Chapter 27
JESS
The drive home was quiet. Even with the radio on, my thoughts were louder.
I changed, fixed my hair, painted confidence over the cracks—but my reflection didn’t buy it.
Now the city’s all glass and chrome again, and the closer we get to Nexus, the tighter my ribs feel.
Nexus headquarters rises from the skyline like it’s allergic to warmth. Clean lines, mirrored glass, and a lobby that smells like power. The guys look carved from the same element as the building: sharp, contained, unshakable.
I’m the only one who feels like an imposter.
By the time we pull up, my pulse’s doing double time. The valet’s already opening the door, but Rowan beats him to it. His hand finds mine—steady, grounding.
Cassian circles to my other side, scanning the line of dark suits and glittering dresses like he’s expecting a threat.
Eli smooths a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve, calm as ever. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs, the words meant for me alone.
And for a second, I almost believe him.
Rowan’s in his usual black suit, collar open just enough to prove he doesn’t care about their rules. Cassian somehow made formal wear look dangerous. And Eli—God, he looks like every Beta dream of control and composure, sleeves rolled once, voice calm as marble.
Together, they’re gravity.
And I’m pretending I belong in their orbit.
At the entrance, a woman in a silver Nexus badge checks their IDs against a sleek tablet, her smile polite and soulless. “Mr. Kade. Mr. Locke. Mr. Hawthorne. And Miss Mancini.”
The way she says Miss Mancini makes it sound like a question.
Eli thanks her smoothly while Rowan’s jaw ticks once. Cassian just gives a sharp, warning grin that makes the greeter look away fast.
Then we’re inside—the kind of inside where the air itself smells expensive.
If confidence had a scent, this place reeked of it.
Perfume and polished marble, starched collars and money—too much of both. The Nexus dinner isn’t a dinner so much as a performance, every table a stage where Alphas and Omegas pretend they’re not being graded.
I smile when people look at me. And I keep my breathing even, because the last time I was inside Nexus walls, I didn’t have a pack to hide behind.
Now I do.
And I can’t hide how terrified I am that Nexus might change its mind. Tell the guys there was a mistake and I’m not supposed to be with them.
It wouldn’t take much—a misplaced signature, a re-evaluation, one person deciding I don’t fit.
They’d call it “reassignment.”
I call it losing everything that finally feels like mine.
So I keep my smile fixed and my heartbeat slow, like maybe I can fake belonging long enough for it to become real.
The ballroom hums with low conversation. Crystal chandeliers throw light that feels more like scrutiny than warmth. I tug at the sleeve of my dress—navy silk, smooth and a little too fancy for me—and take a sip of water just so I’ll have something to do with my hands.
At the next table, an Omega laughs too loudly, and I glance over and blink.
Lily.
She’s glowing. Literally—Omega glow, the kind that comes from four Alphas who adore her. One has his hand resting protectively at her back, another’s watching her mouth like every word is gold. She sees me, beams, and mouths hey and I wave back before I can stop myself.
A few seats over, Rachel’s tucked between two broad-shouldered Alphas, both laughing at something she says. She looks happy—actually happy.
For half a second, I almost accept what the Institute told us: that Nexus placements work, that sometimes they get it right.
I turn back to my plate. A small bite of salmon, some kind of honey glaze I can’t taste.
It’s fine. It’s all fine.
The speeches drone on about success metrics, integration rates, new initiatives to “restore balance between Alphas and Omegas.” I tune out somewhere between harmony in hierarchy and collective responsibility.
“Need air?” Eli murmurs beside me, reading me like always.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing my chair away from the table. “Be right back.”
He nods, trusting me enough to let me go.
Rowan’s gaze follows, steady and unspoken. Don’t go far.
The hallway outside the banquet is quieter.
Cooler, too. My heels click against tile as I head toward the restrooms. I pass a row of framed photographs—smiling Packs, polished and perfect.
The captions read like trophies: Full Integration — Year One.
Stabilization Cohort. Omega Rehabilitation Success.
The words make my stomach twist. Rehabilitation. Like being what I am was ever an illness.
Inside the restroom, I grip the counter until my reflection steadies. I wipe lipstick from the corner and give myself the pep talk I’d never admit to needing.
“You’re fine. You have a pack now. No one here can touch you.”
When I step out into the hall, the hum of the dinner muffles behind the heavy door. I start toward the ballroom—and freeze when I see Lily.
She’s standing by the wall, phone in hand, smiling faintly like she’s answering a text from one of her Alphas.
“Hey,” she says, looking up and spotting me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just needed a minute.”
Her gaze softens. “You and me both. These things are exhausting. You’d think they’d have better catering.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “At least the fish was real. I think.”
She giggles. “Tastes better than the crap they served us.”
“You look…happy. Are your Alphas treating you right?”
Lily’s whole face brightens, the kind of glow no amount of Omega training could fake.
“They’re incredible,” she says, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Like, actual communication and consent and—God, the way Caleb worries about me is borderline embarrassing.” She laughs softly, cheeks flushed. “But in the best way.”
The warmth in her tone hits somewhere deep in my chest. So it’s possible, I think. That kind of safety. That kind of love.
She looks at me again, still smiling. “And you? You seem…different. Better.”
