Oli
OMEGA BUZZ GOSSIP COLUMN
EXCLUSIVE TELL-ALL WITH OLI HART AND HER NEW PACK - THE HART PACK
July 5th
T he heavy velvet curtain brushes against my arm, a tangible whisper against my skin that echoes the fluttering in my chest. It’s been so long since the lights, the cheers, the pulse-pounding beats have been mine. Since I deserved them.
“Come on, ve Hart, you’ve done this a thousand times,” I mutter under my breath, trying to infuse my words with the spunk that’s as much a part of me as my wavy rose gold hair. But who am I kidding? This isn’t just another performance. It’s the comeback of a lifetime—the one where I prove not just to the world but to myself that I’m still the omega rockstar who can own a crowd with a single note.
Even if they have no idea I haven’t been.
A deep breath fills my lungs, and it’s more than oxygen—it’s courage, it’s fire. It’s the balm of coffee and desserts, the signature of my alphas, close enough for their presence to wrap around me like a melody. One of them steps closer, his hand a warm weight on my shoulder, grounding me with a touch that’s both a promise and a reassurance.
“Ready to rock their worlds, little rose?” The voice at my ear is a low rumble, teasing yet earnest, stirring the embers of excitement into a blaze. I can’t help but smirk, leaning into the solid strength behind me, and feel my nerves begin to smooth out.
“Born ready,” I shoot back, my voice tinged with the flirtatious defiance that feels like slipping into my favorite leather jacket—familiar and oh-so-me. There’s no room for doubt, not when I’ve got my alphas by my side, believing in me with unwavering certainty that’s more intoxicating than any stage high.
A grin splits my face because this is the moment I leap back into the life that’s as vital to me as breathing.
My alphas’ strength is a current in my veins. As I step forward into the embrace of darkness before the spotlight hits, adrenaline kicks my heartbeat up to match the rhythm of anticipation that pulsates through the arena.
The crowd’s roar is tangible, wrapping around me, urging me on. Their energy is a call to which my soul has always answered. With each step towards the microphone stand, the familiar rush of performing surges stronger and fiercer.
I grip the mic, the cool metal grounding me. It presses against my bond mark with Aiden, making me shake before I pull it together.
My voice is my loyal soldier, ready to fight for me.
And then I sing.
The first note is like the opening of a floodgate—it’s clear, it’s powerful, cutting through the cacophony of cheers like a siren’s call. Even I’m taken aback by its strength; it’s as if the injury never touched me, as if my vocal cords conspired with the universe to gift me back my song, fuller and richer than ever before.
The applause crashes into me like a tidal wave, fierce and wild, as the last echoes of my opening verse hang in the air. I drink it in—their cheers are liquid courage, seeping into my veins, bolstering my confidence. My lips curl into a half-smirk, half-smile, basking in the glow of their adoration. It’s electric, this connection as if I’m conducting the very pulse of the crowd with every sway of my hips.
“London! Are you ready to rock?” I tease over the mic, my tone playful and even flirtatious. The response is immediate, a thunderous affirmation that takes my breath away. They’re with me every step of the way, their eagerness a palpable force that I weave into the fabric of my performance.
My alphas catch my eye—one by one—each glance an unspoken conversation. There’s Chase on the drums, his sticks a blur as he winks at me, mischief written all over his face. Then there’s Dax, his fingers dancing over the bass, a sly grin on his lips as he follows my lead without missing a beat.
Jack’s smile is bright, and I feel his pride in our bond as he strums his guitar. Last, I see Aiden’s confident expression. He knew all along it would be fine.
The stage vibrates with anticipation, a charged silence descending for just a heartbeat before my following words shatter it. “And now, for an announcement that’s gonna rock your world,” I say, my voice a sultry purr of secrets waiting to spill. The crowd leans in, a collective inhale held in their chests.
“You may have already heard, but I’m thrilled to reveal that The Edge and Hart are merging into one epic band!” The words tumble out, wrapped in my fervor. For a moment, the audience is stunned, disbelief etched on their faces like a fresco of shock. But then, like a wave crashing against the shore, excitement builds, morphing into a crescendo of cheers and applause that ricochet off the walls.
And then there’s Dax. He moves forward, his presence a dark flame as he takes his place, bass guitar in hand. His grumpy exterior is like armor, but it’s infused with a razor-sharp focus tonight. His eyes flicker up to meet mine, a silent challenge, or maybe acknowledgment—we’re in this together, ready to set the world alight.
“Ready to make history, Dax?” I call out to him, my tone playful yet laced with the thrill of our shared endeavor.
“Always,” he grunts back, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost pass for a smile. It’s all the encouragement I need.
“Then let’s give them a show they’ll never forget,” I declare, my heart pounding to the rhythm of the new beginning we’re about to unleash.
The first note is a growl, deep and resonant, vibrating through the soles of my boots and climbing up my spine. Dax’s fingers dance over the strings of his bass, coaxing out a primal and meticulous rhythm. The crowd sways, pulled by the gravity of the sound as it builds a crescendo of anticipation that holds us all captive.
