Page 54 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter thirty-eight

Family Dinner

Dante

Dante had attended precisely forty-seven corporate dining events in his career, each one an orchestrated exercise in networking and optimized social interaction. None of them had prepared him for whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

The community center’s main hall had been transformed into something that looked like organized chaos.

Mismatched tables pushed together, chairs that came from a dozen different sources, and the kind of ambient noise that would have triggered immediate complaints to facility management in any Gensyn building.

People moved around each other with the easy familiarity of actual relationships rather than professional courtesy, and the complete absence of pheromonal signatures created an oddly neutral atmosphere that he found both disconcerting and refreshing.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere, Dante’s trained eye didn’t miss the strategic placement of exits, the discrete weapons positioned at key points around the room, or the way several community members maintained clear sightlines to all entrances.

This wasn’t just a community dinner—it was a carefully designed security operation disguised as a social gathering.

The knowledge of why the Nulls lived this way—always armed, always watchful—gave their hospitality new meaning.

These people had taken an enormous risk by sheltering two strangers who could potentially lead corporate forces back to their sanctuary.

A sanctuary that existed not just because Nulls lacked designations, but because corporations like Gensyn had actively hunted them for experimentation.

His employer had been capturing people like these for decades, trying to “fix” them, to force them into a system they naturally existed outside of. And he’d never questioned it, never considered what happened to those “research subjects” after extraction.

“Dante!” Lilac appeared at his elbow with a knowing smile. “órale, come on, you should meet some people. They’re curious about you.”

Dante glanced at Orion, who looked about as comfortable with the attention as a cat in a thunderstorm, then allowed himself to be led toward a cluster of people who were trying very hard to look like they weren’t staring.

The introductions blurred together—Arlo, who ran the settlement’s electrical systems and had some polite questions about corporate energy management; Elena, whose weathered hands spoke of a lifetime of mechanical work and who seemed curious about his background; David, whose seemed like he was in charge of watching the children running about but didn’t even glance at them until they started fighting .

A functioning society of people who existed outside corporate classification systems. Gensyn’s behavioral analysts would have been fascinated by the inefficiency.

The bite mark on his neck throbbed gently as he spoke, a constant reminder of what Tallulah had told them.

He could feel something new in his body—a strange awareness that seemed centered on Orion, like an invisible tether connecting them across the room.

Each time Orion moved, Dante knew it without looking.

Each change in his expression registered like a physical sensation.

Dante searched for social hierarchies that didn’t exist, waiting for authority figures who never materialized. When Elena asked if he wanted more food, he nearly responded with his employee ID number. When Arlo mentioned work rotations, Dante waited for productivity metrics that never came.

“So how do you make decisions?” Dante asked, genuine curiosity overcoming his cautious silence. “Without a corporate management structure?”

Arlo and Elena exchanged a look that suggested this was a common question from outsiders.

“Consensus,” Arlo said simply. “We talk things through, figure out what works best for the community. Big decisions get brought to community meetings where everyone has a voice.”

“But that’s—” Dante stopped himself before saying “inefficient,” though the thought was automatic. “Different from what I’m used to.”

Elena smiled knowingly. “Corporate territories like to pretend their way is the only way that works. But humans lived in communities long before corporations existed. We’re just remembering how.”

But Dante couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being studied.

Not with hostility—the Nulls were too careful for that—but with the kind of intense curiosity usually reserved for rare specimens.

Conversations would pause when he and Orion passed, then resume in hushed tones.

People kept glancing at them when they thought they weren’t looking.

“So,” Elena said, settling across from him with careful neutrality, “Sage mentioned you’re from Gensyn territory. That must be... different from here.”

“Considerably,” Dante said, accepting another plate of food that smelled infinitely better than anything Gensyn’s nutrition optimization protocols had ever produced.

He stared at it for a moment, realizing he had no idea what half of it was or how to begin eating without utensil specifications and portion guidelines.

“Everything’s very... structured there.”

“Must be weird being somewhere without all that oversight,” Arlo added, his tone curious but cautious.

Weird doesn’t begin to cover it. Dante’s entire professional identity was built on understanding systems, analyzing data, and optimizing outcomes.

Being in a place where people seemed to function without corporate management protocols was like discovering an entirely new form of social organization.

He kept waiting for someone to mention quarterly reviews or efficiency ratings.

The absence of any organizational framework was making his eye twitch.

“It’s... an adjustment,” he said.

“I imagine especially for someone with your... background,” Elena said, her eyes flicking briefly to the bite mark on his neck.

The subtle reference to his claimed status sent a jolt through Dante. He wasn’t used to being the object of interest rather than the observer. Here, among people who existed outside designation hierarchies, that status meant nothing.

Except that wasn’t true anymore, was it? According to Tallulah, he wasn’t just an Alpha now. He was a claimed Alpha. Bound to an Omega through a biological process that supposedly rewrote the power dynamics he’d taken for granted his entire life.

The conversation continued, polite but probing, and Dante became increasingly aware that he was failing some kind of social interaction he didn’t understand the rules for. The people seemed to be talking just to... talk. For pleasure.

He caught fragments—”...never seen anything like...“ and “...Granny Lu said...” and “...forty years since...”

Across the room, he could see Orion engaged in what looked like a careful conversation with a group of younger Nulls. They were asking him questions too, but with the same cautious curiosity. Whatever had them all so interested, they weren’t ready to ask about it.

Something warm and possessive flared in Dante’s chest as he watched Orion navigate the social minefield with surprising grace. The defensive tension that held his shoulders rigid was present but muted, replaced by watchful alertness rather than aggressive readiness.

“He’s adapting well,” Lilac said, appearing beside him with the kind of stealth of a trained operative. She followed his gaze to Orion. “Not everyone takes to Null life easily, ? sabes ?”

“He’s not adapting,” Dante said, then paused as he realized the truth of his own words. “He’s remembering. This is probably the first time he’s been somewhere he doesn’t have to fight just to exist.”

The thought hit him harder than it should have.

“You’re thinking very loudly over there,” Lilac observed, her tone amused but not intrusive.

“Just processing some... career revelations,” Dante said dryly.

“I bet,” Lilac replied, her scarred face creasing with a knowing smile. “Figuring out your whole life’s been built on corporate lies will do that to a person. ”

Lilac nodded toward where Tallulah sat holding court at the far end of the room, surrounded by what looked like the community’s elders. “See how they’re watching you? You and your boy represent something important to these people. Something they haven’t seen in a long time.”

Around them, the careful observation continued—people stealing glances, conversations that stopped and started, the sense of being at the center of something significant that no one was quite ready to name.

A burst of laughter from Orion’s direction caught his attention, and Dante found himself smiling at the sound. When was the last time he’d heard Orion laugh like that? Open and unguarded, without the sharp edge of hysteria or defiance that usually colored his amusement?

Never , his mind supplied unhelpfully. He’d never heard Orion laugh like that.

I have to protect that at all costs.