Itugatthestrap of my silk slip dress. The champagne-colored fabric sticks to my skin in the midday sun. This humid afternoon makes the downtown asphalt smell like old tires and exhaust. But looking professional matters; I built my brand on appearing put together, and looking like a sweaty mess does not fit the aesthetic I sell to five hundred thousand people.
A quick, light brush of my forehead confirms the sweat situation. I pull some powder from my purse and try to make it look good. Foundation streaks are the last thing I need before we even go live. This sponsorship deal is the biggest I have ever landed, and the pressure creates a constant, heavy weight in my gut.
Centering myself requires one more deep breath, and I turn toward Jules, my camerawoman; she stands five feet away, her hands holding the phone tripod. My eyes go straight to her hair. The shock of neon pink stands out against the brown of the city. It helps me pick her out of a crowd, but only until she dyes it again, which always messes me up.
Jules gives me a quick once-over, her eyes scanning my hairand makeup for any stray curls or smudges. “You look good, Zo. The light hits you perfectly. We will get a lot of eyes on this one.”
I check my reflection in the dark screen of my phone one last time, making sure my jewelry hangs straight. Then, I turn it on and go to my account so I can read comments while we’re streaming. People are waiting for us to go live and talking about what today’s surprise could be. “Let us just get through it without the app crashing. Ready when you are.”
Jules counts down with her free hand. “Three. Two.” She points at me as she hits the button for the stream that has been waiting to switch over to Live.
My professional mask slides into place. I tighten my core and lift my chin, waving at the lens. I use the voice my followers expect: light, friendly, and just energetic enough to be engaging without sounding like I am trying too hard. ThisRadiant Lifepersona has gotten me this far.
“Hi, everyone! Happy Monday! I hope you have your coffee or snack ready.” I walk toward the glass and black marble building behind me. I’m hyper-aware of every step and the way the fabric of my dress moves around my knees. “I told you there was a surprise coming. I am finally allowed to show you where I am moving.”
I stop and point to the silver letters above the door.The Nest.
“I have spent three years reviewing products with you.” I step closer to the lens, lowering my voice as if we’re sharing a private moment. “We have talked about the best heating pads and which blackout curtains actually block the sun during a midday Heat. We have talked about how hard it is to find a place that feels actually safe for an unbonded Omega. It turns out a few people were paying attention.”
The chat on the side of the screen picks up. A vertical blur of icons and text fills the frame. The viewer count climbs fast. Ten thousand… fifteen… twenty. My heart gives a small thud as I trynot to get nervous. This results from all those years of late nights and cheap product reviews.
“My team got an offer from a sponsor a few weeks ago.” I keep the smile steady as I walk closer to the entrance. “The Nest was looking for influencers who talk about safety and the rites of Omegas. They offered me a year-long residency to show everyone what a high-end Omega complex looks like.”
Shrugging, I let out a small laugh. “Honestly, I thought it was a prank at first. I usually live in places where the most high-tech feature involves a working deadbolt and a heavy chair pushed against the door.”
I glance toward the glass entrance. “I think the owner is coming out now.”
The doors open with a soft hiss of air. A man walks out. He stands tall and fills out a grey suit with the kind of ease that comes from money and expensive tailors. He wears his blonde hair in a short, neat pompadour, with faded sides. The ocean blue of his eyes makes my stomach flip. On his chest is a name tag:Reid HarrisManger, Beta.At least I know for sure I have the right person.
A close inspection of him might reveal something that will stay in my head. The perfect Windsor knot of his tie stands out. A small, thin scar cuts through the hair of his left eyebrow.
Knowing that his face will turn into a blur the second he leaves my sight is a familiar frustration. My brain lacks the hardware to store it. Prosopagnosia or face blindness persists as a constant annoyance in my life. It makes the world feel like it contains ghosts who all share the same features.
I turn back to the camera, gesturing toward him. “Everyone, meet Reid Harris. He is the owner slash apartment genie who turned my DMs into a fairy tale.”
Reid doesn’t shake my hand. He stays a respectful distance away, keeping his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Menrarely respect me, even Beta men like to get too close. He is a Beta, as far as I know, but he seems to be one of the good ones.
He keeps his expression neutral, his eyes flicking briefly to the camera. “Welcome to The Nest, Miss Zora. We have seen your content. We like that you focus on autonomy and practical safety. It fits with what we do here. Would you like to show your followers the lobby?” His voice is light, a professional tenor that seems almost too airy for a man with his physical presence.
I check the scrolling comments on my phone, seeing the flood of questions from curious Omegas.
CityOmega:Can we apply if we’re pre-designation??
AlphaPucker:Are there any units available? i need to get on a waitlist.
RadiantFan_1:so happy for you Zo! you deserve this after all those years in that tiny studio! ??????
OmegaObsessed:is Reid as serious as he looks or is he just camera shy? lol
“I think they are ready. The chat mostly asks if you have any available units or if you appear as intense as you look.”
Reid’s mouth moves just a little. Not a smile, but the corner of his lip quirks. He gestures toward the automatic doors. “We do have units available now.”
He turns and walks inside. I follow him. I pass Jules and see her eyebrows shoot up. The scale of him impresses her.
I step into the lobby, and the city disappears. The transition feels jarring. The heat vanishes. The noise of the traffic and the sirens fades. The air feels cold and so clean it seems a bit thin. Rotting garbage and car exhaust no longer cling to me.The heavy, spicy musk from the Alphas prowling the downtown streets doesn’t set me on edge. It is just clean air with a slight floral scent that calms my nerves.
I take a deep breath in. “Wow, you guys. When they say scent-controlled, they mean it. It has been a long time since I could not smell Alphas all around me, even in passing.” I look to the camera and smile. I glance at my phone to see how the comments are doing. There are many people sending hearts and saying how much they love the lobby.
