2. Bianca
BIANCA
The pavement burns through my sandals as I walk through downtown Emerald Hills. Heat ripples from every surface, making the air shimmer and dance. It’s not even summer yet, and sweat is already sliding between my shoulder blades, causing my sundress to cling.
It’s been six days since the waterhole—six days without their mouths on mine, without breathing them in, without feeling like I can fill my lungs properly. I touch the bee charm, pressing the metal into my skin until it bites.
I stand by the fountain where Mom insists on taking our photos every year.
A pack walks by—three alphas wrapped around their pregnant omega as if she might float away without their tether. One grabs her hand at the crosswalk, another carries her bags, while the third’s eyes never stop moving, scanning for threats.
God, I want that so badly it makes my teeth ache. To be surrounded, claimed, their scents marking me so everyone knows I’m theirs. Proof that I belong somewhere. That I belong to four men who have owned my heart since long before their biology even sparked to life.
The omega’s sweet scent drifts over, and every cell in my body screams with jealousy. She smells like everything I should be, everything I’m not.
It pisses me off.
Dr. Montgomery keeps saying to give it time, but how much time?
Only four days until graduation… until I risk everything and see if this fire raging inside me is mutual or just wishful thinking.
“Bianca, come back inside and pick out your boots.”
Mom’s voice cuts through my spiral. She’s holding the door, that look on her face indicating I’m being difficult.
“Sorry. I just needed some air. The ones you picked are fine.”
“You’ve said maybe ten words all day. A little enthusiasm would be nice.”
Shit. Now I feel bad because she’s been over the moon about this trip for weeks. Three weeks of hiking and mother-daughter bonding in the wilderness, which she believes is the perfect graduation gift.
I’m not convinced.
I grab the boots she pointed out. “These are perfect.”
She studies my face, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “What’s troubling you? You’ve been off all week.”
Off. As if that tiny word could possibly cover the storm raging inside, as if it explains how my future hangs by a thread and their response will either breathe life into me or wreck me.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Graduation nerves? Or the trip? Because we can?—”
“Mom, I’m good.” The words come out sharper than I intended, so I force a smile. “Just tired from finals and everything.”
She doesn’t buy it but backs off.
“Let’s look at thermal shirts next. Nights get brutal up there.”
I check my phone while she browses. The group chat has been dead since yesterday when Tristan sent some stupid video… absolutely nothing about kisses that changed everything, nothing about wanting me forever.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
“We should check out before the storm hits,” Mom says, eyeing the darkening sky. “I need to get to one more store before they close.”
My phone buzzes against my palm, and my heart jumps as it always does until I see Whitney’s name instead of theirs.
Whitney
Late lunch at Marigold? Need to tell you the latest drama. It’s JUICY.
Mom peeks over my shoulder. “You should go. Maybe some friend time will help you cheer up.”
Ouch. But at least I can escape.
“If you’re sure...”
“Yes, honey. Go have fun. Call if you need a ride.”
Me
Heading there now.
Marigold is buzzing with caffeine and conversation. Rain streaks the tall windows, and students have claimed every table, textbooks spread beside overpriced lattes and avocado toast.
Whitney’s claimed the best seat by the window. Her blonde hair glows against the stormy backdrop, and her white dress is crisp and perfect against her tan. Next to her, I always look like a rough draft left beside a masterpiece—scentless, boring, inconsequential.
Her rosy perfume hits me before she even looks up—flowers and sweetness that scream “omega,” demanding attention from everyone in the room. Everyone notices. They always do.
“Bianca!” She air-kisses my cheek. “You look...” Her eyes scan me from head to toe. “Tired. Rough day?”
I slide into the chair opposite her, fighting the urge to smooth my flyaways or adjust my dress. I pick at my napkin instead, tearing little pieces off the edge.
“Something like that.”
“I ordered your usual. You’re so predictable it makes things easy,” she remarks, scanning me up and down with critical eyes.
Classic Whitney. She has a way of cutting me down without meaning to.
“Thanks.”
“So,” she leans forward with bright eyes, “you will not believe what happened to Emma Redrow.”
I stuff my mouth with sandwich to avoid answering immediately. Whitney collects drama like some people collect stamps.
