Chapter 5
JESS
Crossing into their space makes something twist low in my gut.
I’ve got that suppressant shot ticking in my system—eight to ten weeks, supposedly—but biology doesn’t exactly follow the rules, and neither do people.
What if it hits early?
What if all their careful promises crumble the second my scent changes?
What if I didn’t escape a cage; I just traded it for a prettier one?
I push the panic down where the rest of my inconvenient feelings live. Right now I need to figure out how to survive ninety days with three strangers who are way too attractive for my sanity.
Part of me wonders if this is a mistake. But I can’t go back to Nexus. And if I’m honest—if I let myself think about it for more than five seconds—it’s not just about me.
It’s about Sabrina.
My sister. My best friend.
The person who braided my hair and taught me to be brave, and then disappeared into Nexus seven years ago like she’d never existed at all.
The system says she was placed. But placed where? With who?
And why haven’t I heard from her in years?
Eli might be my only link to finding out what happened to her. If he wasn’t there when she was processed, he could still check the records.
I can’t ask him yet. Can’t let them see how desperate I am.
But every time I look at Eli, I see my last chance at finding her.
And I’m terrified of what I’ll learn.
Something tells me not to ask this first day. Bringing it up casually like I’m curious and not desperate for answers, would probably be best.
The house smells like cedar, clean laundry, and a hint of garlic.
Underneath, the steady drum of them: Rowan’s rain-and-sandalwood framework, Cassian’s amber and leather with a hint of black pepper, Eli’s bergamot and clean linen.
It should be overwhelming, except it isn’t.
The scents unspool, less like dominance and more like… space held open.
“Shoes,” Eli says gently, tapping a mat lined in neat pairs. “Floor’s heated. Trust me, your feet will thank you.”
I toe off my scuffed sneakers, the cuff at my ankle catching on the heel. It hasn’t been there long, yet my skin has a half-moon imprint from the ridge. The plastic bites, and I hide the flinch with a smile I don’t quite feel.
Rowan’s gaze drops to my ankle. To the half-moon where the cuff has already left its mark. His jaw tightens, and something dangerous flashes in his eyes, not at me, but for me.
“We’re getting you a soft cover for that.” His voice is rough, barely controlled as he takes out his cell from his jacket pocket.
The fact that they’re unprepared for an Omega from Nexus makes me warm inside for some reason. Like this wasn’t premeditated at all, or that they settled for me because another Omega was outbid.
“Yes. And express, same-day delivery, no matter what time,” he says.
I pretend to study the foyer instead of his mouth. Dark timber beams, polished river stone, a long runner that swallows sound. The place looks like a magazine spread for people with taste and money. Out past the windows: trees. Pines tall enough to make the sky feel smaller.
Standing still, the floor warmer feels like a caress. I bet it’s even more amazing during the winter. Back home is all wood floors, and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night or early morning is torture.
Cassian shrugs off his motorcycle jacket and hangs it up on a hook near the front door. “Tour?”
“Sure.”
The hallway smells like lemon oil and the faint smell of sawdust, as if the beams remember Cassian’s hands.
He peels off to tighten a hinge on a hall closet without breaking stride, which would be irritating if it weren’t…
weirdly nice. The closet door had been hanging a degree open; now it clicks into place.
“Compulsion?” I ask because I can’t help it.
“Pride,” he says. “Different diagnosis.”
“Pride always looks good on you,” Eli says, brushing past him. The faint lift of bergamot in the air smooths the tension that coils around my shoulders.
Eli leads me into a bright bathroom with Cassian following us, watching my reaction.
“Rain shower. Fresh towels here.” Eli opens a cabinet stacked with fluffy white ones. “If you need specific brands for shampoo or anything, just ask.”
He gestures toward a door on the opposite wall. “Laundry’s through there. I can wash your clothes while you nap since I know you didn’t sleep much at Nexus. And I’ll order you clothes to try so you’re not stuck in a bathrobe or one outfit.”
I blink at him, waiting for the punchline. For the angle. But his eyes stay soft, patient, like he knows I don’t believe him and he’s willing to wait until I do.
“I do care,” he says, and the words land like a hand reaching through dark water.
The air snags in my throat. I want to say something sharp, something to shove him back to a safe distance. Instead, what comes out is small and honest: “Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just holds my gaze like the question matters. Like I matter. “Because you deserve it.”
Cassian just rolls his eyes and mutters something about Beta diplomacy, but he’s not annoyed because the edge in his scent fades.
We keep walking through this massive two-story house. Sunlight filters down the hall through narrow windows, landing in gold bars across the floor. The whole house feels designed to breathe: open space, wide thresholds, soft light.
It should feel freeing. It mostly does. But every door still reminds me that I’m not allowed to leave.
Eli stops beside a room with a brass knob and a carved frame. “Yours.” And he pushes it open.
The air smells faintly of eucalyptus and clean cotton. A queen-sized bed piled high with pale quilts, a window seat overlooking the trees, a bookshelf, and a hand-built dresser. A small fern sits in the corner, impossibly green. My throat tightens for no good reason.
“It’s… nice,” I say. Understatement of the year.
“You can change anything you want,” Eli says. “Furniture, curtains, layout. Whatever makes it feel yours.”
