Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
SIMONA
SG Heidi:
Dinner at Roda’s tomorrow?
SG Raney:
Yes.
SG Tristan:
Yes.
See you there.
It’s a few hours later, as I’m finishing up the final edits on an article due for my creative writing class that my phone lights up, and our plans change. It’s not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last, trying to organise anything with my best friends is hard. Made harder because the three of them are busy focusing on things outside of Unity, while I’m consumed with study, committees, and whatever else I can lose myself in.
SG Heidi:
I have to cancel. Sorry. I have another urgent report due. I’ll order in tomorrow instead, less hassle.
I could cook.
My offer to cook is answered with a flurry of laughing gifs.
You wound me.
SG Raney:
Could say the same about your cooking.
SG Tristan:
Love you, Sim, but the last time you tried to cook, even OM Beatrice said you should focus your energy on other ways to help Alphas ;)
SG Heidi:
I’ve done an order with Roda’s already. Saved you the trouble, Sim.
SG Raney:
I’ll let the fire department know they can have the night off.
Harsh.
SG Tristan:
Wait, I could ask King to cook for us.
SG Raney:
Not funny, Tristan. That’s my dad you’re talking about.
SG Tristan:
Have you seen him? I’m so in love.
SG Heidi:
I’m muting you guys. I have to write this report. Love you.
SG Tristan:
Fine. Hey, wait, I have to do an opening at St Gabriels hospital soon. Anyone free to come with me?
SG Raney:
What? *laughing* Dad can’t go with you? *laughing*
SG Tristan:
Are you upset I asked you after he said no? *smirking*
SG Raney:
Emoji middle finger
I don’t get between Tristan and Raney as the two of them blow up our chat with a barrage of gifs and emojis. Instead I enjoy the peace and quiet of our apartment while everyone is out for the night, starting by triple checking my emails to see if I have any responses from Hendrix or Rye.
Seeing Lawson only amplified how short life is. It spurred me on, added fire to experiencing life to its fullest before returning to being nothing but a trophy.
Reinstalling the message apps and chats I had with the girls, Hendrix, and even Rye, was the first thing I did after leaving my family. My guilty conscience kicked in midway between take-off and landing but after logging on to my iCloud account and rereading the entry in my journal after Brody visited in the hospital, it cemented the path I had chosen.
Relationships were a big part of my journey, strong, real ones as opposed to the ones I was born into, where alliances were more important than actual ‘spiritual’ connections. The Scorned Girls were my soul sisters for life. It didn’t matter if I was in front of them or if I had disappeared for days, they included me in everything, acting like I was still there with them. Even back at the hospital I knew about everything they had done. My diary was now full of dinners, movie nights, and weekends away whether I wanted to attend or not. And I loved the chaos they brought.
But I’d also been busy making plans of my own—plans I wasn’t ready to share, because I wasn’t sure I’d follow through. Meeting Rye, finding out if he was who I believed he would be, was high on my list. After a quick visit to his home he revealed he was back on the road touring, our communication returned to sporadic messaging, the time differences making it hit-or-miss. Still, I was confident that if it was meant to be, we’d find a way to catch up.
Hendrix was another story. My infatuation towards him was stronger—maybe because he was so accessible, living in the same city, or maybe because we’d already seen and tasted each other. Right or wrong, I was obsessed. I couldn’t stop thinking of him—and what I wanted to do with him.
I took that for what it was, a small but important milestone in terms of personal healing. I wanted to touch myself or I wanted to feel his hands on my body. And I wanted it with a desperation similar to a heat spike. It was getting so bad that anytime I thought his name, my lips tingled and buzzed and warmth blossomed through my blood.
Spurred on by obsession and coupled with the rare chance of having the place to myself tonight—I found myself taking risks I never thought I would. If any of the girls knew I was sneaking out after curfew, they’d demand answers before insisting on tagging along. I loved them dearly, but this was something I needed to do alone, on my terms.
As soon as I make the decision to go tonight, relief washes over me. Confirmation I’m doing the right thing. But the piercing shrill of the phone in the kitchen has me wondering if I’ve been busted before I even try to leave. “Simona speaking.”
“Good afternoon, Omega Simona. Can you come to my office please?” Omega Mother Beatrice doesn’t wait for a response.
