“She was.” Star’s fingers trace a scar on my ribs from a bike accident. “She believed in independence, she was an omega right’s advocate. But she also believed in love. Said the right alpha wouldn’t steal your wings—he’d help you build a bigger sky.”
My throat tightens. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a guy.”
She laughs. “You’re not just any guy. You’re the guy who just spent the last few days making sure I didn’t die from my heat. And you’re still here.”
Because I can’t fucking leave. But I don’t say it. Instead, I ask, “This online branch you want. Same-day delivery. That’s ambitious.”
Her eyes light up, and I’ve given her the perfect deflection. She talks for twenty minutes about delivery apps, temperature-controlled packaging, and partnerships with local cafes. Her passion is a living thing, bright and infectious. She wants to build something, and I yearn to build with her. She describes a cascading bouquet of midnight roses and jasmine, her hands sketching shapes in the air, and for a moment I almost smile despite myself.
“We could do a subscription service,” she says, getting animated. “Heat-week comfort boxes. For omegas who can’t get what they need.”
The words hang in the air. Can’t get what they need.
I clear my throat. “You’d need logistics. A distribution center. Beta drivers who won’t be affected by omega pheromones.”
“See?” She grins. “You’re already problem-solving. That’s what a good alpha does.”
“I’m not your alpha.” The denial is automatic. And the moment it leaves my mouth, turns her eyes away.
“Right.” She says, sitting up. The sheets fall to her lap. “Present. I forgot.”
Guilt claws at my gut. I sit up too, reaching for her, but she scoots back.
“Star—”
“You know what my mom used to say? After my dad would bring her those Wednesday flowers?” She’s not looking at her hands. Her voice has gone soft. Distant. “She’d say, ‘The best bonds aren’t made in the heat, baby. They’re made in the quiet moments after. When you choose each other anyway.’”
I’m gutted. The words slice between my ribs, finding my heart.
“I’m choosing,” she whispers. “Even if you won’t.”
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Her heat scent is spiking again, but it’s different now—layered with sadness, with rejection. My own biology riots at the change. My alpha instincts are howling at me to fix it, to soothe her, to promise her everything she wants.
But I can’t. I have a contract. A merger. A life that doesn't include fairy-tale endings.
“I should go,” I say, ripping the words from my throat.
She nods, still not looking at me. “Yeah. Probably.”
I stand, find my clothes scattered like debris across the floor. I pull on my pants and shirt. Each layer feels like armor snapping into place. I’m becoming the man I was before her again. The controlled mogul. The alphahole who doesn’t believe in glass slippers.
I’m at the bedroom door when she speaks.
“Liam, the real gift is the future. All the years you have in front of you. We could have them. Together.”
I walk out before answering. Before I say something, before hope flares in her eyes again. Because hope is the most dangerous thing of all.
Chapter three
Star
The shop is a mash-up of roses, freesias, lilac, peonies and our latest fresh-from-the-market deliveries. The flowers are fresh. I am not. If I had a scent of my own, it would be trampled wet stems after a drenching rain; nobody survived. But I don't. I have his. His aroma lingers, seeping from my pores. That's how deep he imprinted himself on me. Before he left.
I change the water in the front display. Trim two inches off the ranunculus. Reprice the dried bundles by the register because I forgot to do it last week, and now I'm doing it with a little too much force, snapping the price gun harder than the cardstock can handle.
Paula watches me from the worktable.
She's been watching me since she unlocked the back door at seven-fifteen, set down her coffee, looked at my face, and did not say a single word for forty-five minutes. That is a record. Paula does not do silence. She does commentary. She does running observations and unsolicited opinions, and the kind of teasing that has been her primary love language since we met. The silence lasted until I started in on the eucalyptus. A plant I'monly now discovering how much I hate. Despise each and every stem that was a witness and kept its mouth shut.
