Chapter 28
Chase doesn't hit play right away.
His hand hovers over the tablet for a long moment, fingers still, eyes scanning the room like he's taking inventory—not just of who's present, but of who isn't.
"Before we proceed, I need everyone who was involved to be present."
Ragon stiffens behind the couch. "Everyone is here."
Chase's gaze flicks briefly toward the hallway, then back. "All alphas in the household. And Marie."
The air tightens.
For a moment, no one moves. Then Ragon exhales slowly through his nose, the sound controlled but strained, and turns his head slightly toward Eli.
"Get them."
Eli hesitates, eyes darting once toward me, then nods and heads down the hall.
I remain where I am, half-hidden near the arm of the couch, my hands clenched in the oversized t-shirt Arden gave me that I slept in. It hangs off one shoulder, soft and familiar and suddenly very noticeable under the scrutiny of strangers.
Chase notices.
I know he does because his gaze lingers—not in the obvious way alphas sometimes look at omegas, but in that sharp, assessing way that makes me feel like I've been filed into a mental folder.
He doesn't say anything yet.
Footsteps return—multiple this time. Jasper enters first, posture stiff, face tight with concern. Drake follows close behind, jaw clenched, scent unsettled. Eli brings up the rear.
Marie trails in last.
She stops dead the moment she sees the tablet on the coffee table.
Color drains from her face so fast it's like watching a tide pull back from shore. Her lips part, eyes widening as her gaze flicks from the screen to Chase, then to Ragon.
"No," she says immediately, the word sharp and panicked. "No, we don't need that."
Her voice rises with each step. "You don't need that. I already told you what happened."
She turns fully toward Ragon, desperation bleeding into anger. "I'm your scent match. You're supposed to trust me."
The words crack across the room.
Ragon doesn't move.
"We're going to watch the video," he says calmly.
The control in his voice is worse than shouting would've been.
Marie stares at him like she doesn't recognize him anymore. "You don't trust me. You're choosing her again."
She gestures wildly, not even looking at me. Like I'm an object she can't bear to focus on directly.
"You're my alpha. You're supposed to protect me."
Drake steps forward instinctively when she stumbles, catching her as she folds into him. She buries her face against his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt as she wails.
"He doesn't trust me. My own alpha doesn't trust me."
Drake's arms come around her automatically. His eyes flick toward Ragon, torn, confused, scent spiking with distress.
Chase watches all of it with open interest.
Not sympathy.
Calculation.
His gaze shifts from Marie to Drake to Ragon, then finally—unavoidably—to me.
I don't look away.
I can't.
There's something in his expression now that wasn't there before. Recognition layered over restraint. Professional distance stretched thin by something human beneath it.
He steps a little closer.
Not enough to invade my space. Just enough that I feel the shift in the air between us.
Then his nostrils flare.
The movement is subtle, but I see it.
He scents me. My shirt.
His eyes drop—not to my body, but to the hem of the oversized t-shirt hanging off my shoulder. The corner of his mouth tips up just slightly, an expression that feels dangerously close to amusement.
"That's a good choice," he says lightly.
The words hit me sideways.
I blink. "What?"
"Your shirt. Comfort matters in situations like this. I'm glad it comforts you, even if it's subtle."
My face heats instantly.
I know he recognizes it. I know he smells it. And I know exactly how much trouble he could get into for acknowledging that.
Confusion scrambles my thoughts. Embarrassment. A strange flicker of gratitude.
Ragon notices.
His head snaps toward Chase, eyes narrowing, scent sharpening. "We're not here to discuss attire."
Chase lifts his hands slightly in a placating gesture. "Of course not."
He steps back, the moment slipping neatly back into its box.
Then he taps the tablet.
"Let's proceed."
The screen brightens.
The first frame is wide and ordinary—sunlit concrete, families moving through the zoo, strollers rolling past. The sound is muted, just ambient noise, but it's enough to make my stomach clench.
My chest tightens as recognition sets in.
The gorilla enclosure.
I know this angle. I remember standing there. I remember the smell of damp earth and metal, the low murmur of voices, the way the barrier felt solid beneath my hands.
We watch ourselves approach the railing.
The footage is unforgiving in its clarity. No emotion. No interpretation. Just bodies moving through space.
Marie is there—laughing, animated, leaning forward too far. I see myself hesitate, a half-step behind, my posture already tense.
I remember that feeling. The unease I couldn't name.
On screen, Marie climbs.
Not slips.
