I straighten my shoulders and follow the others down the hall, boots echoing too loud in the quiet.The moment we step into the conference room, I want to walk right the fuck back out.
The place reeks—perfume, desperation, and that artificial omega-sweetness companies pump into the vents when they’retrying to make alphas feel compliant. The overhead lights buzz like they’re already judging us.
And then there’s Marilyn.
Tight blazer. Tighter bun. Smile sharp enough to slice through bone. She gives us this fake-alpha grin that makes my skin crawl. Before we’re even fully in the room, she snaps her fingers at us like we’re rookies who showed up late to drills.
“You’re ten minutes behind schedule,” she scolds. “This meeting is critical for the Scorpions’ public image.”
I bite down on my temper so hard my jaw throbs. Lincoln just arches a brow. Milton’s smirk is already forming.
We move toward the table, but she suddenly holds up a hand, blocking our path.
“And why,” she says, eyes narrowing, “is your brother here? He’s not part of the team or your… pack.” Her lip curls like she’s tasting something sour. “He doesn’t belong in this meeting.”
A growl rips out of me before I can stop it—low, warning, primal. It vibrates between my ribs and spills into the air.
Milton doesn’t flinch. Instead, he steps forward, unbothered, cool as stone.
“Actually,” he says, drawing the word out just enough to be disrespectful, “he does.”
Marilyn blinks, confused. “He—excuse me?”
Milton reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded set of papers. He lays them on the table, smoothing them flat with the kind of smugness only Milton can pull off.
“As of twenty-seven minutes ago,” he says, tapping the top line with his finger, “we registered as a pack.”
Her face freezes.
Lincoln leans in, crossing his arms. “Officially.”
I can’t help the rush of pride that flares through my chest. We knew we were a unit long before the paperwork, but seeing it in black and white does something to me.
Marilyn picks up the document as if it might bite her.
“‘Brooks Pack’?” she reads aloud, voice gone thin.
Milton shrugs. “Has a nice ring to it. Plus, Brooks made sense. Two of them, and only one of me.”
She looks between the three of us like she’s trying to compute how the hell this happened.
“You can’t just…this is…this complicates things. Does the board know about this?”
“The board doesn’t get a say,” I cut in. My voice comes out rougher than I intended, but I don’t regret it. “You wanted to know why he’s here. That’s why. He belongs with us.”
Lincoln nods once, slow and deliberate. “You can check with legal, if you want. It’s already filed.”
Marilyn’s jaw works. She looks like she might shatter her teeth from clenching so hard.
“You three… formed a pack,” she says, disbelief coloring every syllable. “Right before a matchmaking appointment.”
“Yeah,” Milton says cheerfully. “Funny timing, huh?”
I swear she might combust.
We sit—because we feel like it. Not because she told us to.
She stands there for a moment too long, still holding the papers, staring at them like they personally offended her. Then, she slaps them down onto the table, smooths her blazer, and launches into her pitch like she’s rehearsed it in the mirror for months.
