Chapter Two #2
Marline visibly falters, panic creeping into her eyes.
Fallon, however, sighs. “Well.” A pause. “I suppose I will need your name after all.”
A beat. Marline latches onto it and tries to recover. “Why?” she demands, her voice faltering but stubborn, like she thinks there’s still a way to claw back control.
“Why?” Fallon repeats, slow, mocking her own amusement. Then she counts off on her fingers, like listing groceries. “One: You’re a bitch, and you shouldn’t be helping people on one of the happiest occasions of their lives.”
“Two: I will be telling my husbands about this interaction.”
A sharp inhale.
Fallon doesn’t even blink. Instead, she tilts her head toward Henry, still standing like a stone sentinel, already scrolling through his phone. “Henry, I want the surveillance video of this entire conversation before we leave. I wouldn’t want to be troubled with ‘wrongful termination.’”
Henry barely nods.
Fallon steps closer, not touching her, just watching. “Three: I am not one to tolerate disrespect. Neither is my family. My name is Fallon Creed.”
The audio catches the tiny, almost pathetic noise Marline makes.
Fallon tsks softly like she’s disappointed. “And what store are we in?” she muses. “Ahh, that’s right. House of Creed.”
Silence.
“Four: I just don’t like you. You’re fired. And I will be blacklisting you from all my stores and subsidiaries.”
“I hope you have the day you deserve.”
A garbled sputter, but Fallon is already turning away.
Henry steps in, muttering something low and unreadable before steering the Marline toward the back.
The remaining employees stand frozen, watching, waiting.
“Which one of you has been here the longest?”
Fallon nods. “You’re promoted.”
The employee straightens, eyes wide with shock before lighting up in excitement. “Ms. Creed, I would be honored.”
Fallon smiles, softer this time. “Please, just call me Fallon.”
The goth woman snickers.
Marco murmurs in a low voice as the audio crackles beneath the final exchange. “Well, shit.” Then, the footage cuts to black.
We’ve always wanted an omega to complete our pack. It’s instinct. We all feel a natural pull but have learned to bury beneath the weight of who we are and what we do. The life we lead isn’t safe. It isn’t stable. It sure as hell isn’t the kind of life an omega is supposed to walk into.
So, for a long time, we accepted that it would never happen.
Until Elizabeth Creed walked into our office that day.
She was wearing her usual unshakable, razor-sharp self, dressed in one of her pristine tailored suits, folder in hand, already three steps ahead of whatever legal disaster we needed to be covered.
But something was different. The sharp scent of her usual wine and something floral faded, barely noticeable.
What wasn’t fading, though, was the honeyed peach scent that nearly overwhelmed us.
It was warm, sweet, addictive. Something deep inside us stirred, muscles tensing in unison, instincts snapping to attention like a gun being cocked.
And, of course, Romano was the first to say something.
“Ms. Creed, what smells like peaches?”
Elizabeth—our unshakable, ice-cold defense lawyer—actually flinched.
The reaction was brief, but we all caught it.
Her usual mask of professionalism cracked for just a second, her sharp eyes widening before she quickly schooled her expression.
That was the first time I had ever seen her surprised.
She looked down at herself, chuckling lightly, something almost nervous in the sound.
“Ah,” she exhaled, touching the sleeve of her blouse like she’d only just remembered what she was wearing. “I borrowed one of my daughter’s blouses this morning. I suppose I’ve gotten so used to her scent that I didn’t even notice.”
Her daughter. Something snapped into place. We exchanged silent glances, something unspoken and heavy passing between us. And that was it. That was the moment the obsession began. We asked—outright—who her daughter was.
Elizabeth had never been hesitant with us before, but this time? She hesitated. We saw how she carefully chose her words, how her expression guarded itself, and how she tried to brush the subject aside. But we weren’t letting it go. So I made her an offer she couldn’t ignore.
“I’ll clear all your debts if you arrange for us to marry your daughter.
” The words hung in the air like a loaded weapon, and Elizabeth froze, her breath catching for just a moment.
We didn’t try to sugarcoat it. We were blunt, direct, and honest. We told her, plain and simple, that we believed her daughter was our scent match—the omega meant for us.
She had every reason to say no.
But she didn’t.
And just like that—the plan began.
Romano
February 12th
1:51 P.M
The soft hum of my servers is practically white noise at this point, blending into the quiet rhythm of my office. This room is my sanctuary, my fortress of technology buried deep in the house, secured with biometric locks and state-of-the-art encryption.
It’s all sleek, modern, and bathed in neon glow—a mix of matte black walls, glass panels, and strategically placed LED strips that cast an almost futuristic blue light around the room.
A wall of monitors stretches across the far side, displaying live security feeds, encrypted data streams, and whatever else I feel like keeping an eye on.
My desk is a custom-built beast of touchscreens and hidden compartments, glowing softly beneath my fingers as I absently scroll through different files.
I’m lounging in one of my gaming chairs, hoodie loose around my frame, sleeves shoved up to my elbows.
I’m in black joggers and socks because shoes are for the oppressed, and my round glasses keep slipping down my nose as I scan through security logs.
I shove them up with the back of my hand, half-listening as Jace leans against the side of my desk.
“What type of flowers do you think our wife likes?” I look up at him, grinning.
Jace raises a brow. “Why?”
And this is why I like him—he never judges me for my random ass ideas. If anything, he seems genuinely interested.
I roll my chair back a little, stretching my arms above my head. “It’s Valentine’s Day in a few days. I wanted to send flowers, but now I’m thinking about it—what if we each send her a courting gift instead? Like a gift basket?”
That gets him. His whole face lights up, his dimple popping. “That’s a great idea.”
I grin, already pulling up my phone. “Call the others and see what they’d want to pick, and I’ll go pick it up.”