Since it’s the first Saturday in the middle of our exam revision period, I’m sure she’s not calling me about my course work. The only other reason that comes to mind is Brody’s here pretending to be my ‘brother’ again. I wish I never answered the phone now. Minutes later when I’m standing at the door to her office, my hand shakes so much it looks like I’m waving.
“Simona, come straight in.”
When the door opens, it’s just her—I nearly faint in relief. Until I register the look on Omega Mother Beatrice’s face. She looks like a cat that ate a canary, far too pleased for my liking. Yet, despite myself, I can’t help but mirror her wide smile. Because Brody’s not here.
She points to a chair in front of her desk. “I have exciting news.”
I sit, unsure where this conversation is going.
“Do you remember the creative writing competition from the start of the year?”
Not what I was expecting. And I do remember the task because the stimulus hit close to home: an article on repression. The task was to write about what freedom means on a personal level. The words flowed as I poured my heart and soul into the paper.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer her question. “I’m overjoyed to share; you came in third in the competition.”
“Really?” I ask, trying not shudder or shrink under her attention.
“Congratulations. We’re very proud of you, Simona.”
Blushing under her praise, I lower my gaze to my hands, trying not to fidget as a wave of emotion hits. “I’ve never won anything.”
“Now you have. At the end of next week, you and Omega Mother Jane will travel to our sister school, Rejoice Omega Collegiate, to accept your prize and read your submission aloud.”
“Read aloud? Like public speaking, or just a private reading?” My stomach drops at the mere thought of speaking in front of a room full of people. Anyone, actually.
“You will be reading your submission word for word to an entire auditorium of girls, teachers, and assistants. It’s such a wonderful opportunity, don’t you think?”
I have to take a few slow and steady breaths to calm the sudden need to vomit. “I don’t think I can.” The words pop out as soon as they appear in my thoughts. Admittedly those words beat like drums over and over, so they’re the only thing I can focus on.
She makes a noise of disbelief, and I watch her carefully, trying to get a better read on the situation. The disappointment I was expecting doesn’t appear. If anything, she looks at me understandingly, which makes me nervous.
Pushing a glass of water over her desk to me, she waits until I’ve taken a sip. “Simona, there’s not many people who do enjoy public speaking, but what you wrote needs to be shared.” Reclining back in her chair, she smiles conspiratorially. “Actually, now I think of it, Rejoice has a wonderful program that I think you will benefit from. How about I speak with Omega Mother Helena, their principal, and ask if we can postpone your speech to after the break. Maybe you’ll share your experience about the program I’m going to suggest you do, with the girls as part of your public speaking.”
I’m pretty sure I walked into something already in motion. Before I can ask what she means, Omega Mother Beatrice continues .
“Rejoice seems to attract the more artistically minded Omegas. One of the programs they offer is a small coaching arrangement with Alphas who volunteer their time—all with experience in public speaking. The program only runs during the holidays, not during the semester. They have a wonderful panel of experts: one is an industrial and technical specialist who speaks at trade shows, another is a University Lecturer, and the third has done voice work.
“It’s a five-day workshop led by those three Alphas, and it’s supposed to be quite enjoyable. You’ll gain endless tools to help overcome your hesitation with public speaking and discover your voice. And now you’re going to take part in it, right?”
Before I answer, a little voice inside my head pipes up reminding me to seize the day, but the deciding factor is when I figure out the program means I won’t have to return home. “I’d love to.”
My family are all attending an outdoor adventure retreat celebrating Lawson’s recovery. I was asked, but it felt wrong to accept. Instead, I was going to stay at the house by myself which would have been horrible.
“Good. I’ll confirm the details with everyone involved, including your family. We have a few more students partaking in a variety of other courses at Rejoice at the same time, so I’ll book you a seat on the bus. It leaves Unity the afternoon after our Unity break up afternoon tea.” She all but dismisses me with a wave before picking up the phone. As I close the door to her office, I hear her saying hello to Omega Mother Helena.
And then her news hits. I’m absolutely thrilled about getting third place. By the time I’ve finished getting ready, I’m trembling with excitement. Although, my win isn’t the reason.
The Uber I called pulls up in front of Noire, and before I can second guess my motivation—or whether I should even be here—the doorman I met previously opens my door.
