Epilogue
CASSIDY
THREE YEARS LATER…
The first thing I do every morning is open the window.
Not all the way, just enough to let fresh air drift into my office before the rest of the building properly wakes up.
Mainly because my office is overly saturated with my pack, their scents layered into every blanket and cushion.
The morning sun catches the fabrics pinned across my inspiration wall, warming creams and golds until the whole room glows softly around me.
I smile. It still makes me ridiculously happy to see how far I’ve come.
Three years as a stylist at Opus. Three years with my wonderful mates.
Three years living my life.
Every single second has been worth it.
I set my bag beside my desk before crossing to the corner of the room.
My nest waits exactly where I left it yesterday. It occupies almost a quarter of the office now.
Technically.
Human Resources still insists on calling it a wellbeing corner, but I know the truth.
Soft blankets are folded neatly over the arm of the daybed, sage green cushions tucked into the corners exactly the way my instincts like them.
One of Harlan’s shirts is draped over the back where I’d abandoned it yesterday afternoon, his scent still caught deep in the fabric. He’d attempted to steal it back to wear home.
Fool. He should know by now that once it enters my hands, it doesn’t get given back until it needs re-scenting.
The room itself hasn’t changed much since the day Millie walked me in here.
The windows still catch the morning light, the walls are still the same, and the door thankfully still blocks the worst of the outside noise.
The difference, though, is me.
Three years ago, I’d walked through that door convinced I’d been exiled. Certain I’d become a problem someone more important had been forced to manage.
Now my name sits neatly on the frosted glass outside.
Junior Designer
Cassidy Hargrove
It’s mine. My space, my work, mine.
Not because someone felt sorry for me, or because of my family. Not because I was an omega and needed it.
But because I’ve earned it, time after time.
A gentle knock sounds against the open door before one of this year’s trainees peeks nervously inside, his shoulders hunched beneath an oversized blazer.
“Sorry to interrupt, Cassidy?”
I look up from setting my sketchbooks on the desk.
“You’re not interrupting.”
The young beta shifts from foot to foot, his nervous scent sharpening as he clutches a portfolio so tightly the corners have started to bend.
“I was wondering if…” He swallows. “Would you have time to look over my concepts before the one o’clock meeting?”
For a heartbeat, I’m somewhere else, looking at a younger version of myself.
A more frightened version who didn’t have any faith in herself.
The memory fades. “Of course.”
Because somebody once made space for me.
Now, I get to do the same.
By the time I finish talking him through the lookbook, his portfolio lies open between us, and he’s smiling instead of looking like he might throw up.
“So … less is more?” he asks uncertainly.
I wrinkle my nose. “No.”
He blinks, looking down at the notes he’s made.
“I mean…” I laugh. “Sometimes. But not because somebody told you to simplify it.”
I pull one of his sketches closer, tapping the sleeve he’d designed.
“You’ve got a really strong style here. Don’t water it down because you’re worried someone won’t get it.”
He studies the page. “I thought it was a bit… much.”
I smile knowingly. “Sometimes, having something be very you is a good thing. It’s what makes it stand out, what makes things fresh.”
His ears redden. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.” I wave him off. “The world’s already got enough people trying to copy everyone else. Give them something that’s yours.”
A grin spreads slowly across his face as he gathers his things. “I can do that.”
“I know.”
“Thank you, Cassidy.”
“My door’s always open.”
“It literally is,” he says, gesturing towards it.
I glance at the open office door and laugh. “Yes, that’s true.”
He laughs as he disappears back into the corridor.
The silence doesn’t last long. It never really does anymore.
A familiar knock sounds against the frame, followed by dark chocolate and coffee drifting into the room.
“I come bearing caffeine.”
I don’t even need to look up. My body already knows who it is.
“Good afternoon, Van.”
Evander strolls inside carrying two coffees, his fluffy brown hair slightly windblown and the visitor’s lanyard hanging crooked against his chest.
“You forgot about lunch,” he says, shaking his head.
I send the email and look at him. “It’s barely lunch, and I had breakfast.”
“You inhaled half a banana whilst trying to find your left shoe,” he says, shaking his head.
“I was multitasking,” I offer.
He smirks. “You’re not fooling me, and if you can’t fool me, you won’t fool any of them.”
I groan, and he hands me my coffee, the cup warm against my palms and his dark chocolate scent threaded through it.
“I’ve got a meeting in half an hour,” I say.
“I know.”
“I’ll eat afterwards.”
Evander just looks at me. “I know.”
