Page 96 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

I pause, fingers tightening around my glass.

“I wanted to mess with him. To get under his skin. And I did. Ihave. I’ve been pushing his buttons since the second I walked in, and now that he’s snapping and unraveling, it should feel… satisfying. Like I won. But it doesn’t.”

I look up at Zara, my throat tight.

“It feels awful.Ifeel awful. Because as much as I hate what he did to me, as much as I know he deserved to squirm a little… ” My voice drops. “Well. There’s more there. Iknowit. I can feel it. I just don’t know how to unpick it without detonating the whole thing.”

“Then don’t,” Zara shrugs. “Not yet. Let him cool off. And in the meantime?”

She tilts her head, eyes sharp. “Write therealarticle.”

I stare. “What, like—‘how I accidentally caught feelings for my fake pack’?”

“Exactly like that.”

I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. “Rachel would hate it.”

“She’s not your therapist,” Zara says, waving a hand. “She’s your boss. And she doesn’t get a vote on your feelings.” She grins. “Write the piece youactuallywant to write. The messy, honest, self-aware one. Thenafterthat, you can write the snarky, spicy, Rachel-approved version and pretend it was all just field research.”

“You think I can pull that off?”

“I think you’ve got two alphas who’d proofread it while feeding you grapes, and a third who’d combust on the spot if he read how much power you actually have over him.”

I snort, but it comes out more like a sigh. I take a long sip of my drink. It’s barely past noon, but I need the burn.

“Okay,” I say. “Okay, yeah. Fuck it. Let’s write the real one.”

Zara raises her glass. “To poor life choices.”

Clink.

“And to falling for all the wrong alphas.”

*

How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates — Scratch That, Here’s the Truth

I was supposed to write a witty exposé; an omega’s tongue-in-cheek guide to charming, disarming, and ultimately dismantling a perfectly decent group of alphas.

I failed.

I was going to make fun of their color-coded fridge labels and weird sleep schedules and protein shake cult rituals. I was going to laugh at how quickly they tried to alpha around me—hovering, scent-marking, bickering over who made the coffee. I was going to pretend that none of it got to me. That they didn’t get to me.

But then I met Jace.

Cocky, golden, impossible Jace—with that smug grin and those arms that should come with a warning label. We clicked instantly, like some part of me had always known how to spark off him. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t even slow.

He said one filthy thing and I was ready to commit crimes.

And then there’s Cam.

Sweet, steady, soft-spoken Cam, who cooks breakfast like it’s an Olympic sport and looks at me like I’m something precious he’s trying not to drop. He noticeseverything. He asks questions I didn’t think anyone cared enough to ask. And with him… it’s not about spark. It’s about depth.

That terrifying, unexpected feeling of falling before you realize there’s nowhere safe to land.

And then there’s Wes.

Wes, who knew me when I was still figuring out how to survive my first heat. Wes, who made me feel seen for the first time—before making me feel small again.

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