54. Willow
Chapter fifty-four
Willow
I struggle out of the chair, my heart stuttering beneath my breast. I’ve seen enough influencers get canceled. AI accusations, counter-cultural beliefs, one wrong remark.
But I’m a household name. I’m too big to fail, aren’t I? The voices swoop in.
“You? Your worth, Willow? Well, I suppose it’s something . . . when you’re with us.” Laughter, cruel not because they were trying to be but because that’s their deep-seated belief, the one that clung to me until it became my own. “Did you see this?” Phil holds up my sticky note.
“No!” I call, shame filling me.
Grins full of teeth flash around the room. “She can’t even spell right.” Snorts. The warm place within me that thought it would be a good idea to include a love note in his lunch box dies an icy death. I can’t do anything right. So why bother?
I fling my hand out blindly. The room’s fuzzy, speckled with gray. Fuck! I got greedy, and I forgot what happens every time I reach for more than I deserve. Something always drags me back into the pit.
“Willow? What’s wrong. What was the phone call about?”
Color resolves. Three alphas. Jeremy reaches for me, but I snatch my trembling hand away. My brand’s moved forward for four years. So why fall apart now, unless . . .?
I cross my cold hands over my chest. “If one of you caused this, I’ll never speak to you again. No, more than that, I’ll . . .”
My throat chokes up.
Wow. Is that the best you can come up with? Don’t you know we could only be so lucky, never hearing your whiny voice again? Oh please, Willow. Threaten me with a good time, why don’t you?
Tears burn in my eyes. I grip my phone and whirl for the door.
Joel catches my wrist. “Willow!”
“Don’t!” I hiss. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”
Where the hell did I put my security remote? I let my guard down, lulled by a false sense of security. I’m not safe unless I’m alone. How could I forget?
I run to my office, lurching from one unsteady leg to the other. What can I do to stop the fall out? The sooner I get a statement out, the better. But what can I say to patch up an exploding dam? Can I buy someone off? And what exactly did Kylie say was the cause?
I detour via my bedroom and open the side table, yanking the drawer all the way out when it catches. Lip moisturizer, night cream, and hair pins tumble out in a heap. I grab the remote like it’s my lifeline, holding it to my cheek as I scurry back through the house to my office.
Mr Shares whines and scratches at the glass outside, but I don’t stop.
“Willow!” Alessandro begs from the kitchen. “Please, talk to us, cara mia!”
The endearing phrase now grates on my ears.
“Stay back,” I warn darkly, holding my remote out. I circle the three men, not turning my back to them, before sprinting the last few steps to my office.
A sob catches in my throat as I lock the door. I want to stop, to collapse, to beg my alphas for answers.
“So weak, little omega. Can’t do anything on your own, can you?”
The old critiques now mingle so freely with my own thoughts, they’ve become my inner voice. Maybe the three alphas outside my door were saying the same things, but I wasn’t listening.
I drop into my seat, but the chair feels too cold, too bouncy. The floor’s rocking under my feet.
“Come on, come on!” I snarl as the computer loads up. I click over to my social media account with shaking hands.
Ten thousand notifications. Eleven thousand.
Fraud.
So it was all lies?
Is she even an omega?
Finally I track it all back to the source.
I’m the woman in pink sitting in the back of that café.
And I can tell you 100% Boss Omega wasn’t there.
I’d know! I was her fan, so I would’ve begged for an autograph.
But now I see she’s making stuff up and I bet this isn’t the only time.
I can’t trust her anymore. And here’s the best part – every time I post this comment she hides it. Why are you hiding, Boss Liar?
Others take up the cry.
OMG! Someone filmed an empty seat at a restaurant I was at. I thought I was imagining it, but I just checked and she has it posted here. She’s making up her visits to places.
Call the bitch out!
My entire body quivers as I read on. Nasty, demanding notes blip into my messages list every minute, asking what’s going on. It’s only been an hour or two since I was last online, but the vitriol’s spreading at an uncontrollable rate.
Socialite? She’s not social at all!
My Roman Empire’s burning, and I provided the fuel.
I just wanted to help people. My hands shake so much I keep double-clicking on the mouse by accident. A slew of demands for refunds for Boss School pour into my emails. Even the omegas I helped won’t stand by me with my lies coming out.
The need to act fast wars with my paralysis. My heart thumps so hard inside my chest it feels like it’s being dislodged. Something tickles my cheeks and I swipe at them to discover fat tears leaking.
