Safe? Probably not. But maybe notunsafeeither.
A good place to start to heal? Maybe.
Like Antigone, I’ll go into this with my eyes open, knowing what the consequences of this choice might be—panic, further trauma… heartbreak—but at least it will be my choice that leads to it. My actions. Not some random alpha on the street.
With that thought in mind I click into my email and type out a response to the casting department, giving them my answer.
I close the laptop before I can change my mind.
Episode 2: Welcome to the Fairy tale
One month later
The flight to Liora was long and uneventful. I spent most of it working my way through a sudoku puzzle book, doodling clothing designs on my tablet, and trying not to let the alphas on the plane send me into a full-on panic attack thirty thousand feet in the air.
Once I landed, production whisked me into a hotel near the airport. Nothing fancy—clean lines, neutral walls, utilitarian in every possible way. The kind of place built for exhausted business travelers on a layover, not romantic television contestants. I slept restlessly, nerves tangling into strange dreams involving sledgehammers, glitter, and the host’s overly white smile.
By morning, muscle memory kicked in. I showered, braided my hair, and slipped into the arrival outfit Haven insisted on—white wide-legged linen trousers and a crocheted cropped tank. “Breezy tropical chic,” she’d called it. “But not too chic. Save the drama dress for the introduction ceremony.”
From watching the show, I know exactly what comes next: we, the omegas, make our grand entrance at the Port Azure docks, filmed in flattering morning sunlight, before boarding separate boats to the resort a short sail away. It’s all about capturing that excited first-day energy, the kind I’m mostly faking, too nervous to feel excited.
The docks are already buzzing when my taxi pulls up. Crew members in black shirts weave between cameras, drones, and piles of luggage, directing lost-looking omegas where to stand. A banner reading Alpha Love Getaway: Royal Edition flaps lazily in the sea breeze, indicating where I should go.
Standing dead center, tablet and headset in place, is Lulu. I recognize her bright red hair and wide smile from the video chats we’ve had since I agreed to come on the show.
She spots me the second I put a foot on the dock. “Florence! Great, you’re right on time.”
I give her a small wave and hurry to her side, more than ready to get this over with. Of course it won’t beover withfor at least a few days, maybe longer. She scans me from head to toe, lips pursing like she finds my outfit lacking. When I glance at the other omegas, I find most of them in swimsuits, tits on full display and shapely legs gleaming with oils.
“You’ve taken your suppressants?” Lulu asks immediately, like she can’t already smell that I have.
I nod. “Yes. And I used the scent-canceling soap and body spray from IndulgScents this morning.”
“Excellent.” She taps something on her tablet, satisfied. “Thank you for that.”
I shrug, lifting my bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m an omega who works with the public. I’m used to being careful with my scent.” Years of ballet made me even more obsessive about it. Can’t be in the middle of dancing apas de troisand have my perfume hit the stage.
“Excellent,” she repeats, then leans in conspiratorially. “Most of the omegas we get for the show think their scent is their superpower, like they’re the one special snowflake destined for whatever pack we’re hosting. They try to get sneaky about it.”
I give a sympathetic nod. She’s not wrong. At the academy, scent matching was drilled into us from day one. It feels almost unnatural to court anyone while smelling like absolutely nothing but whatever soap you’ve used for the day.
But that’s the whole premise of Alpha Love Getaway: connection first, scent second. Choose with your heart, not your hormones.
Haven is convinced I’ll make it to the scenting ceremony.
I am… less so. Especially now, seeing the omegas I’m up against. Even from a distance they look polished in a way that I never will be.
“Okay,” Lulu says briskly, snapping her fingers at a nearby sound tech. “We’ll get you fitted with a microphone, then you can go join the other omegas. You’re arriving on boat two.”
I nod as a beta male approaches, black cord in his hands. She looks down at her tablet. “And it looks like we have your NDA and your contract on file. So you know you can’t sue us if the pack doesn’t pick you, and we can sue you if you divulge anything about the process that isn’t aired by the network.”
I did know that. Hale and Tic, one of Haven’s other alphas, had gone over both documents with a fine-toothed comb before letting me sign anything, making sure I wasn’t giving away anything I wouldn’t want to part with.
“And with that said, the royal family has asked that we inform a handful of the omegas that while they are grateful for your attendance and participation, you should go into the show knowing…” her lips purse tightly again, clearly displeased with whatever it is the royal pack requested. “You aren’t going to be picked.”
I jolt both at her words and at the sound guy’s hands getting far too intimate with the skin on my waist as he hooks up the microphone.
I arch my brows at the certainty with which she delivers this information. “I won’t?”
