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The sheets are still saturated with Leo’s scent. I shove my nose into them. I immediately drown in the memory of his moans and growls of pleasure, his body soft in the right places, deliciously hard in others and so incredibly wet for me. I press my nose harder into the sheets.

I don’t want you.

The words slice through my mind.

“Fuck,”

I whisper. Coldness spreads through my chest. I sit up, suddenly feeling sick.

My suitcase lies open on the stripped bed, already filled with my neatly folded clothes. I catch sight of the laundry basket in the bathroom and freeze. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m on my knees beside the basket, digging through the discarded clothing with desperate hands. I find the t-shirt he was wearing when his heat started and the loose sweatpants he had on before the fever took him fully. And then there’s the boxers he wore that first morning, when he still looked at me with cold defiance instead of desperate need.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Thorndike,”

I mutter, but I don’t stop.

I lift the wrinkled t-shirt to my face, inhaling deeply. The scent hits me immediately. It’s pure Leo, intense and undiluted. My cock hardens instantly, a Pavlovian response to the memory of his body writhing beneath mine, his heat-slick skin sliding against me, his voice breaking as he comes.

Without letting myself consider just how pathetic I’m being, I carefully fold each article of clothing and place them in my suitcase, wrapped in my own shirts to preserve the scent. I find one more treasure under the bed. Another thin cotton shirt Leo slept in. The scent sends a jolt of pure longing through me, so intense it borders on pain.

My phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand. I snatch it up immediately in case it’s him. It’s not. The name on the screen is Rowe.

I let out an undignified huff. I don’t want to deal with her right now. She’ll have some strategy, some PR manoeuvre. I don’t know if that’ll include fighting for my match with Leo. On the one hand, having an activist like Leo Torres walk away from a prime match will be enormously humiliating for the Bureau. On the other, forcing a match with Leo when he has made it clear he doesn’t want me, is going to be just as bad for it.

I let it ring. I’m not ready yet to hear what she has to say.

This isn’t over. It can’t be over. I’m not going to let it. Leo Torres belongs with me, whether he’s ready to admit it or not. I just need to make him see it.

I take my time packing up the cottage. I feel a bit stupid, but I take a photo of the bedroom when I leave. This was the place where Leo and I finally connected. I want to remember it.

I drive home in silence, my thoughts all over the place and get home just past six in the evening.

My apartment doesn’t feel like home. It doesn’t smell like Leo the way that the cottage did. Nothing feels right without my beautiful stubborn omega.

God, he’s stubborn. It’s infuriating. It’s fucking magnificent. He is the most perfect thing in the world.

I go straight to my bedroom, unzipping the suitcase and rummaging until I find what I am looking for. I slip one of Leo’s shirts over my pillow and fall face down into it. His scent envelops me immediately, and my body responds yet again with that same embarrassing predictability. My cock hardens and a low whine builds in my throat.

“Get it together,”

I growl, stalking to the bathroom for a cold shower.

The icy water beating against my skin does nothing to cool the fire in my blood. All I can think about is Leo and the tight heat of his body around my cock.

I don’t want you. It can’t be true. We’re not done yet.

With renewed determination, I shut off the water and grab a towel, not bothering to dry off completely before reaching for my phone. Three missed calls from Director Rowe. Two from my old friend Ben Halvorsen. One from the Bureau’s PR department. I ignore them all and dial the ceremonial office instead.

“This is Dr. Thorndike,”

I say when the coordinator answers.

“I need to schedule a bonding ceremony with Leo Torres. As soon as possible.”

There’s a weighted pause on the other end.

“Dr. Thorndike, I see that Mr. Torres has filed a formal rejection of the match which has been upheld by the courts. May I put you through to Director Rowe?”

“No, you may not. I want you to book the ceremony. As soon as possible,”

I cut in, my grip tightening on the phone. I look at my watch. It’s just past six in the evening. Today is out.

“Tomorrow. Eleven a.m. The Central Bureau office.”

“Sir—”

“Tomorrow. Eleven a.m.,” I repeat.

I hang up before she can object further, my heart pounding. I sit on the edge of the bed wrapped in my towel and compose a message to Leo:

I’ve scheduled our bonding ceremony for tomorrow, 11 a.m. I know your first thought is to say no but we are amazing together. You know it too. Forget the politics. I don’t mind admitting that sometimes I get things wrong. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.

So much for pride, but I don’t care.

I hit send, watching the screen for those double check marks that indicate delivery. They appear, but there’s no indication he’s read the message. Five minutes pass. Ten. Nothing.

I try again, fingers hovering over the keys before typing:

We can talk about this. Let’s have a coffee. I know we can find a way to make it work.

I wait for the double check marks but they don’t appear. The message stays on a single tick.

He’s blocked me.

I toss the phone onto the bed, right next to the pillow still covered with Leo’s shirt.

