Page 5

Emmie

I’ve spent a week being taken to school and back again. And I’m liking it here. I don’t like the way Romeo treats me like I don’t exist but it’s better this way.

I make it to the biology classroom with five minutes to spare, choosing a seat in the middle row where I blend in with the other students.

The professor differs from the one who taught me before.

This one is in his late twenties. He has light brown hair and warm hazel eyes, and he is setting up his presentation at the front of the room.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says once the clock hits ten. He turns to me and smiles, like he is expecting me. “I’m Professor Benson, and welcome to Introduction to Biology. Before we dive into today’s material, I understand you’re my new student, Jolie Masters.”

I nod as every head in the classroom turns toward me, like they are seeing me for the first time. The scrutinizing looks make me sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear entirely.

Professor Benson’s smile is kind, though, and something about his calm presence makes me feel slightly less like running.

“We’ll get back to covering the basics of cellular biology this semester,” he continues, “with particular attention to the biological systems that govern Alpha and Omega scents.”

A few students shift uncomfortably at the mention of Alpha/Omega biology, but Professor Benson plows ahead like he didn’t notice.

“We’ve already learned that contrary to popular belief, biological impulses are just that—impulses. They can be strong, certainly, but they’re not hard and fast laws. We always have choices about how we respond to our biology.”

I lean forward, genuinely interested despite my anxiety. This is exactly the information I need—scientific explanations for the things I’ve been experiencing, ways to understand and control my Omega responses.

The door opens twenty minutes into the lecture, and Romeo slides in like he owns the place. He’s changed from his casual clothes into what looks like football practice gear, his hair still damp.

Several female students track his movement with obvious interest, but he ignores them all, taking a seat in the back row.

I try not to look at him, focusing instead on Professor Benson’s explanation of pheromone receptors and scent compatibility.

But I can feel Romeo’s presence around me and it makes my concentration scatter.

When class ends, I pack my things quickly, hoping to escape to the place I hide out during breaks. But as I head for the door, a deep voice stops me cold.

“Jolie.”

I turn to find Romeo standing directly behind me. Up close, he’s even more overwhelming—all broad shoulders and contained power and those gray eyes that seem to see straight through me.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice is low enough that the other students can’t hear. “Meet me by the oak tree on the south end of campus after your last class,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Why?”

He only responds with, “Three o’clock.”

“And if I don’t?”

His smile is sharp and humorless. “Then I’ll find you, anyway.”

He turns, and he’s gone before I can respond, leaving me standing in the emptying classroom with my heart racing and the unmistakable certainty that my life just got infinitely more complicated.

Professor Benson approaches as I stand frozen by the door. “Everything all right, Miss Masters?”

I force a smile. “Fine. Just...adjusting to everything.”

He studies my face with perceptive hazel eyes. “Romeo can be intense. Don’t let him intimidate you.” The fact that he’s noticed the tension between us makes my cheeks burn. “I won’t.”

But as I walk to my next class, Romeo’s words echo in my mind: I’ll find you, anyway.

It sounds less like a threat and more like a promise. And I’m not sure which possibility scares me more.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of lectures and syllabus reviews. I try to focus on my classes, on the normal college experience I gave up a year ago, but my mind keeps drifting to that oak tree and what Romeo wants to discuss.

By the time three o’clock rolls around, I’ve convinced myself that ignoring his demand is the smart choice. Whatever he wants to say, it can’t be anything I need to hear. I’ll find Mr. Sampson, go home to the cottage, and hope Romeo loses interest in whatever game he’s playing.

But as I cross the quad toward the parking area, I catch sight of a familiar figure beneath the massive oak tree at the southern edge of campus.

Romeo stands with his back against the trunk, arms crossed, waiting.

Even from a distance, his posture looks predatory.

The stillness marks him as a dangerous Alpha. He’s not just waiting—he’s hunting.

Does that mean he does smell my scent in a way that pleases his Alpha? I don’t know what I think about that?

It’s not possible. But I have to find out what he wants. If I don’t, I know with absolute certainty that he’ll make good on his threat to find me if I don’t go to him willingly.

Taking a deep breath, I change direction, my feet carrying me across the grass toward what feels like my doom.

Romeo watches my approach with those unsettling gray eyes, his expression unreadable.

“You came,” he says when I’m close enough to hear.

“You didn’t give me much choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Jolie.” The way he says my name makes me shiver. And not in a good way. “The question is whether you’re brave enough to make it.”

I stop just outside what I hope is a safe distance, close enough to talk but far enough that his proximity doesn’t completely overwhelm me. It’s a futile effort—Romeo’s presence seems to fill the entire space around us.

“What do you want?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself defensively.

