Chapter 38
Xavier
T he scent of fresh coffee curls up from my mug like a promise I desperately need fulfilled. I’m not a morning person, never have been, and the only thing keeping me from punching someone before nine a.m. is the bitter roast in my cup and the silence of the penthouse kitchen.
I sit at the long marble breakfast table, still in black sweatpants and a fitted tee, and unfold the morning’s paper with one hand while the other brings the mug to my lips. And there it is. Front page. Full color.
The headline reads: ROWAN HART STEPS OUT WITH PACK KINGSTON ALPHA AND Omega
Subhead: Courting confirmed? Laurent Knight and Sébastien Chevalier spotted at The Glasshouse with rising influencer Rowan Hart.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
My chair scrapes back hard as I shoot to my feet. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
The paper crumples in my fist. My pulse slams into my throat as I stare down at the glossy photo of Rowan in a fitted dress, laughing, her hand wrapped around Laurent’s arm. Sébastien is on her other side, leaning in, smiling like he just won the fucking lottery.
I slam the paper down on the table. The headline glares at me like it knows exactly where to aim.
“They made the front page,” I mutter, voice thick with disbelief. “They made the goddamn front page.”
Footsteps echo behind me. Cole’s voice cuts through the haze. “What’s going on?”
I whirl around, holding up the paper like its evidence in a trial. “This. This shit. Our business, our Omegas, on full display like it’s a fucking fairytale romance!”
Cole doesn’t flinch. Just takes a long sip of his coffee, then shrugs like I haven’t just handed him a PR crisis.
“They weren’t exactly hiding, Xav. And why should they?”
“Because now it’s headlines,” I bite out. “Because every investor, every client, every damn reporter with a pheromone for drama is going to be sniffing around asking questions.”
“They’re scent matches,” Cole says plainly. “It’s not exactly news to us.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s not the point.”
“The point is, you're not pissed because they went out. You're pissed because they didn’t wait for you to get your head out of your ass.”
I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Don’t pin this on me. You want to fuck them, fine. Mass wants to court them, great. Laurent’s already practically tattooed their names on his chest. But don’t stand there pretending like this isn’t messy.”
“They’re ours,” Cole says, quiet but firm.
“They’re yours,” I snap. “You’ve accepted it. I haven’t.”
Cole arches a brow. “You think fate or whatever’s pulling us together gives a damn whether you’ve accepted it or not?”
I don’t respond. Can’t. Not without unraveling. Across the counter, the photo still stares back at me; Rowan, flushed and laughing; Sébastien’s head tilted toward her, eyes soft; Laurent looking smug and completely at ease between them.
“Like a pack,” I scoff, the words laced with venom. “And I’m not playing house with anyone.”
I don’t give Cole a chance to respond. I shove back from the table and stalk out of the room, heat prickling beneath my skin.
Let them play their little fantasy. Let them pretend it’ll all work out. I’m not getting sucked into it. Not again. The image from the paper flashes behind my eyes again, Rowan laughing at something Laurent said, Sébastien watching her like she hung the stars. My gut twists.
It should’ve been me. No. No, fuck that. I told myself I wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t fall into the same trap again. Wouldn’t hand over my heart just to have it shattered. I’ve clawed my way out of that pit once. And I am not going back.
But even as I pace the hallway outside my suite, the scent of them lingers in my memory. Honeysuckle. Rain. Wild honey. Peaches. Bourbon.
And I hate that I know exactly who’s who. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I’m not theirs. And they sure as hell aren’t mine.