Even if They’re Mine (Runaway Omega #5)

Prologue

JULIA

The waiting room at the Omega Matching Agency had to be the most ironic place on earth.

The lush, lavender armchairs were upholstered in the softest velvet, designed to set anyone who sat in them at ease.

The glow of the recessed lighting above was soft and pleasant, and the pillows scattered around the room were so goddamn heavenly I wanted to steal them, make a giant pile in the center of the floor, and jump into it like a kid with a mountain of autumn leaves.

Until I reminded myself that I hated this room.

No amount of fluffy pillows could negate the reality that Omegas only came to this room to be matched and shipped off to their new owners like prized possessions.

I sighed and shifted in my seat for the hundredth time since I’d walked in and plopped down in one of those ridiculously comfortable chairs, earning yet another pointed stare from across the room.

While the OMA had tailored the waiting room to no doubt soothe our “delicate Omega sensibilities,” it seemed they’d forgotten to give the memo to their receptionist. The woman possessed the most aggressive case of resting bitch face I’d ever seen.

Normally, I wouldn’t blame someone for the affliction—hell, I had my own version of it whenever someone spouted off about Omegas and our designated place in the world—but this chick had been scowling my way for the last twenty minutes.

At this point, I was starting to take it personally.

I tore my gaze away from her glare, my eyes flicking to the motivational poster looming on the wall opposite us.

Its elegant cursive font was just an extra kick in the teeth.

Your Scenting Journey Awaits, it proclaimed, floating above a laughably staged photo of a beaming Omega nuzzling the necks of her rugged, perfectly lit pack.

Journey, my ass. More like a plunge into unknown waters wearing a blindfold and concrete shoes.

“Jules.” Adeline’s voice was soft next to me, laced with that gentle, infinitely patient amusement that was unique to her. “You’re doing it again.”

I blinked my eyes innocently. “Doing what?”

“The thing.”

I scoffed. “I’m not doing a thing.”

“You’re right… you’re doing several things.”

I rolled my head against the back of the chair and looked at her.

She sat perfectly upright, her hands folded neatly in her lap, looking like a person who had never, in her entire life, once been asked to leave a library for being too loud or misbehaving.

Her red hair was immaculately curled into soft waves, and she was dressed in a pretty green sundress that matched her eyes and made her look like a fairy princess.

Beside her, I felt like a feral raccoon hissing at the sunlight.

I’d barely rolled out of bed in time, opting to toss my hair into a messy bun, throw on yesterday’s jeans and a cute pink top before saying “fuck it” and finishing off the look with my fuzzy slippers because who the hell was I here to impress?

No one, that’s who.

“I’m emotionally supporting you,” I said, deadpan. “This is what emotional support looks like.”

“Your leg is vibrating.”

“No… my leg is enthusiastic.”

Addy cocked an eyebrow. “Your leg is trying to send out an S.O.S. in Morse code, asking for immediate rescue.”

“Hey, you said you wanted an Alpha. I’m just trying to aid in your cause.

A Morse code reading Prince Charming could come bursting through that door any moment now, riding to the rescue before he stops, gets one whiff of your scent, falls madly in love, and sweeps you off your feet.

Then I can bibbidi-bobbidi-boo on out of here like you’re own personal fairy godmother, knowing my work here is done. ”

Her mouth did the thing—pulling flat at the corners the way it did when she was trying not to smile because she absolutely refused to encourage me. Not that it ever worked.

Her lips twitched, and she squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

And then, because I was a terrible person and a good friend in approximately that order, I leaned in close, and under my breath, pitched perfectly, I began to sing the nonsensical Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo song.

She lasted exactly ten seconds before she broke and a laugh slipped out.

It was just a puff of air, barely a sound, but I heard it.

I always heard it, and that was the whole point.

Beneath her perfect posture, she was nervous, bordering on terrified. She had been a vibrating ball of anxiety since four-thirty this morning, when she’d texted me a blurry picture of two identical cream blouses with a panicked text that said…

Adeline:

Which one?

I’d texted back…

The one on the left, obviously.

… even though I couldn’t tell them apart to save my life.

