3. Harlan
HARLAN
The door hasn’t even finished closing before regret and relief wage war inside me, neither willing to surrender.
She’s gone and taken the worst of her scent with her—leaving just enough behind to haunt me. I shouldn’t be this affected.
Cassidy Hargrove.
Cassie, please, sir.
Soft, polite, like she trusted me to be gentle with her.
My cock aches at the memory of her soft voice—my knot pulsing hard enough to become a problem, tightening in sharp, insistent jerks.
Fucking hell.
I’ve never—ever—reacted to an omega like this. Not even that vicious bitch.
And yet—Cassie has me off balance after barely any interaction.
Her scent—fuck, that scent.
Strawberry and vanilla cream. Clinging to the back of my throat, thick on my tongue, like my body’s already trying to swallow her whole.
Soft. Sweet. So fucking dangerous for an alpha.
Bright green eyes, a gorgeous doe-eyed expression, and soft, pale pink lips that are perfectly—nope. Not fucking going there.
She’s half my fucking age.
Near enough—close enough to matter.
I could be her father.
She’s—no. I’m not fucking going there. She’s exactly the kind of omega men like me ruin.
Too trusting. Too fucking open. Like the world hasn’t taught her yet what men like me do to girls like her.
How the fuck she’s my scent match, I’ll never know. She’s far too good for me.
Always will be.
Considering I’ve fucked it—again.
Yesterday was hard enough. Her scent hitting me out of nowhere—trying to stay in control while she stood there talking about herself like she’s nothing. When every instinct in me locked onto her like she was something to claim.
She called herself a problem.
Acting like she’s done something wrong. Like she deserves to be punished for whatever perceived infraction she’s imagined.
She’s wrong. So fucking wrong.
Si reported her treatment to HR. They’re overworking her, manipulating her, and taking advantage of her sweet nature—like she’s not something every single one of them should be fucking guarding.
All because she’s a pliable omega who doesn’t know how to fight back.
My sweet—no. Fuck off. She’s not my anything.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t.
We’ve never had a female omega in my department. If I hadn’t selected her portfolio myself, I’d have reassigned her already.
Si pushed for me to intervene, and I couldn’t refuse.
I fucking wish I had.
Even if part of me wants to go down there and make it clear I won’t tolerate how they’ve treated my—her.
Like she wouldn’t thank them for it. Like she’d apologise for being the one getting walked over.
Today has been worse.
Her scent’s stronger, clinging to everything she touches—suffocating me, dragging me back to her every time I try to think straight.
It’s working its way under my skin, smothering every ounce of control I have left.
I can’t focus. It’s making me sloppy, and I lost control.
Just for a minute—but it never should’ve happened.
Not with her. Never with her.
There’s a knock on my door—too firm to be from her, so I don’t hesitate to bark, “Fuck off. I’m busy.”
No other knock. Good.
At least some people know I’m the boss around here.
I can’t deal with other people today—not when her scent is clinging to my office.
I don’t want to share it. I won’t. I can’t.
It’s mine.
I stretch my jaw, gums throbbing, teeth aching at the thought of biting her—of marking her where everyone can see she’s mine.
And the anger I’m barely holding back.
Cassie’s… fresh. Untouched by any of this shit.
She’s too young, too open, too easy to break. She hasn’t seen the world properly yet—hasn’t learned how quickly people will take what they can’t protect.
She’s a baby adult, thrown in with actual professionals, and I’m supposed to train her.
Having to mate her?
No fucking chance.
My office door opens. I don’t need to look to know who it is—only one fucker would enter without knocking.
Fucking cunt.
“Leave. I don’t have time for your bullshit today,” I snap.
The door closes behind him anyway.
“Charming as always,” Silas says, far too mildly.
He strides past the chaos of my work to where I’m standing at my desk. His arm rests on the back of the chair that Cassie left only a few minutes ago, and I bite back the jealous urge to wrench it off—like he has any right to touch something that still smells like her.
His nose twitches. He leans in, sniffing the chair properly—breathing her in, pulling it in deep like he’s trying to map her scent for himself.
Invasive fucking prick.
“Aw, look at you. Acting like such a cute little sniffer dog,” I snap. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He raises a brow. I drag a hand down my face, glaring at him across the desk.
“Did you miss the part where I told you to leave?”
He straightens his spine, shoulders squaring as his jaw tightens. My nostrils flare at the sudden tang of sweet fig and black tea. Silas’s scent breaks through his own neutraliser—his anger that intense.
At 6’4”, Silas normally towers just a few inches over me, but as he looms across my desk, I fight the urge to sink lower in my chair.
