Chapter 21
MASON
We’re all home in the mansion, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight.
It’s hollow, as if something vital is missing, and we all know exactly what that something is.
Who that something is.
Slater is sitting in the leather armchair near the fireplace, nursing a whiskey.
The amber liquid catches the firelight, throwing golden reflections along the glass.
The flames cast flickering shadows across his face, making his expression even harder to read than usual.
He’s been sitting there for the past hour, barely moving, just staring into the fire.
He’s somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark and painful, if the tension in his shoulders is any indication.
Outside, snow is coming down hard. Fat, wet flakes that stick to the windows and pile up on the deck railing.
Dylan is in the kitchen, baking. Again. It’s what he does when he needs to distract himself, when his emotions get too big to contain and he needs something productive to channel them into.
Based on the smell filling the house—sweet and rich and overwhelming—we’re going to have about twenty banana cakes by morning. Maybe more.
Jasper is crashed on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, and he’s been unnaturally quiet since we got back. Withdrawn.
And me? I’ve been pacing for the last thirty minutes, wearing a path in the expensive rug, unable to sit still, unable to settle. The anxiety is clawing at me, at all of us, this heavy weight pressing down on my chest that makes it hard to breathe properly.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. The tears streaming down her cheeks. The way her voice broke when she tried to explain. The devastation in her hazel eyes when she realized we weren’t immediately forgiving her.
My mom used to say I had too soft a heart. That I cared too much, felt too deeply, let people hurt me too easily because I always wanted to see the best in them.
She was probably right, because at the moment, all I want to do is drive to Anita’s apartment, pull her into my arms, and tell her everything’s going to be okay. Even though I’m hurt and she lied. Even though I have no idea if everything actually will be okay.
I’m about to give up and just collapse on the sofa, put on some mindless movie to drown in, and hopefully forget this entire awful day, when Jasper suddenly groans.
“Fucking asshole. He’s dogging you, Mason.”
My head snaps up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. “Who the fuck?”
Dylan is out of the kitchen immediately, wearing his flour-dusted apron that says Kiss the Cook in fading letters. He’s wiping his hands on it as he moves into the living room, leaving white streaks across the dark fabric. “What’s going on?”
Slater leans forward in his chair, glass still in hand, his entire posture shifting from withdrawn to alert in a heartbeat. “Who?”
We all converge on Jasper like planets pulled by gravity, clustering around the couch where he’s still staring at his phone with an expression of pure, undiluted fury.
“That fuckhead Reed,” Jasper groans. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping the phone. “He’s doing an interview with some unknown douche, and he’s talking shit. About us.”
“What?” I’m already moving closer, trying to see his screen over his shoulder.
“I’ve been watching it on repeat for the last five minutes, trying to make sure I heard it right.” Jasper glances up at us, his eyes blazing with anger. “You need to listen to this. I want to rip his fucking head off.”
He taps his phone screen, restarting the video from the beginning, and turns up the volume so we can all hear it.
Reed’s smug face fills the small screen.
He’s sitting in what looks like a professional studio, all sleek lines and modern furniture.
He’s wearing an expensive charcoal suit, and he’s got that condescending smile plastered across his face, the one that makes me want to reach through the screen and punch him.
“So I went out fishing today with some supposed Alphas on a charter in town,” Reed is saying, his voice dripping with disdain.
Every word is carefully enunciated, performative.
“And I have to say, I was disappointed. These men have absolutely no idea what it means to be a true Alpha in today’s world. ”
The interviewer, some guy I don’t recognize with gelled hair and an eager expression, nods along enthusiastically like Reed is dropping profound wisdom instead of toxic garbage. “Really? That’s quite a statement. What gave you that impression?”
“Well, for starters,” Reed drones on, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to share insider secrets, “one of them has a viral post he shared on his own social media. All these desperate Omegas and Betas going absolutely crazy over a photo of him. Commenting about how attractive he is, how strong, how Alpha.”
He pauses for effect, that slimy smile widening.
“What a joke. A real man doesn’t need social media validation to stroke his ego.
