I hadn’t asked him for help before because, honestly, it sounded a bit insane.
Hey, so, my father orchestrated this whole plot to pretend my brother committed suicide and even went far enough to bury someone else in his place. I have no idea why he would do that, no. Nope, I don’t have any evidence, either, but please help me find out what happened, anyway?
I’d planned to try today, though. Plead my case and pray he believed me. But I’d run out of time sooner than I’d thought.
Instead of asking for his help with Jule, I had to ask him to pretend he knew Finch, get him a fake ID, and ask my father to put him up in a villa.
Finch was probably just punishing me. What kind of criminals didn’t have a way to get a fake ID? It was stupid, anyway, because people always underestimated how hard it was to keep up a different persona, especially with dangerous people like my father. I doubted he could manage it.
It’d probably all blow up in his face, and I’d have to pray he didn’t take me down with him.
I smoothed my face as security buzzed us through the gates to Soren’s place. Soren’s personality started showing in his decor as we drove down the winding path to Wintervale Manor. Purple bushes ran alongside us, and the road was paved a matching hue. The mansion itself was an unassuming white, the only hint of color the large, purple doors. I stepped out of the car, clutching a gift bag in my hands, and walked up the steps.
I pushed the doors open and stepped into Wonderland.
He’d redecorated since I’d last visited, the color scheme made up of mint green, pinks, and purples. There was acouch across from me that looked like it was made of velvet bubbles, and the wavy lines on the bright pillars and curving, tall molding along the walls gave it a distorted, disconcerting perspective.
Across from the main entrance was a receiving desk manned by Soren’s secretary, Lyra. She had long, ginger hair that was pulled up in a neat ponytail. She was dressed in a tight neon green skirt with a matching blazer, and her chunky heels were a shade of bright pink that matched her silky shirt.
Her golden eyes flicked up to me as I walked in, highlighted in the same bright pink. They gave her away as an omega, even without being close enough to scent her. And not just an omega but an infamous gold pack. Gold pack omegas had rejected the injection the institute provided to ensure we didn’t give birth to rogue alphas. They were often relegated to living on the fringes of society, certainly not working jobs as a secretary to a billionaire.
But things like this were the reason I idolized Soren.
“Miss Fairchild,” she said, tilting her head.
“Good morning, Lyra.”
“Follow me.” She turned and led me through the spacious mansion.
Our footsteps echoed in the hallways through the empty space, something that never changed, no matter how many times he redecorated. I didn’t know how he could stand the emptiness; the omega in me was practically whimpering. Then again, Soren had gone his whole life without a pack, so he didn’t really seem to be affected by typical omega instincts.
Lyra opened the door for me, and I stepped into the airy sunroom I was familiar with.
“Birdie!” Soren sounded pleased as he beckoned me over.
I went and pressed a kiss to his cheek, the clinical tang of scent blockers assaulting my nostrils.
He wore a fluffy pink jacket with a purple net tank top below. His bright shiny heels went up to his thighs, not quite touching his shorts. Despite being close to my dad’s age, he maintained an ageless beauty that seemed effortless. Perhaps it was because he was an omega, though it was more likely because he was a successful combination of rich and vain.
“Soren, it’s always a pleasure,” I said, offering him a genuine smile. I sank down into one of the plush chairs and lounged back. The tea was already on the little cart, and I helped myself to a cup.
“I imagine you have anexcellentreason you rearranged our tea on such short notice?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, of course,” I replied, trying not to let my nerves show. “Thank you for accommodating me.”
Soren waved his hand. “Unfortunately, to squeeze you in, we have to make it shorter than normal. You’re lucky I love a good gossip sesh with my favourite duchess.” He shot me a wink.
We’d met at some social event a few years back, and he’d been intently interested in the gossip I shared. I’d wanted to impress him, so I slipped him some of the stuff I’d overheard in my hobby spying.
He’d noticed that my tidbits of information had turned out to beveryexclusive andveryaccurate, and before long, I’d found myself with a standing monthly invite to tea. Or, rather, to spill the tea.
“What’s this?” he asked, leaning forward and holding out his hand for my present.
“It’s the exclusive pre-launch package for my next skin care line,” I said as he opened the bag.
I fiddled nervously with thehem of my dress. I didn’t know if he liked my brand, though I did actually try and make the products nice; it felt disingenuous to sell such expensive items if they were shitty. I’d had to do a lot of work to subtly convince Father it was worth paying for the product to be high quality.
Soren beamed up at me, making me relax. “You shouldn't have, Laurel, you’re such a sweetheart,” he said, setting it to the side.