“I’m sensing you know everything today,” I mutter, grinning at him.
“I’ve known you for three years, daisy. I know everything about you.” He folds his arms, leaning against the wall. “Drink the coffee.”
The quiet alpha command in his voice has me taking an obedient sip. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
Before either of us can say anything else, caramel and butterscotch slip beneath Evander’s scent.
Isaac.
“Hi Isa,” I say, blowing him a kiss. “Did Van leave you to sign you both in again?”
Isaac nods, flipping Evander off as he drops into my office chair, his neat dark hair still perfectly in place after the journey over. “I wouldn’t mind, except the fucker didn’t even order me a coffee.”
I gasp, looking at Evander in shock. My alpha only shrugs, entirely unrepentant.
“Payback is a bitch, hey?”
“I brought pastries,” Isaac says, smirking at his best friend.
Evander’s expression falls. “You can have my coffee.”
I laugh into my cup.
Isaac opens his briefcase, and the buttery scent of warm pastries spills into the office. Evander snatches the bag before it can even touch my desk.
“You’ve forgotten to eat,” Isaac says, giving me a stern look as his scent turns richer with concern.
“I’ve already been told,” I say softly. “I promised to eat after my next meeting.”
“Hmm, if you say so,” Isaac says, raising a brow. “We’re going out for dinner tonight.”
“We are?”
He nods. “We all know you won’t make time for lunch, so I’ll just have to force-feed you noodles.”
I groan, my tummy grumbling as I think about my noodle bowl.
There’s movement in the corridor again. Heavy footsteps this time, followed by the first familiar brush of Harlan’s scent. I don’t even have to look to know Silas is with him.
Harlan pauses outside my office, phone pressed to his ear, his dark-blond hair falling slightly over his forehead and his shoulders rigid beneath his shirt.
“No, move Thursday’s review to two o’clock.”
His hazel eyes find mine, and something in his scent warms as the stern line of his mouth softens.
Barely.
He lifts his free hand in a tiny wave before continuing down the corridor towards his office.
Silas doesn’t follow him, though. He fills my doorway for a moment before entering, rounding my desk and pressing a kiss to my lips.
He places the tube on my desk, and I gasp.
“I left that at home?”
He nods. “You’re welcome, little moonlight.”
I grip the warm fabric of his shirt, breathing him in as I tug him down for a better kiss.
“Thank you, thank you,” I murmur against them.
He grins, kisses my temple, and drags his nose lightly over my scent gland before telling Isaac he’ll make the reservation.
I look around my office, suddenly aware of how naturally they’d all drifted through it in less than five minutes, leaving their scents tangled through mine.
Neither Harlan nor Silas planned it, but they still found me. Still had time to drop in.
All four of them always find time for me.
Just like they always do.
The office empties again, though their warmth and overlapping scents cling to the room after the others reluctantly head back to work.
Or, in Evander’s case, finally leave before security starts charging him rent.
I finish my coffee, straighten a few fabric swatches, and glance at the clock.
Five minutes.
Perfect.
I crouch beside my nest, reaching underneath the daybed for the presentation boards I’d tucked away yesterday.
My fingertips brush soft wool instead. One of the knitted blankets has slipped halfway onto the floor. I shake my head fondly as I fold it back into place.
There was a time I’d have hidden all of this before anyone came in.
Made the room look… professional. Less omega.
Less me.
That makes me pause. I can’t even remember the last time I apologised for taking up the space I needed.
My nest isn’t hidden in the corner. It’s one of the first things people see when they walk through my door.
Sometimes new clients ask about it. Sometimes Harlan falls asleep there after eighteen-hour days, burying his face in blankets that smell like all of us.
He denies it every single time, but he’s just as terrible a liar as me.
A quiet laugh escapes me. Three years ago I’d have worried what people thought.
Now? If someone doesn’t like it… that’s okay.
I gather my presentation boards against my chest before pausing in the muted corridor light in front of the frosted glass on my office door.
Junior Designer
Cassidy Hargrove
I smile as I lock my door behind me, my pack’s scents safely tucked inside with my nest.
I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove how useful I was.
Thinking I had to earn the love I was given.
My pack taught me I never had to earn it.
I’m capable. I’m useful. And even on the days I’m not… they still love me.
This time, when I step through the door, I don’t wonder whether I belong.
I already know I do.
I spent so long believing a nest was somewhere I had to earn my place.
Turns out, it’s simply somewhere I’m loved.
I might have found mine reluctantly.
But now?
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.