Torin

Spade Industries has been in my family for generations, each chairman who inherited the company drove it to greater heights than the last. I am the only child of my parents’ pack, the sole successor, and that means I cannot afford to be mediocre or a fuck‑up, as my father so often reminded me. It is my responsibility to raise Spade Industries higher than it has ever been, so that my children and their children will continue the chain, each generation building upon the legacy.

Distractions are only of the very few luxuries I cannot afford. When I built my pack, I deliberately chose people who would not complain about my absence, who would accept that my presence would always be secondary to the empire I am shaping. Yet in recent months, I have noticed hostility brewing, resentment at my lack of involvement. That is fine. I expected it eventually. I had a plan for this. I spent my time over the years saving up off‑days, working ahead of schedule, ensuring that when the time came, I could return home and give the illusion of being present and being the attentive Alpha they craved.

But Augi bulldozed my entire plan. He gambled away company shares, setting me back fifty years in a single reckless move. I clawed back most of what he sold, but the damage remains. A miscalculation on my part, trusting him at all trusting a hockey player was foolish. Augi is proving to be more trouble than he is worth, and something must be done.

"We have a meeting with Link Enterprises’ chairman right when we land, sir," Natalie, my secretary, says, her eyes fixed on her computer screen. I nod, gaze still locked on the clouds outside the jet window. Three hours into the flight by now I’m far from my city, yet not far enough from my problems which are my mother, my pack, and most of all, Lorali.

No one knows the truth. They all believe it was chance that Lorali chose us even though one of us even spoke to her. But that is a lie. I spoke to her. I danced with her. And that single moment has haunted me ever since.

The worst part isn’t even that I arranged this meeting abroad just to avoid seeing her again. It’s that I, Torin Spade, genius, billionaire, mogul, have had my mind hijacked by an omega. She has invaded my thoughts, disrupted my focus, made me falter in the one thing I swore would always come first: the business. Spade Industries is above all else, even above myself. Yet this omega lingers in my mind like a drug I cannot free myself from.

It is odd, terrifying even, the way she controls every fiber of my being from a single meeting. There is only one explanation.

She is my mate.

"No," I say aloud suddenly, fists tightening in my lap, brows furrowed. "That’s impossible. The chances are too small."

But the thought of her being my fated mate leaves me anxious and unsettled. If she truly is, what then? What happens to me, to the company, to everything I have built?I hope this distance I am forcing between us serves its purpose. By the time I return to the country, Lorali will have given up and gone back to Alma.

Walter

"Is it true?" Steffany, a beta and one of the other models, leans so far across her makeup chair toward me that the legs squeak against the tiled floor. Her eyes glimmer with curiosity, hungry for gossip. We’re waiting to shoot the second part of the photoshoot so most of us scattered across the large, dimly lit makeup room that had air that smells faintly of hairspray and foundation powder with the only light coming from the glowing rings of the vanity mirrors, halos that cast sharp shadows across our faces as we wait for the director’s call.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stef," I say, tone flat, not even bothering to look up from my phone. My thumb flicks across the screen, heart pounding with ridiculous anticipation. I’m so close to beating this cursed level of the candy game I’ve been addicted to for eleven years. Eleven years of obsession, of wasted coins and extra lives, I’ve been trapped on this level for a week, pouring money into it like a fool, and now, finally, I can taste victory.

"You know," she presses, stretching so far forward I’m surprised she hasn’t toppled over her chair yet. Her persistence is almost comical, but I know better than to underestimate her. Steffany is one of the few true friends I have in this industry. Not many people want to befriend a so‑called ’whore‑like’ omega. She treats me like a normal person, unafraid to show me her gossip‑hungry side, and I love her for it even when she drives me insane.

"Spit it out, Stef."

"Well, you know people talk, especially the other models. Word is going around that your pack got a second omega and is planning to replace you." She whispers the atrocity keeping her voice low, as if the walls themselves might be listening.