Haven’t I been through enough? Didn’t I struggle too many times already?
A statement. Put out a statement. Now. My phone vibrates on my desk as Kylie tries to get back in touch with me, but I leave it unanswered. Focus on the words. Do I admit the truth and explain myself? Or do I deny it?
I grab a pen, the stem unusually rigid under my fingers. The sides dimple deep into my fingertips as I draw a flow chart with possible outcomes.
Deny the claims. Say that yes, it was filmed during the day with a vacant seat and I came back late night for a private sitting.
Hush money for the restaurant owner. If I deny the claims, then my audience’s next step will be to ask for proof.
Receipts. I’ll need to be filmed in public.
Is there any way I can step outside my door? The alphas—
A harsh scoff escapes me. If I could drag my paranoid body over that threshold, I’d have already done it.
The threat that waits out there to devour me is a hundred times worse than the dumpster fire burning down my digital kingdom.
I know, because I’ve experienced it twice.
The searing fire, cells exploding throughout my body as the overload drags me under.
Three twelfths of a second?
Yeah right. Longest seconds of my lifetime, followed by months of agonizing physical therapy while I learned to talk and walk again.
I squiggle deep strokes over the top of that flow chart and start again.
Tell the truth. Or something with truth mixed into it. Everything’s been true up until now, but the Luxembourg case if different. I couldn’t go because of illness maybe. Or my heat? Or travel plans got canceled? But then why was my assistant there?
I circle back to my heat. That’s when everything started going wrong. My mind whirls and my breathing shallows out until I’m gasping and heaving over the desk.
“Willow?” Someone bangs on the door. “Please, let us help you!”
“Ha!”
Help? What help have alphas ever given me? They always laughed at my failings. Rubbed my face in it like a bad puppy.
See? This is why you shouldn’t try, shortcake. You can’t do anything.
“Why?” I groan, pushing my chair back and leaning down, my head almost between my knees. “Why did I get given this hand to play? Should I have been born an alpha?”
Why wasn't I born smarter, more resilient? Why didn’t someone stop me going down that path of destruction with the Ilvine pack?
Because no one’s ever had my back.
“Cara mia! Per favore! Please. Please let us in.”
I cover my ears and rock in the seat. Where’s Mr Shares? I can’t tell the difference between the voices in my head and the real ones.
And with each moment I hesitate, everything I’ve worked for disintegrates further. Why can’t I act? Why can’t I save what I built?
It’s like lightning struck all over again, and I have to stand by helplessly while it paralyzes me.
So should I just let it burn? Throw furniture on the bonfire, laugh and dance and admit this was all I was ever worth. That the alphas were right. Pack my things and go back to living in my car?
“I can’t,” I sob, gripping my knees tight. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back!”
Fear and rage mingle together in a potent cocktail. I launch upright, my chair slamming into the wall. With a wild cry, I rake the desktop and monitors to the side, tumbling them over the edge.
“I can’t go back!” I scream, tearing at the cables under the desk.
The keyboard flies across the desk, slamming into my shoulder. I don’t care. The lamp tumbles to the floor, the glass dome shattering into a million pieces. Like my content.
The lies were never the problem. It was the omega beneath them, the shaky foundation. If I'd just been perfect, I wouldn’t have needed lies. If I’d been enough.
That was always the problem. Me. A faulty omega who wasn’t supposed to be alive. Like a glitch in the Matrix, I’ve poisoned everything around me.
I lean over the desk and grab the letter opener from the drawer. If I can’t force myself outside, maybe I should just—
A louder shatter echoes behind me. I shake my head. Was it an echo?
“Willow!”
Strong arms clamp around my waist. The tool clatters on the desk as my alpha drags me backward.
“No!” I scream, reaching for the shiny metal. “Let me go! Let me disappear!”
“Never!” Joel’s alpha growl by my ear sends a hot shiver down my spine.
More arms wrap around me. “Please stop, cara mia! Don’t hurt yourself.”
Jeremy joins the huddle. “Oh, Willow, baby.”
I’m shaking so hard, I can’t speak. Only cry, wailing in a way I didn’t know was possible. Lamenting for a broken, unsociable omega.
Someone captures my palms. “Shit, she’s bleeding.”
I hiss as pressure forms on my skin, but not even that can take away the pain filling my soul. “Let me go!” I yell. “Just leave me alone! You won't want me when you know the truth!”
