Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
LUCAS
I watch Trinity negotiate with the flower vendor, mesmerized by her transformation.
Gone is the hesitant woman who couldn’t ask for company to the market.
In her place stands a powerhouse in business mode—shoulders squared, voice firm but pleasant, hands gesturing precisely as she haggles over orchid prices.
If she were wearing thigh-high boots and black leather with a whip in her hand instead of that sundress, the image wouldn’t feel any different. The vendor’s face shifts from stubborn to considering to acquiescent under her steady assault of charm and determination.
It’s the same voice she used when she first told Cash what she needed from us at the agency. The same commanding presence that made all of us immediately want to please her.
Cash would be on his knees in seconds if he heard her like this. Not because she’s an omega—because she’s Trinity.
That’s what fascinates me about her. How can one woman contain so many contradictions? Powerful yet vulnerable. Independent yet desperate for connection. Professional yet sensual. The hard-edged businesswoman and the soft-hearted sister.
She turns away from the vendor with a triumphant expression, a slight flush on her cheeks. She caught him trying to overcharge her by almost double the going rate, then talked him down to below market price while also getting him to throw in some exotic blooms I can’t even name.
When she spots me, her smile widens, and she holds up a sample arrangement.
“What do you think? Too much purple? Josie loves purple, but I’m worried it’ll clash with the lavender of the bridesmaids’ dresses.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, meaning it. “You’re perfect.”
She blushes, but her smile fades as she glances at her phone. Her brow furrows, lips pressing into a tight line.
I debate whether to approach or give her space. She’s made it clear she doesn’t like asking for help, even when she needs it. But then I remember our conversation at lunch, about how she needs to learn to let others in.
Sometimes, growth requires a little push.
“What happened?” I ask pointedly, closing the distance between us. “Tell me.”
She looks up, startled by my directness. For a moment, I think she’ll deflect or change the subject. But then her shoulders slump slightly.
“I just got an email. I lost my bid on the event space I’ve been trying to purchase.” She tucks her phone away, trying to look unaffected. “It’s fine. There will be other properties.”
But I can see it’s not fine. The disappointment radiates from her in waves.
“Tell me about this space,” I say, taking the flower arrangement from her hands so she can gesticulate freely. “What made it special?”
“It was amazing.” Her eyes light up despite her disappointment. “An old theater in Chelsea with original art deco details. High ceilings, grand staircase, incredible acoustics. I’ve been eyeing it for months, waiting for the asking price to come down.”
“You wanted to expand your business?”
“More than that.” She reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear. “I wanted to create something permanent. A signature venue that would be mine, where I could host the most beautiful events in the city.”
The vendor calls to her in rapid-fire Indonesian, holding up ribbon fragments that he obviously expects her to choose from.
Trinity turns, all business again, negotiating seamlessly using hand signals since she doesn’t speak the language.
I watch her transformation, marveling at how quickly she compartmentalizes her disappointment and refocuses.
When she finishes, she turns back to me with a shrug.
“Like I said, there will be other properties. I shouldn’t have gotten so attached to the idea.”
“It’s okay to be disappointed,” I tell her. “This meant something to you.”
“It was just a building,” she says, but her voice catches slightly.
“It was a dream.” I reach out, tucking that stubborn curl back again. “And dreams matter.”
She looks up at me, surprise flickering across her face at being so easily understood. For a moment, I see the real Trinity—not the polished professional or the fake girlfriend, but the woman underneath all those careful layers .
“Maybe we should head back,” she says finally. “Josie wasn’t feeling well, so I should probably check in on her.”
“One more stop first,” I decide, taking her hand. “I think you need ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” She laughs, the sound genuine if slightly bewildered. “I’m not five years old, Lucas.”
“Ice cream doesn’t have an age restriction.” I tug her toward a small stand I spotted earlier. “Trust me, I’m an expert in comfort.”
As we walk hand in hand through the colorful market, I find myself wishing this was real—that I was actually her alpha, that I could really be the one to soothe her disappointments and celebrate her victories.
