Page 23

Beck

My Alpha roared when I saw her walking along the road, shoulders hunched against the world.

Even now, she looks so fragile, so broken as she stares at the road ahead.

“Emmie.” She jumps, startled by my voice.

When she turns, my heart breaks seeing the tear tracks on her face, the redness around her eyes. But it’s her hair that shocks me most—chopped unevenly, the once waist-length locks now barely reaching her chin in some places.

Her scent fills the car. The honey-sweet Omega notes are now laced with distress, but beneath that is the sunshine warmth both Eli and I detected. It’s stronger now, less masked, as if her emotional state has stripped away some of her careful control.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms and promise that no one will ever hurt her again.

“Why did she do it?” I ask.

She touches what’s left of her hair self-consciously. “Stupid fucking Beta thinks being pretty is what Romeo is attracted to.”

My heart breaks for her casual acceptance of the cruelty. “I need a word with my son.”

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow. “Don’t get involved. It doesn’t matter and it’ll make it worse. I’m fine.”

“It matters to me,” I hiss.

She turns to look out the window, silent for so long I think she might not speak again. When she finally does, her voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. “Cerise and her friends. They... they held me down and cut it off. Then threatened to kill me if I didn’t stay away from Romeo.”

White-hot rage courses through me. It’s so intense I have to focus on breathing to keep me from turning the car around and hunting down Cerise Hamilton myself.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jolie says quickly, clearly regretting her admission. “Just girls being mean.”

“That’s not meanness, Jolie. That’s assault.” I pull over to the side of the road, too angry to drive safely. Turning to face her fully, I reach out, gently running my fingers through what’s left of her beautiful hair. “Who else was involved?”

She flinches at my touch initially, then surprisingly leans into it, her eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. “This time it was just Cerise, Amber, and a girl I’ve just seen around. But please, don’t make it worse. They’re already targeting me because of Romeo.”

“What exactly did Cerise say to you?”

Jolie looks down at her hands, her cheeks flushing. “That Romeo belongs to her. That she needed me to not be so pretty.”

“And Romeo? What has he said to you?”

The flush deepens, creeping up her neck, and her silence is answer enough. My son has been pursuing her despite her obvious discomfort, despite having a girlfriend, despite every social convention that should have stopped him.

“I’m going to have a very serious conversation with Romeo,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “And with the school about Cerise’s behavior.”

“No!” Jolie grabs my arm, panic flashing in her golden eyes. “Please, don’t. It will only make things worse. I’m already the weird new girl. If the owner of half the town storms in demanding justice, I’ll never fit in.”

I cover her small hand with mine, struck by how delicate she feels, how much trust she’s placing in me despite our history. “Jolie, what they did isn’t acceptable. There have to be consequences.”

“Please,” she repeats, her eyes pleading. “Let me handle it my way. I’ll stay away from Romeo, lie low for a while. It will blow over.”

I study her face, seeing strength beneath the vulnerability. She’s survived worse than this—I can see it in the way she holds herself, the way she’s already planning her next move.

“Fine… For now. But if anything like this happens again, I won’t stay out of it.”

Relief washes over her features. “Thank you.”

We sit in charged silence. The air between us is thick with unspoken tension. I should start driving, take her home, maintain the boundaries I promised myself I would respect. Instead, I ask, “Where were you headed?”

“My bed to hide for the rest of my life,” she admits with a self-deprecating laugh. “I couldn’t face going back to school looking like this.”

I restart the car, making a decision that probably violates every rule of appropriate behavior. “Then we’re going to fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“Your hair.” I pull back onto the road, turning toward town instead of the estate. “I know someone who can help.”

She touches her choppy locks again, uncertainty in her voice. “It’s okay. I can just wear a hat until it grows out.”

“Emmie,” I say gently, “let me do this for you.”

“You should call me Jolie.”

“Tell me why?”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

As we drive toward town, I notice her studying me from the corner of her eye, clearly working up the courage to ask something.

“You can ask,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “Whatever you’re wondering.”

“Did you pay me for that night?”

The question makes me laugh—not at her, but at the absurdity of the misunderstanding.

“God, no. Emmie, I’ve never had an Omega keep up with me the way you did, but I knew you’d be completely worn out the next day.

The money was for a massage, maybe some room service.

That’s why I left the business card for the spa I use. ”

She’s quiet for a moment, processing this. “Then why did you never want to see me again?”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I wanted to see you again. But look at you—you’re young and beautiful and have your whole life ahead of you. I’m in my late thirties, set in my ways, carrying more baggage than any person should have to deal with. I don’t deserve someone like you.”

“Have you ever had an Omega long term before?” The question hits deeper than I expected.

“I was in a pack,” I say carefully. “Three Alphas, one Omega. We were happy, or I thought we were.”

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath, surprised by how much I want to tell her. “Car accident. They were picking up Romeo, Remi, and River from their grandparents’ house. I was supposed to go, but I had a business emergency that couldn’t wait.”

“Were Romeo’s parents part of your pack?”

“No, my brother was Romeo’s father, and his pack and mine were traveling together, two cars in convoy, picking up the children and then camping afterward.

” The memory still cuts like a knife. “My pack was angry with me for choosing work over family time again. If I’d been there, if I’d insisted we postpone the trip. ..”

“Beck.” Her voice is soft but firm. “You’re blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“I disagree,” I say, but there’s less conviction in my voice than usual. I turn onto the main street of town, slowing as we approach a small storefront with an elegant script. “Vivian’s Hair Boutique. We’re here.”

Emmie looks at the salon skeptically. “Do they take walk-ins?”

I smile, parking in front. “They will for me.”

Inside, a slender woman with platinum blonde hair styled in a perfect bob squeals when she sees us. “Beckett Silver! It’s been ages!”

“Hello, Viv.” I greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “I need a favor.”

Vivian’s experienced eyes move to Jolie, instantly assessing the damage with professional discretion. “Oh honey, what happened?”

Before she can answer, I interject smoothly, “A styling mishap. Can you fix it?”

Understanding crosses Vivian’s face—she’s been in this town long enough to know when not to ask questions. “Of course I can. Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you to a chair.”

As Vivian leads Jolie to the washing station, I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Jude Benson.

Incident at school today involving Jolie. She was assaulted by Cerise Hamilton. Please ensure security footage isn’t wiped. Will need it later.

His response is immediate.

Jude: On it. Is she okay?

She will be. I reply, then put my phone away to focus on what matters.

For the next hour, I watch as Vivian works her magic, transforming Jolie’s butchered locks into a stylish, chin-length bob that frames her face perfectly. The cut is sophisticated—it makes her look less like a girl trying to hide and more like a woman who knows her worth.

With each snip of the scissors, Jolie’s posture straightens a little more. And when the blow dryer finishes, her confidence visibly returns. But it’s when Vivian finally spins the chair around to show Jolie the result. The smile that breaks across her face makes something in my chest tighten.

“It’s perfect,” Jolie breathes, turning her head to see all angles in the mirror. “I love it.”

“You look beautiful,” I say before I can stop myself.

Our eyes meet in the mirror, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the salon, Vivian bustling around us, the lingering anger about what happened to Jolie.

All I see is Emmie, the enigmatic Omega, with sunshine in her scent and steel in her spine.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and I know she’s thanking me for more than just the haircut.