Page 11

Jude

As I arrange my lecture notes, my mind keeps drifting to the conversation I had with Principal Morrison yesterday. Her concern about our new student—Jolie Masters—had been clear in her careful phrasing, though she’d tried to mask it behind administrative protocol.

“Keep an eye on her,” she’d said. “The girl’s enrollment was handled through some unusual channels, and I’d appreciate your professional assessment of how she’s adjusting.”

I’d agreed, of course. Morrison’s instincts about potentially problematic situations are rarely wrong, and if she’s worried about complications arising from irregular admissions, then so am I.

Students filter into my classroom, and I find myself genuinely curious about this young woman who’s somehow warranted special administrative attention.

Jolie enters quietly, choosing a seat in the middle rows, which I found strange the first time. She isn’t trying to hide in the back, but she’s also not seeking attention in the front either. Smart positioning for someone who wants to observe without being observed.

She pulls her hoodie from her head and then reaches in her bag and removes her books. Her dark hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she’s dressed in clothes that are clean but clearly old.

Everything about her screams ‘trying not to be noticed.’

But there’s something about her scent that makes my Omega instincts prick with interest. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a hidden Omega, but the first time I caught it nearly knocked me over.

It was the hints of something complex and layered underneath the suppressants. And it’s not the scent everyone can smell. That scent is like a blend of honeyed sweetness with a dash of citrus.

That scent is obvious.

It’s also false.

What isn’t so obvious to everyone else are the notes I’ve never encountered before. The notes I’ve studied. Her secret scent is heavily masked with professional-grade suppressants, the kind that cost serious money. Money I don’t know how she affords.

Fascinating.

“Good morning, everyone,” I begin, settling into my familiar rhythm. “We have a lot to get through today. We’ll be continuing our exploration into secondary biological systems that affect some alphas and omegas.”

Jolie leans forward slightly, genuine interest replacing her earlier anxiety. Good. This is exactly the kind of information that could help her understand whatever situation she’s dealing with.

I continue my lecture, but part of my attention remains fixed on the undercurrents in the room. Romeo Silver is glaring at Jolie from his seat in the back of the room. And like she feels his eyes on her, she glances over her shoulder. He keeps his eyes focused on her, not looking away.

When class ends, Jolie packs her things quickly, clearly trying to escape before Romeo can corner her. But as she pushes out her chair, his voice stops her cold. “Jolie.”

She freezes, her shoulders tensing.

Everyone thinks I’m a Beta, and that’s how I act as I busy myself with organizing my papers, but every instinct I have is tuned to their interaction.

“We need to talk,” Romeo says, his voice low but carrying an alpha authority that makes most Omegas comply automatically.

“I don’t think we do,” Jolie replies, and I’m impressed by the steadiness of her voice despite the anxiety rolling off her in waves.

Romeo’s smile is tight, his eyes wild. “We do.”

“What do you need to talk to her about?” Cerise asks, sliding her arm around Romeo’s waist.

“Nothing important.” He wraps his arm around Cerise and quickly leaves without another word.

Jolie’s hands tremble slightly as she finishes packing her bag. When she notices me watching, she forces a smile.

“Everything all right, Miss Masters?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle.

“Fine,” she says quickly. “Just adjusting to everything.”

“Romeo can be intense,” I say carefully. “Don’t let him intimidate you.”

Surprised that I’ve noticed flickers across her expression. “I won’t.”

“If you need someone to talk to. I’m always around.”

She smiles. It’s bright and beautiful and makes her entire face light up. “I’ll remember that.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of classes and administrative duties, but I can’t shake off my concern about Jolie Masters.

During lunch, I walk past the windows that overlook the main campus quad, pretending to review lesson plans but actually watching for any sign of the drama I sense brewing. I don’t have to wait long.

Romeo appears near the student center at noon, looking around and moving with that predatory grace that marks him as an apex alpha.

He’s changed from his practice gear into expensive casual clothes that probably cost more than most teachers’ monthly salary.

But it’s not his appearance that catches my attention—it’s the way he scans the quad like a hunter seeking prey. He finds what he’s looking for near the library steps. Jolie Masters.