But despite my words, I grip the closest man, his scent a balm in my nose. These alphas are the only thing I can cling to when everything else falls apart. Holding onto these them is my desperate plea to be wrong.
“That’s not true, Willow. We’ll always want you, no matter what you’ve done. You’re safe with us.”
I’m blind to everything, only the sensation of touch prickling over my skin. Trapping me.
“I’m not! I’m never safe! I don’t get to be safe! Everyone leaves me! And why wouldn’t they?" A bitter scoff shreds my throat. "I can’t run, can’t dance, I’ve got ugly scars. And I’m a liar! Did you all know I’m a liar? Who would want such a terrible omega? Tell me!”
I lash out and an alpha grunts.
"We want you, no matter what, Willow. No matter who you are, we'll always be your alphas."
I want to believe Jeremy, but my heart hurts too much. If they abandon me now, I'll break beyond repair; my omega nature can't recover a second time.
Strong arms pick me up. I scream and kick as the colors around me blur.
“What do we do?”
“We have to restrain her. She’s hurting herself.”
“Don’t you d-dare!” I scream, hammering on someone’s back. Joel’s, I think. How dare he lay his hands on me?
“I’m sorry, Willow. It’s just until you calm down.”
Calm down? Calm down? How can I? My life is in ruins. I scream, gurgling as my pouring tears fill my throat.
“We’re here to take care of you.” We drop into a lower position, something bouncing gently beneath us. “You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” Joel soothes.
Lies! And how could I not tell lies when everything I was ever told was a lie?
I snarl, my chest rumbling. “That’s what they said! That everything would be okay. And then they fucking abandoned me!” I dig my nails into his skin and shake. “They k-kicked me out, with n-nothing, Joel! And now my whole business is going up in flames!”
“I know, darlin’, I know. And they were wrong and cruel. But you’re still here. You survived. Overcame all their bullshit. And now you have us, Willow, and I promise we'll never, ever let you go through anything alone again.”
I cling to him, Jeremy stroking my back, and Alessandro, well, I think he might be praying, hands clasped together on my thigh. “D-did I? Is this s-surviving?”
“It’s a start,” Joel rumbles. “Breathing is a start. Crying is a start. Feeling alive is good. Whatever happens from now on, we’ll take care of you. If your business dries up, or you don’t have any money, we’ll provide. Help you get back on your feet. That’s what we’re here for.”
I blubber a whole batch of fresh sobs.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Jeremy kisses the back of my neck. “Please, how can we make you feel better?”
I don’t want to feel anything at all.
“We’ll do anything for you.” That choked-up voice comes from near my waist.
“Just tell us what you want, truly,” Joel adds. “If you send us away, we’ll go once you’ve calmed down. But please, let us help you.”
I’m the one who feels like dying, so why is his voice shaking like he can’t bear it?
“Please, Willow. Let us share your pain. We’re right here.” His fingers dig into my shoulder. “As your alpha, I can help, you know I can. Tell us what you want and we’ll make it happen.”
His deep voice reaches a frozen part inside me.
What I want? No one ever asked what I wanted. It was always assumed.
You’re an omega, of course you only want one thing. Spread those legs and we’ll give it to you.
The skin on my wrist burns as if the old bond were still there, creeping into me with a ghostly memory.
A bond will make everything better, Willow. You’ll see.
It didn’t. And yet I miss it. The sensation of someone else living in my skin, confirming I’m not alone in this world. I miss it so much I can’t bear it. I bought a dog to keep the pain at bay, but even Mr Shares isn’t enough to drown the inner vacuum. Nothing can replace a bond.
Except another bond.
“I . . . don’t want to be . . . alone anymore.
” The words rise from deep within, dragging a guttural moan with them.
I grab at my dress, clenching my fists in the soft fabric.
“Happiness. Is that too much to ask for? I don’t want to hear their voices, and I don’t want to feel worthless.
I just don’t want . . . to lose everything again. I can’t.”
My hands shake and I reach out blindly. The familiar scent of rosemary sticks in my nostrils. The warmth in my palms belongs to the alpha who helped me through my heat, saw my scars, witnessed me trash my own office.
“Are you mine?” I whisper. “Do you promise?”
“Always.” Jeremy squeezes me.
I lunge forward, my mind suddenly clear. The thing I’m most afraid of is the thing I need right now. Lightning needs a rod, and I’ve been living without one for so long I’m losing myself. For a second, I breathe in the rich rosemary scent on his skin, and then I bite down.