“I am.” Cause she doesn’t need my drama of wondering if this trial period is truly temporary or not.
Lily’s eyes soften further, but before she can reply, someone rounds the corner.
Tall. Expensive suit. Dark auburn hair styled perfectly. He has the kind of confidence that slides instead of walking. He’s got Alpha written all over him. His scent is sharp and dark. Synthetic. Like cologne poured over blood.
“Excuse me,” he says, voice smooth enough to make my skin crawl. His attention lands on me, curious and assessing in a way that feels too deliberate. “Do I know you?”
I blink. “Pretty sure you don’t.”
For a second, something flickers behind his eyes—shock or something else—before he slams the mask back into place. But there’s a tightness around his mouth that wasn’t there before.
“I could’ve sworn…” He trails off, then recovers with a too-smooth smile. “You remind me of…someone I used to know.”
Lily’s smile falters. Her phone disappears into her clutch. “We should head back,” she says lightly, grabbing my hand. “They’re probably looking for us and I bet dessert’s starting.”
“I’m sorry I missed the Alpha–Omega introductions at Nexus. Family emergency—last-minute,” he adds, too casual. “I heard you were assigned to a ninety-day trial.”
A faint smile cuts across his face and my gut twists.
How the hell does he know that?
Eli practically had to remind the guard approving the transfer that he had the authority to do it.
“So?” I say, sharper than intended.
He doesn’t flinch. Just studies me like I’m something he ordered but arrived in the wrong packaging. “I was surprised you were…claimed so quickly,” he says, voice warm but wrong. “Most candidates stay unassigned for days. I must’ve stepped out at the exact wrong moment.”
A ripple of cold skates down my spine.
“I won’t keep you,” he says, but his gaze doesn’t move off me. “Jess…isn’t it?”
Every instinct in my body bristles. I don’t answer.
His jaw ticks once—frustration, quickly buried. “Right. Well.” He takes a step back, but his gaze lingers. “Enjoy the dessert tonight.”
His attention drags over me like he’s cataloging inventory, not looking at a person. My skin prickles. I want to step back, but I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“Come on.” Lily takes my arm, already steering me toward the ballroom doors.
But when I glance back, the man is still watching me, smiling like he knows a secret I don’t.
It’s not flirtation. It’s recognition. And that’s somehow worse.
By the time Lily and I step back into the noise and light, my hands are shaking. I don’t even realize it until the fork rattles against my plate.
Cassian’s head snaps up instantly, eyes narrowing. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say too fast.
Rowan’s already half out of his chair. “Jess.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat. “I just—someone stopped me in the hall. Said I looked like someone he knew.”
“Who?” Rowan’s voice is low, dangerous.
“No idea. Just a creepy Alpha with red hair.”
They all go still, and there’s a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Rowan pulls out his phone, types something, then shows me a news article with the same guy’s picture. Blake Callighan Found Not Guilty of Omega’s Death the caption reads.
“Yeah.” I rub my arms. “That’s him.”
“Fucker.” Cassian’s expression goes hard as poured concrete. “Did he touch you?”
“No.” I shake my head. Blake…the one who killed Meredith and got away with it.
Eli’s jaw flexes once, his tone calm but lethal. “Stupid pickup line. I’d expect better from him.”
“I don’t know. He looked genuinely surprised. Then tried to cover it up.” I wrap my arms around myself. “It didn’t feel like a pickup line. It felt... personal.”
Something passes between the three of them—a look I can’t read.
“Blake’s a manipulator,” Rowan says carefully. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“Bastard won’t come near you again.” Cassian’s hands are curled into fists.
“Cassian—” I start, but he’s already between me and the room, positioning himself so I’m behind his shoulder. Cassian mirrors him on my other side, wide stance, quiet fury. Eli’s still seated, but his voice carries steel.
“So this is your…pack?” Blake’s voice cuts through the hum, silk over steel.
“You’re done here, Blake,” Rowan says. “Unless you want to take this outside, and then we’re all up for it.”
Cassian takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.
But Blake smirks, tips an invisible hat, and disappears into the crowd.
The tension doesn’t ease right away. The noise of the room returns in fragments—laughter, glassware, the clink of forks.
But the air around us feels colder.
Eli leans in close enough that only I hear him. “You all right?”
I nod. “Just surprised me.”
Rowan doesn’t buy it. He stays where he is, body a shield, eyes fixed on the entrance until he’s sure Blake’s gone.
When he finally looks at me, the anger in him’s gone quiet. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I know,” I say, but it comes out too soft.
Eli reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “Eat,” he says gently. “We’ll finish the rest of this circus and get you home.”
Home.
That word lands somewhere deep, steadying.
I pick up my fork again, pretending I can taste the food, pretending the shadows under my skin haven’t started whispering questions I don’t want to answer.
You remind me of someone. The words loop through my head, low and unshakable. Maybe Eli’s right, and it was just a pickup line, but my gut says Blake didn’t mean to say that part out loud.
It couldn’t have been Meredith—I’ve seen her photo on Eli’s screensaver. Blonde, curvy, sunshine where I’m all edges and shadows. So who did he mean?
And for the first time, I’m afraid of the answer.