Bonus Epilogue
BONUS EPILOGUE
brOOKES
T he lights are blinding, the music pounding like a second heartbeat, and the crowd beyond the runway is a blur of faces and flashing cameras. But none of it fazes me anymore. Not like it used to. Not now when I know exactly who's watching.
"Final walk, Brookes. You're closing the show," the designer calls out, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve. The suit is dramatic, glittering black and gold, stitched to hug my frame perfectly. My makeup's been touched up three times already—camera ready. Always camera ready.
I take a breath.
"Ready?" a low voice murmurs near my ear. Dante. Always close. Always calm. His broad form looms just beyond the curtain, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning the exits.
"Born ready," I smirk, even if my palms are sweating. Stage fright's a thing I've learned to dance with.
"Signal if you need anything," Hero adds, appearing at my other side like a damn shadow. He's the sharpest of the three, wiry, fast, deadly in a way that still makes me feel safer than I probably should. I know I'm never completely safe, but a man can dream.
And I know Levi is in the crowd somewhere. Watching. Waiting. The most lowkey of the three, until someone makes the mistake of underestimating him. Then all hell breaks loose.
My hellhounds , Charlotte calls them. She would.
It's been a year since she helped tear the world open and let the truth scream into the light. A year since she rescued me, since I woke up to find the worst behind me and these three Alphas assigned to me like my own personal Avengers.
They were just security back then. Now? I'm not sure what to call them. But I know what they are. Mine. Not that I've admitted it out loud. Yet.
The crowd erupts as the model ahead of me disappears down the runway. My cue .
I step into the light.
The flashbulbs don't make me flinch as I pose and give the first look. The music pulses. I walk. Head high. Shoulders back. Confidence stitched into my every step.
Somewhere out there, Charlotte's probably watching a feed from across the country, her tablet balanced on her lap, multitasking as usual. Still saving the world. One Omega at a time.
I owe her everything. But I've learned to live for myself, too.
Backstage again, the adrenaline crashes through me all at once. I make it to the dressing area, collapsing into the chair as a makeup artist starts removing the glitter from my cheeks.
"You okay?" Levi's voice rumbles low, warm, as he appears behind me. I see him in the mirror—tall, solid, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark slacks like he isn't two seconds from disarming a gunman if necessary.
I nod.
"Proud of you," he adds, and for some reason, that makes my throat tighten. It's been a year of me getting out of my own way and a shit ton of therapy. I had to build trust with these three from the ground up. So, his words mean a lot .
The three of them form a triangle around me as the show winds down—shielding, protecting. Not because I'm fragile, but because I matter.
For the first time in my life, I know what that feels like.
Safe. Loved. Chosen.
Afterparties in Paris are all champagne bubbles and designer drugs, beautiful people pretending nothing matters while desperately hoping someone important notices them. I've been on both sides of that desperation. The wanting and the wanted.
"Monsieur Daniels, you were magnifique tonight!" A photographer with too-white teeth leans in, his camera already aimed at my face.
I flash him the smile that pays my bills, the one that doesn't quite reach my eyes but looks perfect in print. "Merci."
Dante materializes at my side, one hand sliding to the small of my back. His touch burns through the thin material of my shirt. "Two minutes," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "The car's waiting."
The photographer's eyes flicker to Dante, then back to me. Something knowing passes over his face. "Such devoted security," he says with a smirk that makes my skin crawl .
"Take the photo or fuck off," I reply sweetly, smile never faltering.
He laughs, snaps three shots in rapid succession, then disappears into the crowd like smoke. Typical. They always want the shot more than they care about the insult.
"You could try being nicer," Hero says, appearing on my other side with a glass of sparkling water. Not alcohol. Never alcohol at industry events. That's rule number one. I need my wits about me at all times.
I accept the glass. "I'm saving all my nice for people who deserve it."
Hero's lips twitch. "Fair enough."
