Page 33

Emmie

Walking across the campus on Monday morning feels like stepping into a new skin.

Everything looks the same—the ivy-covered buildings, the manicured quad, the clusters of students hurrying to their first classes—but I feel fundamentally different.

No, I feel transformed. My steps are confident, my shoulders back, my chin raised.

The nervous energy that used to make me hide in my oversized hoody has been replaced by something steadier, more grounded.

I belong here. Not as someone trying to hide or blend in, but as exactly who I am.

The neat chin-length bob that Beck helped me get feels perfect now, sophisticated and deliberate rather than the result of malicious destruction.

I’ve paired it with clothes that actually fit properly—a fitted sweater in deep green, dark jeans that show my figure instead of drowning it, boots that make me feel tall and strong.

I’m no longer Jolie Masters, the housekeeper’s daughter, nor a girl who is trying to disappear. I’m Emmie Darling, and I’m done apologizing for existing.

Though, I hate that I'm not on talking terms with my mother.

“Oh my God, your hair!” I turn to see a girl from my biology class. Joey, I think her name is, approaches with genuine admiration. “It looks absolutely gorgeous. So chic and sophisticated. I wish I was brave enough to go that short.”

“Thank you,” I say, surprised by the compliment. “It was a bit of an adventure getting here, but I love how it turned out.”

“It really suits you. You look so confident and put-together.” She grins. “Like a whole new person.”

As Joey hurries off to her next class, I catch sight of Romeo and Cerise near the student union building.

They’re standing close together, but their body language suggests tension rather than intimacy.

Cerise’s perfectly manicured hand grips Romeo’s arm possessively, while he stares in my direction with an expression I can’t quite read.

Instead of ducking my head and changing course–like the old me would have done, I walk directly past them, my spine straight and my gaze forward.

I don’t slow down, don’t acknowledge them, don’t give them any power over my movements.

But I do catch the sharp intake of breath from Cerise.

The way her grip on Romeo’s arm tightens to the point where he actually winces.

“That little bitch,” she hisses under her breath, loud enough for me to hear. “Look at her, prancing around like she owns the place. Someone needs to remind her exactly where she belongs.”

Part of me wants to keep walking, to avoid this drama entirely. But another part—the part that’s been finding my voice over the past few days—makes me turn around fully.

“Did Romeo tell you that his father came to my rescue after your assault?” I say, my voice carrying clearly across the space between us. The mention of Beck makes something complicated flash across Romeo’s features. Cerise looks like she’s been slapped.

“No, he didn’t?” Cerise turns to Romeo.

“He was very kind,” I say with a sweet smile. “Took me to get it properly styled, made sure I felt taken care of. He has excellent taste in salons. And a very caring Alpha.”

Cerise makes a sound like a strangled cat, but Romeo’s attention is completely focused on me now. His nostrils flare slightly as confusion replaces the anger in his expression.

“My scent is false, Romeo. I can’t scent match with anyone.” I sense match. I want to tell him, but it’s none of his and certainly none of Cerise’s business.

“Then fuck off.” Cerise takes a step in my direction, malice radiating from every line of her body. But Romeo’s hand shoots out, catching her wrist and stopping her forward motion.

“Don’t touch her again, or we’re done, Cerise…” His voice carries an authority I’ve never heard from him before—not the entitled demand of a spoiled Alpha, but something deeper, more serious. “No, we are done.”

“You’re choosing her over me?” she demands, her voice rising to a pitch that draws stares from nearby students. “That nobody Omega over your actual girlfriend?”

“I’m choosing not to be with someone who thinks assault is an acceptable response to jealousy,” Romeo replies coolly. “What you did to her was inexcusable. And just so you know, she's my not my Omega.”

“I barely touched her—“

“You held her down and cut off her hair with scissors while she begged you to stop,” he interrupts, his gray eyes flashing with anger. “If that’s your idea of ‘barely touching’ someone, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

Cerise’s face goes white, then red, then white again. “You can’t be serious. Romeo, she’s nothing. She’s—“

“She’s under my family’s protection,” he says, looking me in the eye now. “And even if she weren’t, what you did was wrong.”

I turn and walk away without responding.

“Jolie, wait,” he calls as I turn to continue toward the science building.

I pause despite myself, glancing back to see Cerise staring at Romeo with shock and fury. Against my better judgment, I let him catch up to me. Cerise remains frozen by the student union, watching our interaction with the kind of intensity usually reserved for car accidents.

“What I did was wrong, too. I’m sorry.” He glances and the floor like he is a toddler waiting to be chastised.

“It was.”

“But your scent is different,” Romeo says quietly.

“I don’t have a real scent,” I reply honestly. “I’ve worn perfume for years. This is me, Romeo. The real me.”

His eyes widen as understanding dawns. “Your false scent was my match.”

“I suppose it was. But that’s why I turned you down.” I laugh as I adjust my backpack strap, meeting his gaze directly. “That and you were a terrible alpha.”

He sucks back a breath. “I was. I’ll do better…”

“For your Omega?” It’s a question.

He nods. “Happiness will do that to a person. Make them better.”

“Happiness,” he repeats, and there’s something almost wistful in his tone. “Are you happy with your new pack?”

