Chapter One
Jude
The leather of the chair is cold against the back of my bare thighs as I sit. It feels especially cool in the suffocating warmth of my father’s office. The air is thick with his patchouli aroma. Heavy. Dominant. It clings to the walls and furniture, filling my lungs with every shaky breath.
I sit perfectly still while I wait for my father to finish pouring his drink, my hands curling around the hem of my shorts. I keep my gaze fixed on the single, immovable knot in the polished oak of the massive desk, trying to be quiet and obedient.
I know I did something wrong. It’s the only time he calls me into his office, but I don’t know what.
“The acquisition of Sterling Tech is complete,” Father says as he sits in his big leather chair. “This is a lucrative merger. It will solidify our position for the next decade.” He swirls the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. “I’veworked hard to grow this company into something impressive and strong.” He sets his glass down. “But now it’s time for you to do your part, Jude.”
Fear grips me, even though I know what’s coming next.
The moment Father started talking about a ‘new partner’ a month ago, a cold dread bloomed in my gut. I’m twenty-two years old, never mated, and an omega. Omegas are rare, pretty things. Assets. And my father is nothing if not a master of asset management.
“As is customary in such high-stakes partnerships,” he continues, finally setting the glass down with a heavy thud, “a bond is required. A gesture of unity. Of trust.” He lets his words hang in the air, each one a nail being hammered into my coffin. “You will be mated to Bruce Sterling.”
I feel a phantom tremor in my hands, but I crush it. I will not give him another reason to be disappointed in me.
“Do you have nothing to say?” he asks coolly.
I want to beg to stay, to promise I’ll be better, but it makes sense that he would want to be rid of me.
I manage to shake my head. “No, sir.”
Father’s eyebrows lift, like he’s impressed. “That’s a pleasant surprise,” he says with an approving nod. “I expected a fight from you.”
I know better than to fight. Fighting only makes it worse.
“Bruce will be here shortly,” Father says as his dark eyes scan my face, then my body. His expression sours, a deep frown creasing his brow as he takes in the simple v-neck T-shirt and casual shorts I’m wearing. A flicker of disgust crosses his face.
My mouth opens, ready to apologize for not looking more presentable, but a sharp knock on the door cuts me off, sealing my fate.
The door opens, and the family butler,Reynolds, steps inside. The beta’s posture is stiff and unyielding as always, his face a mask of professional neutrality.
“Mr. Sterling to see you, sir,” Reynolds announces, his voice a dry rustle of paper.
My father’s entire demeanor changes in an instant. The cold, calculating alpha vanishes, replaced by a booming, gregarious host. He’s on his feet, adjusting his tie as he moves toward the door.
“Bruce, my good man!” Father extends his hand. “Come in!” His voice is loud, echoing off the bookshelves, a performance of camaraderie that makes my stomach churn.
And then the man himself fills the doorway.
Bruce Sterling is a mountain in a black suit.
He has to duck his head to enter, his shoulders so broad they seem to scrape the frame. He’s older than my father, with a face that looks like it has been carved from granite and then left out in the rain with a jaw that could grind steel, and a scent that hits me like a physical blow.
It’s the smell of an alpha in his prime, but worse. It’s aggressive, suffocating.
Pine and motor oil and something else, something sharp and metallic that tastes like blood in the back of my throat.
My own scent—honey and rain, the soft, pathetic smell of a submissive omega—shrivels in his presence, trying to hide.
The two alphas clasp hands, their laughter a deep, rumbling thunder that shakes the room. They slap each other on the back, like two old friends sealing a deal. But their eyes, when they slide away from each other, find me. The warmth vanishes, replaced by a cold, shared appraisal. I’m the deal. The merchandise.
“Bruce,” my father says, his voice dropping back to its usual commanding tone as he gestures toward me. “I’d like you to meet my son, Jude.”
Mr. Sterling fixes me with a pair of dark, beady eyes. Hedevoursme with a hungry glare, stripping me bare, assessing every weak, soft inch of my body. I feel my breath catch in my throat, a panicked little gasp I can’t swallow.
