Page 4 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

A flash of obvious discomfort crossed the director's face.

"Any concerns should be brought first to your faculty advisor, who will determine if escalation to administration is warranted.

However, I must emphasize that Northwood takes all allegations very seriously, and false reports carry serious consequences for the reporting party. "

In other words: keep your head down, don't cause trouble, and if you do report something, you better be prepared to prove it beyond any doubt.

The pre-med student spoke up unexpectedly. "What constitutes harassment versus normal social dynamics?"

The woman’s smile became razor-thin. "That's precisely the kind of judgment your faculty advisors are trained to make. I trust you'll use their guidance wisely."

By the time we were dismissed, my jaw ached from clenching it. The other Omegas looked equally deflated—the physics student practically fled the room, while the music major looked like she might cry.

The male pre-med student caught my eye as we both stood to leave. "Michael Park," he said quietly, extending his hand. "Pre-med track."

"Vespera Levine. Theater." I shook his hand, noting that his grip was firm despite his earlier nervousness.

"Good luck," he said, but something in his tone suggested he thought I'd need more than luck to survive.

I checked my phone to find three texts from Stephanie:

Is the meeting still going? Robbie and I are at the Campus Cafe. He's eager to meet you.

Their scones are amazing btw. I'm saving you one.

I texted back quickly: Just finished. Taking the library route. Be there in 10.

The September morning had warmed considerably, golden light filtering through the ancient oak trees that lined the winding pathways between buildings.

Despite my anxiety, I couldn't help admiring the campus.

Northwood was undeniably beautiful: gothic architecture mixed with modern amenities, extensive gardens, and carefully preserved old-growth trees.

As I rounded the corner near the science building, I glimpsed a small group of students gathered beside one of the memorial benches. Their body language immediately put me on alert: two tall figures looming over a much smaller one.

Corvus and Oakley, minus Dorian, had cornered someone against the bench. The victim was slight, dark-haired, wearing the standard uniform but with posture that suggested he was trying very hard not to show fear.

It was Michael Park, the pre-med student from the scholarship meeting.

I slowed, assessing the situation. The smart move would be to take another route, avoid drawing their attention to myself. But something in Michael's stance—the tilt of his chin, the way he kept his shoulders square despite being obviously outmatched—sparked a surge of solidarity.

Before I could think better of it, my feet were moving.

"What waste of a scholarship when you can't even breed properly," Corvus was saying as I approached, his voice carrying that particular cold cruelty I'd witnessed in the dining hall.

"I earned my place here," Michael replied, his voice quiet but steady despite the tension radiating from his frame. "My designation has nothing to do with my academic ability."

Oakley laughed, but there was nothing friendly about the sound. "Everything's about designation, sweetheart. That's biology. Male Omegas are literally genetic dead ends—can't even breed at all."

"And yet somehow we still contribute more to society than trust fund Alphas who peak in college," Michael shot back.

Corvus's expression darkened dangerously, and I knew I needed to intervene before this escalated beyond words.

"Excuse me," I called out, approaching with projected confidence I didn't feel. "Michael? I think you're going to be late for the science department introduction."

Three heads turned toward me simultaneously. Michael's expression shifted from surprise to quick understanding, while the two Alphas registered varying degrees of interest and calculation.

"Vespera," Corvus recovered first, his tone shifting to something almost pleasant."We didn't properly meet last night. I'm Corvus Barclay."

He already knew my name. I wasn’t surprised.

"And I'm running late," I replied, deliberately ignoring his introduction and moving to stand beside Michael. "We both need to get going if we don't want to miss department meetings."

Michael caught on immediately. "You're absolutely right. I should have left five minutes ago." He turned back to the Alphas with careful, almost mocking, politeness. "If you'll excuse us?"

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at the flash of genuine irritation that crossed Corvus's face. Oakley, however, appeared more amused than offended by our obvious dismissal.

"We'll see you both around campus," Oakley said, his tone carrying enough threat to be unmistakable. "It's always good to keep track of how our scholarship money is being spent."

The possessive way he said "our money"—as if the entire university and everyone in it belonged to them—made my skin crawl. But I kept my expression neutral and gave Michael a subtle nod toward the path leading away from the science building.

"Thanks for that," Michael said quietly once we were safely out of earshot. "They cornered me right after I left the scholarship meeting."

"No problem." I glanced back to make sure they weren't following us. "I take it this isn't your first encounter with them?"

"Not exactly.” He rubbed his arm where Corvus had been standing particularly close. "I should actually get to the science building. My department introduction really is starting soon."

"Go ahead. I'm meeting friends at the café."

Michael nodded gratefully and headed off at a quick pace, his shoulders already relaxing as he put distance between himself and the encounter. I watched him go, wondering if this was the beginning of their targeting or if he'd been dealing with this kind of harassment all along.

