Page 1 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

Sam

My barely-a-lawyer first-year associate scrambles around his papers, a single droplet of sweat I fixate on rolling down his temple.

He looks up at me, and I somehow already know what his words are going to be.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Snyder, but I am afraid that…

there’s nothing more we can do at the moment. ”

The disappointment that passes through me is dull. I expected this, didn’t I? My heart doesn’t even sink. After all, it’s been sitting low in my stomach for the past three months.

I’m tired. Exhausted. What’s the point of responding, anyway?

He watches me, squirming in his seat and narrowing his eyes like he’s uncomfortable with my lack of reaction. And if I hadn’t received so many looks of pity to the point that just a hint of it makes me nauseous, I maybe would’ve appreciated the pained, guilty expression on his face.

“I consulted some of my colleagues. I even took it to the partners,” he assures me hastily while I unfocus my eyes on the wall behind him. “It’s—” He sighs. “We could still try to bring the case back to the court, but they will call for it to be dismissed again and…most likely succeed.”

“What a predicament, huh?” I murmur.

The guy is so green I could basically play golf on his face. And for a moment, I want to. Want to smack him in the head with a golf club.

I quickly suppress those urges. The therapist I saw would probably say that these thoughts aren’t productive. He’s not the one I should be angry at, anyway. It’s not his fault. The flaw is in the system. In this shitty, cruel world and the way it functions.

Or am I the problem? I try to figure that out every single day.

Taking a shaky breath, he darts his hands across the legal paperwork on the table and then continues, probably thinking that giving more detail will somehow make me feel better. Perhaps he knows it won’t, and that is why he drones on, driven by his guilt.

“What happened— This exact situation is why the laws ‘protecting’ alphas in case of extreme pheromone-related sexual situations were put in place. I…I entirely sympathize with how unfair they might be,” he says, swallowing his words while he loosens his tie slightly, “believe me, sir. What matters is that these laws, unfortunately, have very little room for us to argue that what those men did while they were in rut, and you in heat, was legally their fault or fully in their control.”

For the first time today, a ping of sharp, real emotion rushes through me.

“So whose fault was it?” I ask, scowling back at him. This beta has no idea. He recites the law, the letters on the paper, and tries to understand, but he can’t.

“I’m sorry, sir, I— Of course, what happened was not your fault,” he assures me before escaping my gaze, gulping so loudly I hear it. “I was, in no way, implying that.”

His gaze flickers over the USB drive lying in the plastic bag on the table.

A copy of the CCTV footage, which was our largest and most important piece of evidence, is on it.

I can tell it makes him squirm. I know he’s watched it, and that makes me feel naked and slimy in my skin the moment that thought enters my mind.

In the hot flash of pathetic anger coursing through my veins, I wonder if he thinks of it right now.

Is that all I get? Everybody just looking in, feeling sorry for me? Feeling uncomfortable?

I wish I’d never seen it. Even if there was nothing explicit, the brutal clarity of it hurt.

There I was at the start—walking into the restroom, sweaty and unwell as I went there to deal with the unusual intensity of my heat that day.

All I needed was a moment to breathe. Some cold water to splash on my face and a chance to collect myself.

About a minute later, a group of boisterous, chatting alphas walked in. Five men. All tall and dressed in expensive suits. The best and brightest of the rising workers in the company.

Then, the time skips. Thirty-seven minutes. Thirty-seven minutes of…unseen atrocities.

They exited first, adjusting their ties and straightening their blazers. Patting each other’s backs. Laughing. Off to continue their workday…

Twelve minutes later, I walk out. Holding onto the wall. Trembling. Dizzy. My clothes a mess, my hair a mess, my world completely, utterly broken.

Sharply, I close my eyes. Tightening my fist under the table, I draw a slow, deep breath. I tell myself that someone in that footage was not me. It was somebody else. Had to be.

The small, dinky conference room is quiet for a moment until the lawyer speaks again.

“I will see if I am able to transfer you or find an attorney who’s a little more high-profile and willing to work on your case pro bono, but…

like I said, it unfortunately doesn’t look good.

” He gathers some courage near the end, firming up his voice.

I open my eyes slowly, looking at him. If anything, at least he’s giving it to me straight. No more dancing around. No more false hope. I can appreciate that if nothing else. Regardless of this entire meeting being a waste of time.

“Torken is a massive company, so their lawyers are cutthroat, frankly. You were in heat. The defense is going to use this against us. It will be hard to argue. Alpha going into a rut and throwing themselves on an omega because of an extreme hormonal reaction? Despite the laws being so strongly in their favor in this state, we could handle that. Unfortunately, the fact that you were in heat and emitted strong pheromones can easily be used to get them off the hook. Not to mention—”

Something about my reaction makes him stop. My entire body feels hot and numb, and my heart pounds loudly inside my head, before my brain even fully comprehends where his sentence was going.

“Not to mention what?” I mutter, pressing my hand over my stomach.

The attorney sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Snyder. It— N-not to mention your decision to keep the child that resulted from the situation, they will…

” He pauses and looks down like he’s psyching himself up to say it out loud.

