The man ignores the jab, extending his hand to me instead. “Ryder Blackthorn. And you must be the new doctor everyone’s talking about.”
I hesitate before taking his hand, not missing how both Noah and Grayson tense beside me. “Holly Chang.”
His grip is firm, holding a beat too long. “A pleasure to meet you, Holly. I’ve heard... interesting things.”
“What are you doing back in town, Blackthorn?” Grayson’s voice is low, dangerous. “Thought you only showed your face in summer with the other tourists.”
Ryder finally releases my hand, turning his attention to Grayson. His smile sharpens. “Ghost. Still hiding behind that ridiculous mask, I see.”
Grayson doesn’t respond, but I feel him coil tighter beside me, like a spring ready to snap.
“My business isn’t any of yours,” Ryder continues smoothly, “unless you’ve reconsidered selling that run-down general store. I did make Jenkins an offer first, after all.”
“I would have happily let you buy it,” Grayson replies, “if I didn’t know you only wanted the land to sell to developers.”
Ryder laughs, the sound cold and dismissive. “You’re all ridiculous, you know that? Clinging to this dying town like it’s something worth saving. Heat Mountain is nothing more than a tourist trap waiting to happen. Might as well sell while the land is still worth something.”
The casual cruelty in his voice makes my stomach turn. I’ve only been here a short time, but I’ve seen the community, the way people look out for each other. It’s more than Ryder Blackthorn could possibly understand.
“We’re here for a celebration,” Noah says, his voice clipped. “One that doesn’t include you. Time to move on, Blackthorn.”
Ryder doesn’t budge, his eyes sliding back to me with a look that makes my skin crawl. “What about you, Dr. Chang? I’d be happy to show you something a bit more exciting than a small-town bar.”
Before I can tell him where to stuff it, Noah and Grayson both stand, the movement so synchronized it’s as if they rehearsed it. The message is clear—alpha posturing at its most basic.Back off.
Ryder just laughs, reaching into his jacket to pull out a business card. He tosses it onto the table in front of me. “Callme when you get tired of spending all your time with small-town folk. I could show you what real civilization looks like.”
The condescension in his tone ignites something in me. I’ve spent my entire life being underestimated—as an omega, as a woman, as someone who doesn’t fit neatly into other people’s expectations. I’m done with it.
“I prefer small towns to small minds,” I say, meeting his gaze steadily. “Which you clearly have.”
The bar goes quiet around us, conversations pausing as people sense the confrontation brewing. Ryder’s face darkens, a flash of genuine anger breaking through his polished exterior.
“I should have known,” he spits, “you’re the type who needs to jump on multiple dicks a night to stay satisfied. I thought only omegas knew how to be real whores.”
The words aren’t nearly as insulting as his tone of disgust. I flinch, shame and anger warring inside me. But before I can respond, Grayson moves.
It happens so fast I almost miss it. He cracks his neck once, a casual movement that somehow manages to be terrifying, then delivers an open-palm slap across Ryder’s face with enough force to send the man staggering backward.
The sound echoes through the now-silent bar. Ryder catches himself against another table, his cheek already reddening from the impact.
“If I have to drag you outside,” Grayson says, his voice deadly quiet, “my fist will be closed for the next hit. And you won’t be getting up afterward.” He pauses, then adds with chilling calm, “Unluckily for you, most of the town’s medical personnel are otherwise occupied. So it’s probably best for you to leave on your own.”
No one moves to intervene. Not the bartender, not the other patrons, not even the table of first responders. It’s as if the entireroom has collectively decided that whatever happens to Ryder Blackthorn, he has it coming.
Ryder straightens, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes burn with humiliation and rage. “You’re going to regret that,” he says, his gaze sweeping over all of us before settling on me. “This whole town doesn’t know how sorry it’s going to be.”
He turns and staggers toward the exit, the crowd parting silently to let him pass.
As the door slams behind him, conversations gradually resume, though I notice several people glancing our way with expressions ranging from curiosity to concern.
“Well,” Kai says brightly, breaking the tension at our table, “I think we need another round.”
“I’m sorry,” Grayson says quietly, looking at me. “I shouldn’t have?—“
“Don’t apologize,” I cut him off, reaching for his hand under the table. “He deserved it.”
Grayson’s fingers curl around mine, warm and calloused. The simple touch grounds me, pushing back the lingering unease from Ryder’s words.
