Sage laughs from her position at Rosemarie's wrist, the sound bright and knowing. "Feel free to use the back room for your... reward situation," she offers without looking up. "Just turn the cameras off first. Don't need to see y'all's business."
Rosemarie's face goes crimson. I just shrug.
"Could always hack the footage afterward," I muse. "Get it for the pack."
Sage rolls her eyes. "Probably could, knowing you military types. All right, beautiful—" She sets down her machine and reaches for the wrap supplies. "All done. Take a look before I cover it up."
Rosemarie sits up slowly, like she's not entirely convinced the ordeal is over. I move to stand beside her as she extends her left arm, examining the fresh ink on her inner wrist.
Three hearts. A butterfly. A crown with stars.
It's beautiful. Small enough to be subtle, detailed enough to be meaningful. The placement is perfect—right over her pulse point, where the beat of her heart will forever echo against the symbol of what we're building.
I extend my own right arm, holding it beside hers. Our tattoos mirror each other—same design, opposite wrists. Like puzzle pieces. Like two halves of something whole.
"The others liked the design," I tell her, watching her face as she studies our matching marks. "They're going to get it too. Elias can come in next week—he's off rotation. Julian will do his after the shoot wraps."
She looks up at me, eyes wide. "Wait. They wereseriousabout the matching tattoos? From my list?"
"We weren't going to let you down, Rosemarie." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Not about this. Not about anything on that list, if we can help it."
She's quiet for a moment, staring at our wrists side by side. When she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"What if... things don't work out?"
The question hangs in the air between us. It's the question we've all been avoiding—the elephant in every room, the uncertainty lurking beneath every tender moment. Valentine's Day is approaching fast. Our arrangement has an expiration date. Nothing about this is guaranteed.
I shrug, smiling down at her. Then I lean in and press a tender kiss to her lips—soft, unhurried, a promise sealed with touch.
"No regrets, Sweetness," I whisper against her mouth. "Whatever happens. No regrets."
She melts into me for a moment, her hands coming up to grip my shirt. When she pulls back, there's something new in her eyes. Resolution, maybe. Or hope.
"So," I murmur, letting my lips brush her ear again. "Want that reward now?"
She smirks—that wicked, challenging expression that never fails to make my blood heat. "Lead the way, big guy."
"Go to the washroom first. Meet me in the back room." I wink. "Five minutes."
She grins and slides off the table, movements careful of her freshly wrapped wrist. I head to the front counter to settle the bill while she disappears down the hallway toward the restrooms.
? ? ?
~ROSEMARIE~
I'm grinning like an idiot as I slip into the bathroom, my freshly inked wrist throbbing with a pleasant ache that reminds me this is real. I actually did this. I actually got a matching tattoo with one of my Alphas. Withallof them, eventually.
Three hearts. Three Alphas. One terrified, hopeful Omega in the middle of it all.
I pull out my phone to check the time—Tank said five minutes, and I intend to make him wait exactly that long just to be difficult—and freeze.
New message. Unknown number.
My stomach drops even before I open it, dread pooling cold and heavy in my gut. I already know what it's going to say. I already know who it's from, even without a name attached. The threatening messages have been escalating for weeks—vague warnings becoming specific promises, distance closing like a noose tightening.
"The clock is ticking."
Four words. That's all. But they carry the weight of everything I've been running from—my family, my ex-pack, the arranged match waiting to drag me back into a life of gilded captivity.
