Chapter two #3
“Lily.” He stops, forcing me to stop, and looks at me. Up close, his eyes look almost dead. “Let me be clear. Brennan has claimed you. Maybe not officially, but in every way that matters. You’re his. You’ve been his since the first moment he decided he wanted you.”
My blood goes cold. “That’s not how bonding works. I have to consent—“
“Consent is a formality.” He flicks his hand, dismissive. “The registry will approve our paperwork. We have money, connections, a spotless reputation. Your consent is… encouraged, of course. But not strictly necessary, especially for an omega in your situation.”
He’s lying. He has to be lying. The registry exists to protect omegas, to make sure we’re safe, that we bond with packs who’ll treat us well. They wouldn’t just hand me over to a pack I didn’t want. Would they?
“Now,” Jules says, all faux-silk and poison, “let’s get you back to the table before Brennan starts to worry.”
He guides me forward, and I just go. I’m too stunned to resist. My thoughts won’t slow.
I’m trying to make sense of what he just said, trying to figure out if it’s true or just another way to scare me into falling in line.
The registry wouldn’t force an omega to bond, I tell myself. That’s not how it works.
Except… I can still hear Dr. Turner’s warnings from this morning about the time I have left. The registry director has started looking at me differently too, dropping little hints that my constant refusals are becoming a problem.
I picture Brennan’s eyes, Jules’s smile, Tyler watching me like he’s waiting for a weakness to show.
And for the first time I think: it isn’t only time I’m running out of. It’s options.
We’re almost back to the table when I see the friendly pack again. They’re standing now, stretching after dinner, and the kind-eyed alpha is looking at me again. This is it. Maybe my last shot.
“Excuse me,” I say, tugging against Jules’s grip. “I just want to say hello—“
It all happens so fast.
Jules stumbles, totally fake, and his wine glass tips toward me. Red wine flies through the air, caught in the light, almost pretty for a second before it splatters across the front of my dress. The blue fabric soaks it up, red spreading over my chest and stomach like a wound.
I jerk back, gasping. Jules is already apologizing, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh no! How clumsy of me. Lily, I’m so sorry—“
But it doesn’t matter. The friendly alphas look over, then their faces shut down. No one wants to get involved. No one wants to cross the Fosters for an omega like me.
Then Tyler is there, materializing at my other side, his voice carrying across the tables.
“These desperate omegas,” he says, fake-concerned. “Always throwing themselves at any alpha who looks their way. It’s embarrassing, really. Someone should teach them some self-respect.”
Whispers start, spreading out like a shockwave. I hear pieces: “years in the registry”—“rejected by every pack”—”probably defective”—and each one hurts.
The friendly pack turns away. Of course they do.
I stand there in my stained dress, humiliation burning through every part of me. It’s so clear now. Brennan isn’t pursuing me. He’s isolating me, sabotaging every chance I have, making sure that when I finally give in, he’s the only one left.
“I need to clean up,” I say quietly.
“Of course.” Jules flashes that razor-blade smile. “We’ll save your seat.”
I run.
Not to the restroom this time. I can’t look at myself, can’t face the ruined dress or the mess I am. I duck into a service corridor, out of sight, and collapse in a corner near the emergency exit, my dress pooling around me.
Then I cry.
It’s ugly and loud, but I can’t stop. I try to smother the sounds, but they keep coming anyway. The grief, the shame, the fear I’ve been holding in all night.
Years. Years of coming to events like this, meeting packs that never go anywhere, always wondering what’s wrong with me. Hope dying, my options shrinking, the dream of a family slipping away.
And now this. A pack that terrifies me, and a registry that might just let them have me, consent or not.
Months. That’s all I’ve got. Just a few months to find a pack that feels right, or else. I don’t even know what the “or else” is. Just that it’s bad.
And Brennan Foster is making sure he’s the only path left.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. Long enough for the tears to dry. Long enough for the noise of the party to fade, replaced by the clatter of cleanup. Soon the only ones left will be staff and the omegas from the registry, expected to stay and help tidy up.
I should go. It’s part of the deal for us, working in exchange for the privilege of existing until an alpha decides to take us home. If I don’t, someone will come looking, and I don’t want that.
So I pick myself up, smooth my dress, and look at my reflection in a dark window. Destroyed, but nothing I can do about it. I just hold my head up and pretend.
I head back out into the hallway, ready to find the other omegas and start cleaning.
That’s when I catch his scent.