Page 4

Emmie

I stand beside the cottage door, my new student ID clutched in one hand and my worn backpack slung over my shoulder.

I’m waiting for Mom to finish her conversation with Mrs. Reynolds.

We’ve been here for five days now, but this is my first day of college, my first day out of the cottage, and already my stomach is in knots.

Mom hurries over, a smile plastered on her face. “Mrs. Reynolds said Mr. Sampson will take you to the campus.”

“What? No, I can walk—“

Before I can protest further, a sleek black Range Rover rolls to a stop in front of us. The driver’s window lowers, revealing a man in his mid-fifties with fair hair lined with gray and deep brown eyes. When he smiles, I feel relaxed.

“Good morning, Ms. Masters,” he calls to Mom, his voice deep but rattles slightly. “I thought your daughter might appreciate a lift on her first day. She’ll have a lot to do before she even gets into a classroom.”

Mom gives me a gentle push and I approach the vehicle cautiously and Mom replies, “Thank you, Mr. Sampson. That’s very kind of you. Jolie—“

But I interrupt her, “I can walk. It’s not that far.”

“Nonsense,” he says with a gentle smile. “It’s nearly four miles, and you’ll want to save your energy for when you’re at school. Besides, I have another passenger going in the same direction.”

As if summoned by his words, the rear door opens. I approach the vehicle, every instinct screams at me to not get inside. Though I’m not sure why. Mr. Sampson is clearly a Beta, but when I step to the rear door, I’m faced with the most gorgeous boy and he is about my age.

When he looks up, his eyes lock with mine, and the world stops spinning.

I don’t react to scents but there is something wild about him that makes my inner Omega practically purr.

And despite the medication I take to ward off moments like this, my body reacts as warmth floods my core and goosebumps pop all over my arms.

He can’t be a scent match. The thought crashes through my mind before I can stop it. I don’t have a real scent, so I know it can’t be that.

“Are you getting in or what?” he grunts, his tone annoyed.

He doesn’t even react to me. But I suppose that’s what makes me so different. My mate will feel me, not smell me. But it doesn’t stop me from applying a layer of a false scent just to be safe.

I’ve dressed as plainly as possible—faded jeans, an oversized gray hoodie, and sneakers that have seen better days. My near-black hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, and I’m not wearing makeup. The goal is to blend in, to be forgettable, to survive my first day with no one noticing I exist.

“This is Romeo,” Mr. Sampson says. “He’s never one for conversation.”

So this is Romeo Silver, and he is staring at me like I’ve offended him by existing.

He sits in the back of the Range Rover like he owns not just the vehicle, but the entire world around it.

He’s tall—easily six-two—with dark hair that looks like he’s been running his hands through it and gray eyes that seem to catalog every detail of my appearance in a single, dismissive glance.

Everything about him screams Alpha dominance.

But the way he moves along the seat to get as far away from me as possible is with a casual arrogance.

“Get in.”

I force myself to straighten my spine. “God, this is going to be a long ride.”

Something flickers across his expression—surprise, maybe, that I’m not immediately falling in line.

Mr. Sampson clears his throat.

“Sorry, I’m Romeo Silver. And I know you’re the housekeeper’s daughter.” The way he says it makes it sound like an accusation or an insult.

“Pleased to meet you, Romeo. I’m Jolie. Jolie Masters,” I reply, proud that my voice doesn’t shake and happy that I remembered my fake name. “And yes, my mother works for your family.”

And how quickly I hate him.

From the driver’s seat, Mr. Sampson clears his throat again. “Perhaps we should get moving? Romeo has an early class, and Miss Masters, you will want time to find the registrar’s office.”

Romeo’s eyes narrow as I slide into the backseat, trying to leave as much space as possible between us. Alphas like him are exactly what I was trying to avoid.

Romeo stretches his long legs, which take up more than his fair share of space. He doesn’t look at me again, instead scrolling through messages like I’m not here. Despite his indifference, tension radiates from him.

“Are you excited about your first day at Silvercrest College?” Mr. Sampson asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as we pass through the estate gates.

“Yes, sir,” I manage, hyper-aware of Romeo’s presence beside me. It’s a lie. Right now, all I want is to survive the next twenty minutes without completely embarrassing myself.

“Excellent school,” Mr. Sampson continues the conversation. “Small enough that the professors actually know their students’ names. Romeo here is quite popular with the faculty, aren’t you?”

Romeo makes a noncommittal sound without looking up from his phone. But I catch the slight tightening around his eyes, as if Mr. Sampson’s praise makes him uncomfortable.

