"See?" She squeezes my hand. "You have people who care about you."
I look around the table. At all four of them watching me with varying degrees of concern and affection. These men who fixed my house without being asked. Who protect me in coffee shops. Who make me breakfast and let my friends hustle them at pool and never once make me feel like I'm too much.
"Thank you," I whisper. "I don't know what else to say."
"You don't have to say anything." Pedro reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. "Just eat your pasta before it gets cold."
When we finish eating the doorbell rings.
The sound echoes through the house, sharp and unexpected. It's almost nine at night. Nobody visits after dark unless something is wrong.
My hands still on the plate I'm holding. My omega prickles with unease.
Footsteps thunder from the living room. Multiple sets. My pack moving in formation, responding to a potential threat the way they always do. Together.
"I'll get it." Nacho's voice is pure sheriff.
I set down the plate and move toward the kitchen doorway. Stacey follows, wine glass still in hand.
Voices drift from the foyer. Sergio's low rumble. A woman's voice I don't recognize, clear and assertive with the faint trace of an accent I can't place.
"I need to speak with Jessica Delacroix. It's urgent."
My stomach drops.
I walk into the hallway. A woman stands in the doorway, backlit by the porch light. She's maybe mid-forties, clearly a beta with no scent and wearing a red blazer over dark jeans, her black hair streaked with silver and pulled into a neat bun. She's holding a leather messenger bag and a tablet, and she's staring down all four of my alphas like she deals with intimidating men every day of her life.
Which, judging by her complete lack of fear, she probably does.
"Who are you?" Nacho's voice is flat, demanding.
"Rosa Castellano. Investigative journalist with the Portland Tribune." She pulls out a business card and hands it to him. "I've been researching the Morrison family for three years. And I believe I can help Jessica."
My breath catches.
Sergio spots me in the hallway. His eyes lock with mine, a silent question.
I nod and move closer.
Rosa tracks my movement. Her dark eyes are sharp, assessing, taking in everything from my rumpled clothes to the way I instinctively move closer to Sergio.
"Ms. Delacroix." She doesn't offer her hand. Just studies me with the focused intensity of someone who's very good at reading people. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I need you to see something."
She pulls out her tablet before I can respond. Swipes it open. Turns the screen toward me.
The headline hits me like a fist to the gut.
RUNAWAY BRIDE JESSICA DELACROIX: FRIENDS WORRY FOR MENTALLY UNSTABLE OMEGA
Below it, a photo of me from the engagement party. Smiling. Perfect hair. Perfect dress. Looking nothing like the disaster currently standing in the foyer with sauce-stained hands.
The article is worse. So much worse.
Sources close to the family report that Jessica Delacroix has been displaying increasingly erratic behavior since her late presentation as an omega at age 28...
Morrison family spokesperson confirms they are seeking professional psychiatric evaluation for the troubled omega...
Friends describe a pattern of emotional instability and attention-seeking behavior...