Not stumbles.
She climbs.
While all of us are distracted, she swings a leg over the barrier like she's testing it, playful and reckless. Someone off-screen laughs.
I feel my stomach drop.
The footage shows her perching higher, gripping the rail, leaning dangerously close to the edge. The gorilla moves below, massive and slow.
"This isn't—" Marie sobs into Drake's chest, but her voice is drowned out by the quiet horror in the room.
Then she lets go.
She throws herself forward.
The fall isn't graceful. She hits the ground hard, rolling, limbs flailing as she lands inside the enclosure. Dust kicks up around her.
The room goes dead silent.
No one breathes.
I don't flinch.
I already knew.
I'd felt it in my bones that day—that something about her fall was wrong. That it hadn't been an accident in the way everyone insisted it was. That it sure as hell wasn't me.
On screen, chaos erupts. People scream. Alarms blare. I see myself rush forward, arms out, panic written all over my posture.
I see Ragon—later. Too late.
The footage ends.
The tablet goes dark.
For a long moment, no one moves.
Marie's wailing fills the silence now, louder, more frantic. "I didn't mean to. I didn't think—I just—"
Drake holds her tighter, eyes wide, face pale.
Jasper stares at the blank screen, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping.
Ragon turns slowly toward me.
I've never seen that expression on his face before.
Horror. Regret. Understanding.
It all collides in his eyes at once.
He takes a step toward me. "Vee—"
The apology starts clumsy and broken. "I should have— I didn't—"
Marie screams.
Not words this time.
Sound.
Raw and broken and wrong.
Her body stiffens in Drake's arms, then folds forward sharply as she doubles over, another cry tearing out of her throat. A thick, unmistakable scent floods the room all at once.
Heat.
I see it before my mind catches up—slick dripping down her legs, darkening the fabric between her thighs, pooling on the floor beneath her.
"Oh gods," Eli breathes.
Every alpha reacts instantly.
Nostrils flare. Pupils dilate. Bodies tense.
The air becomes heavy with instinct.
Marie whines, the sound needy and broken, her sobs turning into breathless moans as her body betrays her completely. "Ragon. Please."
My heart slams into my ribs.
Now.
Of course it's now.
At the worst possible moment.
Ragon moves fast.
"Out," he snaps, voice booming. "All of you. Now."
He's already stepping between Marie and the investigators, his presence a wall, his scent flaring protective and dangerous.
Chase doesn't argue.
"I understand. You need to care for your omega."
He glances at Marie once more, then back to Ragon. "But when her heat breaks, you will come to the registry."
Ragon snarls. "For what?"
Chase's gaze slides to me.
"To discuss placing Vee with a new pack."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I step back instinctively, my heel catching on the edge of the rug.
"No," I whisper, the sound barely audible even to myself.
I don't want a new pack.
I don't want another house, another hierarchy, another set of eyes deciding whether I'm too much or not enough. I don’t want to go through something like this again.
I can’t.
I just want to be left alone.
Ragon roars.
The sound shakes the room, raw and furious. "No one is taking my omega from me."
Chase lifts a hand calmly. "We'll discuss options when we can speak formally."
Marie moans again, another surge of slick spilling as her body convulses.
Chase turns to his team. "We're leaving."
They move quickly, efficiently, already filing toward the door.
Ragon doesn't take his eyes off me.
"We'll talk," he promises, his voice tight but certain. "As soon as she's taken care of."
He gestures toward my room. "Stay in the house. I'll check on you."
Then he turns away.
All of them do.
One by one, the alphas disappear down the hall, guiding Marie toward her room as she whines and cries, the scent of heat clinging to the walls long after the door closes behind them.
The house falls silent again.
I stand there for several seconds, unable to move, my mind reeling.
The video. The truth. The heat. The threat of being sent away.
I thought Chase was my friend.
My legs almost give out beneath me.
I retreat to my room on autopilot, closing the door, crossing the space to my chair like it's the only solid thing left in the world.
I sit.
And I stay there, staring at nothing, trying to process a morning that has already changed everything.
***
The noises coming from Marie's room don't stop.
They change, shift, swell and ebb like weather—whining, the occasional sharp cry, the low rumble of alpha voices trying to soothe and contain, the creak of a bedframe, the thud of footsteps pacing.
Every time it happens, my body flinches.
I sit in my chair because I don't know what else to do with myself. I stare at the wall. I pick at the seam of my sleeve. I check my phone and see nothing.