Cassian crouches by the bookshelf and pulls out a small biometric lock, turning it over in his scarred hands. “For the door. It’ll read your fingerprint. No one gets in unless you want them to.”
I stare at him. At the lock. “You’re giving me a lock. For a room in your house.”
“It’s your room in our house,” he corrects, voice low and certain. “Your space. Your choice.”
I stare at the lock in his scarred hands. Omegas don’t get locks. Ever.
The Omega Institute told us were were precious while teaching us to be perfect for Alphas: to kneel, to present, to make them want us. They promise we’ll be pampered, treasured, safe.
Sabrina believed them. But she never called to tell us about the Alphas cherishing her.
No letters about how right the brochures were.
Just nothing. And my mind has filled that silence with every horror story I’ve ever heard of Alphas going feral during a rut, Omegas disappearing into pack houses, protected turning into possessed.
And here’s this Alpha—this stranger Nexus basically checked me out to on loan—offering me a bedroom with a door I can actually lock from the inside.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
“I don’t—” I press my lips together, hard, fighting back the tears that want to fall. “Why would you do that?”
Cassian’s expression softens. He stands slowly, leaving the lock on the shelf like an offering. “Because you’re not a prisoner here, Jess. And you shouldn’t have to wonder if we’ll remember that.”
I swipe at my face, furious at myself for crying, for feeling this much. But he doesn’t look uncomfortable. He just waits, solid and steady, until I can breathe again.
“Thank you,” I whisper. It doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing does.
Eli moves past me to open a small built-in cabinet. Inside, I see a compact mini-fridge stocked with water, juice, and a few protein drinks. The sight makes something cold and cautious curl low in my stomach.
“How long’s that been there?” The words escape before I can stop them. I stare at the drinks, perfectly lined up. Nothing dusty. Nothing forgotten. “You’ve had others here. Other Omegas.”
It’s not a question.
The silence that follows is soft but suffocating.
Cassian straightens slowly. “We’ve tried before,” he says finally, and there’s something raw in his voice. “Didn’t work out.”
Didn’t work out. Like a failed recipe. Like a broken appliance. Except we’re talking about people. About Omegas who came here and then... what? Left? Were they sent back? Disappeared like Sabrina?
My pulse hammers. “What happened to them?”
“They weren’t happy,” Eli says quietly. “So we let them go.”
Let them go. The phrase should be comforting. Instead, it sits cold in my stomach. I’ve got this damn cuff clamped around my ankle, ticking down ninety days of lockdown. And this house is full of shadows of Omegas just like me who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, last.
I nod like that answers everything. It doesn’t. But I don’t expect them to spill all their dark secrets when I’m still hiding mine.
There’s a blanket chest at the foot of the bed. I open it carefully, half-expecting... I don’t know what. Proof of something dark. Evidence of the Omegas who came before. But it’s just extra sheets and blankets, soft and plain and disappointingly normal.
The closet is massive, and the luxurious bathroom that even Mom and Sabrina would be envious of. “It’s—” I have to clear my throat. “It’s really great. Thank you.”
Eli smiles. “It’s early, but you look like you could use rest.”
“I’m fine,” I start, then a loud yawn betrays me, and I press a hand to my mouth. “Maybe not.”
Cassian smirks, but it’s not mean. “Try the bed. It’s better than fine.”
I glance at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed that reads 1:07 in the afternoon. “Yeah, it was hard to sleep with cameras at Nexus.”
“No one’s watching here,” Eli says, and it’s so matter-of-fact that it almost sounds true.
“Except the cameras,” Cassian mutters.
Eli gives him a look. “There are no cameras inside.”
That inside hangs there. An invisible fence around the word.
“I’ll be in the workshop,” Cassian says, voice low. “Holler if you want anything fixed.”
He leaves before I can respond, and I wonder what he’s thinking about me, about all of this.
Eli lingers, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “You need anything—water, massage, noise machine—just whistle. Help yourself to anything you like here.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t press. Just gives a short nod. “Rest, Jess.”
When he closes the door behind him, the quiet settles thick and absolute. The kind that feels deliberate. Safe, maybe, but also designed.
Ninety days. No escape. Just them and me.
I sit on the side of the bed. The mattress dips around me, soft enough to swallow thought. The quilt carries Eli’s bergamot and that warm-dryer bite, like he ran it on purpose, expecting some wrecked Omega to crash here.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but it still thaws something small and stubborn inside me.
When was the last time someone did something just for me? Dad’s been away at work so much that I hardly ever see him.
The pillow cradles my head, and I hate how good it feels. How much I want this. How terrifying it is to want anything when everything gets taken away. First Sabrina, then Mom’s drinking, and even Dad, like everyone died in one way or another, leaving me.
Outside, the trees sway in the sunlight, their rhythm steady as breathing. Mine isn’t. My throat tightens, eyes burn, and I press my face into the pillow so they don’t hear if I break.
What if these Alphas and this Beta actually want me—not an Omega, not a commodity, but me.
Jess.
The girl whose sister vanished and whose mother gave up. The girl who’s been so alone she forgot what warmth felt like until Eli said I do care like he meant it.
Tomorrow, Nexus will want proof I’m breathing. But right now, in this moment, I’m not just breathing. I’m aching. Hoping. And that’s the most dangerous thing I’ve done in years.
Because the last time I hoped for something, Sabrina walked into Nexus and never came out.