Page 81 of Scrum Heat

WHO IS THE OMEGA BEHIND ALDERBRIDGE’S SOCIAL MEDIA SURGE?

New to town. Living with four Alpha players. Rapid career rise. Too good to be coincidence?

The subheading twists the knife:

Sources close to the club say it’s not just her content that’s grabbing attention…

My stomach plummets, and I actually sway on the spot.

“They published this?” My voice comes out thin. “This is real?”

Evie’s expression is granite. “It’s out there now. And no—there’s nothing slanderous enough to pull it. Not legally. It’s phrased with just enough plausible deniability to get away with it.”

I read the line again. And again.

Not just her content.

My skin prickles. “They’re implying I slept my way into the job.”

“They’re implying a lot of things,” she sighs. “And they’re counting on people to fill in the blanks.”

I let out a harsh breath and drop into my chair. My hands are trembling, and my mouth feels full of cotton.

“Did they even mention the engagement metrics? The account growth? The fact the club barely had an online presence until I got here?!”

“No. Because they’re not interested in the truth,” Evie says, stepping closer. “They’re interested in clicks. This? This gets attention. You’re young, you’re attractive, and on top of that, you’re an omega in a house full of alphas. That’s all they need.”

My throat closes up.

“They didn’t even use my name,” I whisper. “Just...the omega.”

Evie’s eyes soften. “They’re trying to dehumanize you. Make you a character, not a person. But you’re not going to let them, Frankie.”

I want to cry. Or scream. Or print out the article and set it on fire using Theo’s hair spray and a lighter from Rory’s glovebox.

“I’ve worked so hard,” I say, voice catching. “I didn’t get handed anything. I’ve stayed up editing until 2am. I’ve read every singlecomment. I’ve been careful. Professional. I’ve done everythingright.”

“And that’s why you’re still winning,” Evie says as she places the laptop gently on my desk. “You’re not just some social media girl—you’re the reason people are watching this club again. And you’re not alone in this. I’m going to make sure of it.”

I nod, because I don’t trust myself to speak.

As she reaches the door, she pauses. Looks back.

“And Frankie?” she adds, quiet but firm. “For what it’s worth—they only write about you when you matter.”

Then she’s gone.

*

The walk back to the house after work feels different today—everything’s slower and heavier.

My phone is silent now—no more notifications, no pings from Harper, no unread messages from Evie. Just me and the headline echoing in my skull.

I can’t even look at the screen anymore without feeling sick. Not after reading the line about my“inexplicably rapid promotion despite a lack of notable credentials.”

Right. Because I couldn’t possibly just be good at my job.

(Or, you know—the only one who actually sent a goddamn application.)

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