Chapter 9
Piper
There is something oddly comforting about being curled up on this plush velvet sofa, watching three alphas debate the finer points of pasta preparation.
My phone sits quiet beside me as I snuggle deeper into my blanket cocoon.
This is exactly the kind of normal moment that would never make tabloid headlines.
No “Pop Darling Piper Sumner” drama tonight—just the four of us figuring out dinner.
Because as royal as Kellen is, he’d apparently rather cook a few of the meals himself.
I hide my smile behind my phone screen, not really checking anything, just enjoying the scene. Kellen’s laugh fills the room whenever Nolan makes a dry comment. This is peace. Belonging. Which is, admittedly, the last thing I expected to find in this PR mess.
I could sit here and see how long it takes them to notice I’m falling asleep with my eyes open, but my phone decides to ruin that experiment by ringing.
The screen blares “RAELYNN ROBERTS” in all caps, and my chest constricts like I’ve just sprinted up ten flights of stairs.
Blood rushes in my ears drowning out everything but those capital letters on my screen.
I slide off the couch and into the grandiose, echoing hallway, ignoring the three-way argument that continues behind me.
“Hey, Raelynn.” I try to sound casual, not like I’ve just been ripped from the warm blanket-cocoon of my only social refuge.
“I’ll keep you only a moment.” Raelynn’s voice is the verbal equivalent of being spritzed with vodka-infused perfume.
I wedge myself into a decorative alcove that probably once held a bust of someone’s dead ancestor. “Shoot.”
“Piper, my darling, have you checked your socials since the post went up?”
I wince. “I try not to scroll for too long ever. Why?”
“Good, because you’re trending number three globally.
” Raelynn’s glee is an almost physical thing.
I can hear her clicking through analytics, the cackle in her throat barely contained.
“You and Kellen. The comments are…” She searches for the word, then lands on, “Delicious. And disgustingly thirsty. Good job with that post. It wasn’t planned, but it’s trending perfectly. ”
I force a laugh. “I’m glad my love life can fuel so many memes.”
“Which brings me to the point,” Raelynn says. “We need a new single, stat.”
This is what I get for going along with her pop-princess-to-bad-girl rebrand. “Stat,” I echo, like I haven’t been running on empty for months. “I can try, Raelynn.”
She clicks her tongue. “You will do. You need a single for your next album anyway, and given the target launch date of that album, we need this single now.”
She’s not wrong, and I hate it. But it’s not like the album’s even been announced—mostly because all that exists of it are a few chords and a dozen lyrics.
“I will do my best,” I finally say.
“You will give me viral.” Raelynn then pauses to soften her voice. “I push you, I know that, Piper. But I push you because I know you’ll succeed. We need something cute and viral, just like you and the prince. Then the rest of the album can be whatever you want.”
As long as it’s pop music. My jaw locks tight. I glance back at Kellen, Elliot, and Nolan carrying on their easy-going argument. “I’ll deliver. Just give me a week or two.”
“Perfect.” Then Raelynn’s instantly onto the next crisis. “Also, heads up—there’s a lot of scrutiny on this relationship. I’d love to see some hand-holding tomorrow. Maybe a kiss. I don’t care if it’s staged or not, just give them something.”
How about I give them the truth? Carrying on with fake dates when there’s a foundation of something very real involved is starting to feel icky. Exhausting.
But Raelynn holds the keys to my musical freedom behind the locked door of my last album on Reverie’s contract. So I acquiesce. “Copy that. Anything else?”
“No, I think that about covers it.” The echo of her setting down her tablet on a hard surface echoes through the call. “I’ll be in touch again soon. But let me know when you want studio time.”
“Sure thing, thanks Raelynn.” I hang up the call before she can add anything else on to my list, then stand there in the hallway for a minute.
I scroll through my notifications with the weird hope that maybe I’m trending for something unrelated, like a new haircut or public indecency.
No luck. Every headline is some version of “Kellen Hale and Piper Sumner: Endgame?” Even the trolls in the comments have upgraded from “industry plants” to “unhinged soulmates.”
I have to physically shake myself to break the trance. I don’t want to go back to the living room. I don’t want to go anywhere. But hiding here forever will just make Nolan come looking for me, and I don’t feel like talking about any of this right now.
I return to find all three men seated around a low table, which is now covered in a truly deranged assortment of late-night snacks.
Nolan, who is slouched in an armchair, perks up the second I walk in. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” I don’t have the energy for nuance.
Elliot watches me with the same unblinking focus as always. “Raelynn?”
I nod. “She says hi. Also, she wants a new single as soon as possible.”
Kellen’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s ambitious. Do you always work this fast?”
I snort. “No, not usually unless very inspired.”
I let that truth hang there. While the “royal fake-dating” bullshit is hitting just as the queen and Raelynn wanted, it’s the farthest thing from inspiring. To me at least. Because it’s not real.
The scent-match is.
This easy bond that’s effectively friendship right now is also real.
But I can’t sing about scent-matching with three amazing alphas, two of whom I hardly know, when I’m meant to be only fake-dating one of them.
My knees bounce as the reality of the situation fully catches up to me.
I can’t say that I can picture a full pack life with these three alphas, but I can picture the start of something.
Since the gala, a fondness has definitely grown for Kellen and Elliot.
But we’re only here together right now because other people forced it.
Kellen tips his head, blue eyes sharp and a little too perceptive.
“What?” I ask, more defensively than intended. Usually only Nolan regards me that way.
Kellen lifts his hands. “Nothing, you just look like you’re about to bolt.”
He’s not wrong. I kind of want to. But I can’t.
And that’s the issue.
I inhale sharply and shake my head. “Maybe I’m just tired of being everyone’s favorite trainwreck. If I’m not ‘destroying the music industry,’ I’ve always got articles about partying too much.”
Nolan’s voice is softer than I expect. “You’re not a trainwreck.”
“Yeah,” Elliot deadpans, “your disaster is much more controlled.”
It gets a laugh out of me, which is more than I was expecting after Raelynn’s phone call. For a split second, the whole situation feels normal. Almost like I belong here, even if the arrangement is as fake as Raelynn’s accent after three vodkas.
The guys keep talking, but I tune them out, fixated on the song I know I’m about to write.
I pull my phone and start a new note, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
I want to write about secrets. About hiding in plain sight.
About wanting someone so badly you’d let the world misunderstand everything, just to keep them close.
I glance up at the three of them—Kellen with his effortless charisma, Nolan with his impenetrable calm, and Elliot with his silent intensity—and wonder, not for the first time, if this is what pack life is supposed to feel like.
Messy, loud, dangerous, and… safe. Even when you’re the only omega in the room.
I jot down the first line: If I could, I’d keep you secret like the moon keeps night.
It’s not genius, but it’s honest.