My thumb freezes mid‑swipe. The game vanishes from my mind. My eyes widen, my expression drains of color as I turn to face her.

"Who told you this?" My voice quivers, the words dry.

"So it’s true," Stef gasps, covering her mouth with both hands. "Oh my gods, how could this happen? You guys were a total power‑pack couple."

"It’s not what you think. We... we..." My mind scrambles, racing for some believable excuse. Finally, I settle on a lie smooth enough to pass. "We’re only supplying the omega with a home. Alma asked us to, and we were glad to help. Apparently, the girl received no callings from any packs after the gala. She was undesirable. So my pack is helping her find a place, because Alma asked."

The words spill from my mouth like water, effortless and convincing, even to me. I know it’s a lie that will catch up to me eventually, but right now I don’t care. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I cannot confirm this news and let it spread. I’d be a laughingstock in seconds, these models are vultures circling me, waiting for me to slip so they can tear me apart.

"Oh, I was so worried for you there for a second." Stef exhales, sitting back properly in her chair. "Jannet was going to tear you to shreds if this was true. You’d be ruined before the tabloids even got wind of it."

"Hahaa, yeah," I laugh awkwardly, the sound hollow, brittle.

"Why would an Alma omega not be called upon? Aren’t all those bitches high value? Their scent alone drives packs insane." She sinks into her chair, pulling out her phone, the glow lighting her face like a spotlight.

"Well... well, this one is... umm... a defect. Apparently something’s wrong with her." I stammer, shifting nervously in my seat, the lie tasting sour on my tongue.

Her eyes flick up from her screen. "Really? A defect at Alma? That’s gold news." Her voice trembles with excitement. The news is golden indeed if it were true because Alma doesn’t have defects. Alma is perfection incarnate. The idea of a flaw is scandalous, disgraceful and the kind of gossip that could set the industry on fire.

Her fingers fly across her screen, typing faster now, nails clicking like gunfire.

Her fingers swipe across her screen, typing faster now, nails clicking like gunfire against glass.

"What was her name?" she asks, eyes gleaming, voice sharp with anticipation.

"Something starting with an L, I don’t remember her full name." I mutter, trying to drag the name out of my memory. Oril told me once, but it slipped away, buried under everything else. I wonder if L was even a letter in her name.

"L will do then," she says, eyes glued to her phone, thumbs moving like lightning.

I narrow my gaze at her, suspicion curling in my chest. "Stef, what are you doing?"

"Clearing your name. The trolls are running rampant online."

It takes me a moment to process, but when it hits, it hits hard. My stomach drops. "Stef, you better not be posting this. It’s confidential."

"Oh." She turns her head, lips forming a pout, eyes wide with mock innocence. "You should have led with that. I already posted."

Panic surges through me, hot and suffocating, crawling up my throat like fire. "Why would you do that? Delete it!" My voice cracks, laced with worry. This wasn’t supposed to spiral. I never intended to start rumors, never wanted this to blow out of proportion. Alma will sue me in a heartbeat for defamation. That’s exactly the kind of thing they’d do, drag me through the mud, ruin me and make me a cautionary tale.

"It’s too late," Stef says, proud but cautious . "I already have like sixty‑five thousand views and twenty thousand saves. Too many people have seen it." She turns her phone toward me, screen glowing like a weapon.

The words float in front of me, damning, impossible to erase.

[Listen, this message is to all you bitches saying Pack Spade took another omega. First off, get your facts right before you run your mouth, that isn’t the case. They’re helping a defect omega from Alma, who goes by L, to find a pack. Yes, Alma—that uppity omega school—has defects. I was surprised too when I found out. Wonder if they’re worth all that hype now, when one of their omegas can’t even find a pack on her own. #PackSpadeIsInnocent #L #Walter]

My chest tightens. My pulse hammers. My vision blurs. There is only one thought echoing in my skull, relentless, merciless:

Fuck. My. Life