The room erupts in laughter as our ridiculous wedding photo shows up on screen. I groan and bury my face into the warm column of Aksel’s neck. “I can’t believe that’s the best photo we could find from that night,” I mutter.
“It’s better than the one of Eric trying to make out with Elvis while you puked into the fake potted plant,” he replies dryly.
I snort. “Okay. Fair.”
The episode rolls on. People cry on camera over tattoos they hate. Others trusted friends’ judgment and paid dearly for it. Typical dumbass behavior.
Everything is fine.
Right up until it’s not.
The footage of the stonedfae hits like a punch to the gut.
Theyturnedasimplesecurityescortintoadramatic
spectacle, interviewing him afterward. He’s red-faced, eyes glassy and unfocused as he spews venom at the camera. He rants about how I shouldhave felt honored that he sat in my chair, how I thought I was better than him, even though omegas are inferior.
Aksel’s hand tightens on my shoulder, hard enough to border on painful, and a low, dangerous growl rumbles from deep in his chest. It vibrates through me, making me feel protected and sage. Sympathetic looks flick my way when it's mentioned that I’m the only omega to make it past week one.
I know I shouldn’t take it personally. I do anyway.
When it nears the end of the episode, they show the rankings for the week.
I’m in the bottom three.
The words cut through me. I know it’s all part of making the show interesting, but it still sucks. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m gone. Just like that.
I breathe deeply, not letting the rising anxiety show as the episode ends on an ominous teaser about the next shocking elimination.
I silently thank my lucky stars for Aksel. If this week has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t fall apart nearly as easily when he’s nearby. Whenever Eric dragged us together to“hangout”,Akselfoundawaytoturnitproductive without making it feel like work. Fake skin spread across the table, the sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, his broad shoulders hunched in concentration as he demonstrated small adjustments. He pointed out how each detail makes a large difference in the overall work. Needle angle, pressure, pacing. Simple thingsI already knew about, but somehow hearing them from him had made them click into place.
Each tiny correction had felt like a hand steadying my spine. Each quiet, thoughtful comment sank deep. This last round might actually be some of my best work yet. That realization settles the restlessness in my chest.
The room buzzes with excited energy from the remaining contestants when someone suggests a club. Then someone else agrees. Before I can properly object, it’s already been decided.
I try backing out, mumbling something about being tired, but Eric and Aksel exchange a look and immediately shut that down. They refuse to let me hunker down in my room and drown myself in more practice.
Absolute assholes.
We’re herded into the limo we’re apparently using as a rideshare, cameras still hovering like hungry insects as we leave the hotel. The club is… a lot. Loud pop music. Barely there clothing. A thick cloud of perfume permeates the entire club so much that I swear the air tastes like it.
The bass slams into my chest, vibrating through my ribs. Lights strobe across the massive warehouse-style space, illuminating half-naked bodies pressed together in every configuration imaginable. Skin glistens with sweat and glitter. Laughter and breathless moans blend seamlessly into the music.
Pheromones cling to the air, heavy and intoxicating, wrapping around my senses until everything feels cushioned and soft. Unreal.
Eric presses a neon greendrink into my hand.
I don’t hesitate. I drain it in one go, the sugary burn coating my throat. I’ll need more if I’m going to survive this nightwithout crawling out of my skin. I’m not a people person on my best days, and today has wrung me out completely.
By the time I lower the empty glass, Eric has another waiting. He gives me a knowing wink before vanishing into the thick mass of bodies, swallowed whole by the music.
“Am I going to have to babysit you tonight?” a deep voice murmurs right against my ear.
The sound alone sends a shiver skating down my spine, low and electric. His breath is warm, faintly scented with cinnamon and alcohol. It weaves through me, tangling deep in my groin.
“Depends,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel as I accept the shot Aksel offers. I don’t look away from him. I don’t think I could if I tried.
“On what?” he asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and amusement flickering in his eyes. Even here, surrounded by all the noise and bodies, his presence feels large and safe. Like something I can lean on without falling apart.
