Chapter 23
Maya
He’s introduced as a replacement for one of the supporting actors—someone’s brother, filling in last-minute for a scene that got rescheduled.
He’s tall, well-built, and conventionally attractive in a way that reads effortlessly on camera.
With Dark hair, warm eyes, and the kind of smile that suggests he’s used to putting people at ease.
Objectively speaking, he's exactly the kind of alpha my omega should respond to. Compatible. Attractive. Professionally appropriate. Everything my rational brain has been telling me should work just as well to ground me as Bash or Adrian or Elias.
Except my omega recoils the moment his scent hits me.
The reaction is immediate and visceral, a tightening low in my stomach that has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with wrongness.
His scent sits beneath my skin like something foreign—not unpleasant, exactly, but unmistakably not mine.
Not something my body recognizes, wants, or reaches for.
He approaches the director first, then circles toward the monitors where several crew members are clustered. He passes within three feet of my station, close enough that his scent washes over me in a wave that makes my muscles tense instinctively.
My omega pulls back. Hard.
Not the mild withdrawal of disinterest. The sharp, instinctive recoil of a body encountering something it fundamentally does not want.
The alpha does nothing wrong. He smiles politely when introduced to people. He takes direction well. He stands where he’s told to stand and says his lines the way they’re written. He is, by every objective measure, perfectly fine.
And my omega wants him nowhere near me.
The realization lands like something physical. I stare at my clipboard without seeing any of the words on it, my throat tight enough that swallowing hurts.
It’s not just any alpha.
It never was.
My omega wouldn’t accept any alpha. She wants them. With a specificity that biology alone cannot explain.
Which means…
The center won't work.
The clean, impersonal solution I've been clinging to was never really a solution at all.
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being about managing a heat.
And started being about three specific people.
I spend the next hour moving through setups on autopilot, answering questions, solving problems, just doing my job the way I’ve always done it.
Nobody comments on the change in my demeanor.
Nobody notices that something fundamental has shifted beneath the surface, that the narrative I’ve been building since this started has just collapsed entirely.
Or almost nobody.
Nadia finds me during the afternoon break, cornering me near the craft services trailer where the crowd is thinner.
She takes one look at my face and steers me toward the production office, her hand warm on my elbow, her expression doing that thing where she already knows exactly what’s happening and is just waiting for me to say it out loud.
The production office is empty. Everyone else is either on set or at lunch. Nadia closes the door behind us and leans against the edge of the desk, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on mine.
“Talk,” she demands.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“You are very obviously not fine.” Her voice is gentle but firm, the particular tone she uses when she’s decided patience has run its course.
“You’ve been spiraling since you got here.
I can smell it on you. And before you tell me it’s just the blockers wearing off, or stress, or whatever else you’re planning to blame, I want you to know that I can smell three distinct alpha scents layered under yours.
Which means something happened last night that you’re currently trying very hard not to think about. ”
Heat floods my face. “Nothing happened. We watched movies. I fell asleep. Elias drove me home. That’s it.”
“Mmhmm.” She doesn’t believe me for a second. “And the fact that you’re currently vibrating out of your skin has nothing to do with the realization that your omega has very specific opinions about which alphas she wants in her life.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Nothing comes out.
Nadia’s expression softens. She uncrosses her arms and reaches for me, her hand closing around mine with a warmth that makes something in my chest ache.
"You keep doing this," she says firmly. "Separating yourself from her.
Talking about your omega like she's some outside force instead of part of you.
Like her feelings don't count unless you can explain them. "
"It's not that simple."
"It really is." Her thumb brushes across my knuckles, the gesture familiar from twenty years of friendship. "You keep acting like your omega wants things you're being forced to tolerate. But half the time she's just getting to the truth before you do."
The words land with the particular weight of medical reality. I’ve been pushing the timeline to the back of my mind, treating it as something theoretical rather than imminent. Hearing it stated so plainly—days, not weeks—sends a fresh curl of anxiety through my stomach.
“I know,” I say. “I’ve been... thinking about options.”
“The center.” It’s not a question.
I nod.
She studies my face for a long moment, her dark eyes knowing. "And how did that actually feel?"
“Not good,” I admit. The words come out quiet.
“Because your omega doesn’t want neutral alphas.” Again, not a question. “She wants them. Specifically. In a way that has very little to do with designation and everything to do with who they are.”
I stare at her. “How did you—”
“Because I’ve been watching you with them for weeks.
” Her voice is gentle. “Long before you presented. Long before any of this became biological. You light up around Adrian in a way you don’t with anyone else.
You match Bash’s energy without even trying.
Elias settles something in you that nothing else touches.
If this were just instinct, you’d feel that way around any compatible alphas.
You don’t. You only feel it around them. ”
The truth of it sits between us, impossible to argue with.
“I’m not pushing you toward them,” Nadia says.
“That’s not what this is. I’m pushing you toward honesty.
With yourself, first. Then with them, when you’re ready.
But you need to stop pretending this is happening to you instead of something you’re choosing.
Because at some point, Maya, you did choose them.
Maybe not consciously. Maybe not in the way you thought choosing would look.
But you keep reaching for them. You keep letting them closer.
You keep finding reasons to be near them even when your brain is screaming about distance. ”
She squeezes my hand once, then lets go. “Whatever you decide, I’m here. Supplies, preparation, information, backup plans—whatever you need. But you don’t have much time left to decide.”
I swallow hard. “Nadia—”
She shakes her head gently. “You already know more than you think you do, Maya.”
Then she smiles, small and knowing. “You just need to stop arguing with yourself long enough to hear it.”
She leaves me there, the door closing softly behind her, and I stand in the empty production office with her words settling into all the places I've been trying very hard not to look.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Setups.
Resets. The particular chaos of a filming day where everything takes twice as long as it should and nobody has the energy to complain about it anymore.
I move through it mechanically, doing my job, solving problems, keeping things running the way I always have.
But something has shifted.
I catch myself watching the three of them throughout the afternoon.
Adrian standing beside the director, his eyes finding mine across the room every few minutes.
Bash, joking with a PA by craft services, his smile bright and easy in a way that makes my chest tighten when it’s directed at me.
Elias, positioned near the security checkpoint, his presence a constant at the edges of my awareness.
They’re already a unit. The nod I noticed this morning wasn’t a one-time thing. It’s the visible expression of something that’s been building between them for longer than I’ve been paying attention.
And for the first time, I find myself looking at it and wondering what happens if I stop standing at the edge of it.