A true Alpha doesn’t seek approval from the masses, doesn’t fish for compliments from people who don’t even know him.
He commands respect through his actions, through his character, not through digital likes and thirsty comments from strangers on the internet. ”
“What the fuck?” I snap. “The bastard went to check out our socials.” I’m seething, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“He’s twisting it into something else entirely,” Jasper mutters darkly.
Reed continues on the video. “I met these men today who call themselves Alphas, but they demonstrated absolutely none of the qualities of true Alpha leadership. They were soft. Overly accommodating. More concerned with political correctness and not offending anyone than with embracing their natural dominance and hierarchy.”
“Soft?” Slater’s voice grows dangerous. “Fuck off!”
“Because we didn’t laugh at his toxic jokes or agree with his bullshit about the crap he spews.”
“They catered to everyone’s feelings,” Reed continues, his tone mocking now. “That’s not leadership. That’s weakness masquerading as kindness.”
The interviewer nods sagely, like this makes perfect sense. “So what would true Alpha leadership look like in that situation?”
“A true Alpha sets the tone. He doesn’t ask permission or seek consensus. He knows what’s best and leads accordingly. These men were more concerned with being liked than with being respected.”
I want to throw something—grab the phone and smash it against the wall just to make his face disappear. Dylan’s lip curls up in a sneer. “That fucker.”
“If you want to see real Alphas in action,” Reed states, leaning forward.
“If you want to learn what it really means to embrace your Alpha nature and step into true masculine power, come to my upcoming live conference. I’m offering in-person tickets for those attending the event.
Lots of interactive Q&A sessions, and real transformation. ”
He gestures expansively, like he’s offering the secrets of the universe instead of repackaged misogyny.
“Learn what it truly means to embrace your Alpha nature. Don’t settle for weak leadership from men who’ve been neutered by modern society. Demand excellence. Demand power. Demand your rightful place in the hierarchy.”
He goes on, promoting his conference, and I feel my blood pressure rising with every word that comes out of his mouth.
The interviewer eats it up, asking softball questions that let Reed pontificate even more, and by the time the clip ends, I’m ready to drive to wherever he is and show him exactly how soft we are.
Jasper turns off the video, and we all just stand here in stunned silence for a moment.
The only sound is the crackling of the fire and the distant timer going off in the kitchen, which Dylan ignores completely.
“That fucking loser,” Dylan finally states, his voice vibrating with rage. “Not only does Anita hate him with every fiber of her being, but now he’s coming after us? After our business?”
“I want to bury him,” I snap, and I mean it with every cell in my body. The anger burning through me is white-hot and intense.
“Fuck yes,” Dylan agrees immediately. “He doesn’t get to attack us and walk away clean.”
“He doesn’t get to attack our business,” Jasper adds, his hands curling into fists so tight his knuckles crack. “Our reputation. Everything we’ve worked years to build from nothing.”
“I should never have taken them on that fishing charter,” Slater explains, and there’s real regret in his voice, rough and self-recriminating. “Should have turned down the booking the moment I realized who he was. Should have trusted my instincts that said he was bad news.”
“You couldn’t have known he’d do this,” I point out, even though part of me understands his frustration. “He paid premium rates. We had no reason to refuse the booking.”
Slater stands up, setting his whiskey glass down hard on the side table.
The sound echoes in the quiet room. “The man makes a living spreading toxic garbage about Omegas and hierarchy. Of course he was going to use any opportunity to promote himself and tear down anyone who doesn’t fit his narrow worldview. ”
Anita comes to mind, and how much she hates this guy, how she has a radio show to combat this nonsense. I grab my phone as Dylan rushes back into the kitchen.
I search for the station name Anita mentioned during her confession. The Heat Line. Anonymous late-night radio for Omegas who need a voice.
“I want to hear what Anita’s saying,” I say to anyone listening, finding the station and hovering over the Play button. “Guessing after today, she’s on her radio show.”
Suddenly all three of them are around me, and without discussing it, we’re moving to the dining table. I set the phone down in the center of the polished wood surface, and we all pull out chairs, sitting in a circle around it.