“What are you studying?” I ask, then immediately regret it when Romeo’s gaze snaps to mine.

Those gray eyes are even more intense up close, framed by thick dark lashes that would be beautiful on anyone else but somehow make him look more dangerous.

There’s intelligence there, and anger, and something else that seems familiar.

“Business,” he says flatly. “Family obligations….” The way he says it suggests he’d rather be studying anything else. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to me at all.

I decide it’s best to spend the rest of the drive in uncomfortable silence. At least it would be if Mr. Sampson’s occasional comments about local landmarks did not break it.

The car turns sharply and Romeo’s leg brushes against mine. His scent seems to intensify in the enclosed space, and it’s nice, but as an omega with no prospect of ever scent matching with anyone, my body only reacts to his touch.

But by the time we reach campus, I’m still desperate to get out of the car.

“Here we are,” Mr. Sampson announces, pulling up to what looks like the main administration building. “Romeo, are you staying late again?”

Silvercrest College is smaller than I expected, more like an oversized prep school than a traditional university. Brick buildings covered in ivy clusters. From the prospectus I read, the campus was built around a central quad where students are gathering during the day.

It looks prestigious and intimidating and exactly like the kind of place where I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

“Yeah. I’ll find my way home,” Romeo says curtly, already reaching for the door handle.

He’s out of the vehicle before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt and striding across the parking lot with that same predatory grace. Several students turn to watch him pass, their gazes tracking his movement with obvious interest.

He ignores them all, disappearing into a building without a backward glance.

“Don’t take it personally,” Mr. Sampson says kindly, noting my expression. “Romeo’s...complicated. Has been ever since his parents died.”

“His parents?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Car accident when he was sixteen. His uncle took him and his siblings in, raised him as his own. But Romeo’s never quite gotten over the loss. Tough age, sixteen.” Mr. Sampson’s expression grows thoughtful. “Some people carry their pain differently than others.”

I think about the anger I glimpsed in Romeo’s eyes, the way he seemed to resent even being in the same space as me. Maybe it’s not personal. Maybe he hates everyone. Yet, somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.

“The registrar’s office is in this building,” Mr. Sampson continues, pointing to the structure in front of us. “First floor, can’t miss it. And Miss Masters?”

“Yes?”

“Give Romeo time. He’s not as bad as he wants people to think he is.”

I’m not sure I believe that, but I nod anyway. “It’s fine. Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sampson.”

“Anytime, miss. I’ll be here at three-thirty to take you home.”

The registrar’s office is exactly where Mr. Sampson said it would be, and within an hour I have my class schedule, and a campus map that makes the layout look far more complicated than it actually is.

My first class is biology but doesn’t start until ten, which gives me time to explore and hopefully figure out where everything is before I have to turn back and find the class.

The campus is beautiful in an old-money way that makes me acutely aware of my secondhand clothes and scuffed sneakers.

Students gather in clusters on the quad, their easy confidence, and expensive accessories showing how different I am from them. I pull the strings on my hoodie tighter and try to make myself invisible as I walk toward the science building.

It almost works.

“Excuse me,” a female voice calls out behind me. “Are you the new girl?”

I turn to find a petite blonde approaching; her smile bright. She’s wearing a cheerleader’s uniform—Silvercrest Ravens, according to the logo—and she’s flanked by two other girls who look like they stepped out of a catalog for expensive prep school fashion.

“Yeah,” I say carefully, noting how their eyes catalog every detail of my appearance.

“I’m Cerise, are you Jolie?” the blonde asks, her smile never wavering. “My boyfriend, Romeo, mentioned there was a new student starting today. Said you’re the housekeeper’s daughter?”

The way she says it clarifies that being the housekeeper’s daughter is several steps below being an actual student. I feel heat rise in my cheeks, but I keep my voice level. “That’s right.”

“How interesting,” Cerise purrs, circling me like a shark who’s just scented blood. “And you’re living on the estate? In the main house?”

“The cottage,” I correct, wondering where this conversation is heading.

“Oh, the cottage.” Her smile sharpens. “How quaint. The Silver’s must feel like they have a new pet. Isn’t that right, girls?”

The other cheerleaders giggle and I can feel other students paying attention to our conversation, some looking curious, others sympathetic. My face burns with embarrassment, but I force myself to stand straighter.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, walking away. “I have class.”

“Of course you do,” Cerise calls after me. “Biology, right? With Professor Benson? Romeo mentioned you’d be in his morning class.”

I freeze. How does she know my schedule? And why did he tell her?

“See you around, Jolie,” Cerise says sweetly. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

The threat in her voice is unmistakable.