41. Sophie
Sophie
“Hey girl, you coming?” I’m halfway through Declan’s latest update on Diana’s legacy messaging activity when Lucy appears in the doorway, a coffee in each hand, practically vibrating with energy.
“Coming where?” I ask, sitting up.
“The quarterly results presentation.” She says it like I’ve just asked what day of the week it is. “You know how it is—all three of them up there together, in front of everyone?” She clutches her coffee to her chest like she’s bracing herself. “I live for it every quarter.”
I press my lips together to keep from smiling.
“Lead the way,” I say, following her.
She hands me one of the coffees as we walk and I can hear the buzz of the atrium before we reach it. Voices layered on voices, the steady hum of a crowded room. Lucy’s heels are quick beside me, her excitement impossible to miss.
The atrium ground floor is packed. Every employee gathered beneath four stories of glass, the sound of conversation filling the space. Lucy steers us toward the center of the crowd, and I follow, scanning the room the way I always do.
Three women stand just in front of us—kitchen staff, I recognize them from the canteen—talking in the low voices of people who think they’re being quiet and aren’t.
Then the doors at the far end open, and the alphas walk in.
Every head in the room turns at once.
Max comes first. Dark suit, dark tie, moving through the crowd with the kind of presence that makes people step aside without being asked.
Then Finn, half a step behind, easy smile already in place, his dirty-blond hair pushed back, jacket slung over one shoulder.
He says something to Max that makes Max’s mouth twitch.
Then Ethan. Shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tablet under one arm, glasses catching the light.
God, seeing them like this—all of them together, with every eye in the atrium drawn to them—I understand now why Lucy was making such a big deal of it.
They fill the room just by being in it. And sure, part of it is because they’re alphas, and that’s what alphas tend to do. But it isn’t just that. Most of the people here feel a deep, genuine sense of loyalty to them.
And of course, it doesn’t hurt that they’re devastatingly hot.
“God,” the blonde in front of me breathes. “Max Cavill is so freaking hot. Every time I see him in person I forget how to function.”
I press my tongue against the back of my teeth and say nothing. Yeah. I know.
“I can’t even imagine what it would be like to kiss him.” Her friend presses both hands to her cheeks. The third one makes a sound of fervent agreement.
And just like that, I’m back on the couch in the living room—cold river water still dripping from my hair, and his mouth on mine like it was the only thing that mattered. His fingers inside me, his voice saying let go, little one, and my face warms at the memory.
“I’d say Ethan Brooks would be a better kisser,” the brunette says, wiggling her eyebrows at her friends. “He seems like the type who takes his time. Very thorough.”
Very thorough indeed. My mind goes straight to Ethan as he thoroughly devoured me on his desk and made sure to clean up every last drop of my slick, then looked up at me and said, I was right. You are a sweet girl.
God, it’s getting hot in here.
I press my nails into my palm, trying my best to keep my face neutral.
“I don’t know,” the third omega says. “I feel like Finn Preston would be the best. You can just tell. He’s got that energy.”
He’s incredible. And just like that, I’m back at the kitchen counter, my legs wrapped around his waist, the way he said God, you’re perfect when he took my shirt off and looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
A flush spreads across my chest.
Shit, I really need to think about something else.
“Girls.” Lucy’s voice, pointed and amused. The three omegas startle and turn. “We can hear you. This is a company presentation, not a gossip session.”
The three of them go red and mumble quick apologies, suddenly very interested in their phones. Lucy gives them a look that says you’re welcome, then leans toward me, her voice dropping to a murmur.
“I’d say they’d all be good kissers, wouldn’t you, Sophie?”
I look at her. Her expression is guileless, genuinely just gossiping—just Lucy, who finds everything delightful and says whatever she’s thinking.
“I’d say they’re our employers,” I say.
She waves me off. “Oh, come on. You have all those meetings with them. Surely you’ve thought about it.
Even just once.” She looks up at the platform dreamily.
“Can you imagine being with not just one, but three of them? Each one a completely different... flavor. But all of them—” she sighs “—equally delicious.”
