“Perfect,” he'd say, and warmth would spread through my chest that had nothing to do with heat. “You're going to be incredible at the gala.”
Afternoons were for recovery. Long baths with salts Lucian had bought. Gentle stretches to work out the soreness in my muscles. Theo would bring me books from somewhere in the penthouse, stacking them on my nightstand with sticky notes marking passages he thought I'd like. I'd curl up in bed and read, feeling cared for in ways I'd never experienced.
Evenings became my favorite time. We'd gather in the living room, all of us piled onto the oversized couches with blankets and pillows. Someone would pick a movie, which was usually something mindless and entertaining, nothing that required too much thought. Lucian would order food from restaurants that apparently delivered to buildings like this at any hour, and we'd eat while watching, passing containers back and forth.
I'd sit between Theo and Kade, both of them warm and solid on either side of me. Lucian would claim the other end of the couch, his feet finding mine under the blankets, a casual contact that somehow meant everything. Sometimes during the movie, one of them would stroke my hair or take my hand, small gestures that made me feel precious.
And I'd watch them during these ordinary moments. Watch Theo laugh at something stupid on screen, his entire face lighting up. Watch Kade argue good-naturedly with Lucian about plot holes, their bickering full of affection. Watch Lucian get up to make coffee for everyone, returning with four mugs arranged perfectly on a tray.
I was falling for them. Maybe had already fallen. The realization came gradually, building like a melody I was learningto sing. Not just gratitude for their help during my heat, though I was grateful. Not just physical attraction, though that was certainly there. Something deeper. Something that lived in the way they made space for me, the way they listened when I spoke, the way they never made me feel less than whole despite my broken pieces.
But the voice of the past still whispered its poison. You don't deserve this. They'll realize you're damaged and throw you out. No one keeps broken things.
I'd catch myself thinking about their marks. About what it would mean to wear them permanently on my skin, visible proof I belonged to them and they to me. In my old pack, they never marked me like a pack would. Bane didn’t believe it. He said he owned me, and no one would dare challenge him on it for fear of death. But when I imagined Theo's teeth on my neck, or Kade's, or Lucian's, I felt something different. I felt safe, free, and at home.
A week after my heat broke, I sat on the couch between Theo and Kade again. Lucian had moved to the piano in the corner, playing something soft and meandering while the movie played on mute. The opening notes drifted through the room, creating a soundtrack that felt perfect for the moment.
I leaned into Theo's side, feeling his arm come around my shoulders automatically. Kade's hand found mine, our fingers lacing together in a grip that had become familiar. The blanket was soft; the room was warm, and I felt safer than I'd ever felt in my life.
My eyes grew heavy as Lucian's music wove around us. I fought against sleep for a while, wanting to stay present in this moment, wanting to hold on to the feeling of being exactly where I belonged. But eventually, exhaustion won.
Just before I drifted off, I let myself imagine it. Really imagine it, not just as an impossible dream but as somethingthat could be real. Wearing their marks. Singing at the gala with them in the audience. Coming home to this penthouse, to them, every night. Building a life that wasn't about survival but about living.
The fear was still there, whispering that I didn't deserve this. But for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, possibly, I could learn to silence it. Maybe these Alphas saw something in me worth keeping. That maybe I could choose them the way they'd chosen me, freely and completely.
A tentative smile curved my lips as I surrendered to sleep. Theo's arm tightened slightly around my shoulders. Kade's thumb stroked across my knuckles. Lucian's piano notes wrapped around us like a blessing.
And for now, for this moment, I let myself believe in the possibility of home.
Chapter Thirty
Jasmine
It had been almost a month since my last heat; it was due anytime now, and I prayed to whoever reigned up there that it wouldn’t come tonight, the night of the gala performance. I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror as I finished off my stage makeup. Then again, I’d been that worried about tonight all week, I doubted it would show up at all!
I wasn’t worried about the singing. I knew I could do that with my eyes closed and a gag over my mouth. But what made me nervous was all those people. Not just any people, but reporters, celebrities, and potential donors for the charity this was all for. The gala was being held to help disadvantaged children. Children who had been orphaned in the great earthquake of Shaker City. And since the orphanage had burnt down, and the social services system was shot, there was nowhere for these children to go.
The lady who’d run the orphanage had sadly died in that fire, but her daughter was the guest of honor tonight, celebrating everything she had done to rebuild a bigger, better, and brighter place for these kids. In the meantime, she and her pack had taken every single one of them in... although that sounded a little too cramped for my liking!
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I smoothed them down the front of my gown for the fifth time in as many minutes; the silk slipping beneath my clammy palms. The midnight blue fabric was beautiful, catching the light and throwing it back in whispers of inspiration.
There was a knock at the door, and a woman with a microphone and headset stepped in, holding a clipboard. “It’s time,” she said. I nodded and she left. But as she did, my legs crumpled, breathing screaming through my chest, like trying to take a breath in a room full of water. Gripping the side of the dressing table, I stared at my reflection.
Young, with eyes that held the light and sparkled. I could do this. Heck, I’d put make-up on! It was something I rarely bothered doing, but damn, I looked good. I mentally chastised myself for thinking that way. Catching myself mid-thought, I remembered why I was here. Here, to sing my heart out, to prove I am somebody that mattered, somebody worth listening to, worth looking at. Not a punching bag or another body to fuck when they wanted. I was a proud, beautiful Omega, and I glowed.
I made my way to the stage, concentrating on my breathing. The backstage corridor was narrow and dim, a stark contrast to what waited beyond the heavy velvet curtain. I pressed one trembling hand against the wall to steady myself, feeling the cool plaster beneath my fingertips, grounding me in something solid when everything else felt like it was spinning away.
Through a gap in the curtain, I could see them. The crowd. Hundreds of them, maybe more, filling the ballroom in their expensive evening wear. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling like frozen fireworks, casting prisms of light across faces I didn't recognize but somehow knew were important.
My stomach twisted itself into knots that had knots of their own. This was different from singing on street corners. Different from the recording studio, where only my Alphas had watched. This was exposure on a scale I'd never experienced, vulnerability in front of people who would judge every note, every breath, every imperfection.
The gown suddenly felt too tight across my chest. I tugged at the bodice, trying to create space for my lungs to expand properly, but the boning held firm. Couture didn't accommodate panic attacks.
A memory flashed: me crouched in an alley, my voice raw from singing through the cold, counting coins with frozen fingers while strangers walked past without looking. The contrast between then and now was so vast it made my head spin. How had I gotten here? It had only been six weeks! What made me think I belonged on that stage?
“You're going to be incredible.” Lucian's voice cut through my spiral, warm and certain, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. I turned to find him approaching with sheet music tucked under one arm, his rosewood scent reaching me before he did. He wore a tailored suit that made him look sophisticated and artful, every inch the accomplished musician he was.
“I can't do this,” I whispered, and my voice came out thin and fractured. “Lucian, there are so many people, and they're all—”
