It was perfect. A two story brick building with gorgeous floor to ceiling windows on the upper floor, and what amounts to a nice storefront on ground level.
As soon as I walked into the space my mind whirled with ideas for how to split it into working areas. Most of the ground floor for storage and shipping, a receptionist area at the front of the building to greet clients and upstairs will be the design space, full of fabrics and custom dresses, a sitting area and a dressing room.
I’m thrilled with the location and eager to get started.
It's just about the only thing that excites me these days.
Thank god for Haven and the Calloways and their unwavering support of me.
I don’t know what I’d do without them.
While I wait, I pull out my phone and check my email. I’ve been avoiding every form of social media since I got back. Jude has informed me that he’s taking care of the nastier messages I’ve received. Whether they’re nastyviolentor nastysexual, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.
One look at my one thousand-plus unread emails and I close out of the app, immediately overwhelmed. Maybe once my new business takes off, I’ll be able to afford hiring a personal assistant who can go through it for me.
And hopefully, in time, the deluge will slow and then eventually die and people will move on to the next big thing, the next person with a flash in the pan fame.
I can’t wait for that to happen.
I can’t wait for the eyes of the public to no longer be on me.
Instead of tucking my phone away, I pull up a browser and enter a search for the new omega law in Bravonne.
It's foolish of me, I know it.
I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help hoping that there will be a quote from one of the Ashbourne Pack disavowing the law, saying they intend to fight the queen on it.
But there’s nothing.
Nothing from them for or against it.
Though there is a picture of the queen standing at a podium with Elizabeth and Forsythe flanking her. My eyes flit over him, just barely registering his features, before they flit away of their own accord, like they know it’ll be too painful for my brain to look at him for any length of time.
And god, they’re right.
Even that quick flash leaves me aching.
I’ve avoided all things involving the Ashbourne pack since I got home. Not only because it makes my heart hurt, but because of my goddamn health. I have this innate knowing that paying them any amount of attention is going to send my omega into a spiral and then the fragile balance I’m finally achieving will be gone.
So I keep my eyes averted from the picture of Forsythe and read the article attached instead. And the more I read, the angrier I get. What the queen has done is… horrific. I don’t understand how anyone would be okay with the new rules and regulations. Not only omegas—though they are the most deeply impacted—but packs as well.
According to one article, any pack will have to submit their children to a paternity test if requested by the crown.Anypack. So if the queen decides she wants to ensure a noble title goes only to the offspring of the current title holder and not one of the other alphas in their pack, they’ll have to submit to her.
Not to mention the requirements of unbonded omegas to register themselves as such and attend the dating summits. The government should not have so much oversight when it comes to the bonding of its citizens. Should they need to register asa pack? Yes. But requiring them to submit an application for intent to bond? That’s just… wild.
And untenable. Bonding isn’t always planned. Which I understand is a problem in some cases, just like I understand that omegas are more easily taken advantage of because of our inherent nature. But to penalize both parties for an unplanned bond is madness.
Alphas and omegas, we’re about forty percent instinct. If we smell a scent match, we’re going to go for it. It's the hope that both parties will consider, will think it through, will wait, but if they don’t want to, how is that the business of the government? It's on par with monitoring sexual encounters.
Hale’s car pulls into the parking lot, and I wave at him, before tucking my phone away, and then hustling outside, turning to lock the door behind me.
There’s the slamming of a car door, and then a second one. Hale curses and when I turn to see what’s made him grumpy, I find a reporter and a camera pointed directly at me. I pause, mouth hanging open in surprise and for a very brief moment I’m acutely aware of my messy bun, my makeup less face. My sports bra and leggings. The flip flops on my feet. Definitely not the look I would have picked had I realized I was going to be on camera.
However, the thought completely vanishes when he speaks. “Miss Karlin, care to comment on the recent Omega Protection Act in Bravonne?”
I swallow thickly, and then take a deep breath as Hale puts himself between me and the reporter. “No comment,” he growls out.
I should leave it at that. It’s what I’ve been saying since I got home, biting back what I want to say, how I want to scream about the injustice of the fucking world that I found my pack, my fated mates, and they decided I wasn’t good enough for them. Imean how fucked up is that? “Actually,” I say, pushing past the bristling alpha. “I would like to comment on that.”
