4. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 4
Ashlyn
The crisp spring air feels like a slap to the face when I step out of the studio, the coolness doing little to soothe the heat simmering under my skin. We set up a time to meet to go over plans, and I just hope I’m ready to face them again tomorrow.
My steps are quick, purposeful, the sharp click of my heels ricocheting off the concrete as I weave through the crowds. I need to get away—away from the studio, away from them . Away from the past that refuses to loosen its grip.
The scent blockers are starting to fail. I can smell it. The faint sweetness of strawberries and cream begins to creep into the air around me, clinging to my skin.The scent blocker was supposed to cover the cracks, to hold the mask in place, but now it’s betraying me. Probably because I would need a super strength pill to work around them. I wipe at the back of my neck, as if that will make a difference, as if that will erase the scent seeping from my pores.
I’m almost to the crosswalk when a hand grabs my arm, firm and unyielding. My heart stumbles, the shock of contact rooting me to the spot.
“Not so fast,” Todd’s voice growls behind me, low and rough.
I turn, and the breath hitches in my throat at the sight of him—closer now, his violet eyes darkened with something frosty, something unreadable. The fire that always burned in him hasn’t dimmed; if anything, it’s grown more intense, more dangerous.
“Todd,” I say, my voice tighter than I want it to be. His name feels foreign on my tongue after so many years, like a song I’ve forgotten the melody to.
He doesn’t give me the chance to say more.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he growls, stepping closer, his hand still gripping my arm, firm enough to keep me pinned in place. His violet eyes burn into mine, and there’s no mistaking the edge in his tone. “You don’t hold power over us anymore.”
The words land like a slap, bitter and stinging, harder than the spring air cutting through the city. Power? I never believed I had any. Didn’t they prove that a long time ago? My head shakes, a quick denial of his accusation, though my heart betrays me, thundering in my chest. I don’t want power over him. Do I? Would that have changed anything?
"I—" I begin, but his scent—a heady blend of honey, and sandalwood with a hint of bitter amber—hits me, its almost touchable annoyance swallowing my words before they can form.
He leans in, just enough to make sure I can’t look away. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, whatever you thought you could walk back into with this little plan—” His voice dips lower, each word measured, laced with something cruel. “It’s gone. Dead. Just like the girl who left us.”
The air in my lungs freezes, and I stare up at him, every word sinking deep, raw and unrelenting. I blink, the sting building behind my eyes, but I refuse to let it show.
He doesn’t falter. If anything, his gaze sharpens, like he’s daring me to crumble under the pressure of his words.
My lips part as if to respond, to defend myself, but the ache in my chest strangles every word before it can escape. The girl who left. The girl he thinks I killed. She’s still here, buried under the years and regrets, still needing them in ways I wish she didn’t.
His grip loosens, and then his hand falls away entirely, leaving the ghost of his touch behind—colder than the spring breeze sweeping through the city.
“Whatever this is, Ashlyn, you’ll get nothing from me but what’s required for the show,” he says, his tone clipped and final, like a door slamming shut. He takes a step back, then another, each one widening the chasm between us.
And then he turns, walking away without hesitation, without a single glance over his shoulder.
I stand there frozen as the world moves around me—people brushing past, conversations buzzing in the air, car horns blaring in the distance. It all fades into a dull hum. His words echo louder than everything else, carving themselves into the space just beneath my ribs.
My stomach churns, and I press a hand there, as if that might steady the nausea rising inside me. The faint scent of strawberries and cream—mine, undeniably mine—clings heavier now, a reminder of emotions I can’t afford to let surface.
I take a deep, trembling breath. I won’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not for them.
I square my shoulders, forcing my spine straight, my head high. But as I glance at Todd’s retreating figure, a flicker of something raw pulls at the edges of my resolve.
No .
I turn on my heel, heading in the opposite direction, my steps quick and deliberate. The loud click of my heels against the pavement cuts through the chaos of the city, but it does little to drown out the storm raging inside me.
I walk away from the studio. From him. From everything threatening to unravel me.
Lilah slides into the booth across from me, her radiant smile lighting up the room as she sets her phone down on the table. She’s always smiling these days, ever since Omega in Paradise turned her life into one of those fairy tales she used to roll her eyes at.
