Chapter 16 #2
Rosemarie decides to sit next to him. Not across from him, not in another chair entirely—right next to him, close enough that their shoulders could touch if she shifted a few inches.
Bold move, little Omega. Julian doesn't like people in his space. He's had Omegas throw themselves at him for years—models, socialites, wealthy heiresses—and he's never once shown interest. Most people learn quickly not to push.
But Rosemarie just... sits. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like Julian's prickly exterior doesn't intimidate her in the slightest.
I can see Julian's side-eye move toward her, sharp and assessing. "Don't ask what I'm doing," he says flatly.
"I won't." She settles into the cushions, completely at ease despite his obvious irritation. "Looks complicated, but stocks are fun when you have money to play with."
Julian's fingers freeze on the tablet screen. He doesn't say anything, but I can see the shift in his posture—the sudden interest he's trying very hard to hide. She knew what he was doing just from a glance. And she called it fun.
Most people look at Julian's screens and see intimidating numbers. Complicated charts. Things they can't understand. But she looked at it and saw something familiar. Something playful.
Interesting. Very interesting.
I lean against the doorway between the kitchen and living room, content to watch for now. Elias walks past me to settle on the other sofa, still shooting Rosemarie occasional glances that are equal parts impressed and wary.
"Okay," Elias says, clapping his hands together. "Let's do proper introductions, since we never actually got around to that. What we all do, that kind of thing." He grins, always the one to break tension and smooth things over. "I'll start."
He launches into an explanation of his role at the fire department—how he started as a rookie six years ago and worked his way up through the ranks. How he just got promoted to Chief, the youngest one in the department's history. How the job gives him purpose in a way nothing else ever has.
"The thrill of it," he says, and there's a light in his eyes that only appears when he talks about work.
"Running into danger when everyone else is running away.
Knowing that your actions can save someone's life.
It's not about the adrenaline—well, okay, it's a little about the adrenaline—but mostly it's about meaning. Doing something that matters."
Rosemarie is watching him with genuine interest, her head tilted slightly. "That's incredible," she says, and she means it. "Chief at twenty-nine. That's impressive."
Elias grins, basking in the compliment. "Thanks. I worked my ass off for it."
"What about you, Tank?" she asks, turning those hazel eyes my direction.
I shrug, pushing off from the doorframe. "I take side gigs here and there. Bodyguard work, mostly. Private security." I settle into the armchair across from her, stretching my legs out. "I'm taking a break from deployment. The military isn't giving me the same sense of purpose it used to."
That's the sanitized version. The version that doesn't include classified operations in countries I can't name. The version that doesn't include the things I've done—the things I've seen—that wake me up in cold sweats some nights. She doesn't need to know all of that. Not yet.
"I get that," she says softly, and something in her expression tells me she understands more than I've said. "Purpose is important. When you lose it..." She trails off, shaking her head. "It changes you."
Julian remains silent, his attention seemingly fixed on his tablet. The screen has gone dark from inactivity, but he's making no move to unlock it.
Elias, ever the social butterfly, steps in. "And this ray of sunshine," he says, gesturing at Julian, "is Julian North. Investor extraordinaire. Mostly not in Oakridge Hollows—he's a city boy at heart. But he's here on a business trip. Or the reality that he's about to be jobless if he doesn't—"
"Fuck off," Julian says without looking up.
"He's also a model?" Rosemarie says, framing it as a question even though we all know it's a statement.
Elias opens his mouth to elaborate, but Julian cuts him off.
"Yes, I do modeling from time to time." His voice is flat, bored.
"It would be a nice full-time gig, but that requires social backing.
Influencing. Brand deals. All that nonsense.
" He finally looks up, meeting Rosemarie's eyes with an expression that's carefully blank.
"And I'm not exactly the easiest person to work with. So." He shrugs. "It's also unreliable."
Rosemarie studies him for a long moment. Long enough that I can see Julian start to shift uncomfortably under her gaze, though he'd never admit it.
"You don't actually care about whether it's reliable or not," she says finally.
Julian goes still. His fingers tighten on the tablet. "Excuse me?"
"The reliability." She waves a hand dismissively. "That's not what bothers you about it. What bothers you is the difference between your passion and what pays for your goals and dreams."
She read him. In thirty seconds of conversation, she read him better than most people manage in thirty years.
She shrugs, seemingly unaware of the impact of what she's just said.
"You think if I truly had money, I'd be running away from my family?
If I was financially well off, I would have continued my life in the city.
" A wistful expression crosses her face.
"I was doing my dream job. Barista work and head creative influencer at the Starbucks Reserve in Chicago.
They offered me a creative director position. Even shares in the company."
"Starbucks Reserve?" Elias looks impressed. "That's huge."
"It was," she agrees. "But it wasn't going to give me the freedom I need. Not when my family could still reach me. Not when..." She trails off, shaking her head. "The best job in the world means nothing if you're still trapped."
"What do you seek?" Elias asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "If money and career aren't enough, what is it you're actually looking for?"
She's quiet for a moment, considering the question with the gravity it deserves.
"Honestly? I don't know." She laughs softly.
"I love creating coffee and various drinks.
Experimenting with flavors, crafting something unique, watching someone's face light up when they taste something I made.
Hell, I'd love to have my own little shop someday.
A cozy little place where people could come for good coffee and escape from the chaos of the world, even if just for a few minutes. "
Her expression shifts into something softer.
Something almost dreamy. "Seeing my peers like Hazel Holloway build her bakery and watching it expand.