“You know her and Tyler, right? Total fairytale couple—together since seventh grade?”
I nod, chewing slowly, because everyone at school knows Emma and Tyler. Whitney glances around, then leans even closer until her perfume overwhelms my senses.
“Tyler went on that college visit last weekend, and guess what happened? He scent-matched with some freshman there named Melissa.”
I set down my sandwich as my appetite vanishes. “What?”
Whitney’s eyes brighten at my response. “I know, right? Years down the drain because of biology.” Her smile sharpens. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? One minute you think you know your future, then...” She snaps her fingers. “Gone. Just like that.”
“What’s he going to do?” The question sticks like sandpaper, and I gulp water to wash it down.
“Do? It’s done. They’re scent matches.” Whitney says this like it’s obvious, inevitable.
Does one whiff of a stranger erase years of loving someone? That’s messed up.
“So he just... broke up with her?”
“Tyler had his teeth in Melissa’s neck by the end of the weekend.”
I suck in sharply. “That’s brutal. Poor Emma.”
Thunder cracks outside, closer now, and the lights flicker once, then twice, then steady as rain begins hitting the windows harder.
Whitney shrugs, taking a tiny bite of her salad. “Emma should have known better than to pin all her hopes on an alpha when she’s a beta that can’t give him what he needs. Risk Management 101. Her bad.”
“They loved each other. You saw them together.”
“Love isn’t everything.” She watches me closely. “Why are you so upset about this anyway?”
That’s what’s been haunting me for years. Biology is a fickle little bitch.
“Emma is sweet, that’s all.”
She spears another lettuce leaf, sliding it between her perfect teeth. “Speaking of alphas, I saw your brother’s little friends at Daddy’s fundraiser.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Last night, all four of them were there with their fathers, and God, they clean up well in suits.” She waves her fork dismissively. “I thought about sneaking a photo for you, but Daddy gets so touchy about phones during his important gatherings.”
Jealousy twists like a serrated knife between my ribs, her assessment of them grating on my nerves. “I didn’t know they were going.”
“Why would you? It was a high-profile medical fundraiser, exclusive as hell.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “My father wanted me there to answer questions from potential investors about his research.”
Dr. Montgomery—Whitney’s father and my doctor. The man who supposedly revolutionized omega healthcare still can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with me. So much for being the world’s best omega specialist.
“How nice of you to help your father.”
What else can I say? That I’m envious as hell she spent more time with them this week than I have? Missing them hurts like a constant ache in my bones.
“It’s the least I can do. He was generous enough to let me host the graduation party at our estate, which means I get to coordinate a party for hundreds of people.” She sighs dramatically. “Do you know how difficult the logistics are when you’re planning something that massive? Total nightmare.”
I can’t muster any sympathy for her because her dad could hire armies of party planners if he wanted to.
The Montgomery estate sprawls at the edge of the forest like a spread you’d see in a magazine—the main house, all glass and modern lines, rising against the trees, while the original mansion with its white columns sits way back on the property, down a long driveway.
When we were kids, Whitney and I found concrete tunnels beneath it and played there for months until we got lost one afternoon.
Her dad’s rage when he found us made sure we never went back.
Despite her living in a mansion and me in a suburban house, we were close enough to walk through the woods to each other’s homes, which made us friends before I realized how different we are.
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect. It always is.”
Friendship came easier when we were little, before boys stole our attention and our bodies developed on entirely different timelines.
We built fairy houses in the woods between our homes, swapped dog-eared romance novels with whispered promises that we’d find princes of our own someday, and collected heart-shaped rocks we convinced ourselves were ancient love tokens.
Everything changed when she started smelling like flowers while I remained as scentless as tap water.
“It will be.” She beams with genuine enthusiasm. “Four more days! Can you believe it? Then we’re free.”
Four days. Great.
Whitney studies me like she’s dissecting a particularly intriguing specimen. “Why did you get so weird when I brought up Emma and Tyler? You’re not still hung up on that ridiculous idea about Winston’s besties, are you?”
My mouth goes dry. “What idea?”
“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “That fantasy you’ve harbored forever about them being your matches or whatever nonsense you used to ramble about.”