Her nails rake down my back, leaving fire in their wake. “Yes—god—just like that.”
I bite her shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave another mark. Enough to say mine without the words I can’t give her. She shatters around me, crying out my name, half wail, half shout. I follow her over the edge with an angry roaras my body demands I never give this up.Ever.The roar says it fucking refuses.
The knot locks us together again, and I roll us so she’s on top, straddling me. She collapses forward, her face buried in my neck, and I feel her smile against my skin.
“Present,” she whispers. “I like the present.”
I close my eyes and pretend I don’t hear the clock ticking down.
Three days later.
Star blankets my chest again, her breathing deep and even. I’ve memorized its pattern. The little hitches when she dreams, the way she snuffles and burrows closer when I shift. My body is exhausted and overworked, but my mind is wide-awake.
I’ve messaged my staff that I had an emergency and that I’ll be unavailable. I picture their confused faces.
My family has been blowing up my phone. Roan started a group text:
Roan:Just let us know if you’re still alive, man.
Me:I’m alive. Just under the weather. Don’t worry. Can still kick your ass.
Vivian:You’ve never been sick a day in your life.
Grayson:One hundred says he found his omega.
Vivian:I’ll take that bet. Liam would be in his grave before he’d ever mate.
Me:I’m just sick.I added a green vomit emoji
Grayson:Sick with love.
Me:You guys are assholes. I’m going back to bed.
Roan:Wait, what’s her name?
Me:Bye.
There are no messages from Bethany. She’s in Singapore handling a logistics issue, completely unaware that across the world, her fiancé knotted his true mate. The irony would be hilarious if it weren’t so fucking tragic.
Star stirs, her hand tracing patterns on my chest. “Tell me about your company,” she mumbles, half-asleep. “You said you had meetings.”
“It’s just real estate. Boring.”
“Billionaire real estate mogul boring?” She props her chin on my chest, eyes bright with all the sunshine that lives within her. “Tell me. I want to know what makes you tick when you’re not… ticking.”
I almost smile. “Acquisitions. Development. I buy shitty buildings and make them less shitty. Then I sell them for profit.”
“Sounds satisfying.”
“It’s controlled. Predictable. Numbers don’t lie. People do.”
She flinches at the edge in my voice. I’m doing it again—pushing her away with sharp words. It’s the only defense I have left.
“What about your company?” I ask, turning the spotlight. “Star Brite Flowers. How does a twenty-something omega start a business in this city without an alpha backing her?”
The question is personal. Too personal. But she answers. “I’m twenty four. And my grandma,” she says, her face softening. “She was an omega, too. When she passed, she left me enough seed money to get started. Literally seed money. Not a fortune, but enough for a lease and some equipment.”
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