The connection between us crackles, electric and undeniable. I step closer to him, and our eyes lock—a silent conversation amid chaos. His gaze is intense, those hazel eyes like windows to a soul that’s known too many shadows. Yet now, they flicker with something else—heat, maybe, or the thrill of this shared stage.
“Give it up for Dax, everyone!” I shout, my voice riding the wave of his melody. The audience erupts, and I catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it ignites something within me—a fire that demands more air, more space.
With each verse, I move, my body finding the beat of his bass with an ease that feels like destiny.
The last chord from Dax’s song vibrates through the air like a live wire of electricity, tingling my skin.
The cheers make the room shake.
“Are you ready for more London?” I shout. “Because my alphas and I have something else special planned for you!”
I turn, catching Aiden’s gaze as I move to the keyboard to sit with him. His usual shyness flickers across his features for a fleeting second, but it vanishes like smoke in a breeze. He’s all alpha confidence tonight, and the sight makes me squirm.
The thrumming energy of the crowd pulses around us, waiting, expectant.
“This one is new, London.” My voice is light, teasing, dancing over the edge of a promise as I lean slightly toward him.
The corner of Aiden’s mouth lifts in a half-smile that doesn’t quite mask the intensity burning in his soft brown eyes. We breathe in sync, the anticipation coiling tight in our chests.
And then, we sing.
Our voices rise and fall, weaving together in a harmony so pure it feels like destiny. His baritone timbre melds with my lilting melody, an intricate dance of sound that fills every corner of the venue. It’s magic, raw and beautiful—the kind that can’t be bottled or sold, only felt.
The audience erupts, their cheers crashing over us in waves of adoration. They’re on their feet, hands in the air, riding the high of the moment alongside us. I can see it in their faces—the way the song hits home, tugging at heartstrings, drawing out emotions they didn’t know were there.
“Can you feel that?” I whisper during a pause where Chase plays a solo, swept up in the euphoria blanketing the crowd. The echo of our voices still hangs in the air.
“Every note,” Aiden breathes, and there’s wonder in his voice, a shared awe at the connection sparking to life between us and the sea of faces before us.
It’s more than a duet; it’s a declaration, a forging of something unstoppable. And as the last harmonies fade into rapturous applause, I know this is just the beginning.
The audience is still buzzing from the duet; their enthusiasm is a living thing that dances in the space between us. I drink it in, letting their love seep into my bones and fizz through my veins. It’s heady, this feeling of absolute connection, and for a moment, I’m weightless, floating on a sea of cheers and wide-eyed grins.
“Did you all enjoy that?” I shout into the mic, teasing them with a wink. Their response is a collective roar that would put the mightiest of lions to shame. My heart swells so big I worry it might burst out of my chest. “Because we’re just getting started!”
And then we’re off, diving headfirst into the next song.
The alphas behind me are a force of nature, their presence grounding yet lifting me higher. Like stars, they burn brightly, each adding their own color to the blaze. And I’m right there in the center, the heart of the constellation, drawing them in, pushing them out, a gravitational pull that keeps this universe spinning.
“London, you are bloody incredible!” My voice is a raw, exhilarated rasp, brimming with the high of the performance. I sweep a glance over my bandmates, catching Dax’s rare, satisfied smirk—it’s like spotting a shooting star—fleeting and magical. We share a look, understanding without words the rush of this shared victory.
“Thank you for being part of this night—the start of something epic!” It’s more than gratitude; it’s a promise of all the nights to come, of all the songs still humming under our skin, waiting to be set free.
I step back, one hand reaching for the sky, fingers spread wide as if to catch the remnants of our music floating there.
With a final wave, we turn, exiting the stage as a unit, a family forged in fire and melody.
Backstage is a rush of heat and racing hearts, the sounds of the crowd a sweet echo in our ears as we burst through the curtains.
“Damn, , you killed it out there!” Jack’s grin is as infectious as his energy, and I can’t help but throw my arms around him, the scent of coffee and pastries a heady mix with the sweat of the show.
“Only because I had the best alphas backing me up,” I shoot back, my voice still thrumming with the high of the stage.
“Best damn omega leading us,” Dax counters, that grumpy edge softened by the adrenaline coursing through us all. His gaze holds mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary, hazel eyes burning bright with something unspoken yet felt deep in my bones.
“Group hug?” Aiden suggests, his normally quiet voice amplified in the tight circle we’ve formed. He’s always been reserved, but tonight, the music has drawn him out, pulling at the threads of his shyness to reveal the strength beneath.
This group hug thing has become our new signature, and I love it.
“Bring it in,” Chase says, winking, the playboy charm he’s so famous for now rounded out with a genuine warmth. He wraps his arms around us, limbs finding purchase as we press close, a tangle of limbs and shared exhilaration.
“Remember this moment,” I whisper against the fabric of someone’s shirt, not sure whose. “We have forever after this.”