“I’m happy, Romeo. Genuinely, completely happy for the first time in years.” I smile, and I know it reaches my eyes. “It’s amazing what a difference it makes when you stop trying to be someone you’re not.”

He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him processing the implications. My real scent is nothing like what he originally detected. Whatever pull he felt toward me was based on an incomplete picture, a masked version of who I really am.

“You’re really not my scent match,” he breathes.

“No, I’m not. But if I’m honest with you, I thought there was a chance you were.

This is all new to me, too. And for a moment, I genuinely believed you were mine.

I don’t know why. But I know now for certain that you’re not.

And even if I had been...” I shrug. “Your actions were easy to repel, don’t you think? ”

“I’m really sorry about the way I acted with you. I promise if I do find my scent match, no matter who she is, I’ll treasure her.” Tears lace his eyes.

I nod. “Then what you put me through was worth it.”

Before he can respond, I hear the sharp click of high heels on the pavement. Cerise has apparently decided to join our conversation, her face a mask of barely controlled fury.

“Are you quite finished with your little heart-to-heart?” she asks, venom dripping from every word. “Some of us have classes to attend.”

“Actually, yes, I am finished,” I say pleasantly. “Have a wonderful day, both of you.”

I walk away without looking back, but I can hear the beginning of what sounds like a spectacular argument breaking out behind me. Cerise’s voice rises to near-shrieking levels while Romeo’s responses grow increasingly cold and clipped.

Good. It’s about time Romeo stood up to her toxic behavior.

My phone buzzes as I reach the science building, and I smile when I see the message.

Beck: How’s your first day back going, baby girl?

Me: Better than expected. Just had an interesting conversation with your son.

Beck: Should I be worried?

Me: Not about me. But you might want to check on him later. I think he and Cerise are having some relationship difficulties.

Beck: I’ll keep an ear out. Proud of you for holding your head high.

The simple words make warmth bloom in my chest. Proud of me. When was the last time someone said that and meant it?

Me: Thank you. That means everything.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and head toward my first class, feeling lighter than I have in months.

The old Jolie would have been shaking after that confrontation, would have spent the rest of the day analyzing every word and expression, wondering if she’d made things worse for herself.

But Emmie Darling knows exactly who she is and what she’s worth. And she’s done being afraid.

The morning passes in a blur of lectures and note-taking, but I’m aware of the subtle changes in how people react to me.

My confidence seems to draw positive attention—classmates who never spoke to me before offer friendly smiles, professors seem more engaged when I take part in discussions, even the barista at the campus coffee shop comments on how radiant I look.

It’s like I’ve been broadcasting “ignore me” signals for months, and now that I’ve switched them off, people are actually seeing me for the first time.

When my phone rings during lunch, I'm surprised to see Lottie's name on the screen. We haven't spoken in over a week, not since that strange, interrupted call that left me so worried.

"Lottie!" I answer immediately, finding a secluded corner of the student lounge. "I've been so worried about you. Are you okay?"

"Emmie." Her voice sounds different, like it's tight with fear, but also urgent. "I need to tell you something important. About Blake."

My blood runs cold. "What about Blake?"

"He knows where you are." The words come out in a rush. "Carlos has been tracking my phone calls, monitoring everything. When I called you last week, when we video chatted... Blake saw everything. He knows about the estate, about the Silver family, all of it."

The student lounge suddenly feels too small, too exposed. I press myself further into the corner, lowering my voice. "Lottie, are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Carlos told me last night. He thought it was funny that Blake was so obsessed with finding you." Her voice breaks. "Emmie, I'm so sorry. I led him right to you."

"It's not your fault," I say automatically, but my mind is racing. Blake knows where I am. Blake, who wanted to breed me like livestock, who saw me as nothing more than a profitable womb. "How long has he known?"

"I don't know, but—" She's crying now, soft sobs that make my heart ache. "He's already on his way, Emmie. Carlos was laughing when he told me he left yesterday morning to get you."

Yesterday morning. That means he could already be here, could already be watching, waiting for the right moment to—

"I have to go," I say, panic clawing at my chest. "I have to warn everyone, have to—"

"Be careful," Lottie pleads. "Please, Emmie. Don't let him take you back to that place."

"I won't," I promise, already moving toward the exit. "I'll call you when this is over."

I end the call and immediately dial Jude's number, my hands shaking as I walk quickly across campus toward the parking lot where Mr. Sampson usually waits for me.

"Emmie?" Jude answers on the first ring, immediately picking up on my distress. "What's wrong?"

"Blake knows where I am," I say, not bothering with pleasantries. "He's coming for me, Jude. Maybe already here."

"Where are you?"

"Campus. Heading for the car." I can see Mr. Sampson's familiar figure leaning against the Range Rover, and relief floods through me. "I need to get home and I need to warn Beck and Elias—"

"I'm calling them now," Jude says, and I can hear him moving around his office. "Get to the estate as fast as you can. Don't stop anywhere, don't talk to anyone you don't recognize."

"Jude—"

"We'll figure this out, Emmie. We won't let him take you."

The conviction in his voice steadies me slightly, but fear still courses through my veins as I approach the car. Blake is coming. The monster from my past has found me just when I finally found happiness.

But I'm not the same scared girl who ran away in the middle of the night. I have a pack now, people who will fight for me. And this time, I'm not running.

This time, we're making a stand.