I envy her happiness, but I’d never take it from her. She deserves every moment of it after what her ex put her through. Hell, I was the one who shoved her toward the show in the first place. Watching her fall in love made me realize something brutal about myself—that my own chance at happiness had slipped through my fingers years ago.
“What’s wrong?” Her smile falters as she takes me in, perceptive eyes scanning my face.
“Nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile that feels about as genuine as a knockoff designer bag.
Lilah doesn’t buy it. She never does. “You look like you’ve been through a war zone. Start talking.”
I let out a shaky laugh, picking up my coffee to stall. “It’s just work. Crazy schedules, long days. You know how it is.”
Her brows pull together, concern creasing her forehead. “Ashlyn, I know you. You thrive in chaos. This isn’t work stress—you’re... I don’t know, different. Tense.”
I shake my head, but my throat tightens at her words. “It’s not a big deal, Lilah. Just a lot going on.”
She leans forward, resting her arms on the table. “Ash, come on. What is it? Did someone say something? Do something? Do I need to get my guys to take them out?”
A laugh pops out of my mouth. I’m positive her guys don’t have it in them to ‘take someone out’. Still her question presses a crack into the wall I’ve been holding up, and I hesitate, my hand tightening around the coffee cup.
“You can tell me,” she presses, her voice soft, reassuring.
I meet her eyes, and suddenly, everything inside me feels too raw, too exposed. Moisture gathers at the corners of my eyes, and I try to blink it back, but it’s no use. I finally let it slip, barely able to speak the words. “Primal Pulse.” They come out as a whisper, almost catching in the emotion clogging my throat.
The tear that slips down my cheek feels like a betrayal. She stares at me for a beat, frozen in disbelief.
“Wait.” Her voice drops to a stunned whisper. “What? The guys? Your pack ? Todd, West, Jake, and Xayden. That Primal Pulse ?”
I nod, the words caught in my throat, too thick to push out.
“Ashlyn.” Her tone shifts, surprised and disbelieving. “You’re kidding me. After all these years, after everything—you’re... what, talking to them again?”
I sink deeper into the booth, wishing I could just disappear into it. “Not by choice,” I mutter, my voice barely audible, the past pressing down on me harder than ever.
She blinks, processing that. “What do you mean ‘not by choice’?”
“It’s for the show. Shelley thought it’d be a great idea to collaborate with them. Boost ratings, or whatever.” My fingers curl around the edge of the table as the words settle inside of me. Shit, what am I going to do?
Lilah stares at me like I’ve just told her I’m moving to the moon. “And you didn’t say no?”
“I couldn’t , Lilah! It’s my job. I didn’t exactly have a choice. Our ratings have dropped, people don’t care about omegas dressing up and walking a runway. We need to add something fresh. Like them. ” My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but the frustration bubbling up inside me refuses to stay buried.
Her expression softens, but only slightly. “Okay, but how bad was it? Did they say anything? Did they...” she trails off, like she doesn’t want to finish the sentence.
“They were terrible,” I admit, my voice cracking. “Cold, distant, like I was nothing but a bad memory they wish they could forget. Which, fine. That’s fair, I guess.” I swallow hard, fighting the tightness in my throat. “But it still hurt.”
Lilah exhales slowly, her hands curling into fists on the table. “Ash, you don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t have to?—”
“I don’t have a choice,” I cut her off, my voice quieter now. “I just... I have to get through it. That’s all.”
She watches me for a moment, her expression torn between anger and heartbreak. Finally, she reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. I’m here. Whatever you need.”
I manage a shaky smile, giving her hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Lilah. But this... it’s my mess to sort out.”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t press me further. Instead, she leans back in her seat, giving me the space I need.
“Fine,” she says, voice heavy, but it’s laced with concern. “But if they cross any lines, I swear I’ll?—”
“I’ll handle it,” I cut in, my tone firmer than I feel.
She gives a tight nod, then leans in with a smirk. “I’m your sister, Ash. And whatever you need, I’m here. Need me to throw a blanket over the window to block the sun? I’m your girl. Want me to storm their studio and tell them to fuck off? I’m on it. Hell, if you want to go get trashed and puke on some random dude that you want to have sex with, I’ll be your wing-woman.”
A laugh escapes me at the thought, a little lighter than before. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”