Page 72 of Sweet Torment

Tristan’s father looks at me like I’m a cockroach he wants to squish and has none of Tristan’s mischievous charm. I feel his gaze linger a little too long. He hates that he wants to fuck me.

Badly.

Freddie’s father has the same golden boy vibe but not a single percent of Freddie’s genuine friendliness. He’s a snake with cold, dead eyes, just like the rest of them. Not to be trusted.

Weller’s father carries himself like he has an enormous stick up his ass. He’s the king, and we’re the peasants beneath him. Perfect looking. Handsome, but not as handsome as Weller. He is ice cold and has probably never truly loved anyone. When we were kids, Weller told me that his dad gave his dog away out of the blue because he got one B. A dog he got for his eighth birthday. Weller really loved his dog and suffered from the heartbreak of it for a long time.

William would love to punish me cruelly for leading Weller astray.

“Your temperature is back to normal,” Montgomery notes, typing something into a tablet. His fingers move with a soft tap-tap-tap of his nails against the screen, oddly rhythmic. “The heat broke quickly—statistically anomalous for an omega of your profile. Could be attributed to acute stress response or physiological adaptation.”

He looks up from the tablet, his eyes narrowing with scientific interest. “Your body may have developed compensatory mechanisms after years without regular heat cycles. In essence, your endocrine system potentially recognized the need to terminate the heat state to preserve homeostasis.” He tilts his head, studying me. “An omega with autonomic control over their heat cycle would be a significant discovery. The implications for omega health outcomes would be substantial.”

I blink at him, my mouth actually hanging open. What the actual fuck?

“Most omegas would find such a capability revolutionary,” he continues, completely oblivious to my shock. “I’d like to monitor your next heat cycle under controlled conditions. The survivability metrics of omegas experiencing heat distress are a primary focus of my research.”

“Survivability?” The word tumbles out of my mouth.

Montgomery nods. “My work centers on mitigating heat-related mortality and morbidity in the omega population. It’s the leading cause of preventable death in unmated omegas under thirty.”

My brain short-circuits. I glance at Owen, whose expression remains murderous, but I can see confusion there too. This doesn’t compute. Dr. Montgomery researches how to make omegas stronger? How to help them survive their heats? The same Dr. Montgomery who gift-wrapped my scent matches and gave them to Whitney? Is this some kind of Jekyll and Hyde situation?

“You’ve never mentioned this before,” I say carefully, trying to reconcile these two versions of the man standing before me.

“You never asked,” Montgomery replies simply. “Though I’m surprised Whitney didn’t talk about it at all. It was the foundation of our family’s work for generations.”

Did Whitney even care about any of this, or was she just using his research for her own twisted agenda? I suddenly realize I know absolutely nothing about what Montgomery actually does beyond the ways he’s messed with my life. And that terrifies me more than if he were just a straightforward asshole like the other men in this room.

“Now, to business. I’ve brought your fathers here to discuss the particulars of our arrangement moving forward. Everyone is aware that these four will remain in the house with you.”

Well, that’s good.

William steps forward. His resemblance to Weller is striking. “You’ll be expected to return to your previous positions immediately. The companies can’t afford any more disruption.”

Weller bristles. “No. We will not be leaving Bianca by herself all day.”

I feel like commenting on the fact that he thinks I need someone home to watch me, but I resist the urge.

“Listen to me, son. You will do what you are told, or you will face the consequences. Nothing has changed.” He pauses, his cold eyes landing on me dismissively. “The only variable that has shifted is the omega.”

He says “omega” like I’m infectious.

William takes another step toward his son, his posture radiating disapproval. “Your sentimentality is a liability, Weller. It always has been. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not having another son—one who might have turned out to be less of a disappointment.”

I feel Weller flinch, and I don’t like that. Before I can stop myself, I take a step forward, putting myself between them. The handcuff jerks Owen along with me. “Don’t talk to him like that,” I snarl.

William’s eyes narrow, his surprise quickly replaced by contempt. “This is a family matter, girl.”

“Not anymore it isn’t,” I shoot back, taking another step, getting right up into his personal space. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, but I don’t back down. “He’s a good man in spite of you, and you will not disrespect him in front of me. Weller is my family now.”

“How dare you,” William says, glaring at me like it floors him that I have the audacity to speak to him. He raises his hand to point his finger at me, and my guys all materialize in front of me, a solid barrier. Weller pushes me back gently but firmly.

Alexander shakes his head, a look of profound disappointment on his face. “This is exactly the kind of behavior that is unacceptable. You will fulfill your duties to this family.”

“That is not happening,” Tristan says, his tone icy.

Dr. Montgomery steps forward then, placing a hand lightly on William’s arm—a subtle but unmistakable gesture of de-escalation that seems to piss William off even more. “Gentlemen, let’s maintain a productive atmosphere.” He turns to Alexander. “Your concerns are valid. Disruption to your enterprises is a disruption to my research.” He then suggests a compromise. “You will return to your positions. However, your schedules will need to be coordinated. One of you must remain with Ms. Quinn at all times. No exceptions, except for the dinner tomorrow evening.”