I stretch out beside the pillow, pressing my face against the fabric and that’s how I spend the night. I don’t even get dressed. I just lie there with his scent in my nose.

I wake early, horny and miserable. Leo’s scent is pure heaven and pure torture right at the same time. He should be here in my bed, under me as I drive into him and we both go mad with it.

I reach for my phone immediately. I have a single text from Rowe

I’ve has agreed to the ceremony. You better be right that Torres is going to show up. Don’t fuck this up.

Nothing from Leo. I send him a message anyway. I’ll be there at 11. I hesitate, fingers hovering over the phone. Fuck it. I want to marry this man. There’s no point in being coy. I add: I love you.

The phone stays on a single tick. Leo will have had the notification from the Bureau. He’ll know the choice he has to make this morning, and that’s the point. He is being given a choice. He doesn’t have to come but by God, I hope he does.

I put on my charcoal suit again. The first time was for our initial ceremony. I knew then he wouldn’t show, but I went through the motions anyway, playing my part. Today is different. Today he knows what it is like to be with me.

He might be there.

My phone buzzes with a text from Sun at the Bureau: Press outside the Bureau office. Someone tipped them off about the ceremony.

Perfect. Just what this disaster needs—an audience.

I run a hand through my hair, checking my reflection one final time. If Leo is going to reject me again, at least I’ll look fucking impeccable while he does it.

An hour later, cameras flash as I climb the steps to the Bureau’s main entrance. I paste on a smile.

“Dr. Thorndike! Is it true Leo Torres has publicly rejected your match?”

“Dr. Thorndike! Has Torres agreed to marry you?”

I wave them off trying not to think about what the morning holds. Hope is a dangerous thing.

Director Rowe meets me in the lobby, her expression tight with annoyance.

“This is ill-advised, ,”

she says without preamble, voice pitched low to avoid the hovering press.

“A second public rejection will damage both your reputation and the Bureau’s.”

“He might come,”

I reply. I’m not giving up hope on this.

“Might? Thorndike, you better have more than ‘might’.

She gives me a look that borders on pity, and it takes everything in me not to flinch.

“I’m told he’s giving an interview downtown this morning. I can only hope that I am wrong about that and you are right”

I keep my face carefully neutral.

“The ceremony proceeds as scheduled.”

“—”

“As. Scheduled.”

I brush past her, heading for the ceremonial suite.

Part of me knows that this is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but what choice do I have?

Pure fucking stubbornness is the only way I’ve ever got anything done. I’m used to being argued with. I’m used to not having my own space in the world. Everything I’ve had I’ve fought for by sheer force of will. I don’t really know how else to do this.

I take my place at the head of the table. The minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. The clock on the wall seems to move in slow motion, Sun shifts uncomfortably as the appointed time comes and goes.

The room grows warmer, the weight of expectation heavier with each passing minute. Still, I maintain my composure.

At 11:25, I check my watch with deliberate casualness. It’s stupid. There’s a clock on the wall, but I do it anyway.

By 11:45, he’s still not here and the door opens. Director Rowe’s expression is carefully neutral. She’s holding a tablet.

“Mr. Torres’s press conference is being livestreamed,”

she says quietly.

“He says he has no intention of attending.”

I take the tablet, curiosity and desperation to see my omega overriding self-preservation. Leo’s face fills the screen, fierce and beautiful. He stands before a crowd, microphone in hand, every inch the revolutionary I first met in this same room.

“I’m here to tell you the Bureau is wrong,”

he says, his voice clear despite the recording’s quality.

“I walked away from a ninety-eight percent match. You can do it too.”

The crowd cheers, and something in my chest splinters. He’s so certain. So goddamn beautiful it physically hurts to look at him.

I hand the tablet back to Director Rowe, my decision crystallizing with sudden clarity.

“The ceremony is canceled,”

I announce, rising from my chair.

Annoyance flickers across her features before she schools her expression back to neutral.

“Let’s talk in my office.”

I follow her down the corridors of the Bureau, ignoring the subtle glances that follow me as I pass. Finally, we get to her office and she shuts the door behind us, locking them all out. She gestures for me to sit in one of the sleek chairs across from her desk, but I remain standing. I’m so restless that I feel almost itchy.

“I let this go ahead because your request had already hit the press”

she says, her tone deceptively mild.

“But it was not what we discussed in our crisis management meeting yesterday.”

“I didn’t attend any crisis management meeting yesterday.”

“Precisely.”

She settles behind her desk, folding her hands.

“You ignored my messages. This situation has become a PR nightmare. We need to control the narrative before it spirals further.”

I run my hands through my hair and grimace. She’s right. I want Leo and I don’t mind losing a little pride to get him, but this isn’t just my life’s work, it’s other peoples’ too. The Bureau is a force for good, I am certain of it, despite what Leo thinks. He is doing a lot of damage to something that makes a huge positive difference in the world.

“I’m worried about the Bureau,”

she continues.