Jolie sees him too, grabs her bag and disappears from view, as Cerise Hamilton, along with her cheerleader friends’ watch.

Romeo doesn’t follow Jolie, but approaches his girlfriend and her group. There’s tension in his movements that suggests he is nervous about what his girlfriend saw.

I’m too far away to hear their conversation, but their body language tells the story clearly enough. Cerise reaches for Romeo with obvious affection, but he steps back, putting space between them. Her smile falters, confusion replacing the calm confidence she usually wears like armor.

Romeo says something that makes Cerise’s friends exchange uncomfortable glances.

Whatever it is, it’s clearly not what she wanted to hear.

Cerise stands, her posture going rigid, and they walk toward a more secluded area but nearer to the building I’m watching from.

From this distance, I can see the moment their discussion turns heated.

Cerise’s voice rises—not enough for me to make out words, but her tone is unmistakably upset.

Romeo’s response is quieter, more controlled, but there’s an aggressive edge to his posture that makes my protective instincts flare.

Then Cerise gestures wildly toward the main campus building, where Jolie went.

Romeo’s response makes Cerise stagger back as if he’s struck her, and her perfectly made-up face crumples with what looks like betrayal.

She says something, then storms off toward the parking lot, leaving Romeo standing alone.

But instead of following her or showing any remorse, Romeo’s attention immediately shifts back to scanning the quad.

Looking for Jolie, I realize.

By mid-afternoon, my concern had escalated into genuine worry. I haven’t seen Jolie since this morning’s class, and the confrontation between Romeo and Cerise has left an ugly tension hanging over the entire campus.

Several students have mentioned seeing Cerise crying in the parking lot, while Romeo has been spotted prowling the grounds like a caged predator.

When my afternoon class begins, I wait for Jolie to take her usual seat. The class is small enough that every absence is obvious, and her empty chair seems to draw my attention like a beacon.

Fifteen minutes into my lecture, there’s a commotion in the hallway. Raised voices, the sound of something splashing, followed by cruel laughter that makes my Omega instincts bristle with protective fury.

Through the glass panel in my door, I glimpse movement. Several figures are clustered around someone on the ground. The scent of distress drifts under the door and it’s layered with that same complex sweetness I noticed from Jolie this morning.

“Please continue reading,” I tell my class, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

I step into the hallway to find exactly what I feared.

Jolie sits on the linoleum floor, soaking wet.

Her clothes plastered to her body and her dark hair dripping water onto the tiles.

Standing over her are Cerise Hamilton and two other cheerleaders, their faces twisted with the kind of vicious satisfaction that comes from successful humiliation.

“Oops,” Cerise says with mock sweetness, holding an empty water bottle. “So clumsy of me. I hope you’re not too wet, the hired help’s daughter.”

The way she spits out the last words makes it clear this attack was motivated by more than simple bullying. This is personal, targeted, designed to put Jolie in her place according to some twisted social hierarchy.

“Ladies,” I say, my voice carrying enough authority to make all three cheerleaders freeze. “I believe you have somewhere else to be.”

Cerise’s eyes narrow when she sees me, but she can’t quite hide the flicker of fear. Faculty involvement means potential consequences, and Cerise Hamilton has worked too hard to maintain her perfect record to risk real trouble.

“We were just—“ she begins.

“Leaving,” I finish firmly. “Now! Before I call the principal.”

The three girls exchange glances, but they can’t argue with direct orders from a professor. Cerise drops the empty bottle at Jolie’s feet like an ultimate insult before stalking away, her friends trailing behind her like loyal hounds.

Jolie remains sitting on the floor, water pooling around her, her arms wrapped around her knees. She’s shivering—whether from cold or shock, I can’t tell—and the scent of humiliation and distress rolling off her makes my chest ache.

“Jolie,” I say gently, crouching down to her level. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head without looking up, but I can see tears mixing with the water on her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she whispers, the words so obviously untrue they make my heart clench.

“You’re not fine,” I breathe. “And you don’t have to pretend to be. Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm and dry.”

I help her to her feet, noting how she sways slightly—whether from the shock of the attack or something else, I’m not sure. She’s smaller than I realized, delicate in a way that makes the cheerleaders’ assault seem even more cowardly.

