"Vivian, Diana," she says smoothly. "How lovely to see you both. I trust you enjoyed the performance?"
"Very much," Vivian says. "Your theater program produces excellent work."
"We try," Eleanor says. Her eyes flick to me, ice-cold. "Though of course, some students require more... management than others."
The word lands like a slap.
"Management," I repeat slowly.
"Vespera has been a challenging student," Eleanor continues, speaking about me like I'm not standing right there. "Talented, certainly. But difficult. Resistant to guidance. The kind ofpersonality that struggles in professional environments that require collaboration and—"
"Excuse me," Vivian interrupts, voice sharp. "Are you actually badmouthing your own student to industry professionals?"
Eleanor's smile doesn't waver. "I'm providing context. Ms. Levine has... complicated personal situations that affect her professionalism."
"Complicated," I say. "You mean your son claiming me during heat against my will?"
The conversation around us goes quiet. People turning, listening.
Eleanor's composure cracks slightly. "That's a private family matter—"
"There's nothing private about it," I say, voice carrying. "Your son and his pack marked me without consent. Stalked me across campus. Made my life hell because you told them to break me."
"That's not—" Eleanor starts.
"And now you're trying to sabotage my career before it starts," I continue. "Telling scouts I'm difficult. Unmanageable. Unprofessional. Because you're terrified I might actually succeed without your permission."
The pack has moved closer. I feel them at my back, supportive presence.
"You're making a scene," Eleanor hisses.
"Good." I turn to face the growing crowd. "Let's make it a really good scene."
I look at Dorian, Oakley, Corvus. "Kneel."
"Vespera—" Dorian starts, confused.
"I said kneel. Here. Now. In front of everyone."
Understanding flashes across Dorian's face. Then something that might be relief. He drops to his knees in the middle of the Morrison Auditorium lobby, in his expensive suit, in front of his mother and the scouts and everyone who matters.
Oakley and Corvus follow. Three Alphas kneeling for the Omega they claimed.
The crowd gasps. Phones come out. This is going to be everywhere by morning.
Perfect.
"They marked me in private during heat," I say, voice clear. "When I couldn't consent properly. When I was vulnerable. When it could be hidden."
I move to Dorian first, tilt his chin up. His eyes are wide but there's pride there too. Understanding.
"But I'm marking them here," I continue. "Publicly. Clear-headed. Choosing."
I bite down on his throat, hard and claiming. He gasps but doesn't pull away. When I step back, blood wells from the mark—visible, unmistakable proof.
Eleanor makes a strangled sound.
I move to Oakley next. "You're mine," I tell him, and mark him just as thoroughly. His moan is loud enough for everyone to hear.
