Chapter Six
Rhea
T his isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.
I dosed. I always dose.
I’ve had this under control for seven years. I’ve built my entire existence around being boring and scentless and aggressively neutral.
I know the schedule. I know the chemistry. I’ve lived behind The Mask since I was eighteen without so much as a crack.
And now?
Now, it feels like the floor just yeeted itself into another dimension.
This isn’t a crack. This is a rupture.
This is my body staging a rebellion in real time.
It’s loud. Violent.
Wrong.
Heat pulses in my chest - not the soft warmth I usually ignore, but something molten and alive, crawling outward like it paid rent and is determined to redecorate.
My limbs buzz. My fingers tingle. The camera in my hands suddenly weighs ten thousand pounds and might as well be a toaster.
My muscles won’t listen. My skin’s electric.
And my spine arches with opinions I didn’t approve.
I stagger half a step sideways, trying to look casual -
And immediately shoulder-check a passing beta.
She pauses, blinking at me. “ Oh - are you okay?”
“Yeah!” I blurt, voice a full octave too high. “Just hot. So many people. Long day. Fluorescent lighting. Mercury in retrograde.”
My smile is the emotional equivalent of duct tape on a crumbling dam.
She gives me a polite nod, but her eyes narrow just slightly.
Her nose twitches.
Shit.
She moves on.
I don’t. I can’t .
Because that’s when everything shifts.
Theo is the closest, still rooted where I left him, watching me like I’ve just started glitching.
Steady hands. Square stance. Soulful eyes.
Basically a six-foot comfort blanket.
Alpha mode: activated.
Lucian is sitting at a table, now, all sharp angles and surgical precision, his eyes back on me like he already knows exactly how this ends.
Kai is across the room, leaning against the wall with that cocksure smirk long gone. Now he looks like someone just pulled the pin out of his spine and he’s about to detonate.
And Ash?
Ash I don’t even need to see - I feel him. Anchored by the doors, waiting like a boulder with opinions. His presence presses into the base of my spine like gravity with a badge.
But it’s not just them.
No.
Because sitting just thirty feet away - glass in hand, tie pristine, smile unreadable - is the OMB official.
And that’s the real problem.
Lucian’s still sitting with him. That same tight circle of government suits and legacy donors laugh politely and lazily sip cocktails, none of them realizing what’s happening just yards away.
That won't last, though.
The OMB doesn’t miss things, and they certainly don’t let loose ends walk out of a gala in heels and pink lipstick.
They’re the ones who put omegas in their place. They register us, track us, and reel us in when we step out of line -
If we’re lucky.
If we’re not?
We vanish.
My skin crawls. My throat goes dry. My pulse stammers into my ears like a starting gun I never agreed to.
I don’t need to search. I already know where they all are. Because my body has mapped them -
Like a constellation under my skin -
And it doesn’t know which direction to panic in first.
Nerves flare. Muscles tighten. Instinct pulls at four separate threads:
Ash’s steadiness.
Kai’s wildfire.
Theo’s quiet pull.
Lucian’s razor-edged command.
And behind all of that, under all of that; the towering, invisible presence of the OMB.
I try to swallow, and fail. My thoughts scatter sideways, broken fragments trying to load all at once.
Four tabs open. No signal. Everything buffering.
My heartbeat has moved. It now lives somewhere behind my knees, between my thighs, and maybe also in my soul.
The Mask should be holding. It always holds.
Seven years of hiding. Seven years of suppressants and silence and control.
I breathe in, and that’s when it hits me.
The scent is everywhere now.
Mine.
Not neutral. Not bland.
Not the quiet, invisible nothing I’ve spent half my adult life perfecting.
This is sharp and heady, honeyed and wild.
Thick with nerves and something worse.
Need .
Dark and syrupy and absolutely screaming omega.
There’s no hiding it. No turning this off, no shutting it down in time.
I’m exposed and unmasked; and not just in front of four very different, very alpha problems - but in a ballroom that contains the Omega Management Board.
Fuck .
I am one breath, one step, one flicker of recognition away from becoming a case file, a cautionary tale -
A frigging headline.
Happy-fucking-birthday to me.
My pulse slams behind my ribs, relentless and aggressively unhelpful.
A drumbeat of wrong, wrong, abort mission, wrong.
The sound of the room warps around me. Laughter turns into static. The scent-neutralizers start wheezing.
The ceiling tilts. The lights go full interrogation mode. Shadows stretch across the floor like they’ve got beef with me personally.
“You sure you’re okay?” Theo's voice comes again, cutting through the sensory overload.
I try to respond. I do.
But before I can summon a single syllable, it happens.
A ripple slices through the air.
Conversations stutter. Laughter glitches.
Heads turn. Noses twitch.
And somewhere nearby, someone inhales audibly; sharp and startled, like their instincts just slapped them across the face.
Lucian moves first, slow and deliberate - the kind of slow that makes your skin crawl, because it means the predator isn’t in a hurry.
He looks at me - really looks .
Gray eyes glinting with something cold and unbothered.
The kind of gaze that says I could kill you, or I could buy you. Depends on my mood.
A predator recognizing opportunity.
Kai follows.
Gone is the cocky, shoulder-loose swagger. His jaw locks, his shoulders draw back, and suddenly, he’s all feral intensity; less motorcycle gremlin and more chaos prince ready to burn down a ballroom with his bare hands.
Beside me, Theo goes still.
And he's still kind, still calm; but now he radiates would-carry-you-out-of-a-fire-and-ask-permission-to-hold-your-hand-while-doing-it energy.
Every muscle in his body says mine. Every blink says threat assessment: active.
And Ash...
Ash doesn’t react.
Because Ash already knew.
There’s no surprise in his expression. Just… confirmation.
Like he’s been sitting on this ticking time bomb since he walked in, watching the countdown in real time.
And under that stillness is possession and hunger. A flicker of oh, she’s mine across his eyes so clear it scrapes across my skin.
They’re all staring now. Not curious, not intrigued, but focused. Tuned in.
Alpha intent.
Sharp and scent-honed and inescapable.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, behind the rising panic and molten instinct, I remember:
The OMB is here, standing in a circle of suits who could ruin my life with a clipboard and a nod.
The Omega Management Board doesn’t need to ask questions. They don’t need blood tests or legal warrants - they can smell us, just like everyone else.
And I reek .
The suppressants are gone. The Mask is cracked.
And I am standing, exposed, in the middle of a predator-filled room with government wolves within lunging distance.
I am prey in four inch heels, and the jungle just noticed.
I can’t stay here. I can’t do this.
I can’t even remember how to spell my name.
So I do the only logical thing left in my arsenal:
I bolt.
Full-on, panic-fueled, lipstick-still-perfect exit stage left.
No plan. No grace.
Just adrenaline, instinct, and the vague hope that nobody from the OMB is fast enough to tackle me in heels.
Some people fight. Some people freeze.
Apparently, I run like a cartoon rabbit with a death wish.