“Your class—“ she starts.

“Can wait,” I finish. “I’ll call someone to take over.”

I guide her down the hallway toward my office, aware of the curious stares from other students, but more concerned with getting Jolie somewhere private.

The wet clothes clinging to her body make her vulnerability even more obvious, and despite being an Omega too, my protective instincts are screaming at me to shield her from any more exposure.

My office is small but warm, lined with books and comfortable furniture that invites confidence. I grab a clean towel from my emergency supplies and hand it to her. Years of working with emotional students have taught me to be prepared.

“There’s a bathroom just through that door,” I tell her. “Take your time.”

When she emerges a few minutes later, she’s stopped dripping, but her clothes are still damp and her hair hangs in wet tangles around her face. She looks young and lost and utterly defeated.

“Sit,” I say gently, gesturing to the comfortable chair across from my desk. “I’ll make some tea.”

“Please,” she says quietly. “I just want to go home.”

“Of course.” I stand slowly, keeping my movements non-threatening. “But let me drive you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

She protests, but I can see the exhaustion in her posture, the way she’s holding herself together through sheer willpower.

“My mother will be worried when she sees me.”

“I’ll explain,” I promise.

Something seems to break her resolve. Fresh tears spill down her cheeks, and she nods wordlessly.

The drive to Silvercrest Manor is quiet except for Jolie’s occasional sniffles and the soft classical music I play to help calm her.

My mind is racing, putting together pieces of a puzzle that become more disturbing with each connection.

Romeo’s aggressive interest in Jolie. His confrontation with Cerise.

The way he’s been prowling campus all day like a predator denied his prey.

And now this. His girlfriend attacked Jolie in a way designed to destroy her appearance, to mark her as damaged goods.

When we reach the estate, I turn to Jolie. "Should I speak to your mother?"

“No, it's unnecessary,” she says as I park near the cottage. “And thank you. For everything.”

“Jolie,” I say carefully, “if you need someone to talk to, someone who understands what it’s like to be an Omega in a complicated situation, my office hours are posted on my door. Or you can call me anytime.”

She looks at me with those expressive amber eyes, and I can see her weighing whether to trust me and then she whispers, “You’re an Omega?”

I nod. “I take suppressants to neutralize my scent. Most people think I’m a Beta and I prefer it that way.”

“Why?”

“The same reason you are,” I tell her. “To hide.” I can’t tell her I’m hiding from more than an Alpha scenting me and thinking I am theirs. I can’t tell anyone how rare I am.

“It’s hard,” she mumbles, and I know I don’t have to ask her to keep quiet about my status. “Always looking over your shoulder.”

“It is.” Her words tell me more about her fears than any direct confession could.

“But remember. Power without choice is just biology. What makes a relationship meaningful is the decision to build something together, not just the chemical pull. I don’t know what is happening between you and Romeo, but you can say no. ”

She nods slowly, processing this. “I know that’s what you said in class, about always having choices...but do you really believe that?”

“I do,” I say firmly. “No matter how strong the biological pull, no matter what anyone tells you about destiny or fate, you always have the right to choose what happens to your body and your life.”

“Even if saying no makes everything harder?”

“Especially then.” I turn to face her fully. “The right choice isn’t always the straightforward choice, Jolie. But it’s always worth fighting for.”

She gets out of the car without another word, but I see her shoulders straighten slightly as she walks toward the cottage. It’s not much, but it’s something.

When I return to campus, I head straight to the administrative office. Principal Morrison looks up from her paperwork as I knock on her open door.

“Jude,” she says, gesturing for me to sit. “How did things go with Miss Masters?”

“Not well,” I admit. “She was attacked today. Cerise Hamilton and two other cheerleaders dumped water on her in the hallway. Public humiliation, and clearly targeted at her.”

Morrison’s expression darkens. “Was this reported through proper channels?”

“I’m reporting it now. And she needs some counseling support. That girl is petrified of something. I’d also like permission to provide additional academic help, because she’s bright, but she’s also struggling with the change.”

“Approved,” Morrison says without hesitation. “And I’ll deal with Cerise.”