Yes, Lucy. I can imagine it.
“I really haven’t,” I say. The lie comes out smooth.
At the platform, Max steps up to the podium and the room settles around him.
“Thank you all for being here.” His voice carries easily, and I watch half the room stand a little straighter.
“Quarterly results across all divisions are strong. Clinical is ahead of projected timeline. Production numbers are up fourteen percent on last quarter. And—” he pauses “—I’m pleased to announce that our long-term suppressant research project has received full regulatory approval. ”
The room erupts into applause. People turn to each other with wide eyes, pulling each other into hugs. Lucy beside me lets out a squeal and grabs my arm.
“Sophie,” she whispers. “Do you understand what that means?”
She doesn’t know the half of it. She’s hearing long-term suppressant research. I’m hearing Equinox—the compound that will let an omega choose to be free in a way that no suppressant, no matter how good, has ever offered. Twelve years of work. And finally, it’s happening.
They’re giving every omega the choice that Max’s mother never got to make.
My eyes burn. I’m so proud of them, and the feeling is so large and so warm that I have to press my hand to my chest to hold it.
Standing here, watching them on that stage, I think about the way they’ve touched me since the night I told them everything. Not once have they hesitated over my scars or made me feel like they change anything. They look at me as if the scars aren’t even there.
Because they actually see me. The way I see them—so clearly now that it’s almost unbearable.
I love you.
The words reverberate in my head—words I never thought I’d feel for another person, let alone three.
I love them. All three of them. The realization fills me with so much awe—knowing that I am capable of it. After everything I’ve been through. After Detroit. After the years of numbness and anger and convincing myself that this part of me was dead.
But it isn’t dead. It’s alive now, enormous and overflowing, and my eyes well with tears as I let the feeling surge through me without fighting it.
Max is still talking about the production timeline when mid-sentence, his eyes move through the crowd and find mine.
And for a second, his expression fills with warmth. As if he was saying, there you are. And then he looks away and keeps going and I’m the only one who saw it.
I smile, my eyes still watery.
After the presentation, the crowd buzzes and lingers and I slip out quietly while Lucy is caught in a conversation about the canteen menu.
I find an empty conference room down the corridor. It’s dim when I enter, and I press my back against the door and close my eyes and breathe.
The memories since I got here move through my mind like I’m experiencing everything again.
Max wedging himself beside a falling server rack and holding it up with shaking arms so I could slide free.
Ethan, who said I suppose we just wanted omegas to have a choice, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
And Finn—sweet, guileless Finn, who makes everyone around him feel heard, who makes a room warmer just by being in it.
God. I’ve fallen completely and irrevocably in love with them.
My phone buzzes, pulling me back.
Have dinner at ours tonight?—Finn
Finn is cooking when I arrive at the pack house that evening.
My body has been thrumming with anticipation since Finn’s text. I spent the rest of the afternoon at my desk pretending to work while my skin buzzed and my pulse wouldn’t settle.
It’s just dinner, I tell myself as I push through the front door. They invited you to dinner. That’s all this is.
When I walk into the kitchen, Finn is at the stove and Ethan is at the table with a glass of wine.
“There she is.” Finn glances over his shoulder and smiles. “Perfect timing. I should be done in about half an hour.” His hair is still damp from a shower, the white t-shirt tight across his shoulders, and I think about the way those shoulders felt under my hands in this kitchen.
“Hey, Sophie,” Ethan says quietly. He gets up and crosses the room and kisses my cheek.
His lips are warm and his hand rests briefly on my hip and I forget how to breathe.
When he pulls back I catch the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the lean forearms, and my mind goes straight to those hands between my thighs.
Dinner. This is just dinner. Be normal.
“Hey.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Where’s Max?”
“Shower,” Finn says. “He’ll be down in a minute.”
Ethan pours me a glass of wine—red, the same one he’s drinking—and sets it in front of me. Our fingers brush when I pick it up and the contact sends a spark up my arm that lands in my stomach. It’s just fingers. Get a grip.