“That the great work we do is going to be undermined by this. I’m worried about the thousands of successfully matched couples whose bonds could be called into question because of this... spectacle.”

She’s right, and I know it. One high-profile rejection shouldn’t negate everything we’ve done.

And yet. I don’t know what to say. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. The path ahead isn’t clear.

“Mr. Torres is just one omega,”

Director Rowe continues, her voice softening slightly.

“One who was, perhaps, poorly handled from the beginning. His situation is unique, not representative of the system as a whole.”

I turn to look out the window, unable to meet her eyes.

“They brought him to me in handcuffs.”

“An unfortunate escalation,”

she acknowledges.

“But one that doesn’t invalidate the underlying science. You need to make a statement, . I know how hard this is for you.”

She sighs deeply.

“I’ll acknowledge that we made mistakes too. We were too heavy-handed with Torres, but you need to think of the overall good.”

She’s offering me a way out.

“The system works, ,”

Rowe says quietly.

“Millions of matched pairs prove that every day. What’s happening with Mr. Torres is the exception, not the rule.”

“I know,”

I say. Two words and I hate saying them.

“We need to address the press,”

Director Rowe continues, breaking into my thoughts.

“Present a united front. We can spin this to show that we were right all along.”

She moves back to her desk, pressing the intercom.

“Tell the communications team that we’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

She turns back to me.

“I’ve taken the liberty of having a statement drawn up.”

The director opens her desk drawer, retrieves a piece of paper and pushes it across her desk. I take it, and finally sit down. The restlessness in my legs has turned to heaviness. I am suddenly exhausted.

The statement isn’t terrible. In fact, it’s brilliant. We’ve been saying for years that omegas always have a choice, that it’s not about force. What better way to prove that than to have Thorndike graciously accept the rejection of a prime match?

The door opens before I can comment on her words admitting a small team of Bureau communications staff and a camera crew. They begin setting up equipment, pointing the camera and boom my way.

“Dr. Thorndike will be giving a statement clarifying the Bureau’s position on matching and individual choice,”

Director Rowe informs them.

“We’ll go live as soon as Dr Thorndike has memorised the statement.”

“I haven’t agreed to this yet,”

I say quietly, for her ears alone.

She meets my eyes, her gaze steady and certain.

“Are you going to disagree?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

I don’t have a choice. How ironic.

I read the statement again and again until I have the words drilled into my head and I give them the go ahead.

The camera crew counts down with their fingers. Three, two, one. The communications director gives me a thumbs up. Rowe nods from behind the camera crew.

The red light blinks on. I straighten my shoulders, adjust my tie, and paste on my most convincing smile.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Thorndike.”

My voice comes out steady despite the storm inside me.

“I want to clear up some confusion about recent events involving the Bureau’s matching program.”

I take a breath, reciting the carefully scripted lines.

“The Bureau has always maintained that compatibility is a scientific reality, but we recognize each situation is unique. Mr. Torres’s decision demonstrates the flexibility built into our system. We never force bonding. We only ask for proximity and opportunity so that everyone has the chance to find their one perfect mate.”

A drop of sweat trickles down my spine beneath the expensive suit as I continue.

“Studies show that prime matches result in successful, lasting bonds. One failed case doesn’t invalidate thousands of happy pairs.”

I smile at the camera as if this is going exactly the way I want it to.

“The Bureau respects individual choice. We simply provide the data. What individuals do with it ultimately remains their decision. I am grateful to Mr Torres for giving the match a chance. We spent almost two weeks together testing the bonds. Ultimately, Mr Torres has decided not to continue with the bonding. I respect that choice. It was always his to refuse or accept.”

Leo’s face flashes in my mind. His fierce eyes. The curl of his lip when he’d spit out my arguments back at me.

My fingers tighten imperceptibly on the paper still held in my hand.

“The Bureau respects Mr. Torres’s decision. We wish him well, as do I.”

The red light blinks off. Director Rowe nods, satisfied.

“Well done, .”

I nod mechanically, suddenly desperate to escape the stifling office.

“We’ll need to discuss your research schedule going forward,”

Director Rowe adds as I turn to leave.

“No,”

I reply, the words hollow.

“Excuse me?”

“No,”

I say.

“I’m going home.”

“Perhaps a leave of absence might be sensible.”

“Sure,”

I say. I feel completely hollow. I can’t face her. I can’t face this place at all. I turn back to her and breathe deeply.

“Actually, I quit. I can’t do this. I’ve read your statement. You can’t ask me to do any more.”

It’s no great surprise when she just purses her lips and says.

“Accepted.”

She lets me go with a frown, already turning her attention to the communications team, to the next stage of damage control.

I make it to my car, waving politely to the journalists outside but ignoring their questions. I start my car, drive home and it’s only when I’m inside in my own home with my face buried in Leo’s shirt that I finally let myself fall apart.