.. that was inspiring. Reverie achieving her social media goals and finding a pack along the way, just like Hazel did.
.." She smiles, and it's genuine—pleased for her friends even in the midst of her own uncertainty.
"I'm just wanting to follow the path that will give me fulfillment, you know?
And I think maybe opening my own coffee shop could be that.
I just need the logistics. The support."
Logistics and support. Things her family clearly never provided. Things her ex-pack definitely never offered. She has dreams—real, tangible dreams—and no one has ever helped her pursue them.
Until now. Until she walked into our lives and fit like a puzzle piece none of us knew we were missing.
She shakes her head, pulling herself back to the present. "But going back to the objective here—Julian doesn't need to lose his job. If you need a temporary Omega, I can do that. Less than six weeks is an easy commitment."
I study her carefully from my position in the armchair. "And you need protection from your ex-pack?"
She hesitates. Nervous energy ripples through her scent—that soft amber undertone sharpening into something more anxious. But she nods slowly.
"It would be nice," she admits, her voice smaller than before.
"Just until Valentine's Day. You know how luxury deals work.
" There's a bitter edge to her words now.
"Pass the date and all bets are off. My family will leave me alone the moment they realize they can't benefit from me anymore.
And, well..." She trails off, her gaze dropping to her hands.
"Being in another pack temporarily would be nice.
Maybe I'll get to experience more breakfasts at the table together. "
The room goes quiet.
Elias is the first to break the silence. "You really never ate together with your pack?" There's something horrified in his voice. Something that matches what I'm feeling.
She shakes her head. "Nope. Not with my pack. Not with my family either, actually." She tries to make it sound casual, but I can hear the hurt underneath. "Maybe when I was a child. But as we grew older... it just never happened."
Never. She's never had a real family meal. Never had the basic experience of sitting at a table with people who care about her. What kind of life has she been living?
I share a look with Elias and Julian. We don't need words—we've been pack long enough that certain understandings pass between us silently. This woman has been through hell. And she's asking for protection. For a place at our table. For something that should be the bare minimum of pack life.
"Then let's make a deal," I say, my voice firm with finality.
Rosemarie's head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine.
"You'll be our pack's temporary Omega. We can file the paperwork to prove to the government that you're pending acceptance into a pack—that way no one can make any fast moves to claim you legally.
And we'll provide you protection until Valentine's Day.
" I pause, letting the words sink in. "Julian gets to keep his gigs.
Elias and I are fine with the arrangement. "
She's staring at me like she can't quite believe what she's hearing. Like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like kindness without strings attached is a foreign concept she's forgotten how to recognize.
What did they do to her? What kind of people made her expect the worst from everyone?
"And it's a rarity that we ever eat alone," I continue, holding her gaze. "Unless we're all at work. When we're all in town, we make sure to eat together—whether for breakfast or dinner. It's a non-negotiable in our pack."
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"So that now includes you," I declare. "And Sasha."
At the sound of his name, Sasha comes bolting into the living room like he's been waiting for his cue. A hundred and fifty pounds of enthusiastic Malamute launching himself directly at the couch—and directly at Julian.
Julian curses, trying to fend off the assault of fur and tongue. "I'm allergic!" he sputters, pushing ineffectively at Sasha's massive head.
"Allergic my ass," Elias laughs, clearly enjoying his packmate's suffering. "You've been around Sasha for four years and I've never seen you sneeze once."
"He sheds! He sheds on my suits!"
"Then stop wearing designer shit to a house with a dog!"
Rosemarie is giggling—that bright, genuine sound that seems to transform her entire face. She reaches over to scratch behind Sasha's ears, and he immediately abandons his assault on Julian to lean into her touch.
"Did you like breakfast?" she coos at the dog, using that voice humans use when talking to animals. "You did? Such a good boy. Yes, you are."
Sasha's tail is wagging so hard his entire back end is wiggling. Julian is trying to brush dog hair off his tablet with an expression of long-suffering resignation. Elias is still laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. And Rosemarie...
Rosemarie looks happy. Genuinely, truly happy, in a way I don't think she's been in a very long time. The tension that's been coiled in her shoulders since she woke up this morning has finally eased. The wariness in her eyes has softened into something more trusting. More open.
This might actually work.
I watch the chaos unfold—my packmates, my dog, this unexpected Omega who walked into our lives and somehow made everything feel different. Better. Like a piece we didn't know was missing has finally clicked into place.
But beneath the warmth spreading through my chest, my tactical mind is already working.
Rosemarie mentioned bounty hunters. She mentioned an ex-pack, a family trying to sell her off, luxury deals with expiration dates.
There's more to her story than she's told us—more danger, more complications, more reasons someone would want to track her down.
She needs protection. Real protection. And if I'm going to provide it, I need to know what we're up against.
I make a mental note to dig into her background.
To find out who's looking for her and why.
To figure out exactly how desperate her ex-pack is to get her back.
Because if they sent bounty hunters to a government-mandated mixer, they're already willing to break rules.
And desperate people do desperate things.
I've seen what desperation can drive people to do. I've been the one who stopped them. And I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt this woman who just offered herself as our pack's salvation.
Because if they're smart, they'll cut their losses and move on. They'll realize that Rosemarie has found protection and leave her alone.
And if they're not...
Well, I've spent years training for situations exactly like this. Protecting people. Neutralizing threats. Making problems disappear.
I crack my knuckles, watching Rosemarie giggle as Sasha tries to climb into her lap despite being far too big for such nonsense.
It's time to see how desperate this ex-pack is.