The party swirls around us—models, designers, socialites, all pretending they're having the time of their lives while secretly counting the minutes until they can kick off their shoes and order room service. I get it. I'm one of them.
Or I was.
Now I'm something else. Something that doesn't quite fit in this world anymore but still walks in it because it's what I know how to do.
"Ready?" Levi appears beside Hero, his presence like a wall between me and the rest of the room. The three of them move like this, always keeping me at the center, always knowing exactly where the others are.
I nod, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline crash is hitting hard, and all I want is a hot shower and bed.
We move through the crowd like water—smooth, deliberate. People part unconsciously before my three Alphas, some turning to stare as we pass. I know what they see. What they think.
Poor little Omega with his protection detail. The one who got kidnapped. The cautionary tale.
Fuck them. They don't know shit.
Outside, the Parisian night is cool and clear. Our car idles at the curb, sleek and black with tinted windows. Hero opens the door, scanning the street as I slide in. The others follow, and just like that, we're sealed in our bubble again.
"Hotel?" Dante asks, his dark eyes finding mine in the rearview mirror. He always drives. Control freak.
"Please," I exhale, letting my head fall back against the leather seat. "I'm dead on my feet."
"You were incredible tonight," Hero says quietly from beside me.
"You say that after every show," I point out, but warmth blooms in my chest anyway.
"Because it's true every time," Levi counters from the passenger seat, turning to look at me. His gaze is steady, unflinching. The way he looks at me sometimes, like he can see right through me, past all the glitter and attitude to the mess underneath.
My throat tightens again. This keeps happening lately, this sudden rush of emotion I don't know what to do with. A year ago, I couldn't imagine feeling safe again. Couldn't imagine trusting anyone, let alone three Alphas. Not after what happened.
The car pulls away from the curb, sliding into Paris traffic. I watch the city blur past my window, the lights, the architecture, the beauty of it all feeling surreal and distant.
"You're thinking about Houston again," Hero says softly, his thigh pressed against mine. We don't scent mark, not officially, but the casual touches have become more frequent. More necessary.
I don't bother denying it. They know me too well by now. "It's been a year."
A weighted silence falls over the car. They know what I mean. A year since the kidnapping. A year since I woke up in the penthouse with Charlotte holding my hand. A year since I decided I couldn't go back to the life I had before.
"Do you regret leaving?" Levi asks, his voice careful. Neutral. But I can hear the real question beneath it. Do you regret us ?
"No." The answer comes quickly, firmly. "I couldn't have stayed. Not without Char." I swallow hard. "And Los Angeles has been good."
Better than good. A fresh start. A place where I'm more than just the Omega model who survived, being kidnapped and beaten. Where I can build something new. With them.
Dante catches my eye in the mirror again. "You've been quiet about the New York memorial next month."
Right. The memorial. The event Charlotte's organizing to honor the Omegas who've been lost to Omega Trafficking. The ones who never got found, never got saved. Who weren't privileged enough to have anyone come to their rescue.
"I don't know if I want to go," I admit, watching the Seine glitter under the streetlights as we cross a bridge.
"You don't have to decide now," Hero says, his hand finding mine in the darkness of the backseat. His fingers are warm, calloused. Real.
"We'll support whatever you choose," Dante adds.
And that's the thing about them. They always do. From the moment they were assigned to me, Dante with his tactical precision, Hero with his lethal grace, Levi with his quiet strength, they've never once made me feel like I wasn't in control of my own life.
Even when control was the only thing I was desperate to cling to.
The car pulls up to our hotel, one of those discreet luxury places that doesn't blink when you request three adjoining rooms with a private entrance. Money makes everything possible. And I have money now—more than before, ironically. Tragedy sells. My first magazine cover after the kidnapping broke sales records.
Funny how almost dying can be career-making.
I have everything I ever wanted. Everything except a pack. Love.
But maybe, for the first time, I'm starting to believe that might still be possible.
Okay. Now this really is the end.