Last Pack Standing

1. Chapter 1

Cassie

“Come on! You cannot be serious!”

Julianne, my sister and also my roommate, threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

“It’s happening, whether you like it or not!” I said with a satisfied smile, as she practically combusted in our living room.

“You’ll be on national television!” she shrieked.

“And I’ll get national exposure,” I shot back with a shrug.

I had just been officially cast on one of the most-watched reality shows in the country, Last Pack Standing.

A ridiculous, addictive mess of alphas, omegas, bonding challenges, and occasional spicy moments caught on camera.

Basically, a dating show competition that no one could stop watching.

And I was here for it. But not for the love, and definitely not to find a pack. Those people were messy as all get out.

But, I did want the spotlight.

“You don’t need that kind of exposure! None of those packs ever work out anyway! You’ll be a laughing stock!” Julianne flailed her arms as she paced, which was rich coming from someone who still had celebrity alpha posters hanging in her room.

“I already am a laughing stock.” I stood up and crossed my arms. “Why not monetize it?”

She froze mid-pace. “…Cass.”

Her tone changed, now full of pity.

“I can’t escape being a joke in this city. At least if I’m on TV, I can get something out of being infamous. And maybe, people will start recognizing me for the show instead of my stupid presentation.”

She paused, and I knew she was remembering my most embarrassing moment. Every mortifying second of it.

It was supposed to be my shining moment - I was going to deliver a high-stakes pitch to Fission Tech, and hopefully get a great promotion out of it.

I was an omega who had broken through the ranks in my organization, making something of myself in a world where omegas rarely held positions of power.

My live streamed presentation was ready to dazzle the board.

After five years of work, my entire career had been building to that moment.

Then, the glitch.

Instead of my Q3 projections and branding rollouts, the projector cut to a very not safe for work image featuring an omega and three muscular alphas who looked like they were pulled directly from any omega’s fantasy. An image from my personal cloud files that absolutely should not be showing.

I’d paused, panic rising in me as I looked up and realized that my presentation was not on the screen. I quickly tried to click past it, stammering as I made an excuse, but another very risky image showed up.

It went on, no matter how many times I clicked.

Then it got worse. Next up were selfies of me, taken in my room, playing with hair and makeup.

I clicked furiously, over and over as I tried in vain to get back to my presentation.

Unfortunately, it turned out that my personal cloud was accidentally linked instead of my work presentation.

And everyone, including the remote staff watching, got a view of my fantasies and sexy selfies - along with the un-sexy outtakes.

The room had gone from stunned silence to outright laughter. My boss was nearly choking on his coffee. Then someone had the audacity to clap.

Finally, realizing my furious clicking was only adding to my humiliation, I ripped the cord out of my laptop and ran out of the room in shame. But it was too late. The presentation was being recorded, and it spread throughout the organization like wildfire.

Unfortunately, it was sent to people outside my job as well. Someone put it up on a video hosting site, and it went viral. Then came the memes, and worst of all, the remix. Yes, someone remixed my meltdown.

“I quit before they could fire me,” I said, quietly now as Julianne looked at me with hesitation. “But let’s not pretend I didn’t lose everything in under five minutes.”

Julianne’s face softened. “Cass…”

“I was humiliated. You, of all people, would know that I can’t even leave the apartment without someone recognizing me. The only thing that kept me sane all these months was finally dedicating myself to my art.”

And that was the truth. Out of the ashes of my corporate humiliation, my art and painting shop - which I’d started anonymously - had started to bloom, albeit slowly.

“But people don’t buy from quiet artists,” I said, lifting my chin. “They buy from names they recognize. People they feel like they know . You think it’s dumb, but Last Pack Standing could change everything. I’ll be known as a competitor, and a love interest, not as a viral joke.”

“You don’t even want a pack,” she said, almost pleading now.

“Of course not. I don’t need one. But I do need clients, and right now I especially need money. I need a platform. And this is the fastest way for me to control my own narrative, and my own destiny. The show is just a stepping stone.”

Julianne sighed and collapsed onto the couch. “What kind of pack did they give you?”

“I’ll find out when I get there. But whoever they are, I’ll just have to pretend to have enough chemistry with them to stay on as long as I can, and make a name for myself.

If I can make it to the final rounds, even better.

Who knows. If we win, I could come back with enough cash to launch my art into the big leagues. ”

My sister let out a huge sigh, knowing I was too stubborn to give up.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh. My. GOD.” Julianne screamed into a throw pillow.

I kind of understood where she was coming from.

I’d never been one to want a pack. From the time I was little, my family raised me to be more than just my designation.

I was highly independent and self-sufficient, and with all the strides I was making at work, I figured I really didn’t need anyone else.

Except when I went into heat, but there were surrogates and toys for that.

Also, the show was pretty crass. Most contestants found out that the fame was worth way more than any pairing the producers came up with, and I knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

So I’d have to go, pretend to like the pack long enough to keep from getting voted off, and hopefully leave with some money and fame.

Easy peasy. I can act. At least, I hope I can.