Page 7

Chapter seven

SOFIE

Violet moves through the gallery seamlessly, the way she always does. She knows this gallery like the back of her hands, the woman having studied every little placard she can so that she’s become one of Xavier’s best employees. He still treats my Beta like shit and it pisses me off but my soft voice just makes him give me those uneasy smiles that curl in my gut.

I’m still mad that she’s so selfless. She’s given up everything for me—her life, her dreams, even her home. The moment I rejected the packs my parents offered, Violet took me in. There was no hesitation, no extra conversations needed, nothing. And I hate it. I hate that I need that. I hate that we can’t just be the Betas that we used to be where I wasn’t so unsure of myself, scared of the world I was thrust into.

I wish I could stand beside her, part of the rhythm instead of an afterthought. Helping, handling the clients, holding my own, doing something instead of being stuck behind this fucking desk, feeling useless.

Or better yet, doing something real . A proper job. A desk job, a warehouse job, hell, even standing behind a register for eight hours would be better than this —than being stuck in this limbo, watching my world shrink down to the space between my ribs, watching my own body betray me piece by piece. My hands press against my lap, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress to keep them from shaking. My breathing stays measured, forced into something steady even as my pulse races beneath the surface.

Somewhere deep down, I knew it was possible. I knew the risks, knew what late presentation could do, even if I told myself it wouldn’t happen to me. I recognized the signs when I was younger, when I was smaller than the other Betas, when I realized my instincts didn’t work quite the same. When I craved comfort more than control, when dominance never settled right in my chest the way it was supposed to.

There’s a history of it in my family—late presenting. But it was always the other way around. Beta to Alpha. Never this. I was supposed to be safe. I was supposed to have a normal life. I had plans. Fucking dreams. One of which was marrying Violet. Now it’s all burning, reduced to nothing but ashes and wasted breath, because my body wants things I can’t control, things I never asked for.

It craves them. An Alpha. A knot. A pack. Even though the only person I’ve ever wanted in my bed is her . And instead of building a future, I’m here, waiting for my body to turn me into someone else, something else. My heat looms on the horizon, closing in with each passing day, a storm I can’t outrun, pressing at the edges of my control.

All I ever wanted was her and now my reality is telling me she’s not enough.

I try not to focus on that despairing reality as heat bleeds through me, an ache simmering in my belly. Pressing my thighs together does little to dull the sensation and I hate it. Hate the heat that refuses to fade, hate the way my body keeps reminding me—taunting me with every pulse of warmth, every racing heartbeat.

I am an Omega, I tell myself. The words taste like poison, settling under my skin like a second, unwelcome presence. Rubbing my arms, I try to shake off the discomfort crawling up my spine, but it clings to me, unwilling to be ignored. The doctors had called this normal. Had said it with a clinical ease, voice detached in a way that made me want to scream.

"Late-presenting Omegas often experience severe disorientation as their body adjusts," she had said, flipping through my chart like I was just another name, just another case. "You may feel more needy than those who presented at twenty or twenty-one. Your system is just catching up."

Like that was supposed to help . Like I wanted to hear that I was behind, that I was broken, that my body was playing some cruel game of catch-up to a race I never wanted to run in the first place. A jagged sigh pushes past my lips and I let my head fall back against the chair, closing my eyes for just a second.

Violet thinks my heat might happen at some point tomorrow but it’s much, much closer than that. It’s just around the corner, threatening to throw everything into chaos and yet I was selfish enough to plead not to be left at home. Because I couldn’t handle the thought of being away from Violet for even one goddamn second. Shifting in my seat, I swallow hard, pushing past the lump in my throat and force my eyes open.

My Beta hums under her breath as she moves through the gallery, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of graphite already staining the inside of her wrist from earlier. She’s setting up the practice easels with the kind of quiet care she always gives to things that matter.

It’s one of the few good things about this place, one of the only things that makes it feel real, human, instead of another cold, high-end gallery where rich people pretend to appreciate art while throwing obscene amounts of money at pieces they barely understand. Xavier may be an asshole, but he’s a businessman before anything else, and he knows this is profitable.

Parents stay longer when their kids have something to do, and the longer they linger, the more they spend. It’s a calculated move, but Violet doesn’t care about that. She likes it. She loves seeing the easels lined up, waiting for tiny, paint-covered hands. She loves the way kids light up when they see blank canvases waiting just for them, the way they throw themselves into their work, unrestrained, fearless. There’s something in the way she moves as she sets up, something light, alive .

I always watch her like this, always wonder what it would be like to have something like that for ourselves. A home. A family. Little feet pounding against the floors, high-pitched laughter echoing in a space that feels like home instead of just another temporary stop. Paint-streaked fingers grabbing at my clothes, excited voices calling my name, warmth filling the corners of my world instead of this ever-present sense that it’s closing in on me.

But that’s too far in the future. And right now, there are bigger problems.

Heat licks through my veins, curling low in my belly. It’s a warning, a pulse of sensation that makes my breath hitch, makes my muscles tense. My fingers dig into my thigh, trying to ground myself, trying to breathe through it, but it doesn’t pass. Fuck.

The room seems to grow warmer as I scramble around the counter, searching for the scent-blocking crème Violet keeps nearby, the one that dulls everything just enough to make me functional. It’s always there, always within reach. Except this time, it’s not. And then the next wave crashes over me.

Just as I think it’s going to pass, I feel the one sensation that tells me this is more than just a minor spike. Slick coats my panties, makes my skin burn with something too close to need, something I refuse to acknowledge, something that makes my throat tighten, my stomach churn. The chair scrapes against the floor as I shove it back, the sound cutting through the quiet like a blade. I don’t look at Violet—I can’t —not like this, not with this fire under my skin, not with this ache spreading through me.

I rush toward the private bathroom in the back, away from patrons slowly filing in for the class Violet has set up. God this is embarrassing. My breath is already ragged by the time I shut the door behind me. I grip the sink, fingers clutching the cold porcelain like it can anchor me, like it can pull me back from the edge.

My Omega instincts start chanting the one thing I need—a knot but there’s no person I trust to take care of me during my heat. I’m terrified that I won’t be me, that I’ll be lost to a haze that I won’t come back from. Lance’s name rolls through my mind but I shove it away, refusing to dwell on it. Yesterday, I cried for him because it was the only solution I could think of.

Today, it’s the only person I can think of who can give me what I want. The name presses against my lips, almost forming, almost slipping free, almost real . My phone is in my pocket. One call. One word. That’s all it would take.

Dragging someone from the Ashford Pack into my life, into our lives, would make everything more complicated than it already is. It would shift the balance, tangle things up in ways I’m not ready for, in ways I can’t be ready for.

No, I can do this.

Just breathe, right?

Another wave of heat rips through me, my entire body cramping up as I curl up into a little ball on the floor. Telling Violet, at the very least, would be the best course of action but she’s already on thin ice with Xavier. No, I can do this part. Just for a little while longer.

When the next cramp hits, slick flooding my panties, I’m not so sure I can.