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Me: Okay. What channel?
Cian: Pick one.
Pick one? I head for the living room to turn on the TV and immediately understand what Cian meant.
The storm he was talking about is on every single channel. After telling Mom to avoid the TV for today, I hurry upstairs and watch it all play out on the TV in my room while perched on my bed.
An investigative journalist has exposed wealthy alphas taking advantage of omegas in the city.
A series of photos reveal powerful-looking men in suits. Alphas. Some I remember from Lawrence’s parties, and others I don’t recognize at all.
Before I can absorb all the faces, more photographs pop up in fast succession. Some are super clear, taken during the day or early afternoon. Others are grainy black and white. There’s even camera footage showing grinning alphas wandering down dark alleys, doing up their pants. Presumably, they were leaving the back of free heat clinics at the time.
Those photographs make me sick, and I turn the volume down so Mom doesn’t hear the shocked reporter. If they’re making me feel this way, I don’t want to imagine how she would react to seeing images like that.
More camera footage reveals a different alpha doing the same thing in another clinic.
And another.
But the worst is yet to come.
A black screen accompanies Lawrence’s voice. I listen in mounting disgust as he casually chats about organizing auctions to sell omegas. To clear up any confusion about what he’s saying, someone has thoughtfully provided subtitles in the form of white text, spilling his disgusting words across the screen.
It’s a tsunami of information.
There are reports that a private clinic is under criminal investigation for keeping an omega locked up for twenty years. And the person responsible for paying the bill for that lengthy stay? None other than the alpha who had a wing named after him: Sloane Eddiswood. A flurry of invoices going back years flashes across the screen, providing more supporting evidence than anyone would ever need.
I don’t know who the investigative reporter is, but he has been thorough. Photographs, recordings, everything date-stamped, witness statements from people wanting to remain anonymous.
No one mentions Mom’s name or mine. All the focus remains firmly pointed at the alphas responsible.
Then the one piece of news I never expected to hear.Ever.
News that servants found Lawrence Wentworth dead in his bed early one morning. A pillow over his face and a gun in his hand. Suicide, apparently. With everything he’s been up to, no one suspects foul play. The world was about to turn on him and he faced serious criminal charges.
And his father, Byron? He’s holed up in his mansion. He’s in a private plane heading for some tropical island. Or he’s dead too. No one knows.
I absorb one last piece of news before I have to switch off. Dexter Pieter, leader of the Council, has launched an urgent investigation into the Asylum, the private members’ club whose sole purpose seemed to be the procurement of omegas for wealthy alphas.
I’m not sure how I feel about all this.
Angry, relieved the world knows what’s going on, proud of Pack Ashe for not just helping me but other omegas in the city too.
Becausetheydid this.
It might have been the investigative journalist who shared it with the world, but I know Cian, Rune, and Kylian were responsible for this.
Mostly, I feel numb. Like I never expected any of this would come out or that anyone would believe it. And peoplearebelieving it. Dexter Pieter must believe it to launch an investigation, unless he’s only doing what’s expected of him and he doesn’t give a shit.
“Everleigh?”
I get up from my bed and walk over to my window, pushing it open. Mom is smiling up at me. “Do you want to draw with me today?”
I haven’t known what I want to draw these last few days. No, that’s a lie. I know. I just don’t want to upset Mom with what I choose to draw.
Maybe I can angle my sketchpad so she can’t see?
I smile down at her. “Okay, Mom. I’ll be right down.”
