“Because?” Douglas goads them. We all know the issue, but they never can admit the problem.
“If she were an Omega with better control of her nature and could limit her responses around Alphas, she wouldn’t have been attacked. It is a risk we will not open ourselves up to until we believe Heidi is more capable.”
Douglas laughs, before looking pointedly at William. “If your father had not lain with your mother years ago, you wouldn’t be here either. Your comment is outlandish.”
But it is the crux of the issue. The very heart of why my presence at Verdune has been refused because they all blame me for what happened. They all wholeheartedly believe I am the issue, that I am to blame somehow because an Alpha attacked me.
Douglas laughs one of his snide angry chuckles before he zeros his attention to the entire room. “It is an insult to Heidi that she is not ‘permitted’ to take her place at the table you all sit at. You continually use her attack as a bargaining tool where it is in fact nothing more than proof of your failure as Alphas. Heidi is not to blame for inciting that Alpha to drop into an ADV rut or being unable to escape her attacker. Do not cloud her designation with your failure.”
Graham argues back. Where Joseph is like a snake, Graham is like a slow-release poison, still dangerous but not obvious. “There is a potential that any Alphas working at Verdune may not handle seeing her in the flesh, considering we know the way the Alpha maimed her. With a pack, she will be better respected.”
Douglas shakes his head, his disappointment and disgust evident. “Better respected? Good god, you are missing the point. All this is about your lack of control, your lack of strength.”
Despite being only remotely connected to the meeting, I can feel the spread of Alpha aggression as it continues to rise. I’m good at handling being around strong Alphas now—suffering at the hands of one made me stronger—but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel and respond to their sudden emotions and posturing.
A wave of discomfort strikes when I least expect it, and I absently swipe a hand over my lip. Of course, they notice. You can see their thoughts condensing, their arguments solidifying.
But it’s not them who speak.
“Margot wanted Heidi packed,” Allan breaks the tension, and my stomach plummets at the realisation my father is in attendance but didn’t acknowledge me. “Heidi has twelve months to be packed. Once she is, she gets full access to her trust and will take over as CEO. As per the Action by Unanimous Written Consent we are all aware that if my daughter elects to do so, she may take steps to terminate each and every board member sitting at this table as part of her succession. I suggest you all start reviewing your conduct towards my daughter because I will be supporting her voice, whatever that is.”
Without a backward glance, Allan walks out, his white lab coat flapping wide, making him look a little bit like an avenging angel. His unwillingness to turn to look at me cuts, but his proclamation of support fills my heart to overflowing.
It’s not like I don’t know he cares, but when Margot died, I lost both my parents. One left my life due to their illness, the other left my world because the loss of the love of his life completely and utterly shattered him.
Without Margot to be our sweet-tempered conduit, Allan and my relationship altered so much I’m sure neither of us know how to fix it. Our bond is not without love, but it is rudderless. I know my father cares, it’s in all his gestures—links to articles I would enjoy or need to know, of practical gifts arriving out of the blue to Unity, photos of Margot he shares late at night, but our relationship now occurs without physical contact and limited verbal interaction.
Which makes his sudden appearance and his speech more of a surprise. But after the initial shock, his words sink in.
Twelve months.
Twelve months until I take over Verdune.
Twelve months until my trust fund is unlocked.
Twelve months to find a pack.
I’m not sure what scares me most.
ChapterEight
RAMSES
The vibrating timer on my watch activates on the hour every hour, but it’s not needed. Not in the slightest. Every part of me is primed and ready. It’s almost insane how hard this has been to set up properly. Not through lack of my obsession.
One of the motion sensors activates, sending a barely audible ping from the back office to let me know it’s nearly time. I do a final sweep making sure everything is in place.
The black suit fits like it was tailored for me because it was. It’s purposely expensive and appropriately creased. The crisp white shirt feels like luxury on my skin; it cost it too. An obscurely angled tie sits loose around my neck. And like the rest of my get up, the tie was chosen based on how much it cost more than the colour or fabric.
Every detail has been thoroughly considered, including the way the wig is styled. It’s purpose is to make it look like I’ve just spent a solid twelve hours at the office. I’m definitely not a fan of the coloured contacts, but making my green eyes brown was necessary to make them forgettable. My mother’s genetics are undeniable, and our iridescent emerald-coloured eyes are memorable, hence the contacts. The murky brown looks weird, but the way they make my eyes bloodshot inadvertently helps me look like a rich asshole who’s worked from sun-up to sunset.
Using the cover-up always freaks me out. Even though we’ve been doing it for years, I still worry the stage make-up over my hands and neck will stain the white shirt, but Kairo’s constant assurance this stuff won’t smudge is accurate. And while I didn’t need to cover every tattooed part of me, I still did. I’m completely ink free which is something I haven’t been since I was about sixteen—out of everything, that’s what always feels the most unnatural. Not even the scent blockers or the six-hundred-dollar a bottle aftershave that reeks of vanilla and cedar throws me as much as not being able to see the visual reminder of my family on my thumb.
I have to remind myself not to tap the scorpions like I have since the day we got them. It’s annoying as fuck to everyone else when I do it, but it calms a piece of me when I can’t see or hear my brothers. And right now, despite everything going on, not being able to see that permanent reminder of who we are is feeding my anxiety. Or it might be my subconscious telling me that no matter what happens they’re going to kick my ass when they find out where I am.
A second sensor pings from the back-office, coinciding with another buzz on my wrist, snapping my attention from my family and back to the job.
Perfect synchronicity is the key.
