“Learn what it truly means to embrace your Alpha nature. Don’t settle for weak leadership from men who’ve been neutered by modern society. Demand excellence. Demand power. Demand your rightful place in the hierarchy.”
He goes on, promoting his conference, and I feel my blood pressure rising with every word that comes out of his mouth.
The interviewer eats it up, asking softball questions that let Reed pontificate even more, and by the time the clip ends, I’m ready to drive to wherever he is and show him exactly how soft we are.
Jasper turns off the video, and we all just stand here in stunned silence for a moment.
The only sound is the crackling of the fire and the distant timer going off in the kitchen, which Dylan ignores completely.
“That fucking loser,” Dylan finally states, his voice vibrating with rage. “Not only does Anita hate him with every fiber of her being, but now he’s coming after us? After our business?”
“I want to bury him,” I snap, and I mean it with every cell in my body. The anger burning through me is white-hot and intense.
“Fuck yes,” Dylan agrees immediately. “He doesn’t get to attack us and walk away clean.”
“He doesn’t get to attack our business,” Jasper adds, his hands curling into fists so tight his knuckles crack. “Our reputation. Everything we’ve worked years to build from nothing.”
“I should never have taken them on that fishing charter,” Slater explains, and there’s real regret in his voice, rough and self-recriminating. “Should have turned down the booking the moment I realized who he was. Should have trusted my instincts that said he was bad news.”
“You couldn’t have known he’d do this,” I point out, even though part of me understands his frustration. “He paid premium rates. We had no reason to refuse the booking.”
Slater stands up, setting his whiskey glass down hard on the side table. The sound echoes in the quiet room. “The man makes a living spreading toxic garbage about Omegas and hierarchy. Of course he was going to use any opportunity to promote himself and tear down anyone who doesn’t fit his narrow worldview.”
Anita comes to mind, and how much she hates this guy, how she has a radio show to combat this nonsense. I grab my phone as Dylan rushes back into the kitchen.
I search for the station name Anita mentioned during her confession.The Heat Line. Anonymous late-night radio for Omegas who need a voice.
“I want to hear what Anita’s saying,” I say to anyone listening, finding the station and hovering over the Play button. “Guessing after today, she’s on her radio show.”
Suddenly all three of them are around me, and without discussing it, we’re moving to the dining table. I set the phone down in the center of the polished wood surface, and we all pull out chairs, sitting in a circle around it.
I hit Play. Static for a moment, crackling and uncertain, then her voice filters through the speaker, and my entire bodyreacts. Every muscle tenses, my heart rate spikes, and my breath catches in my chest.
“Good evening, everyone tuning in hot tonight. This isThe Heat Line, where we turn up the temperature on conversations nobody else wants to have. And I’m your host, coming to you live on this late, snowy night.”
Her voice is different than I’ve heard it before. Lower. Sadder. Rougher around the edges like she’s been crying for hours, which she probably has been. My chest constricts painfully just hearing her like this.
“I want to start tonight with an apology,” she continues, and I can hear her taking a shaky breath. “To all of you listening who trust me to be honest and authentic, and to some people who probably aren’t listening but desperately need to hear this anyway.”
We’re all frozen in place, hanging on every word like our lives depend on it.
“I thought I was doing something supportive, something that would help protect our community from harm, but I went about it completely wrong. Without getting all the information beforehand, without verifying facts, without giving people the benefit of the doubt. And I ended up hurting good people when all I wanted to do was protect everyone.”
She pauses, and I hear papers rustling. Probably her notes. “I won’t go into details because it’s not my story alone to tell, and as you know, we don’t share names on this show. But the situation I was investigating isn’t as clear-cut as I thought it was. The information I received was incomplete, biased, and ultimately wrong, and I won’t be pursuing that investigation anymore.”
Another pause, longer this time. I can practically hear her gathering courage.
“Maybe down the track, when it’s not so raw, when I have more perspective and emotional distance, I’ll share the full story. Share what I learned about rushing to judgment and the danger of confirmation bias. But right now, it’s too close. Too painful. Too fresh.”
Her voice cracks on that last word.
“I need to apologize so much for hurting them,” she says, and now she’s definitely crying, with her voice breaking and wavering. “And I doubt they’re even listening to this right now, but I want to put it out into the universe anyway. I want my sincerity to be public and on record.”
She sniffles, and the sound goes straight to my heart like an arrow.
“I haven’t been able to stop crying since this afternoon, since I had to look them in the eyes and admit what I’d done. I wish I could take it all back. Every lie. Every deception. Every moment I wasn’t completely honest about who I was and why I was there.”
Dylan makes a pained sound beside me, low in his throat, and when I glance at him, his green eyes are bright with unshed tears.
