Page 176 of Scrum Heat

“Achance?!” I blink; then I laugh—loud, sharp, and slightly stunned. “What, you mean the beta who used to call me‘mouthy’every time I disagreed with him?”

Her lips thin. “He was raised right. Comes from a good home. His mother—”

“His mother is your best friend,” I cut in. “And you think that makes him husband material.”

“He’s a nice boy,” she insists. “Stable. Normal. Devoted.”

“He’s acoward,” I sneer right back. “And a creep. And apparently also the guy who’s been helping you run burner accounts online to humiliate me.”

She freezes, and I watch the color literally drain from her face. “That’s not—”

“He called me a slut.” My voice wobbles, but I push through it. “He literally posted that under a photo of me doing my job. He said I was probably sleeping with the whole team to boost engagement. Andthat’swho you wanted me to bond with?”

“You don’t know that he wrote that,” she argues.

“Yes, I do. One of Theo’s dad’s tech guys looked into it. Did a full trace. Not just IP addresses—email addresses. Burner accounts, usernames, comment history. And you know what? You two were so stupid you didn’t evenbotherto hide it. You used your real names and actual emails on atleasthalf of them. Even the ones where you didn’t were still linked right here.”

I laugh, but it’s completely humorless.

“I know which ones were you, and which were him. The emails wereright there. He used your Wi-Fi and signed into three accounts at once. The techliterallymapped the timestamps across devices.” I swallow thickly and shake my head as it plays out behind my eyelids. “I can’t quite believe it. You two were sitting next to each other while you tore me down in public. My ownmother.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. And then—quietly, almosthopelessly—she says, “I didn’t write anything that cruel.”

“If you didn’t, then you lethim,” I snap. “You knew it was happening, how it would make me feel and how it could ruin my life; and you never once told him to stop.”

“I was scared,” she says. “You were throwingeverythingaway.”

“No, you were trying to package me,” I hiss. “Dress me up in church clothes and pin me to the arm of some socially acceptable beta so you could parade me around the next charity bake sale and saylook, see, my daughter turned out just fine. One omega, one partner, and everything in beige.”

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s thetruth.”

And when she looks away, I see it. The guilt. The embarrassment. The refusal to admit it.

But that’s it. I’m done. I’ve said everything I want to say, and I have no more reason to stay.

I take a breath and step toward the door.

“We’re done.”

“Frankie—”

“No.” My voice cracks. “You don’t get to call yourself my mother and try to break me in the same breath. You don’t get to whisper behind my back and smile to my face.”

She’s crying now, but I don’t care.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive this,” I say. “And I know I’ll never forget it. So here’s what’s going to happen. You leave me alone. You stay away from my life, my pack, and my job. Or I’ll file a restraining order so fast your head will spin. And Nigel?” I open the door. “If I even see his name—or one of his burner accounts—on my feed or the club’s pages again, I’ll personally make sure his boss seeseverythinghe’s posted.”

I don’t wait for a reply.

The door slams shut behind me, and when I get in the car, I feel it again—those four bonds thrumming under my skin.

I drive away, and this time, I press the radio on.

My home isn’t here anymore.

It never was.

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