Page 20 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Milo

Uncle Kenneth was wrong about a lot of things, but one of the best tips he’d ever given me was that people who lied always had a tell.

“Look at their eyes,” he’d said, fingers steepled like some villain in a bad movie.

“They’ll glance at someone in the room to check if what they said was okay.

Maybe it’s their lawyer, maybe someone in the gallery.

Or maybe they won’t look up, but they’ll get a little lilt at the end of their sentences.

It’s a persuasive thing. People who don’t have to make stuff up don’t have to think about it. ”

The witness on the stand the next day is doing exactly that. Every answer ends with that subtle upward inflection, turning statements into questions. Her eyes dart to Victoria Sutter after each response, seeking approval like a student hoping she got the answer right.

“And you saw Mr. Hayes collecting money from the dancers?” Sutter prompts, her voice smooth as aged whiskey.

“Yes?” Her gaze flicks to the prosecutor. “Every Thursday night? He would come upstairs and take envelopes from each of us?”

I make a note on my legal pad: Witness seeking validation. Upward inflection on all statements. Body language suggests coaching.

My stomach rolls, a slow, nauseating wave that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the triple dose of suppressants I choked down this morning.

The courtroom lights seem too bright, each fluorescent tube stabbing needles into my skull.

I breathe through my nose, trying not to think about Kellen beside me. I want to kiss him.

Stop. Focus.

She is lying through her professionally whitened teeth. So was the witness before her who’d claimed Kellen threatened him weekly for protection money. His tell was different—a nervous throat clearing after each fabrication, like the lies were stuck there and needed dislodging.

“No further questions.” Sutter returns to her seat and I take a small amount of pleasure noting that she does not look happy. With the first witness, she’d sat down with the satisfied air of a cat who’s cornered a mouse. That satisfaction has been neatly wiped from her face.

It’s her own fault. A donkey could defend this case, it’s so badly put together.

I can feel Kellen glowering next to me. He’s still furious that I’m bringing up Cobb Sewell, but he doesn’t understand. Even if he weren’t my mate, I’d struggle to let him go to prison for something he didn’t do. I don’t want that on my conscience.

Judge Melkham looks at me expectantly. “Cross-examination, Mr. Warren?”

I push myself to standing, and the world tilts slightly. My hand finds the edge of the defense table, gripping hard enough that my knuckles go white. Beside me, Kellen shifts in his chair.

It doesn’t take long to poke holes in her story. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. From what Kellen has told me, there is a real chance she is being threatened, but she has also sworn to tell the truth.

By the time I am done, it’s obvious that she is as credible a witness as every other person Sutter has put up here.

I return to the defense table, legs shaking with the effort of appearing normal. The nausea rises again, and I have to pause while black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

The words come out through clenched teeth. I sink into my chair, focusing on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The suppressants are trying to shut down my system’s response to Kellen. My body is caught in a chemical war that’s tearing me apart from the inside.

“We’ll take a fifteen-minute recess.” Judge Melkham’s gavel cracks like a gunshot.

I’m on my feet before the echo fades, moving toward the courtroom doors. Kellen stands as I pass, and for one insane moment, I want to lean into him. Want to let his solid presence steady me. Want to breathe in his scent until the nausea fades and the world stops spinning.

Instead, I keep walking.

The hallway is mercifully empty. I make it three steps before I have to stop, palm flat against the cool marble wall. My phone buzzes in my pocket—medication reminder. Right on schedule. I fumble for the bottle, and dry-swallow three.

I’m not so concerned any more about my attraction to Kellen, but I can’t lose control. I can’t lose concentration and right now, he is almost all I can think about. I need to keep on these things until the case is over. Then I can stop.

The water fountain is ten feet away, but it might as well be ten miles. I force myself to move, each step an act of will. The water is lukewarm and tastes like old pipes, but I drink deeply, trying to wash away the bitter chemical taste.

“Rough morning?”

I spin too fast. The world tilts, and I have to grab the fountain to keep from falling. Victoria Sutter stands five feet away, her smile sharp as a blade.

“Victoria.” I straighten, hoping I look more composed than I feel.

“Those witnesses really got to you, huh?” She tilts her head, studying me like a specimen. “First criminal trial?”

“I’ve tried plenty of cases.”

“Corporate law isn’t quite the same thing.” Her smile widens. “But don’t worry. Everyone fumbles their first real criminal case. The partners at Schmitt and Petersen will understand. They’re very... forgiving of their omega associates.”

The word drips with condescension. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s reminding me that I’m playing in an alpha’s world, that I don’t belong here, that I’m weak.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s losing here. My client is innocent.” The words come out before I can stop them.

She laughs, bright and false. “Oh honey. They all say that.”

She clicks away on her designer heels, leaving me alone with my churning stomach and the echo of her contempt. I close my eyes, counting to ten, then twenty.

