“But the timing.” Amos' analytical brain is running ahead. “If Father uses the scandal to discredit us before we can present the forensic data to the board, he controls the narrative. Two sons caught in a relationship scandal become unreliable witnesses.”
“He’ll try.” I keep my hand on Mattaniah’s neck because the bond is transmitting his panic in waves that are making it hard to think. “He’s been trying to undermine us since the day we started this. The photos give him ammunition but they don’t change the evidence.”
“Let me call her.” Mattaniah reaches for his phone on the nightstand and I catch his wrist.
“You’re not calling her.”
“She’s my mother, Dominic.”
“She’s the person who just leaked intimate photos of you to the press to punish you for having a relationship with us.” I don’t release his wrist. “She doesn’t get a phone call. She gets a legal response.”
“He’s right.” Amos' hand rests on Mattaniah’s knee. “Your mother made a strategic move and responding emotionally is exactly what she wants.”
Our Omega’s jaw tightens and loosens, fury building in his expression.
“What do we do?” He asks it looking at both of us and the trust in his face makes the guilt in my chest burn hotter.
Because we do have a plan. We’ve had a plan since before he arrived at the house. Everything Amos and I have been building for months predates Mattaniah’s arrival. The part that involves our Omega currently looking at me with bonded trust in his eyes is the part we haven’t told him about yet.
We used him. Not the way his mother did, not with the same cruelty. But we positioned him in Father’s household knowing his presence would create the instability we needed. We noticed him and wanted him and fell for him. All of that is true. But the scheme came first and the feelings came second, and telling him that twelve hours after he let us mark his throat is going to break something the bond can’t fix.
I push the guilt down because there’s a crisis to manage and confessions can wait. “Amos handles PR. Call the PR director, get ahead of the narrative. Frame the relationship as genuine and longstanding, which it is. The photos show intimacy, not abuse. We control the story by confirming the relationship before the tabloids can spin it.”
“Father will be furious.” Amos pulls out his phone. “Confirming publicly means we can’t walk it back.”
“We were never going to walk it back.”
“And the board presentation?” Amos' fingers hover over his phone.
“We accelerate. Father is going to use the next forty-eight hours to try to discredit us. We need the forensic evidence in front of the board before he succeeds.” I stand and cross to the closet where my spare clothes hang. “Call your assistant. Get the drives from the office safe. I want the presentation deck finalized by tomorrow morning.”
“Dom.” Mattaniah’s voice stops me at the closet door. Through the bond I can feel him reaching for me.
I turn. He’s sitting in the destroyed nest with the blanket pooled around his waist. The panic from the photos has settled into something harder, a resolve that looks startlingly like he’s ready to fight rather than retreat.
“Whatever comes, we handle it together.” He says it with a steadiness that the bond confirms is genuine.
The guilt burns, eating at the foundation of the trust he just placed in me. I should tell him now.
But the Omega in the nest is looking at me with bonded eyes and the mark I left on his neck is still bleeding at the edges and the words die in my throat because I’m a coward about exactly one thing in my life.
Amos is already on the phone with the PR director. I pull a shirt over my head and sit on the edge of the bed beside Mattaniah.
“Your mother.” I keep my voice low while Amos talks. “She’s going to escalate. The photos are her opening move.”
“I know.” Mattaniah leans against my shoulder and the contact pulses warm through the bond. “She doesn’t have a retreat position. She’s not wired for it.”
“Neither am I.” I press my mouth against the top of his head. “But I’m better at it than she is.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” My arm wraps around his shoulders and I hold him against me while Amos paces the apartment hallway with his phone pressed to his ear, his voice carrying fragments of damage control strategy through the open bedroom door.
Mattaniah
Themansionlooksdifferentpulling up to it bonded. Every window is a potential vantage point, every shadow behind the curtains a possible watcher. Dominic parks in the circular drive instead of the garage.
"Stay close to me." Dominic kills the engine and his hand finds the back of my neck. The contact sends warmth throughthe bond mark. "We go in, we get your things, we leave. Twenty minutes at most."
