I count four duchesses, two former heads of state, and a whole flock of socialites before I’ve even made it to the first bar station. A waiter hands me a glass of champagne, and I take it mostly for something to do with my hands.
Elliot is, as usual, just outside my periphery. He’s dressed like a guest, but his eyes sweep the room with practiced perfection. Even long before he joined Ravenwood Shield Security, Elliot had a knack for picking out danger around every corner.
The first hour is a blur of handshakes, fake laughs, and awkward small talk. Everyone wants to know if the rumors about me are true: that I’ll be “settling down soon” since my mother has already started Omega Selection prep. Omega Selection day is only a few months away, soclearlyI’m spending all my free time secretly screening and auditioning possible mates like I’m on a reality TV show.
What they don’t realize is I’ve been secretly uploading baking videos instead. Ones that keep going viral.
I deflect and redirect. No, I haven’t picked an omega. Yes, I’m excited to carry on the family legacy, whatever that means.
Someone hands me another drink. I lose count after three. Then the crowd shifts, and a ripple of excitement passes through the room. My mother materializes at my elbow and squeezes hard enough to leave a mark.
“Here we go,” she whispers giddily.
The emcee claps for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests: it is my great pleasure to present tonight’s very special performance, courtesy of the one and only Piper Sumner!”
Piper Sumner. I know the name from headlines and the relentless PR emails my mother forwards me with “LOOK AT THIS” in all caps. I’ve never listened to her music. Never really cared to.
But when she steps on stage, she doesn’t look like a pop princess. She’s short, with dark-blonde hair streaked with neon pink, and eyes that manage to survey the room with a calm detachment. She wears a suit too, but hers is white, crisp, and looks expensive as hell. The crowd erupts, but Piper doesn’t flinch.
She takes the mic with a lazy confidence. “Thank you for having me. I promise not to sing for too long, unless you start throwing money at the stage.”
Laughter. She launches into the first song, and I expect the usual manufactured pop, but it’s something else: a low, smoky ballad that vibrates in my chest.
Her voice is a living thing. It snakes around the room, catches on the inside of my ribs, and tightens. My chest constricts. Each inhale becomes shorter than the last, until I’m taking quick, shallow breaths like I’ve been running. The glass trembles between my fingers.
Then I realize: it’s not just her voice, it’s herscent.Faint at first, but growing sharper by the second. Cherries and vanilla. It’s so heavy and sweet I feel dizzy. My vision goes a little bit soft around the edges. I grip my glass so hard I almost shatter it.
I hear Elliot’s voice in my head:you’re vibrating.
No. I’mmelting.
She’s finished the first song, and the applause is so loud I nearly miss the way my heart hammers against my chest. It’s not just her voice—it’s her, the omega pull, likenothingI’ve ever experienced. I’ve been in rooms full of omegas before. It’s never hit like this.
But if a massive pop star like Piper Sumner was an omega, surely that information would have been a huge headline, right? I should’ve seen this before in those articles my mother sent me.
Suddenly, nothing andeverythingmakes sense.
Piper Sumner is an omega. One I am—apparently—scent matched with.
Elliot is already right behind me. His expression is unreadable, but his posture is different: more rigid, like he’s bracing for impact. He leans in. “Are you okay?”
“No.” It comes out a croak.
Elliot’s gaze flicks to the stage, then back to me. “Let’s get some air.”
I nod, but my feet don’t move. Piper has started another song. My brain yells at me to look away, but my body has other plans. I watch her. She’s not looking at me, not really looking atanyone, but it still feels like she’s singing directlytome. Her omega scent—now almost suffocating—is doing weird things to my head.
I manage to tear my eyes away. Elliot steers me, gently but firmly, toward a side exit.
We stand under the portico as the night air bites through my suit. I suck in a lungful of it, hoping to clear the fog. It helps, a little, but not nearly fucking enough.
Elliot watching me carefully. “Never seen you react like that before.”
“Neither have I.” My voice is thin. I look up at him. His body isn’t shaking like mine but his eyes are wide like… “You felt it, too, didn’t you?”
Elliot lifts his chin. “Maybe you’re just star-struck.”
I tilt my head and level him with a look. “Elliot, please. We can ignore what we have, but you can’t ignorethat.”