“Why not just order it?” Jace asks, already dialing as he walks across the room, his black button-up stretched across his broad chest, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his ink.
He’s wearing fitted black jeans, his usual casual but expensive look, which says he could charm his way into a boardroom or a fight without changing outfits.
I shake my head, already distracted, already excited. “You can’t feel the textures of a picture.”
Jace chuckles, shaking his head like I’m a lost cause but amused all the same.
I start tapping out a text to Elizabeth Creed, the one person who will absolutely know what our wife-to-be likes. It doesn’t take long for her to respond—quick, efficient, no-nonsense—and when I see the list of things Fallon enjoys, my grin stretches even wider.
I tuck my phone back into my hoodie pocket, rubbing my hands together, my brain already sorting through ideas like a heist plan.
Jace comes back in, grinning.
“King loved the idea, and Voss is on board.” He grabs his jacket off the back of my chair. “Come on. I’m coming with.”
I push myself up from my seat, shoving my glasses back up again before I snag my keys off the desk and shove my feet into boots.
“Let’s go spoil our girl.”
The SUV hums beneath my hands, the wheel warm from the heat of the engine as I drum my fingers against it, bouncing slightly in my seat.
Jace is entirely unbothered. He’s reclining in the passenger seat, one arm resting lazily along the door, his blue eyes half-lidded but definitely watching me like he’s waiting for me to do something stupid, which is fair. I’m driving. And I drive like I have no regard for speed limits.
The engine growls as I swerve around a slower car, cutting into the next lane like a man on a mission. I glance at Jace, grinning.
“You’re going to get us pulled over.” He doesn’t even sound worried—just mildly resigned to his fate.
“Nah,” I wave him off, foot pressing just a little harder on the gas. “I’ll talk my way out of it.”
Jace snorts, shaking his head. “Right. Because cops love unhinged tech geniuses.”
I shoot him a mock-offended look before turning back to the road. “I am not unhinged. I’m just—highly enthusiastic. Voss is the unhinged one.”
Jace doesn’t even dignify that with a response. The look he gives me says enough.
Still, he’s grinning, and I can’t help but feel giddy as hell. We’re going to pamper the absolute hell out of our wife-to-be.
The towering warehouse-sized building of Fluffed Up comes into view, its massive windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun, practically glowing like a beacon of softness and indulgence.
Fluffed Up is the premier nesting store for omegas. And I do mean premier—this place is a cathedral of comfort, a sprawling haven stacked wall to wall with everything an omega could possibly dream of.
The exterior is sleek and modern, with large glass panels framed in dark metal, giving it an expensive but inviting feel. A massive, illuminated sign sits above the entrance, the letters of “Fluffed Up” in a warm, elegant script, glowing softly like the promise of the best nap of your life.
The parking lot is packed—no surprise. Omegas and their packs are coming in and out, some carrying oversized shopping bags, others pushing carts filled to the top.
I barely brake in time, swinging the SUV right up to the front doors and sliding into the first available parking spot like I own the place.
Jace doesn’t even blink.
He grabs the handle above his door and exhales. “Remind me never to let you drive when Fallon is in the car.”
I ignore him. I would never put our mate in danger. I am already vibrating with excitement. “Come on, Jace! Let’s do this!”
I practically throw myself out of the vehicle, landing on the pavement with all the energy of a kid let loose in a candy store.
He moves at his own damn pace, rolling his shoulders before stepping out of the car with easy confidence, brushing imaginary dust off his black button-up like he’s above the chaos I am fully prepared to unleash inside.
I’m halfway to the door, already vibrating with excitement when a horrifying realization slams into me like a truck.
I whirl around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, my hands flying to my head in absolute distress.
“Jace.” I gasp, eyes wide. “We haven’t set up the nest!”
Jace barely reacts. Because, of course, he doesn’t. He stares at me, unimpressed, with hands in his pockets like I didn’t announce a full-scale emergency. Unfortunately, He’s not the only one who hears.
A nearby omega and her pack freeze mid-step, all of them turning to stare like I’ve just yelled “fire” in a crowded building.
The omega in question is petite and soft-looking but confidently carries herself.
She’s wearing a pale lavender sweater draping over her frame and a flowy cream skirt that brushes against her boots.
Her scent—something light, floral, warm—lingers in the air as she pauses, her curious brown eyes flickering to me.
Her pack immediately tightens around her, an instinctive protective move that speaks volumes. Two alphas and a beta, all standing just a little closer, watching me with that subtle but unmistakable “Don’t Fuck Around” energy.
I hold up my hands in surrender, still reeling from my own disaster.
She hesitates for half a second before speaking, her voice soft but steady.
“Sir?” She tilts her head slightly like she’s trying to figure out if I’m a genuine idiot or just an overenthusiastic alpha having a moment.
“Just make sure the room has a bed and other furniture. Leave the rest blank. I promise your omega will love being able to decorate it herself.”
The words hit me like a revelation. That makes sense. That’s smart. Why didn’t I think of that? I gasp, my eyes widening as I nod enthusiastically, probably looking like an over-caffeinated lunatic. “Thank you so much!”
She blinks at me, clearly not expecting that level of dramatic gratitude. Then, slowly, she smiles, giving me a polite nod before her pack nudges her along, guiding her away.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Jace finally cracks. A deep chuckle rumbles out of him, low and too damn amused.
I whip around to face him, still frazzled. “What?!”
He shakes his head, smirking. “You just scared the hell out of that poor omega over a nest.”
I cross my arms, scowling. “It’s an important fucking detail, Jace!”
He claps a hand on my shoulder, still laughing. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go spoil our girl before you have another existential crisis in the parking lot.”
I huff but follow him inside, already making a mental list of everything I need to buy.
Because damn it, my mate is going to have the best damn nest ever.