The interaction had reinforced everything Stephanie had told me about the pack's methods. They were strategic, picking moments when their targets were isolated and vulnerable. If they'd go after a pre-med student with such casual cruelty, what would they do to someone in their own department?

The Campus Cafe was exactly what I'd hoped for: a cozy brick building with wide windows, mismatched furniture, and the rich aroma of quality coffee that immediately made me feel more human. Through the glass, I spotted Stephanie's distinctive blue hair at a corner table by the window.

She waved enthusiastically as I entered, sitting with someone whose back was to me. Dark hair caught the sunlight streaming through the window, and as I approached, her companion turned to reveal a slender young man with sharp, intelligent features and warm brown eyes.

"Finally!" Stephanie called out. "We were about to send a search party. Vespera, meet Robbie Gao. Robbie, this is the famous roommate I've been telling you about."

He stood to offer his hand, and I immediately caught his scent: something warm and comforting, like vanilla, with the distinctive sweetness that marked him as an Omega. His uniform was impeccable, clearly tailored, with a small pin on his lapel featuring interlocked male symbols.

"Robert Gao, but everyone calls me Robbie," he said, his grip firm and confident. "Theater major, junior year, and according to Stephanie, your potential partner in crime."

"Vespera Levine," I replied, settling into the empty chair. "Acting focus, first-year, and apparently your fellow target for Alpha harassment."

"Oh?" His eyebrows rose with interest. "Do tell."

As I recounted my encounter with Corvus and Oakley, Robbie's expression grew increasingly grim.

"They're starting early this year," he said when I finished. "Usually they wait until after the first week of classes to begin their campaigns."

"Campaigns?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I knew what he meant.

"Systematic harassment designed to drive out students they see as threats or inadequate," Stephanie explained, sliding a plate with a chocolate scone toward me. "Robbie's been documenting their patterns for two years."

"Documentation?"

Robbie's expression became clinical. "My family taught me to keep records when dealing with hostile Alphas. Names, dates, witnesses, exact quotes when possible. It's the only way to build a case if things escalate to the point where you need administrative intervention."

"Does administrative intervention actually work?" I asked, thinking of the financial aid director's warnings about false reports.

"Sometimes," Robbie said carefully. "But you have to be strategic about it. The pack has learned to be subtle, to stay within the bounds of what can be dismissed as 'social dynamics' or 'personality conflicts.'"

"Plus, the Ashworth is loaded, remember?" Stephanie added bitterly. "They're not going to risk that funding over a few scholarship students."

As if I could forget. I slumped in my chair, the weight of the morning settling on my shoulders. "So what's the strategy? Survive until they get bored and move on?"

"That's one approach," Robbie said. "But it rarely works. They're persistent, and they view resistance as a challenge rather than a deterrent."

"So what do you do?" I asked.

"I fight back," he said simply. "But I have advantages that most Omega students don't. My family has money—not Ashworth-level, but enough that I'm not financially vulnerable.

And my parents..." He smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his face.

"Let's say they raised me to never accept traditional bullshit about Omega limitations. "

"Robbie's parents are part of a progressive pack in California," Stephanie explained. "They actually value Omega autonomy and education."

"Revolutionary concepts," Robbie said with dry humor. "My mother's the pack Alpha, if you can believe it. When they realized I was a male Omega, it’s practically unheard of in our family line. She made sure I had every opportunity instead of being hidden away like most families would do."

I felt a stab of envy. My own family consisted of my father and me, and while Dad was supportive, he'd never really understood the challenges I faced as an Omega in competitive academic environments.

"That's amazing," I said, and meant it. "My dad tries, but he's a Beta from a pretty traditional background. The whole Omega thing is still confusing to him."

"Most parents struggle with it," Robbie said kindly. "The important thing is that he supports your dreams, even if he doesn't fully understand the obstacles."

"Speaking of obstacles," Stephanie interjected, glancing at her phone, "we should probably head to department introductions soon. Better to arrive together and claim good seats before the pack shows up."

As we gathered our things, I found myself feeling cautiously optimistic. The pack's targeting was real and frightening, but I wasn't facing it alone. Between Stephanie's fierce loyalty and Robbie's strategic experience, maybe I actually had a chance of surviving Northwood.

"One more thing," Robbie said as we prepared to leave. "Don't let them isolate you. That's their primary tactic—cut you off from support systems, make you feel like you're facing everything alone. As long as you have allies, you have options."

I nodded, tucking that advice away alongside everything else I'd learned this morning.

The theater building loomed ahead of us as we stepped outside, all gothic spires and expensive promise.

Somewhere inside, Dorian Ashworth and his pack were probably already staking out their territory, preparing to assert their dominance over another semester's worth of victims.

But they'd never dealt with a scholarship student who had real friends watching her back.