It finally clicks—literally—that the noise I was hearing is coming from her camera.
Shit.
“Miss Rose Smith, aka Miss Rosalinda Morales—” the reporter begins, and my heart fucking stops. “Why is the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Detroit living here under an assumed name?”
My body turns to stone. Every limb heavy, every thought frozen. My mouth is dry as sand, my tongue too thick to fit.
I knew—absolutely knew—that I should have changed my name to something different than a shortened version of my real name but it was so vindicating at the time. I’d always wanted to be called Rose but my mother saw it as too pedestrian and never let me use it. Only Kai ever called me Rosie. I just couldn’t let it go when I finally broke free. I wanted to use the name I’d always felt was truly mine.
When I say nothing, she keeps going, as if my silence is just another headline. “Your parents have maintained that you’re exploring other interests privately. Have you been here the whole time? Why were you seen exiting the hotel where the Sterling Pack is staying? Are you involved with them? Do the Blackbear Pack know?”
At the mention of the pack I was promised to, my heart slams against my ribs. Blood roars in my ears. The world narrows, blurry at the edges. I don’t even register the car doors slamming until someone steps in front of me—blocking the reporter and the flash of her camera.
Voices rise, sharp and heated. Then, suddenly, there’s nothing but soft brown eyes in front of me.
“Rosie?”
Kai crouches down so we’re eye level, and that’s when the panic hits like a wave. I start to shake. My breath catches, then spirals out of control—short, shallow, useless. Every inhale burns, every exhale stutters. Had I been holding my breath before I saw him? I can’t tell.
Kai’s mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him through the roaring in my ears.
He’s gently pushed aside, and then Logan fills my vision—tall, steady, commanding. His blue eyes lock on mine, and his voice cuts through the chaos.
“Breathe with me.” He barks.
The words strike straight through the panic, through the place inside me I’ve kept caged for years. My omega stirs weakly, trembling. His voice is low, rough, certain—something solid to hold on to.
Logan inhales. I try to copy him. He holds it, then exhales. I follow. Again and again until the air stops scraping in my throat. My fingers clutch his forearms too tightly, nails pressing crescents into his skin. His hands stay steady on my elbows, grounding me.
“Okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, my chest still hitching. A startled squeak escapes when Logan pulls me into a hug. It’s not a scent mark—those are for mates—but from a distance it probably looks like one. It’s part of the act.
But the low“Good girl”he murmurs against my ear? That’s not for show. It’s so soft I almost think I imagined it—until the heat flushes up my neck.
I tilt my head back, and his pale blue eyes meet mine. There’s something in them I can’t name—concern, anger, something else that makes my pulse skip.
“Let’s go inside,” Wyatt says, his drawl low and protective. He pulls his cowboy hat lower, shoulders squared, the silver-and-black flannel straining across his chest.
They usher me into the house, Logan’s hand steady at my back.
My home suddenly feels too small. Just a single living room, a narrow galley kitchen, a breakfast nook meant for four, one bathroom, one bedroom. Too tight, too quiet.
“What’s going on?” I mumble once they sit me at the table. My head still swims from the panic. Wyatt sits to my left, Kai to my right, with Logan across from me. Harlan towers behind him while Evander moves quietly in the kitchen, his usual energy gone.
“Despite our best efforts to stay private, the press seems to have found us,” Harlan says, voice clipped and even. His gaze pins me, unreadable. Then his nostrils flare slightly, eyes narrowing.
Please don’t let my scent be bleeding through this fast. The others don’t react, so maybe it’s just him.
“What did the reporter say to you?”
“She—she called me by my real name. Rosalinda Morales. And she asked if the Blackbear Pack knows I’m here.” My voice is thready and rough.
The name alone makes my chest constrict. I focus on keeping my breathing steady, in and out, slow. My eyes find Logan for help, but he’s staring down at the table, jaw tight.
So I turn to Harlan instead. He’s watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s already half solved.
“The timeline we came up with is blown to hell. You can’t stay here alone. Between the paparazzi, your family, and the Blackbear Pack, you need to be in sight of one of us at all times,” Harlan demands.
