Page 111 of His Drama Queen

"We'll move your things," Oakley says. "Robbie can help. Make it look natural."

"Natural," I repeat flatly. "Right. Because there's nothing weird about the scholarship Omega suddenly moving into the pack house with the three Alphas who spent months tormenting her."

"People will talk," Corvus acknowledges. "We need a cover story."

"The truth?" I suggest. "That you kidnapped me, held me captive, and forced a bond during my heat?"

Dorian's knuckles go white on the steering wheel. "That's not—"

"I know." I cut him off, because I'm tired of this argument. Tired of pretending what happened wasn't fucked up because it ended with marks instead of escape. "I'm saying, whatever story we tell, people are going to know something's wrong."

"So we tell them you chose us," Oakley says quietly. "After your heat. That we courted you properly and you accepted."

The lie tastes bitter, but it's better than the alternative. Better than admitting I'm bonded to my abusers because biology overrode every instinct screaming at me to run.

"Fine," I say. "We went away together. Private lake house. You... courted me. I accepted. We're pack now."

"Your room will have a lock," Dorian adds, eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "On the inside. Your space. We won't enter without permission."

It's a small thing. A gesture. But it matters. "Okay."

"And the master bedroom," Corvus continues, ever practical. "It's yours. We'll take the other rooms."

I blink. "The master bedroom?"

"The biggest room. Best closet. En suite bathroom." He glances back at me. "Pack Omega gets the best accommodations. It's tradition."

"I don't—" I start to protest, then remember Stephanie's words.Don't refuse every gesture. Let them give you things."Okay. Thank you."

The tension in the car eases slightly. We're figuring it out. Slowly. Painfully. But figuring it out.

"What about classes?" I ask. "The fall showcase auditions are in three weeks. I need to focus on that."

"We know," Dorian says. "We're not going to interfere with your career."

"You kidnapped me the day before my summer program audition," I point out.

He flinches. Good. "That was before. Things are different now."

"Are they?"

"Yes." He meets my eyes in the mirror again, and there's something raw there. Something honest. "We were monsters then. We're trying to be better now."

"Trying," I echo. Because that's all any of us can do. Try. Hope it's enough.

The rest stop appears like salvation. I need to pee, need to stretch, need five minutes away from the pressure-cooker atmosphere of the car.

"I'll be right back," I say, already unbuckling.

"I'll come with—" Oakley starts.

"I can pee by myself."

He subsides, but all three of them watch as I cross the parking lot. Their eyes tracking my every movement like predators. Like I might disappear if they blink.

Maybe I would have, a week ago. But the bonds won't let me now. I'm tethered to them as surely as if they'd put a collar around my neck.

The restroom is blessedly empty. I lock myself in a stall and finally,finallylet myself breathe. Let the mask drop. Let the fear and confusion and weird twisted hope show on my face where no one can see it.