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Chapter 1

Harlow

The smile plastered across my face is professional, but inside, I’m seething.

My boss, Mark, stares at me as he leans back in his leather chair, spinning a check between his fingers like he’s doing me some grand favor.

“You did a fantastic job helping on the Jack Evans contract,” he says, his teeth gleaming with that shark-like agent smile. “Your connections to Colton Sinclair and the New York Bears are paying off.”

He flicks his finger and the bonus lands on my desk.

I reach across and pick it up.

Five thousand dollars.

Five thousand dollars for weeks of networking, cultivating relationships, digging through junior league stats, and leveraging every single contact I’ve built over the past two years.

He thinks Jack Evans landed on his lap because of my contacts and not my hard work.

And that fucking stings.

My fingers curl slightly, nails pressing into my palm.

I deserve more than this. So much more than money.

“I’ve been bringing in top talent consistently,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “The Jack Evans’ lead wasn’t just luck, nor my relationship status. It was strategic.”

My eyes lock with Mark’s, challenging him to deny the depth of my work.

Mark waves his hand, already dismissing me. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Harlow. Your boyfriend’s connections are gold.”

His admission lands like a slap to my face.

My boyfriend’s connections.

Not my skills.

Not my intelligence.

Not my hard work.

Just my proximity to Colton and his hockey network.

I want to scream. Instead, I smile. “Of course.”

“And have the rest of the day off. You deserve it.”

“I do.” The words come out rougher than intended.

I pick up the check and my purse and leave my office.

Another day of being underestimated, used as a conduit rather than recognized as the talent I am and because of that, the elevator ride down feels suffocating.

My phone buzzes with a text from my boyfriend of eleven years.

Colton: I’m at a party tonight. Don’t wait up.

Another hockey party. Another night of him living his dream while I work in the cutthroat world of sports management. And another night where we go our own ways.

It’s getting too regular.

It took me half an hour to get home, which is an apartment in New York that I share with my boyfriend Colton and his brother Carver.

And I’ve still not gotten over Mark’s lack of faith in me.

I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror as I wipe off my make-up. My reflection shows a woman who looks put together, a little powerful perhaps. But nobody can see the turbulence rolling on the inside.

I throw the wipes into the sink, frustrated and a little angry with myself.

Because beneath the carefully selected outfits, the professional makeup, and bright smile, doubt churns inside me like a restless tide.

I should have voiced myself to Mark.

I should have told him to stuff his job.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice asks.

I spin to Carver, my boyfriend, Colton’s brother.

I nod as he pushes his large hand through his almost black hair as he watches me from the doorway.

“Rough day?” he asks, something knowing in his beautiful blue eyes and definitely in his tone .

I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Mark gave me a bonus. As if that compensates for the way he uses me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I sigh. “I’m over it, Carver, but where else do I earn this kind of money?”

I don’t tell Carver that Mark just earned over one hundred thousand from my contact, and he gave me five.

“I—I just want more.” I whine. Hating the sound that comes from my mouth. I sound so fucking needy it makes me cringe. “He should’ve promoted me by now. I should have earned that money.”

Carver pushes off the door frame and moves closer, his presence warm, as always.

There’s always been something between us. Not necessarily romantic, but electric. I suppose it’s because when I was younger; I thought Carver would be the one for me, but he never asked, and I slid into a relationship with his brother.

Still, Carver and I have a connection that makes me feel seen in ways Colton rarely does.

He gets me.

And it doesn’t help that I love the way he smells. Not that I’ve told him.

“Get ready,” he says.

I stare at him for a moment, watching the tattoo on his neck that seems to move as his jaw ticks. Like now. It’s as though he is angry at Mark for me.

“I don’t feel like going out and pretending I’m happy.”

He scrubs his hand over his stubble jaw, and up into his hair again, ruffling it in a way that makes my fingers itch to do the same.

“We’re going to a party. You need a distraction.”

I scrunch my nose. “I’ve just taken off my make-up. ”

He smiles as he walks to me and taps the end of my nose. “And now you look perfect.”

I let Carver drag me to the party, though part of me wanted to crawl into bed with a pint of vanilla ice cream and console my lack of promotion with enough sugar for my body to zip with happiness. Even though I know it would be counter-productive and I’d just feel sluggish for the rest of the day.

