"Getting laid by you, right?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral even though my hindbrain is starting to growl.
She laughs, but it's not a happy sound. She pokes at her pancakes again, not meeting our eyes.
"Oh no. Like, they had other partners."
The table goes dead silent.
Did she just say what I think she said? Other partners? While they had an Omega? While they had her?
"What," Theo says flatly. Not a question.
A demand for clarification.
Reverie must hear something in our voices—or smell something in our scents—because she looks up.
Her expression shifts to uncertainty.
"They had other Omegas," she explains, her voice getting smaller. Quieter. Like she's ashamed of something that isn't her fault. "Or side chicks, I guess. Whatever you want to call them. I was just the main Omega. The official one. The one who handled the boring stuff like paperwork and cleaning and making sure they looked good at business functions."
Just the main Omega.
JUST the main Omega.
Like being their bonded pack member—their supposedly cherished and protected Omega—was some kind of job title instead of a sacred bond. Like she was interchangeable.
Replaceable.
A role that could be filled by anyone as long as they checked the right boxes.
My hands are clenched into fists under the table so tight my knuckles are probably white. I can feel my scent spiking with anger—probably filling the booth with aggressive Alpha pheromones that are making nearby tables nervous. Grayson's gone completely rigid beside her, his maple-honey scent turning sharp and dangerous. Theo's jaw is so tight I'm genuinely surprised his teeth don't crack from the pressure. The cedar-smoke of his scent has gone acrid.
The three of us are a unified front of barely contained rage. I've prosecuted criminals who made me less angry than hearing about what her ex-pack did to her. And we're in public. In a family diner with Christmas music playing and kids at nearby tables.
Otherwise I'd probably be flipping furniture.
When none of us respond—when we're all too busy trying not to flip this table and track down her ex-pack to commit justifiable homicide—she continues awkwardly.
"That's why I haven't, um." She clears her throat. "Done the dirty deed with anyone regularly. Because they always got that outside the home. So I figured..."
Did she figure we'd be the same? She thought we'd treat her like they did—as convenient when needed but ultimately disposable. Replaceable with other Omegas whenever we felt like it.
"That's not how packs work," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than intended. Harder. "That's not how any of this works."
She shrugs—trying to appear casual but her scent gives away her discomfort.
"Well, it was okay for them. I had no choice but to accept it."
No choice.
She had no choice but to watch her pack fuck other Omegas while treating her like hired help. No choice but to accept being treated as less than. No choice but to stay because what were her options?
I'm going to kill them.
I'm actually going to find Kael and his pack and end them. Slowly. Painfully. Make sure they understand exactly what they did wrong before they die. I’m sure Theo would be down to join. Grayson would simply be the get away driver…
"That's never happening again," Grayson says, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Whether we see how things go with us or if this doesn't work out—you're never accepting that again."
"Whatever pack you end up with next," Theo adds, his olive eyes hard as stone, "they wouldn't dare try that shit. Or we're killing them."