But for now, ice cream will have to do. And for these few days, I’ll give her everything I can.
A few minutes later, I watch Trinity’s pink tongue dart out to lick her matcha coconut ice cream cone. The way it swirls around the melting edges before she catches a drip with the tip—it’s mesmerizing. Innocent yet somehow the most erotic thing I’ve seen today.
And I’ve seen her negotiate flower prices like a seasoned general commanding troops.
She notices me staring and slows her movements deliberately, making a show of it now. Her eyes flick to mine, gauging my reaction as she takes another long and slow lick.
The heat that’s been building between us all day flares brighter.
“If you keep eating your ice cream like that,” I say, my voice dropping to a rumble, “I’m going to assume you want me to take you to bed tonight and fuck you like you deserve.”
Her eyes widen. For a second, I wonder if I’ve misjudged. Maybe I’ve been reading too much into her signals, projecting my own desires onto her actions.
Then her expression transforms. Her lips curve into that sultry smile I’ve caught glimpses of when she thinks no one’s watching. The one that makes my blood run hot.
“Who says you have to wait for tonight?” she asks, her voice pure honey.
I laugh, surprised and delighted by her boldness.
“Oh, kitten,” I murmur. “I think it’ll be that much better if I make you wait.”
“Are you sure about that?” She steps closer, ice cream forgotten as she tilts her face up to mine. Her free hand brushes against my chest, fingers trailing down my abdomen. “I can be very persuasive.”
I catch her wrist before her hand can wander lower. “Pretty little omegas who top from the bottom tend to get more than they’re bargaining for.”
Her pupils dilate, and I smell the spike in her arousal—sharp and sweet like pie spice and sugar.
“Is that a promise?” she challenges.
“It’s a guarantee.” I bring her captured wrist to my lips, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. “Tonight, I’ll show you exactly what happens to omegas who think they can take control.”
“I look forward to it.” Trinity tugs her wrist free and returns to her ice cream, but her hands tremble slightly. Melted ice cream drips down her hand, just over where I just pressed my lips, and she licks it away. “I wish I could taste you. These damn suppressants are killing me.”
The words are out before I have time to think them through.
“Then stop taking them.”
Trinity nearly chokes on her ice cream, wiping a drop from her chin as she stares at me like I’ve suggested she strip naked in the middle of the market.
“Are you insane?” she whispers, glancing around as if someone might overhear this scandalous suggestion.
But now that I’ve said it, the idea takes root. I lean closer, emboldened by the flush spreading across her cheeks.
“I’m serious. These suppressants are blocking your senses. You wouldn’t even be able to identify a scent match if it fell in your lap.” I hold her gaze, challenging her. “There are other ways to prevent pregnancy if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Trinity shakes her head, a touch of panic in her eyes. “I’ve been on them for months, Lucas. Do you have any idea what happens when an omega stops suppressants suddenly? I’d go into the worst heat of my life within a month…”
The thought of Trinity in heat makes my blood run hot, but I keep my expression neutral. “And that’s a problem because...?”
“Because our contract is over at the end of the week,” she says, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “I can’t risk going through heat alone.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Alone? You really think you’d spend your heat alone?”
Her lips part in surprise.
“There are three alphas and a beta who would be more than willing to help you through,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “This heat and any others that might come after.”
Trinity stands perfectly still, ice cream forgotten and melting down her hand. For once, she seems at a loss for words.
I’ve had enough of waiting. I capture her wrist, pulling her against me and kissing her hard. Her lips are cold and sweet from the ice cream, but they warm quickly under mine. When I pull back, her eyes are glazed with equal parts confusion and desire.
“Let’s get back to the resort for dinner,” I tell her as I steer her toward the exit of the market. “I don’t want to wait too long before I get my dessert.”
“We just had ice cream,” she says, voice a little breathless.
I cast her a significant glance over my shoulder, not hiding the desire in my gaze. “I wasn’t talking about food, sweetheart.”
The pretty blush and flustered look she gives me is almost enough to make me skip dinner altogether.