He studies my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. “I want to know why you’re here.”

“I live here now. My mother works for your family.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He pushes off from the tree, taking a step closer. “I want to know why you’re really here. What are you running from?”

The question hits too close to home, and I take an instinctive step backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Another step closer, and now I can see the flecks of silver in his gray eyes. “You reek of fear, Jolie. And desperation. Whatever brought you to Silvercrest Manor wasn’t just a job opportunity.”

“You know nothing about me,” I say, hating how defensive I sound. But he smells my fear. Does that mean he smells the real me?

“I know you’re an Omega trying very hard to hide what you are.” His voice drops to a whisper that somehow carries more menace than shouting. “I know your scent makes my alpha want to do things that would terrify you. And I know you feel it too—this pull between us.”

Heat floods my face, and I take another step back. “I don’t—“

“Don’t lie to me.” He follows my retreat, stalking me like prey. “I can smell your arousal. Your pupils are dilated. Your pulse is racing.”

“You can smell me?” I whisper.

“Yes. Honey and lemon.” The words sound like they’re torn from his throat. “And I hate every fucking second of it.”

It’s what I expected to hear. He doesn’t know it but he’s not my scent match. Nobody can smell the real Emmie Darling—Jolie Masters. If someone smells that scent, it means something entirely different. And it’s too rare—I’m too rare to believe I’ll ever have a match.

But he said he smells my fear.

“Why?” I ask, my voice barely audible. “Why do you hate it?”

Romeo’s jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he won’t answer.

When he finally speaks, his words are carefully controlled, as if he’s fighting to keep some deeper emotion in check.

“Because I don’t want a mate. I don’t want the complications, the expectations, the inevitable disappointment when you realize I’m not the Alpha you think you need. ”

“What if I don’t need an alpha at all?” I counter. “What if I just want to be left alone?”

“Then we have a problem. I have fought it since you got here. I know you must be too,” he says quietly. “Because biology doesn’t care what either of us wants. This thing between us—it’s not going away. It’s only going to get stronger.”

He’s right, and the thought terrifies me. I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid exactly this situation—being claimed by an Alpha who sees me as an object rather than a person.

“Even if that were true,” I say through gritted teeth, “it doesn’t matter. You have a girlfriend.”

Romeo’s laugh is harsh and humorless. “Cerise? She’s a Beta who likes the status of dating an Alpha.” The admission hangs between us like a live wire. I can see the conflict in his eyes. Desire fighting against something that looks almost like loathing. He wants me, but he hates wanting me.

“So what do you suggest?” I ask, proud that my voice doesn’t shake.

Romeo’s expression grows cold, and when he speaks, his words hit me like ice water.

“Stay away from me at school. Don’t acknowledge me, don’t seek me out, don’t give anyone reason to think there’s anything between us.

As far as the world is concerned, you’re just the housekeeper’s daughter and I’m completely indifferent to your existence. ”

Each word cuts deeper than the last. “I wasn’t planning on chasing you. I’m the same as you. I don’t want anything.”

His smile is sharp and cruel. “Then we can have an arrangement. I keep Cerise as my public girlfriend—the relationship everyone expects. And you...” His eyes rake over my body in a way that makes me feel exposed. “You help me manage the biological needs she can’t fulfill.”

I stare at him in horror, finally understanding what he’s offering. “You want me to be your secret fuck toy? To service your Alpha needs while you maintain your perfect public relationship.”

“I want you to be practical,” he corrects coldly. “This match exists whether we like it or not. We can either pretend it doesn’t and suffer the consequences, or we can find a way to manage it in a way that works for both of us.”

“That’s not management,” I say, my voice rising with anger. “That’s using me.”

“And you’ll be using me too,” he points out. “Omega needs are just as biological as Alpha ones. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t benefit from the arrangement.”

The casual cruelty of his words takes my breath away. This is what he thinks of me—a problem to be managed, a biological need to be satisfied. Not a person with feelings and dignity and the right to choose her own path.

“No,” I say firmly, backing away from him. “Absolutely not.”

Romeo’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes that might be disappointment. Or relief.

“Your choice,” he says with a shrug. “But Jolie? The offer stands. When you realize that fighting biology is a losing battle, you know where to find me.”

He walks away without another word, leaving me standing beneath the oak tree with my heart racing and my mind spinning. I watch his retreating figure until he disappears behind the science building, then I sink onto a nearby bench with my head in my hands.

This is exactly what I was afraid of. A fake scent match with an Alpha who sees me as nothing more than a convenient solution to his biological urges.

Romeo may be beautiful and powerful and everything my Omega instincts crave, but he’s also cold and calculating. Just like Blake, but wrapped in a prettier package.