But I understood the panic. I understood exactly why she was sitting so stiffly, had changed her outfit fifteen times, and had taken two hours on her hair and makeup, praying she looked like someone’s future.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be within a fifty-mile radius of this room.

I’d officially been refusing my own scentings for months, claiming I needed a “break.” A few packs had smelled good to me, but the second they met me and dug past my mother’s maiden name I’d registered under, their eyes always changed, along with their motives for finding a mate.

They became more interested in the Cristenello name, the mafia money, and the bloody power that came with it.

I was deeply, resignedly over the whole rigged system.

But I was here, because Adeline was my best friend and she had asked, and I would endure literally anything for the people I loved.

Besides, this wasn’t just a preliminary scenting.

Addy had already been through the first round of scenting this pack and found them genuinely pleasant—a true scent sympathy match which meant they were compatible.

And now, after waiting days for them to receive her scent card and respond, she was waiting for confirmation that they wanted to court her.

More importantly, however, was the fact that this pack had explicitly stated they didn’t require children.

For Adeline, whose infertility hung around her neck like a heavy, unspoken weight she tragically referred to as a “deformity,” this pack was the holy grail.

After being rejected more times than she could count, after losing matches that seemed perfect on paper but didn’t hold up in the real world, this moment was everything.

For her, it was hope. Even if I viewed the whole archaic tradition as a little backward, I wanted this for her because she wanted it for herself.

More than anything, I wanted her to be happy.

“They’re going to love you,” I murmured, dropping the joke, my voice softening into something fiercely protective. “You’re a catch, Addy. And if they don’t see that, I’ll set their cars on fire.”

She shot me a look that was equal parts exasperated and adoring. “No arson necessary. But thank you for the sentiment.”

Before I could respond, the door swung open and Vivienne, one of the OMA representatives, swept into the room. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor, her sleek black suit perfectly tailored to her slim frame.

“Viv,” I called out, overdoing the pleasantry on purpose. “Lovely to see you again.”

Vivienne’s lips pursed at the nickname. “Ms. Cristenello. Always a pleasure.” Her tone suggested it was anything but.

There was history there, a push and pull that had played out across my many rejected matches. But when Vivienne’s gaze landed on Adeline, her expression softened. She knew Addy’s file inside and out, knew the painful story of her infertility and the rejections that had followed.

“Adeline,” Vivienne greeted warmly. “I have good news. Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk about it?”

Addy’s hand tightened around mine, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes.

Vivienne led us into a room that was smaller than the waiting area, but no less luxurious.

The walls were painted a soft, soothing grayish-blue, and a plush, cream-colored rug covered the floor.

In the center of the room stood an oval-shaped wooden table, flanked by two high-backed chairs upholstered in rich, navy fabric that looked soft enough to pet.

Viv gestured for Adeline to take a seat, claiming the one across from her. I hung back, leaning against the wall near the door, my arms crossed over my chest as I watched my best friend snatch a fluffy throw pillow as she settled in, hugging it tightly to her stomach.

Even from across the room, I could sense Addy’s nervousness.

Her normally sweet scent had gone burnt at the edges, like caramel left too long on the stove.

Her knuckles were white where they gripped the pillow, and I ached to go to her, to offer some kind of comfort.

But I knew this was a moment she needed to face on her own.

Vivienne took a seat on the opposite side of the table, a closed leather binder in front of her. She slid it closer to Adeline with a reassuring smile.

“I know this process can be daunting,” she started gently, “but I want you to know that the pack has responded and approved the match, if you’re willing.

It’s not a true match, but given that both sides are scent sympathetic, it’s a perfectly good pairing and a viable way forward.

We believe this is an excellent option for you.

They’ve expressed a genuine interest in meeting you. ”

Adeline nodded, her fingers tightening around the pillow. “And you’re sure they… they don’t require children?” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if she barely dared to hope.

Vivienne’s smile widened. “That’s correct. They’ve made it clear that your fertility struggles are not a hindrance for them. They’re looking for a true connection, a partnership built on mutual respect and affection.”

I watched as some of the tension eased from Addy’s shoulders, a flicker of relief passing over her features. It wasn’t everything, but it was a start.