Page 3 of A Promise of Forever (The Vallaverse #3)

I blow out a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves before heading out into the hallway toward the music and conversation.

However, the closer I get to the main ballroom, the more overwhelming everything becomes.

The ceilings are impossibly high, with crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than most people's houses.

The walls are covered in artwork that looks like it belongs in museums, and every surface gleams with expensive polish.

I've never been around this much wealth before.

The smaller gala I attended years ago was nothing compared to this.

It was held in a community center with folding chairs and grocery store flowers.

This is the kind of event where billionaires come to shop for trophy spouses, where every detail is designed to impress and intimidate.

I don’t belong here.

I shove that thought down and straighten my collar, suddenly feeling naked without a tie, but I can’t return to that room now. Not when I’m already here.

I push into the main ballroom, my breath catching in my throat at the extravagant luxury unfolding before me.

Large windows line the entire back wall of the gala, overlooking the main part of the city, a view that I would have never seen in a million years, now staring back at me.

Hundreds of people in formal wear move across the polished marble floor like dancers in a dream.

The women's gowns are works of art, and the men's tuxedos fit like they were made by master tailors.

And then there are the scents. Even with all the perfume and cologne in the air, I can pick out the distinct pheromones of all sorts of designations.

The combinations make my Omega instincts go haywire.

Part of me wants to submit to every dominant scent in the room, while another part screams at me to run before someone notices how out of place I am.

I force myself to smile and step into the crowd, trying to look like I belong.

No one pays attention to me at first, which is both a relief and a disappointment.

I watch other Omegas gracefully accept roses from admirers, their practiced smiles and confident body language making me feel like a clumsy child playing dress-up.

I avoid the food, even as my stomach rumbles, trying to play off like I know what I’m doing.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can blend in long enough to find someone who—

A rancid scent fills my lungs, fear taking over my ability to think straight.

No. My gaze scurries around the room looking for the scent’s owner as I ball my hands into fists, refusing to believe that he already made it here until my eyes lock on Wilson across the crowded ballroom, and my world stops.

He's actually here, in his dress uniform with his chest full of commendations, looking every inch the respectable police officer.

Which means that while I had been running, thinking he was chasing me halfway across the city, he was getting ready to show up right here.

Our eyes meet and Wilson's face splits into that cold smile I know so well. He says something to the Alpha he was speaking with and then starts moving in my direction. I hold back a scream, my whole body going into flight mode, adrenaline flooding my system as I dash across the gala to the nearest exit. People turn to stare as I push past them, my carefully constructed facade crumbling in seconds. There has to be somewhere I can hide until security deals with Wilson, or until he gives up and leaves, or until I can figure out some other way out of this nightmare. Riley said I could go to him or one of the guards, but they can’t protect me. Not from this.

I find a hallway leading away from the main ballroom and sprint down it, the dress shoes I borrowed slipping on the polished floor. Behind me, I can hear Wilson's voice calling my name, still trying to sound concerned and official even as he pursues me.

The hallway branches in several directions, confusion almost rendering me helpless before I choose one at random, desperate to put distance between myself and Wilson's voice.

My ankle throbs with each step, but I push through the pain.

If Wilson catches me now, after I've made such a public scene, he'll be able to spin it as a disturbed Omega having a breakdown.

No one will question his right to take me into custody.

Most of the doors along the hallway are locked, probably private offices for the venue staff. But one handle turns when I try it, and I slip inside without looking to see what kind of room it is.

The office is dark, lit only by the city lights streaming through tall windows.

It's clearly someone important's workspace—the furniture is all heavy wood and rich leather, and there are expensive-looking books lining built-in shelves.

A massive desk dominates the center of the room, its surface polished to a mirror shine.

I can still hear Wilson's footsteps in the hallway, and voices as he probably asks the staff if they've seen which direction I went.

There's nowhere to hide in this room except under the fucking desk. God, this is such a bad idea, but I don’t have another choice.

My heart in my throat, I crawl under it, making myself as small as possible in the dark space between the drawers.

I drag my knees up against my chest, trying to control my breathing so that no one can hear me, but my scent betrays me anyway.

It’s sickly sweet with an acidic edge, my body trembling with terror as my heart races.

Wilson will find me here. Or someone will.

And they’ll return me to that Alpha. Fuck.

A small whimper tears from my throat as I try to calm myself, a sob forcing itself out as I take a deep breath, only to be met with rich notes of coconut and rum that remind me of tropical beaches I've never seen.

There's something about it that makes me want to breathe deeper, to relax into the feeling of safety it provides.

I don't understand why this particular scent makes me feel calmer when I should be more terrified than ever. I burrow deeper into the space under the desk, pressing my back against the solid wood panel where the scent is stronger, like whoever uses this office spends a lot of time sitting right here. For a moment, I forget that Wilson is just steps away and that I’m cocooned in a little ball of safety.

That maybe whoever the owner of this scent is could be my golden ticket out of here.

Wilson’s voice draws closer, other voices mixing in before footsteps stop just outside the door, the terror from before returning.

I press my hand over my mouth to muffle any sound, tears streaming down my cheeks as I hold myself as tightly as possible.

My whole body shakes with the effort of staying silent, and I close my eyes as if that might make me invisible.

Just go away, I silently yell at him. I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours.