“It’s exactly how distance works. Distance first, then less distance. Progression.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Go to bed. You’re delirious.”
“I’m going to read first.”
“Read what?”
“Her books.” I push off the counter and head for the stairs. “She writes romance novels. Pen name Scarlett Monroe.”
“Romance novels?” Interest sparks in his voice. “What kind?”
“The kind with three alphas and an omega who returns to her small hometown.”
That stops him. “Three alphas.”
“And an omega. Sound familiar?”
Theo stares at me.
“Good night, Theo.”
I’m halfway up when he calls after me. “Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad it went well.” His voice is soft. Sincere. “Really glad.”
I readuntil two in the morning.
Chapter three is when I realize the alpha—the analytical one with brown eyes and glasses—is me. Not inspired by me.Isme. The way he notices details. The way he shows love through actions instead of words. The way he holds himself back, afraid of wanting too much.
She captured me on the page. Every flaw, every quirk, every defense mechanism I thought was invisible.
Chapter five introduces the warm alpha. The gardener. The one who loves with his whole heart and doesn’t know how to protect himself.
Theo.
Chapter seven is when my face catches fire.
The analytical alpha undresses the omega slowly. Catalogs every shiver, every gasp, every sound she makes. His precision drives her crazy—he knows exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure, exactly when to pull back and make her beg.
It’s clinical and devastating and so specificallymethat I have to put down my phone and stare at the ceiling for a full minute.
She wrote this. Imagined this. Published it for thousands of people to read.
And it’s not just the physical scenes. It’s the conversation after. The alpha explaining, in halting words, why he’s so careful. Why he needs to analyze everything. Why loving her terrifies him.
“Because when I let myself want things, I want them completely. I don’t know how to want you halfway.”
I didn’t tell her that. I never said those words out loud.
But she knew anyway.
I pick up the phone and keep reading.
The quiet alpha—Nate, obviously—doesn’t appear until chapter eight. He barely speaks. Shows love through protection.Builds things with his hands. Guards the pack like it’s his reason for existing.
By the end of book one, I understand why Mrs. Patterson was enthusiastic about reading these books. It’s not just good—it’s a love letter. To us. To what we might have had.