“They will counter that if it was rape, you would have never kept the baby. They are going to argue that you are only trying to use this to get monetary compensation from the rich alphas involved. I can recall several past cases that the defense will—”

A piercing squeak echoes through the room as I spring up, pushing the cheap metal chair away from the table with such force that it nearly topples.

“We’re done, I think,” I mumble, barely looking at him, and head toward the door.

“M-Mister Snyder, wait…” I hear him behind me, but he doesn’t chase.

“I’m still going to attempt referring your case, like I said!

” he shouts after me hesitantly. I’m already dashing through the hallway, his words growing muffled in my ears.

“I will give you a call if anything changes! Please, don’t hesitate to—”

A bang of the stairwell door silences his faint voice completely.

Holding my hand over my mouth, I lean against the wall with my back.

The stifled sobs try to push their way out, but there are no tears.

It’s been a while since I lost the ability to cry.

The panic and the pain…they’re still there.

Rushing through my chest, paralyzing my entire body. I cling to the wall, knees shaking.

This isn’t good for the baby.

Closing my eyes, I fight to get a grip on my shallow inhales and exhales. I squat down next to the stairs, holding onto the railing.

I thought I could do it. I thought I could listen to exactly what I expected to hear. Hell, I even thought that I was ready for that naive sliver of hope of them maybe finding a way to proceed with the case to be crushed, but I wasn’t.

I wasn’t ready at all.

Still, it all burns and fills me with rage. With that maddening fury born of the helplessness I’ve experienced over and over again, magnified tenfold every single time since it happened and I’ve had to talk about it, hear about it, think about it, or relive it.

As soon as I manage to get myself somewhat under control—when it no longer feels like I’m being run over by a steamroller—the realization sets in.

Maybe it’s time. Maybe everyone who’s told me I should drop the case before it ruins my life any further was right.

My well-meaning parents. My supervisors. My so-called friends.

It may be time to let go, to take the loss, accept the damn settlement, and…resume living my life. Or what’s left of it.

I stare at the floor. Now that the anger has faded, the familiar numbness settles over me. The air in the stairwell cools my face, but I hardly feel it. Feel anything.

This is my life, I remind myself. No matter what I do, I can’t change that.

I’m certainly not the first omega, or the first person, to go through something like this.

Nor will I be the last. What is so special about me that I thought anyone would care or that the privileged bastards who raped me would get punished or even take responsibility?

Nothing. That’s right. Nothing’s special about me.

I drop my head between my shoulders and exhale deeply, trying to recall the therapist’s advice.

Slowly, I sit myself down on the bottom step of the stairs, focusing on the panic gradually humming away, leaving through my fingertips.

As I do, I glance at my stomach. It’s almost starting to look like I’m actually pregnant, not just bloated.

This. This is the reason to keep going now. I can’t forget that.

I keep my breathing slow and try to focus inward. Forward. My friends' shocked faces—well, people I considered friends—flit through my mind, and I push them aside. No matter what happened to me or what they think, the life growing inside me is a blessing.

Even if this child was born out of the most disgusting, violent act, I get to choose what that means to me. Not anybody else.

I smile faintly, thinking about how differently I would have viewed this topic before.

A few months back, I probably would’ve felt the same apprehension.

But somehow, without knowing how or why, from the first moment when they told me at the checkup after I reported all those strange, uncomfortable symptoms…

I knew this was my lifeline—my way of pushing through this shit and continuing to live—even if I didn’t realize it right away.

It might be selfishness. A primal sense of survival. Or some hormone-driven parental instinct baked into my brain that’s tricking me into this. Either way, it’s irrelevant.

Something good needs to come out of it. It couldn’t have been only misery.

“It’s just the two of us,” I whisper, caressing my stomach. “Nothing else matters.”

I hide in the stairwell for a little while before I muster the strength to get up.

No matter how low I feel, I can’t lose sight of what’s important.

If there is no chance of the case going any further, I might have to accept the offer that was made in the beginning.

I have to return to work, too. Even though they can't easily fire me now that I’m pregnant, these damn corporations always find a way.

Not to mention I’ve almost burned through all my savings. I can’t keep going like this. It isn’t just me anymore. I keep forgetting that.

I need to do better.

No more surviving from paycheck to paycheck or living on fast food. My shitty little studio won’t do, either. I’m about to be a parent. I need to sort out my life.

I’ve held off on accepting the settlement for as long as I could, but if I have no better choice, it’s the best I can do for both of us. My pride be damned.

A small sum of money that will get me a decent place and the transfer to the sister branch of the company in the city three hours away—that was the tempting, easy way out they gave me.

The new position has a higher salary, too.

They knew exactly what to dangle in front of my face for me not to go public or keep on fighting.

The bitter taste in my mouth stings. Yet I swallow it, and together with it, my pride.

I’m going to need to save up for essentials, toys… God knows what else. And getting away from this place, from this city and these streets that all lead to that one building, that one memory… Isn’t that what I’ve wanted?

I nod to myself, steadying my breath as I get ready to reach for the door handle.

“This is what we’re going to do.”

Accept the deal. Move. Work for as long and as hard as you can.

I can’t stay locked in my apartment forever, hiding from life and people. From…alphas. “We’ll be alright,” I say firmly before walking out, hoping my lawyer is still somewhere in the building.