The blinds are drawn, letting in just enough light to paint the room in dull stripes of gray. His desk looms, a slab of oak that was carved out of a single tree just to prove a point about permanence. A museum piece for his ego.
He’s already in full swing when I turn my attention toward him, pulling it up from my lap. My head is bowed, like I’m a teenager waiting to be scolded. Of course, he already knows how he’s going to tear me down. My father doesn’t waste time on greetings when there’s a lecture to deliver.
“…and what I will not allow,” he’s saying, pounding one hand against the desk, “isanotherscandal. Do you hear me, Hayes? I will not have you undoing years of work because you can’t keep your impulses in check. You’re a Beta, for crying out loud. This shouldn’t be a thing.”
Every word rattles the picture frames on his credenza. Him with governors. Him with senators. Him shaking hands with people who probably couldn’t pick him out of a lineup now. A shrine to his imagined greatness.
All of it in his head.
It’s the first time I’ve ever realized that.
I keep my expression neutral. I’ve had years of practice. I lace my fingers together in my lap, straighten my tie. The perfect “obedient son” posture.
At least for now.
“I understand,” I say, smooth and polite.
But my jaw hurts from how hard I’m grinding it.
He narrows his eyes. He can smell the rebellion brewing under my skin.
“No, I don’t think you do. I’m hearing things, you know. I think you forget that I always hear things.” He leans forward, voice dropping into that dangerous, measured tone that used to make me flinch as a kid. “Whispers. About you and that Lo Marsh.Again. Haven’t I already told you to keep away from that criminal? Have I not made myself clear enough for your thick-headed Beta status?”
He spits Lo’s name like it burned his tongue.
“And not just her.” He keeps going, relentless. “The firefighter. The joke of a carpenter. You’ve entangled yourself with all of them, haven’t you?”
Entangled.
As if it’s something dirty. Like I didn’t choose it. But the word lights up in my chest, bright and defiant, because he doesn’tknow what it means. “Entangled” is Lo’s fingers threading through mine on the walk home. Beck’s shoulder solid against my spine when the world is tilting. Ford’s voice humming low in the garage, warm enough to thaw the ice in my veins.
If that’s entanglement, I’ll wear it as armor.
Once, that word would’ve landed as a blow. I would’ve flinched, scrambled to deny, to prove myself “responsible” enough to earn a nod of approval I’d never get.
But right now? All I feel is the slow rise of something I’ve spent years tamping down.
Defiance. Rage.
Because yeah, I’m entangled. With people who see me. With people who make this suffocating town somewhere I could belong to it and not just manage. With Lo, whose laugh makes the walls in my head crack open. With Beck, whose steadiness is the only anchor I’ve ever had. With Ford, who drags sunlight into places I thought were permanently closed.
And my father can’t stand it.
Because he doesn’t know what that’s like.
This is why I never told him about my pack in the first place. How can he understand something he’s never had himself?
He’s furious because I’ve stopped being his perfect little shadow and started being a person.
“Do you know what that looks like?” he presses, jabbing the air with a finger. “Do you know what people are saying about me? About this office? About ourfamily? You think that screams leadership? You think that makes you look stable? Responsible? You work for the mayor, Hayes. You’re an upstanding citizen who can go far if you actually try.”
My father leans back in his chair, nostrils flaring, as if he’s delivered the final blow. As if the weight of his disappointment should be enough to fold me in half.
Once, it might have been.
But now, all I can think about is Lo’s eyes in the crowd when she stumbled back into this town. Stormy, unflinching. Alive, despite everything. I think about Beck, handing me coffee when he knows I’m drowning. I think about Ford, laughing like the world doesn’t get to own him anymore.
Scandal? No. That’s life. That’s choice.