When I open them, Kellen is standing in the hallway.

“You’re not supposed to be out here alone,” I manage.

“Neither are you.” His dark eyes search my face. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. Really helpful.”

“The suppressants are making you sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” The word is soft, almost fond.

“We need to get back.”

“Milo—”

“Don’t.” I hold up a hand, and God, it’s shaking visibly now. “Just... don’t. I can’t do this here. Can’t do this now.”

Something flashes across his face—hurt maybe, or understanding. He steps back.

“After,” he says quietly. “We’ll talk after.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. We walk back to the courtroom side by side, careful not to touch. But I can feel him there, solid and steady and absolutely everything I can’t have.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of lying witnesses and sustained objections. By the time Judge Melkham calls it a day, I’m running on pure spite and stubbornness, but I know I’ve done more than enough to put that ‘reasonable doubt’ into the minds of the jury.

All I want to do is go home, have a long shower, something to eat and kiss my alpha until the world goes away.

So when a text lights up my screen from Anne, it’s the last thing I want to see.

Come by the office when you’re done. I need a word. Leave Hayes in the foyer. Security can watch him.

Security can watch him. I don’t know what she thinks Kellen is going to do or what our elderly security guard would do if he did.

I tell Kellen I need to stop by the office on the way home and he nods. He doesn’t argue with me either. I’m not sure if he’s given up on the Cobb issue with me or if he’s just waiting for us to get back to the apartment.

He follows me into the foyer, looking it up and down with a carefully blank expression. He looks completely out of place, too big and too rough.

“Wait here.” I gesture to the leather chairs in the waiting area. “I won’t be long.”

He settles into a chair that groans under his weight. As I turn to go, I catch him reaching for a magazine from the side table. It’s a Cosmopolitan.

And then I watch this massive, scarred fighter who could break a man in half, thumb through it until he reaches “50 Ways to Please Your Man” and starts reading. Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch.

The elevator ride to the partner floor feels endless. I look like a ghost in the mirror in the elevator: pale and listless.

Anne’s assistant barely looks up as I arrive. “She’s expecting you.”

“Milo.” She doesn’t look up from the papers on her desk when I knock. “Come in. Close the door.”

I do as instructed, sinking into the chair across from her. The leather is butter-soft. I could fall asleep here. “How did it go today?” She still hasn’t looked at me.

“The witnesses are lying. It’s obvious they’ve been coached. Their stories don’t match their original statements, and—”

“I don’t care about the witnesses.” Now she looks up, and her gaze is sharp enough to cut. “Do you know what the partners said when I recommended you for this position?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“They said no, that we have enough omegas to show that they’re not prejudiced but it’s not necessary to take on any more.” Her fingers drum against the desk. “I fought for you. Told them you were different. Told them you could handle yourself in any courtroom.”

“I can—”

“Can you? Because from where I’m sitting, you look like every stereotype they warned me about. Shaking from suppressants. Mooning over your client.”

My nausea returns full force, mixing with shame until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“I’m doing my job,” I manage. “I’m providing competent representation—”

“Competent isn’t enough.” She turns back to me, and there’s something almost like pity in her eyes.

“Not for us. Not for omegas. We have to be twice as good to get half the respect. We have to be perfect.” She leans back in her chair steeples her fingers.

“This case is a test,” she continues. “Not of your legal skills—we already know you’re brilliant.

It’s a test of whether you belong here.”

“No pressure,” I mutter.

Her smile is sharp. “If you can’t handle pressure, you’re in the wrong profession. Now, I’m going to give you some advice, and I suggest you take it.”

I wait, knowing exactly what she is going to say.

“Wrap it up for fuck’s sake. You are in a shitty position, I understand that.

You have a choice between suppressants that are killing you or giving into the worst prime match I’ve ever seen,” I flinch.

I’ve never heard her swear before. “But you do have a third option. Stop being prissy about this and let the case go.” She waves a hand dismissively.

“Ask Sutter for a plea bargain. If this case isn’t done by end of week, we will need to reconsider your position here.

You look a mess and we can’t have that.”

I push myself to my feet, legs unsteady. “Yes, ma’am.”

The dismissal is clear. I stumble out of her office, past her assistant, into the hallway. The elevator doors close, and I finally let myself sag against the wall.

She’s right. I know she’s right. The suppressants are killing me. But the alternative—letting Kellen go to prison—feels like stepping off a cliff.

When the elevator opens to the waiting area, Kellen is exactly where I left him. Still reading that ridiculous magazine, looking absurd. He looks up when I approach, and I see the concern flash across his features.

“Ready?” I ask.

We walk back to the car in silence. Kellen hardly says anything anyway, but I’m turning the conversation with Anne over and over in my head.

If the case isn’t done by the end of the week, I lose my job. There is no way I can do that without Kellen accepting a plea and I can’t let him do that. I’m about to throw my career away for him.