“Evening.” There’s a spark of recognition that grows as I get out of the car, except he doesn’t push any kind of interaction. He treats me like a guest.
Handing him my membership card, I’ve never felt surer about anything.
He scans my details, opens the door, and welcomes me inside. The atmosphere feels different tonight, though that’s mostly because I know Brody isn’t here. Still, I remember how familiar the place felt the first time I walked through these doors—strange, considering I had no idea it was a sex club.
As I approach the reception desk, the attendant gives me a rundown of the rules. I only half-listen—I’ve already read them. Most of my focus is spent trying to keep myself still, resisting the urge to snatch the whole box of wristbands and bolt through the door.
“What colour did you want to wear this evening?”
“White.”
From what I’ve recently learned, the colour-coded system they use isn’t unique to this club. Different colours signal an individual’s interest, preferences, and level of willingness. White is universal for those with vanilla tastes, newcomers curious to explore but not looking to rush in. It also means anyone interested in approaching you has to ask for permission each time, since people’s desires can shift as easily as the wind.
I won’t change mine.
I’m here with a plan that involves Hendrix, but like the colour around my wrist, it will depend on what he wants out of any interaction we share.
Opting for mineral water instead of the free-flowing champagne, I find a seat on the edge of the room and focus on the stage rather than the milling crowd. I’m not here to mingle. Despite my nerves and the heavy cloud of scent surrounding me, only a few people approach. I make it clear I’m not interested in conversation, but they linger anyway—resting their glass on my table or leaning casually against its edge.
The music filtering through the room is as sultry as the dancers on stage. The set and costumes are just as captivating as the performers themselves—though calling their outfits costumes feels generous, given how little fabric is involved.
My focus though is solely on Hendrix as he commandeers the attention of the crowd.
The people around him are subtle in their attempts to catch his attention, which is ironic considering we’re in a sex club where anything goes. They pretend to be interested in what’s happening on stage, but their glances keep flicking towards him. It’s understandable—Hendrix has the kind of aura that draws people in without trying.
I notice the exact instant he realizes I’m here. It only takes a handful of minutes. His posture shifts—shoulders pulling back, head tilting slightly, as if he’s heard something. But in our case, it’s not sound. It’s scent. It’s me.
I almost feel sorry for the people he’s talking to. Almost. Because the second his focus locks on me, it’s as if they no longer exist—and that has to sting. But I know how he feels. That undeniable tug, the force that pulls him my way, is as unstoppable as a landslide. Neither of us has the power to stop the collision that’s bound to happen.
The rest of the room fades into the background until he’s the only thing I see. His eyes shimmer like dark emeralds, the stage lights helping make them sparkle, but it’s the eagerness in them that shines the brightest. He’s more casual tonight—black dress pants and an open-necked black button-down—but he still outshines everyone in the room. Next to him, they might as well have dressed straight from the Walmart clearance rack.
Each step he takes towards me is deliberate, unhurried—as if savouring the sizzling connection between us. It’s a sight to see, and he makes no effort to mask this sense of predatory authority that clings to him. Sleek as a jaguar, danger seems to dance beneath his skin with every move. But his mood shifts the instant he sees what’s on my wrist, and he doesn’t just radiate danger, he becomes lethal.
Another few steps and I am enveloped by his scent. I’m not sure I will ever get used to the intensity of it—the first tease of the ozone sharp enough to jolt you into awareness. But the deeper notes that follow are heavier, grounding—fresh earth after a downpour. There’s a richer tone of crisp woody notes that soothes, reminding me of comfort and strength and all of it combined together to swim through my senses.
I’m in that funny headspace, where I’m acutely aware of his scent and the things it makes me feel, but I’m consumed by watching him, studying every reaction. I can see the instance he steps into my perfume. I’m misting it, like I’m leaking happiness, and he doesn’t hide the slow smirk pulling at his lips. He runs a hand nervously through his dark hair—I doubt he even realises he’s doing it—but as he brushes it off his face, I’m floored by how handsome he is. And by how much he turns me on.
With an impatient snap of his fingers, he clears away all the people loitering nearby. I should probably pay more attention to how he does that, but nothing else matters. He doesn’t alter course, and in the next breath I take, he’s running one of his hands up the side of my thigh, while using the other to hook a finger under the white wrist band, trapping me in place with that single point of contact.