I don’t often back down—but right now, my adopted brother is close to making me.
“What the fuck did you do, Harlan?” Silas growls.
Each word drips with alpha dominance, his scent sharp with a protective rage that makes my own alpha bristle in warning—sharp and immediate.
I wave a hand dismissively, but even to me, it feels weak. “Nothing. I did nothing.”
“Nothing?”
He picks up a pen from my desk, uncaps it with a slow twist, and turns it in his fingers.
His dark eyes flicker between rage and something else—concern, maybe—and I can’t decide if I want him to stab me with it or if I’m relieved someone finally sees through my bullshit.
I hate how well I understand him.
“Nothing,” I repeat. “What do you want?”
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Brother.”
He hurls the pen through the air, the low whistle sending a shiver down my spine. I don’t flinch.
I just let it bounce off my cheek with a sharp sting, my eyes locked onto his the entire time. The tension between us crackles like a live wire.
It’s a fucking pen, but we both know this isn’t about stationery.
I’d like to see him try that again with something that could actually hurt me.
“There’s a little omega who ran into her office in tears, and her scent is all over this chair.”
He crosses his arms, unmoving.
“Leave.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, his mouth curls into a predatory smile—all teeth and zero warmth—his eyes narrowing into dark slits promising blood and retribution.
Fucking evil bastard.
“You hurt her.”
It isn’t a question. It’s like the only thing that matters to him.
My jaw tightens because he’s not wrong. “I didn’t touch her. I just made sure she knew if she didn’t come to work appropriately, she’d be sent home to change.”
His brows raise. “I saw her outfit. She looked lovely. Professional. Demure.”
I snort. “Careful. You’re the one with a problem now. Need I report to HR your interest in this young girl?”
“Young girl?” Silas’s words are more growl than human at this point. “She’s not a fucking child, Harl. She’s our—”
“Nothing. She is nothing more than a trainee to me,” I state calmly.
“Tell that to your fucking knot,” he hisses, gesturing at my pants.
Don’t react.
Don’t look down.
Don’t acknowledge the way my body’s already decided.
Don’t—fuck.
I can’t argue there.
Or maybe I can.
“That’s me reacting to your presence,” I say too easily.
He laughs, shaking his head, and some of the tension dissipates as he drops into her seat.
Into the seat she left behind.
“We’ve already had this argument, and I’m not rehashing it today,” Silas says dryly. “Cassie’s our mate. You won’t acknowledge it—and I can’t ignore it. Regardless, she’s your trainee. You’re meant to be protecting her, not becoming another problem for her to handle.”
I grimace and pull my chair out to sit down. “I know.”
“What gives, Harl?”
“She… I can’t stand the smell of her.” I don’t look up. I can’t stomach seeing his fucking face right now. “So I told her to use scent suppressors when she comes here, or she’s getting sent home.”
Silas groans. “Bro… if HR hears about that—”
“I know.” My hands hit the desk harder than I intended. “I fucking know, all right? I can’t mentor her when I can’t fucking control myself around her. She’s—”
I stop, unsure what to say.
“I know,” he says softly. “Why do you think I had to intervene in the first place? I’ve had to avoid the trainees down there, or I’d snap their necks and end up in jail.”
I snort. The annoying thing about being around your best friend when you’re angry is that he knows how to calm you down.
“You’re telling me. Even if she wasn’t—” I cut myself off, annoyed at my loose lips. Even if the only one who hears it is Silas, who won’t say a thing. “They’re taking advantage of an omega, and it’s fucking infuriating.”
“There are no alphas down there,” Silas says darkly. “HR will keep an eye on it going forward, and we’re protecting her now.” He narrows his eyes. “Or at least we should be.”
“I know I crossed the line. But it’s fucking hard,” I mutter. “That scent—”
“That’s the scent of our mate, Harlan.” Silas runs a hand through his dark hair, exasperation evident in every movement. “You don’t get to ignore it.”
My sneer would send anyone else running.
I hate that he’s immune.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ve got more important things to deal with.”
“Such as?” Si demands.
Of course, in his eyes, nothing matters more than his scent match.
“Too much. We’ve got a new campaign starting next week, and we’ve got that compliance cunt breathing down—”
“What?” He sits up straight, his expression stilling. “Compliance? Are you on about Whitmore? The management consultant?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Regardless of the title, we both know what this is. He’s here to figure out how to cut costs, and I don’t want to defend my staffing numbers to him.”
Si groans. “Well, shit. That means I’ll be up next.”