2. Cassidy #2
I can’t step back—not when his alpha presence pins me to the spot.
“You think you’re a burden, Cassidy. That you have something to prove,” he murmurs. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and my scent glands throb hard enough to ache. “But you’ve already earned your place here before he ever saw your face.”
I blink back tears, confused by his words. Why is he telling me any of this? What kind of trap is he setting?
Is this a way of telling me how much I’ve already fucked up? He selected me, and now… I’ve ruined it already.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
His expression softens, and I can almost feel heat radiating off him. If it weren’t for the neutralisers, I know his scent would already be settling into my skin, clinging the way an alpha musk always does.
I’m a little disappointed that I’m not.
“You don’t need to say anything,” he replies.
His voice has softened, but there’s still that edge of authority in it that tightens every muscle in me. If he barked right now, my body would obey before I could think better of it.
“Just remember—talent speaks for itself.”
I nod. “I’d like to know,” I say, finding a scrap of courage, “who you are. Please.”
He studies me for a moment longer with a faint smirk.
“Sorry. I’ve got to go, little moon. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”
He strides away, my body frozen in place. Each step he takes feels like a claim on the space around him.
My pulse hammers in my throat, blood rushing in my ears as his shoulders move beneath his tailored shirt.
No rush.
No looking back.
My palpitations are so violent I’m certain he can hear them.
The air feels electrified in his wake—charged with something primal that makes my skin prickle.
When he disappears around the corner, the absence of him hits like withdrawal—like my body has already decided it wants him back.
It leaves me trembling in place, and I clutch at the edge of someone’s desk to stay upright.
Sound crashes back, and I whimper in response. The noises overwhelm my sensitive ears, and I realise I’ve been rooted to this spot for minutes, not seconds.
My body still strains towards the empty door, a restless ache pulsing low in my chest.
Like it expects him to come back.
My fingertips tingle with an electric current I don’t understand, and my throat feels raw, as if I’ve been screaming even though I haven’t made a sound.
“What was that?” I whisper to myself, trying to regain my composure.
This isn’t a normal reaction to meeting an alpha. My body has never answered one like this before.
I force myself to take several deep breaths.
“Are you okay, girl?” an unfamiliar voice calls.
I nod, duck my head, and slip away to my office.
When I glance up at the clock above my door, I know I’ve got plenty of time to get settled before Harlan—Mr Mercer—should be in.
Plenty of time to get settled in my office nest.
The office is modest—not as small as I’d hoped for, but definitely not the corner office with a view. It’s tucked away along the corridor, which I appreciate. Less chance of being disturbed or watched.
I set my bag down on my new desk, running my hand along the polished surface. It’s clean and minimalist—a blank canvas waiting for me.
The walls are a soft off-white, and there’s a small window that lets in just enough natural light.
My hands tremble as I arrange and rearrange the pillows in my nest, chasing the right shape, the right scent, the right feeling.
Whilst my mind replays that alpha’s visit on an endless loop, my body keeps chasing the comfort it didn’t get—the scent it never quite touched.
My nest isn’t perfect. It’s missing something—some note, some comfort, some scent my body keeps reaching for.
My body knows what to do, whilst my mind spirals.
Every look he gave.
Every word he said.
Everything he didn’t say.
I’m dizzy with the possibilities, and the more my nest refuses to cooperate, the more violently my thoughts spin.
Little moon.
Little. Moon.
Moon.
The word echoes through my head like it means something.
But what the fuck was it supposed to mean?
“Stand up,” Harlan demands, the bark in his voice hitting me low and hard.
My body reacts before I can think—back straightening, pulse jumping, scent glands tightening.
I flinch violently as he rounds his desk, but I rush to do as he commanded. My hip hits his desk in my haste, pain blooming instantly. I bite my inner cheek hard enough to draw blood in an effort to stop the whine from escaping.
My legs aren’t just trembling—they’re threatening to buckle beneath me, my knees knocking together as cold sweat breaks out across my skin.
Every instinct in me recoils at disappointing an alpha.
I force my chin up and meet his gaze. I hope he doesn’t mistake my obedient expression for arrogance.
“Close your eyes,” he barks.
My heart thuds, and the sweet spill of my scent thickens the air between us, sharp enough to make his jaw tighten as he breathes it in.
I want to hate him for his reaction, but part of me understands—my biology exposes my vulnerabilities, and it forces him to act.
Or at the very least—feel.
The soft hiss of an aerosol can splits the silence between us, and I flinch as Harlan starts covering me in scent neutraliser, erasing the very essence that makes me who I am.
Like he’s erasing the proof that I’m an omega.
My nose wrinkles, my eyes clamping shut against the chemical assault as he sprays directly onto my wrist glands. It makes me smell sterile. Bland—a void where I should be.
My throat closes in silent protest, a feeling of discomfort spreading under my skin.
I recoil so hard my stomach flips. A phantom burn spreads through the iciness of the spray.
When he raises it to the scent glands on my neck, my entire body convulses, and I lurch backwards, knocking into the wall. I gasp without thought, a hysterical whine torn from the deepest part of me.
My eyes fly open, wild and unblinking, and what I see in his expression stops my breath completely.
It’s contorted with a raw, primal energy. Lips curled back from his teeth, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes burning with an intensity so visceral it makes my chest ache in response.
In the heartbeat before he notices my gaze, I see a man drowning in desperation, his body reacting to my scent whether he wants it to or not.
Until an expressionless mask is slammed down over his features, hardening his gaze once more.
There’s a sneer on his lips when he realises I’ve witnessed more than he dared to show.
“Cover yourself up,” he snarls as if my bare scent is more indecent than skin.
As if I’m dirty.
“From now on, if you come into my office without this, you’re done.”
My jaw clenches tight, and I nod, biting back the urge to argue. Surely, it’s against the rules for him to force me to hide my biology.
There must be some kind of workplace law or protection to stop him from forcing me to do this. I understand why people use neutralising agents, but they’re something I’ve never felt comfortable using for anything out of true necessity.
Like when I’m in the lead-up to my heat or at tests for school where I could cause others to struggle. I hate hiding who I am.
Without being an omega, what’s left of me? It’s all anyone has ever seen when they look at me.
What part of me would be left for anyone to even notice?
My hands clench and unclench at my sides as I stare him down without blinking.
Without my instinctive abilities to soothe, to support, to calm—who am I? What am I?
I’m nothing.
I’ve spent so long being defined by what I can offer that the thought of being stripped of these instincts makes me feel hollow.
Erased.
“Do you understand me, Omega?” he repeats, his words a thinly veiled threat. My chin dips before I can stop it, throat baring, scent glands exposed.
I jerkily nod. “Yes, sir. Um, Harlan, sir.”
He sneers. “Get out. I want you to find someone to get this office clean from your”—he waves his hands in the air dismissively—“influence.”
My eyes sting with the weight of unshed tears. My stomach feels like an empty pit.
Like something inside me has just broken.
I leave his office, and when not a single person glances my way… an almost freeing feeling settles over me.
Without my scent, nobody knows how I feel. They can’t smell the distress on me, so they don’t react to an upset omega.
There’s no big red sign announcing that I’m unstable and messy.
They just… ignore me.
It should hurt. Most omegas hate being ignored.
And yet… it doesn’t. Not even a little.
What does that say about me?