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Paige draws back from me. “No secrets.” Then a sly look comes into her eyes that alarms me. She twists to Luca. “You’ll tell me the truth. Where did this cash come from? Did our Fire Chief rob a bank?”

Luca hugs the briefcase to his chest. “He didn’t need to. He sold his mom’s special jewelry, as well as his antiques and heirlooms from Cole House.”

I bet that if I’d been younger, and we’d been in class together, Luca would have tattled on me to the teacher whenever I misbehaved.

“Thanks, sugar,” I say, dryly.

“You’re welcome, Chief.”

Angel looks down. “We told you that he loved you, beautiful. They were⁠—”

“Drop it,” I say, more sharply than I mean to. Angel flinches. “It’s done. I’d do it again.”

Paige pushes herself onto her tiptoes to kiss me. “Thank you. Also, I’m spanking you later.”

I bare my fangs. “Try it, little Omega.”

I clasp Paige firmly by the back of the neck and pull her into a deeper kiss.

Sometimes, I enjoy exhibitionism. Especially when I know how much Paige’s moaning must be torturing Devlin.

When I finally release Paige’s lips, I murmur, “You’re worth it, darlin’. You can take control and bid against the obsessive bastard who has been stalking you for years. Fight back. Then the inn will be in your name. Fully yours. You’ll be free to open and run it however you want.”

“Freedom,” she whispers.

I nod.

She hesitates, before she says, “Can I open the inn under the name Paige Cole?”

“Yes!” Angel punches the air.

I study Paige intently. “Are you sure?”

“Never been so sure.” She kisses me again.

“She chose us,” Luca whispers.

I stroke the back of Paige’s neck over the tattooed butterfly. “Whatever you want.” Then I turn her toward the steps. “Auction is about to start.”

Paige rests against my chest, while Angel squeezes her shoulder.

Luca moves closer, holding tightly onto the briefcase.

Sheriff Reyes is moving past the flag, which hangs unmoving without a breeze, toward the courthouse steps.

The Sheriff is a sun-weathered Alpha in his sixties with gray hair and mustache. His tan uniform is immaculately pressed, and his boots are polished. The sun gleams on his badge.

He strolls onto the bottom step clutching a clipboard.

He catches my eye, and I nod. The exchange is too small for anyone to notice who isn’t looking for it.

“All right folks.” The Sheriff taps his pen on the clipboard. “It’s one o’clock. Let’s get started. We’re gathered here for the sale of Acorn Inn.”

Paige stiffens.

I couldn’t bear to hear the details and description of my home being clinically read out like this in front of a crowd of strangers.

This is cruel.