Page 99 of The Omega Exchange: Omnibus

All I do know is I hate it. Every instinct in my body needs his approval, and it makes me feel entirely too vulnerable. And seriously pathetic. I want to bang my head against the wall until I locate some sense.

He hasn't even reached out. Not that I have my cell phone anymore. My father canceled it immediately upon hearing from Byron Frasier.

I could probably afford the bill, but there's no one to call me. It's really hard to understand how the phone itself is so damn expensive.

I'd have to work an entire month without spending a dime to buy just the phone. Not to mention I unplugged the phone in my room, because every time it rang I felt a giddy excitement thinking it might be Vik.

After the second time itwasn'thim, I decided to cut my losses. The only two people who ever look for me around here know to come and knock on my door if they need me.

My life is a shit show. A weird whiney sound escapes my chest.

"Hey," Wolfe calls out. His slightly Southern accent cuts through the air. It's nowhere near as deep as Luke's country twang, but his voice fits him perfectly. Wolfe just so happens to be the only other person who occasionally cares that I'm alive. A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of his deep, growly voice. "Are y'all hiding in the office again?"

My eyes widen. He's not allowed to see me like this.

"No," I hiss. "Tell me that I'm not red from crying…"

Evie grimaces.

I whisper, "Awesome."

"Go." Evie nods to the bathroom. "Clean up. I'll keep him busy."

"Thank you," I whisper, bolting for the bathroom.

I make it to the door right as Wolfe spots Evie. His short blond hair falls in his deep blue eyes as he peeks around the corner.

He grins at my boss as his dimples pop. He's got a few days' worth of stubble on his unbelievably handsome face…

He's freaking gorgeous, and packmates with Viktor.

He absolutely cannot see me crying over his dickhead friend.

I shut the door quickly, spinning around to check my reflection.

I grab some paper towels, cursing the fact I don't have my makeup. I do everything I can to get rid of the streaks of mascara, but it really doesn't seem to help.

All I succeed in doing is cleaning off the rest of my foundation. My hands fall to the counter as I stare at the floor. Now definitely isn't the time, but I can't help myself.

My reflection looks as beautiful as ever, but I almost wish it didn't. I wish the outside reflected the inside so everyone would know how awful I feel. Sure, I've got resting bitch face with the best of them, but that doesn't detract from the overall package.

The tough facade is a product of growing up with a man like my father. You've got to exude cold, calculating confidence or the predators descend.

If I was truly as soulless as my father then I wouldn't be hesitating right now.

I heard Luke come in while I was finishing my makeup.

My mom would be mortified if she could see me now. How my tender, sweet mother ended up with a bastard like my father, I'll never understand.

I do know I don't have a choice in what I do next, and it would make my mom very sad to know that.

She always told me to have integrity even if those around you don't… but she's dead.

If I want to survive life on my father's chess board then I can't be like her.

I have to be as ruthless as he is until I gain my freedom.

I let the towel gape enough that the tops of my breasts are visible. I pull open the door and head out into the suite. I stop dead in my tracks as my mouth falls open. I take a hesitant step back.