who matters isn’t the one standing next to me.
And if Princess Anaya wants a custom nest? If she wants to work with Rowan exclusively? Then I’ll smile. I’ll nod. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this deal happen. Because billions are on the line. And I might not like how this is playing out, but I didn’t climb my way to the top to let one Omega, no matter how she smells, rattle the foundations of my control.
Still...
When that elevator dings open on the hundredth floor and I catch the first whisper of Rowan’s scent in the air, it takes everything I have to not react.
It’s faint. Lingering. But unmistakable. Like walking past the memory of something you told yourself you forgot. That soft pull of peaches, honeysuckle, and the grounding warmth of nutmeg, it’s not strong, not fresh. But it clings to the hallway like a ghost, like a promise I never wanted to make.
I bite back the low growl bubbling in my throat and step aside, letting Cole lead the way. Anaya practically skips ahead, her excitement sharp in the air. I keep my distance. Watch. Assess. And ignore the way every cell in my body tunes itself to that fading trace of scent like a gods-damned compass.
When Cole pushes open the suite doors, Anaya’s breath catches audibly.
“Oh, my gods...”
She doesn’t move right away. Just stands there taking it in. And to be fair? It’s a hell of a space. Rowan’s touch is everywhere. Soft textures layered over clean lines, color theory executed with precision and heart. Golds, blush tones, warm ivories. Every corner speaks of comfort and safety without sacrificing elegance. It’s a smart design. Thoughtful. Lived in. I know our team put it together, but it’s inspired by her ClipStream reels.
Anaya walks like she’s approaching a temple. She bends to brush her fingers across one of the nesting mockups, her voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
Her gaze sweeps the showroom, wide-eyed and alight with wonder, as if she’s just walked into a dream made real. Then she spots Rowan.
A gasp. A flash of recognition. And without hesitation, she bolts straight for her.