So, I didn’t, and now the bass pounds through my chest as we enter the penthouse suite.

The place is packed.

Red cups litter every surface, and the smell of spilled beer mingles with expensive cologne—and no doubt alpha and omega scents.

NHL players pack the space shoulder to shoulder, their loud voices carrying over the music. I spot three of my clients in the crowd, including Jack Evans, who raises his drink in greeting.

“Want something to drink?” Carver’s breath tickles my ear.

“God, yes.”

He disappears into the crowd, leaving me to scan the room.

The furniture is flush against the walls, allowing the center to be a makeshift dance floor that throbs with bodies.

In one corner, an actor I recognize from a TV show has a woman pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. They’re not trying to be subtle about it .

Women in tight dresses grind against players, hoping to catch themselves a professional athlete as a boyfriend, no doubt.

I recognize some of them from other parties. The regular bunnies that follow the team.

A group by the window passes around a bottle of vodka, taking swigs straight from the neck.

I shake my head as someone curses.

“Idiots,” I mutter. They’ve spilled an entire drink on the white rug, leaving a spreading red stain that will probably cost more than my bonus to clean.

Carver returns with two drinks, pressing one into my hand.

“Thanks,” I say. The liquid burns going down, and I already need another.

“Let’s see who is here,” Carver says. His big, warm hand takes mine.

“Is Colton here?” I have to shout over the music.

Carver’s jaw tightens as he gestures toward the balcony where I spot my boyfriend surrounded by a group of women. One of them runs her hand down his chest while he laughs.

My stomach twists.

I down the rest of my drink in one gulp.

“Another?” Carver asks, his eyes darken as they follow my gaze. “Or do you want to leave?”

“I’m staying.”

“Harlow. It’s—”

“Make it stronger this time,” I interrupt as I stare ahead. My feet stuck to the spot.

I watch as the blonde girl leans in, her lips brushing Colton’s ear. I’ve seen her before; I just can’t place where .

Her hand rests on his chest, fingers splayed across his expensive button-down. The same shirt I bought him for his birthday last month.

My heart stops.

The way he looks at her is different than I’ve seen before. Normally, he doesn’t give any girl his time. But this time…his pupils are blown wide, nostrils flaring, and my heart thunders against my rib cage, knowing he just caught her scent.

She is an omega.

The room spins.

Every vein in my body is fizzling as realization crashes over me. This isn’t just another puck bunny throwing herself at him. The way they’re moving together, the intensity in their locked gaze—there’s a connection there.

Something primal, even.

And seeing his best friend, Jenson, on her other side, shows me that this is something very real.

Have they formed a pack?

I should rush over there and stop them. I should slap her face and tell her to leave my man alone. But I’ve always known my time with Colton was borrowed, and now I can see we’ve come to an end.

You see, being an alpha girlfriend of an alpha man, I was never going to be able to keep him for the long-term.

I wish he did the right thing, though. It stings that he did it behind my back.

She whispers something to him, and his entire body turns toward her, like a flower seeking the sun.

Her omega scent must be perfect. The kind that makes alphas lose their minds. The kind I’ll never have.

Colton laughs .

My stomach drops to the floor and I suck back a sob I never realized was lingering there.

A warm hand steadies my waist. “Here’s your—” Carver’s voice cuts off as he takes in my face. “Have a drink.”

I take it, knock it back in one as bile rises in my throat. The tumbler in my hand slips, hitting the floor with a crack as splinters of glass scatter around my feet.

No one notices the crash over the thundering music.

Only Carver.

His grip tightens. “Don’t cry. Not here.”

I don’t want to get upset. I knew it would end one day.

I blink rapidly, fighting back tears that threaten to spill.

My chest constricts, each breath more painful than the last. “I need—” The words catch. “Bathroom. I need the bathroom.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No.” I pull away from his touch. “I just need a minute. Alone.”

I stumble into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My hands shake as I pull out my phone and dial my sister Bardot’s number.

“Sis?” Her voice comes through clear despite the muffled bass outside.

“He’s—” My voice cracks. “Colton—He’s…he’s with someone else, and right in front of me. I know she’s an omega. I can tell.”

“What? That piece of—” Bardot’s voice rises. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“No. It’s too far away.”

