Page 4 of A Promise of Forever (The Vallaverse #3)
Forrest
I growl under my breath as I adjust my suit jacket for the third time tonight, the midnight black fabric pulling across my shoulders with each movement.
The maroon tie feels like it's strangling me, but my brother, Caelan, insisted it would pop against the black.
My brother has terrible taste in formal wear, but arguing with him takes more energy than I'm willing to spend tonight.
"You look like you're heading to a funeral instead of the most exclusive mating gala in the state," Caelan teases from behind me, that insufferable grin I know so well spreading across his face.
His own suit fits him perfectly, of course, and he wears it with the easy confidence of someone who actually enjoys these social events.
"I'm not attending the gala," I snap, checking my watch again. The numbers blur slightly as frustration clouds my vision. "I have business meetings scheduled in the back offices. The timing just happened to coincide."
That's not entirely true. When Hendricks moved our meeting from ten to eleven-thirty, it pissed me off enough that I almost canceled the whole thing.
The Night of Scarlet venue offered me the use of a private office for my after-hours business dealings, and I'd planned to be in and out before the main event got into full swing.
Now I'm stuck here in formal wear, surrounded by the kind of desperate hope and manufactured romance that makes my skin crawl.
"Right, business meetings," Caelan muses, his tone dripping with disbelief. "You know, when's the last time you actually got laid? And I don't mean those quick transactions with working Betas who don't give a shit about you."
The question hits closer to home than I care to admit.
When was the last time? Six months ago? Eight?
The encounters blur together into a series of meaningless physical releases that left me feeling emptier than before.
But admitting that to my Alpha brother would be like handing him ammunition to use against me for the next decade.
The fucker has a pack of his own at home, one that our parents would have been so proud of.
Hell, I’m proud of him, but I just haven’t found the right dynamic yet.
It’s either someone who wants me for my status or my money, or both.
I’d rather just have silence than have a trophy on my arm like some Alpha and Valla do these days.
I turn to face him, letting enough menace creep into my expression to shut down his line of questioning. "I knew I should have left your sorry ass at home."
Caelan just laughs, completely unfazed by my attempt at intimidation.
Being blood relatives gives him immunity to the fear I inspire in most people, something that's both a blessing and a curse.
"Come on, Forrest. You're thirty-five years old and you've never even considered taking an Omega.
Dad always said we'd need mates eventually to solidify our position in the business. "
The mention of our father sends a familiar spike of anger through my chest. "Dad said a lot of things. Most of them were bullshit designed to control us through fear and obligation. I don't need an Omega cluttering up my life with emotional drama and biological demands."
The truth is more complicated than that, layered with years of watching other Valla lose their edge once they took mates.
I've seen powerful men become soft and distracted, more concerned with their Omega's happiness than maintaining the fear and respect that keeps our organization running smoothly.
Power is the only thing that matters in this world, and emotional attachments are just weaknesses waiting to be exploited by enemies.
But there's another truth I don't want to examine too closely.
The truth that maybe I've never found an Omega who made me want to risk that weakness.
Maybe I've been waiting for something I didn't even know I needed.
Caelan shrugs, straightening his own tie in the mirror with practiced ease. "Your loss. But don't come crying to me when you're seventy and alone with nothing but your precious business empire to keep you warm at night."
I don't dignify that with a response. Instead, I check the time again and head for the door.
Hendricks and his associates should be arriving soon, and I want to review the distribution routes one more time before they get here.
Numbers and logistics are things I can control, unlike whatever emotional landmine my brother just tried to detonate.
The private offices are located away from the main ballroom, accessible through a series of quiet hallways that insulate business dealings from the romantic theater happening elsewhere in the venue.
My temporary office for the evening is spacious and well-furnished, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
It’s quite the view and definitely a selling point for talks like these.
The moment I step inside, every instinct I possess goes on high alert.
Someone has been in my space. At first, I think it might be someone working against me or someone trying to gain information about this deal.
And then I catch the sweet notes of apricot and vanilla, cut with terror, devastating every defense I've built around my heart.
I've never smelled anything that called to me so strongly.
The scent bypasses every rational thought in my head and goes straight to the most primal part of my brain.
My nostrils flare as I try to process what I'm experiencing, but my body is already responding, my cock twitching in my pants as I subconsciously seek to claim the owner of that scent.
The rational part of my mind rejects the idea that I want to protect the owner of that scent.
I don't get protective over strangers. I don't care about other people's fear unless it serves my business interests.
And I certainly don't have mate instincts toward some random Omega I've never even seen.
But my body doesn't seem to give a damn what my mind thinks is rational or appropriate.
A soft sound from under my desk makes me freeze completely. It's barely audible, just the whisper of fabric against carpet, but my enhanced hearing picks it up easily. Someone is hiding under my desk, and judging by the scent that's making my head spin, he's absolutely terrified.
Before I can investigate further, voices in the hallway announce the arrival of my business partners.
Making a split-second decision, I close the door and usher Caelan into the room across the hallway.
We’ve rented the whole stretch, so there will be no one to interrupt us but whoever that scent belongs to. I’m not tainting it with business.
Hendricks knocks on the door frame and enters without waiting for permission, followed by two other men I recognize from previous dealings.
"Forrest," Hendricks says, extending his hand for a shake.
"Thank you for accommodating the schedule change.
I know these social events aren't really your scene. "
I shake his hand with my usual controlled grip, letting him feel just enough strength to remind him who he's dealing with. "Time is money, Hendricks. Let's get this finished quickly."
We settle into chairs arranged around a small conference table, and I force myself to focus on the business at hand despite every instinct screaming at me to investigate the presence under my desk across the hall.
It's taking every ounce of control I possess not to simply end this meeting and deal with whatever situation has driven him to seek refuge in my office. Especially when I notice Hendricks’ wandering eyes.
The scent is nearly nonexistent here, but for some reason, it’s like a beacon, stealing my focus and my rational thought when I can’t afford to be distracted.
"The fighters we've recruited from the eastern districts are showing real promise," Hendricks begins, pulling out a tablet with performance statistics. "Win rates are up fifteen percent from last quarter, and the betting volume has increased accordingly."
I nod, reviewing the numbers while half my attention remains focused on the terrified presence just feet away.
The Omega's scent grows stronger, either because his fear is intensifying or because my awareness of him is becoming more acute.
Either way, it's making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on profit margins and recruitment strategies.
"What about the new product distribution?
" I ask, referring to the drug that makes Omegas more pliant.
My hands are in a lot of different fucking pots except for that one.
Weapons, fighting, bets? Sure. Drugs? No.
And anything I can do to keep it out of my fucking ring, the better.
The irony isn't lost on me that I'm discussing a substance designed to subdue Omegas while one cowers in terror beneath my desk.
"Demand is reduced at The Forge," one of Hendricks' associates reports. "We found some requests at the local college, but haven’t found whoever is selling."
"Keep it out of The Forge. The moment drugs enter the ring is the moment we get law enforcement in there and that’s when it gets messy," I tell them.
The Omega under my desk shifts slightly, probably trying to ease cramped muscles, and the movement sends another wave of that intoxicating scent in my direction.
My protective instincts surge again and I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep from visibly reacting.
This is insane. I've built my reputation on cold control and calculated decision-making, but one terrified Omega hiding under my desk is making me feel like I'm losing my mind.
Whatever is happening to me, I need to get it under control before it starts affecting my business judgment in ways that could get people killed.