The air crackles around us, and as he leans down to press a kiss to my cheek, he snaps the band off before his thumb circles on my now naked wrist.
“And that goes against all those rules of yours, sir.” I seriously shock and impress myself at the hint of challenge in my voice. I have no clue where my confidence comes from, but I like it. So does he, judging by the thickening of his scent.
He chuckles against my ear, the rush of his breath shivering down my spine and across my skin. “You were taken the second I laid eyes on you. I’ve already told you, you’re mine. Time was the only thing holding me back and now you’re here; it looks like you’ve come to the same conclusion.”
“What conclusion would that be?”
“You’ve ended things with him, I take it?” he purrs against my ear.
My heart hammers so hard, I know he hears it because he pulls away so he can look into my eyes as I answer him. I won’t lie though.
“No.”
Hendrix loses some of the light in his eyes, and they harden because of it. His lips draw straighter, but I stop him pulling away before I get the chance to explain why I’m here.
“Are you disappointed by the fact I won’t break it off with him?”
“Disappointment is probably not the right word,” he bristles.
“But here I am, waiting for you in your club, using your money and the membership card you gifted me. Doesn’t that count for more than me still being with him?”
“I want everything with you, Simona.”
I hum softly, sorting through the force of his certainty. It’s a lot, especially in such a short time. But Hendrix and I are more than just scent matched, we share the same conviction. Lifting my glass, I take a sip of water while I figure out how to answer him as honestly as I can.
Hendrix doesn’t back up, though I lean into him, making it obvious I don’t want the space either. And despite the drop of his happiness, which is obvious to me as night is to day, he doesn’t make me feel like an idiot or an asshole.
Satisfied I’ve had enough of a breather to continue, he swivels my chair until I’m facing him, leaving no room for distraction. His eyebrows pitch up with impatience, and before I can think twice, my hand curls around his chin, guiding him back down toward me. There’s no conscious decision in the movement. It’s happening exactly the way it’s meant to, without hesitation or doubt.
“I need more time, but I’m also impatient. Which is why I am here. I have a proposal I’d like you to think about.”
The smirk falls away, and I get a flash of his designation in his eyes and a press of his presence—he’s irritated, but I would be too.
“Can I ask that you let me say what I want to say, and then also let me leave. Don’t answer straight away because that’s not fair. What I’m asking is a lot. I’d also appreciate you not interrupting or denying me the opportunity to explain it all first. And yes, that sounds awfully presumptuous, but you make me braver. More desperate too, but that’s another issue entirely.”
In response, I get another of his smiles—and he has a few different ones—but this one is reaffirming. In case I don’t read it properly, Hendrix pushes against my hand that’s cupping his face, urging me to focus on him and to keep going. His jaw is hard as stone under my touch, probably because I asked him to not speak until I had finished, but his hands on my body are gently encouraging me to go on.
“I am being brazen and overly forward, and maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, assuming we’re on the same page. Hopefully we are, then you’ll understand what I’m going to say.” I pause and take the time to look in his eyes. In them I see both the future I want and the path I have to endure. “I can’t give you what I think you want, which is all of me. I want to?—”
I forbid you hammers against my submission in time with the race of my heart. My throat locks up almost instantly, and I have to cough to clear it. I thought it might, when I came up with this plan, but I can’t let Brody stop me. I’m confident I can talk around his bark; well, I hope I can.
“Packing isn’t an option. It is not on the table. If that is the only outcome you can see, this is where we end, or I can give you everything in between.”
He growls, pushing harder against my hand, and I take it as a cue to keep going.
“I want you so much it hurts,” I whisper, and my scent plumes to confirm the truth of those words before it falls away. “And this is where I push without knowing almost anything about you, especially your views on life and the morals by which you live. I don’t want anyone else knowing about us.”
He scoffs; it’s not an ugly noise full of derision. Instead, it’s a release of surprise, and I can already see on his face that I’ve completely blindsided him in terms of our hopefully blossoming relationship. His mouth opens and shuts a few times, his eyes dancing over my face, looking for more, and I think I can read a hundred different outcomes.
“I have a pack, Simona.”
Of course an Alpha like Hendrix would have a pack.
I drop my eyes to hide my disappointment, but he doesn’t let me hide for long.
“They would welcome you with open arms, I know it.” He says it simply. And for an outsider, someone who doesn’t understand my family or the duty I have, life could probably be that simple.
“You already know I have a pack too. You’ve even met my Alpha.” He narrows his eyes as I answer him, truth for truth. “It is what it is, Hendrix. You’re the owner of a sex club, so I have no doubt you’ve seen and heard it all.”
“And what does that have to do with you breaking it off with him.
“I won’t do that.” I can’t do that .
“I don’t get the angle you’re coming from,” he says calmly, but in his eyes, I can see he’s having trouble getting past the fact I won’t end things but am trying to start things too.
Considering he can’t separate the two, and since I’ve got a pocket full of his money, I’m struck by another possible scenario that might work better. It’s cheeky as heck, but it might make it easier for him to accept. “We could always set this up as a paid relationship, like your staff do with their regulars.”
He misses the tone, and my teasing smile, getting caught on the words only. “I don’t work the floor,” he hisses.
“I’m not asking for public displays,” I answer quietly, looking at the glass fronted display cabinet rooms set up along the side of the room for that very reason. If he listens better, he’ll see I just want him, no matter how it happens.
“I don’t fuck other people for money, Simona,” he bites back.
And before I can temper my hurt, I snap back, suddenly frustrated at him. “We probably won’t be fucking either.”
“Excuse me?” he asks, exaggerating each word.
“No vaginal penetration or knotting is allowed.”
He stands straighter, crowding me as I share with him my other condition. His scent is starting to build and roil around us, exactly like storm clouds gathering on the darkening horizon. The features on his face harden, his green eyes becoming brittle like broken glass, and I prepare for the inevitable pain that’s to come.
“What else do you want out of this very one-sided arrangement you’re so graciously offering?” He lashes out like I betrayed or tricked him, which is the complete opposite of what I wanted to do.
I had hoped, naively it seems, that he would see I was desperate for anything and that we could come to some sort of agreement. But now I’m coming face to face with the venom of his anger. I was foolishly hoping it wouldn’t happen, but it seems as though Hendrix is the same as all the other Alphas in my life.
I push out of his space before taking a step further away from his warmth. I’d rather be cold and alone than deal with someone who won’t listen to me.
“I knew I was asking a lot. It was always going to be a hard ask but nowhere in that did I ask you to be spiteful or hostile. A simple no would have been enough.”
I’ve been here—in this space where the power shifts. I’ve also been locked into awful situations because of it. I won’t do it, no matter how much I ache for anything to do with Hendrix.
From my handbag, I unpack his watch and phone, the rest of the cash along with his black Amex. The gesture speaks clearer than any words I could find.
“Simona,” he hisses, “we need to talk about this.”
The way he speaks my name—sharp edged and unyielding—is a sign of his anger. Whether it’s directed at me or the situation is irrelevant. I’ve already been the victim of an Alpha’s emotions, the scars etched deep into my soul, with the awful reality of my future still looming because of them. I don’t need to endure anyone else’s emotions. Not now. Not when I’m already drowning in the anxiety of knowing I’ve screwed this up.
I’m running out of spoons, and the few I have left need to be for me.
This time my throat constricts as my chest fills with a well of sadness. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
His hand reaches out to stop me leaving, but I keep walking despite his hold. And he lets me leave. But the way he’s holding my arm means our fingers glide together. The way he moves is at odds with his words. Instead of being comforted, I only find the gesture more hurtful.
I realise I’m being demanding, and he wasn’t wrong saying this arrangement was one-sided. I really thought the connection we share would be enough to make up for the difficulties any situation involving me would include.
Walking away without giving him the chance to explain doesn’t feel like a cop-out either. Each step I take toward the exit becomes easier and his influence falls away completely by the time I’m walking down the stairs, although the ache in my chest amplifies with each passing second.
There is no grand, dramatic scene where he chases me down the street. I’m not living between the pages of a romance novel. Sadly, I learnt long ago I never would be. Even as a little girl growing up, I knew my life was not my own.
I just hoped I would have had this chance. But that is on me clinging to hope, even knowing how futile that is.
I spend the entire time walking back to Unity, hoarding away the memory of each of his touches and the sweet reminders of his scent.
It will have to do.