“Where are you?” she asks again.

“I’m at some party.” I slide down the wall, not caring about my dress anymore. “I knew this would happen. I’m not...I’m not what he needs.”

“Stop that right now. Get your ass home. I’m coming over. ”

“But—”

“No buts. You’re leaving that party. Now.”

“I’m going home with Carver. Don’t drive. It’s too late and too far. I’ll come home tomorrow.”

“I’m going to call Carver.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Stop saying that. I’ve never heard you sound like this ever before. I’ll talk to you in a couple of minutes.” She ends the call, and moments later my thumb hovers over my friend Holly’s number. She picks up on the first ring.

“Hey stranger, I was just thinking about—”

“Holly.” The word comes out as a sob.

“What happened?” Her tone shifts immediately.

“Colton. He’s...” I can’t finish the sentence.

“Oh no.” She pauses, already knowing what has played out.

She warned me.

Told me eventually all alphas will crave an omega. She never told me to hurt me but to let me know that even I, as an alpha, would want an omega in the end.

I never believed her.

“Yes. You were right. I should have seen the signs.”

“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “But if you need to get away from here, you know I have a contact inside the LA Raiders. They’d jump at hiring someone with your expertise in the game. It’ll tide you over until you find a talent scouting gig.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “LA? I can’t leave my mom and sisters.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever. Just enough time for you to move on. I went there to get away from Aiden. It’s as far from New York as you need to be...” She takes a breath. “Look, I know this may seem that I’m talking out of turn, but I think you’ve been unhappy for months. Maybe this is your sign to make a change.”

“I can’t just leave everything.” I don’t answer about my happiness. I’m not sure how happy Colton and I have been for five months. But it was five months ago he changed from a loving boyfriend to a party animal. And that isn’t me.

“Why not? What’s keeping you in New York? What keeps you in the job? A boyfriend who doesn’t appreciate you? A boss who undermines you?”

The truth in her words hit me so hard I press my forehead against my knees, letting the tears fall freely now.

“Think about it,” Holly says. “The offer’s there if you want it. You deserve better than this, Harlow.”

“I’ll let you know after I sleep on it.”

“Don’t fall for his lies, Harlow. If you think you saw something, then don’t let him change that.”

“I won’t,” I whisper. “Thanks Holly.”

“No problem. I’ll call my contact and ask more about the job and tell them what you know. Call me tomorrow. Look after yourself, Harlow,” she says before disconnecting.

I sit on the floor with my head on my knees for a moment longer before dragging myself to my feet.

The door opens with a creak.

I wait for footsteps, instead I hear Carver shouting, “Are you okay, Harlow?”

“I’m okay,” I tell him, my voice mechanical. “Just needed the bathroom.”

When I emerge, Carver leans against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes scan my face, taking in the flushed face and red-rimmed eyes, no doubt .

“I’m taking you home.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and I don’t. I nod, unable to form words.

He guides me through the crowd, his body shielding me from view. The bass pounds against my skull as we weave between sweaty bodies and spilled drinks.

Outside, the night air hits my face, and I wobble. Carver presses his hand on my back to still me before flagging down a cab.

“You first.” He opens the door for me. I slide across the leather seat, pressing myself against the window.

I feel the intensity of his gaze on my face and turn to him. “Did you know?”

“No.” His voice is rough, like he’s annoyed with me. “I didn’t.”

I search his face, trying to catch any hint of deception, but his features remain controlled and unreadable.

My chest aches. I want to believe him. I need to believe him, but my body shakes as doubt creeps into my veins like poison.

How could he not know?

I turn away, watching the blur of New York traffic through the window. Yellow cabs zoom past, their headlights creating streaks of gold against the wet pavement. A couple stumbles down the sidewalk, wrapped in each other’s arms and laughing.

My throat tightens.

Carver’s hand slides over mine, where it rests on the seat between us. His skin is warm, calloused from hockey sticks and workout equipment.

Goosebumps break out across my arm at the contact, spreading up to my shoulder. It happens every time he touches me.

I ignore it. Push it down. Like I always do .

His thumb traces small circles on my wrist, and I let him. Maybe because I’m hurt, or maybe because the alcohol has loosened my usual restraint. Either way, I don’t pull away.

“Why do you hide who you are if you want him?”