Page 3 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

I stare at her for a long moment, then sigh.

“I’m not touching it without a bonus.”

She rolls her eyes. “Three figures.”

“Four.”

“...Three and a half.”

“Rachel, I’m begging you to stop insulting me and just pay me properly for once.”

She doesn’t even blink. “Aimee, be serious. You’re the only unbonded omega on staff who’s not mid-breakdown, mid-pregnancy, or mid-divorce. You don’t have to fall in love. You don’t even have tolike them.You just have to survive a few weeks in their company without committing homicide, and write something funny at the end of it.”

“Great,” I deadpan. “Can I wear a bodycam?”

“Only if you want to win awards.”

I give the document one last scathing look. “What if I die?”

“You won’t. The apps verification system requires bloodwork and an in-person scent-scan for all alphas. Even as an omega, you can’t create an account without identification, and you have to be signed off by a professional who verifies for you. I was yours, of course.”

“....That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

“No,” she says. “It’s supposed to beclickable.”

I glare. “If I end up bonded to some cryptocurrency alpha with commitment issues at the end of this, then I’m billing therapy to the company card.”

Rachel waves me off. “You’ll be fine. Hell, you might even getlaid. It’s been, what, two years? Three?”

“Eighteen months,” I mutter.

She fake gasps. “And you callmeheartless.”

“I call you many things,” I mutter. “Not all of them printable.”

I yank out my phone and get to work downloading the app. I log in using my work email, and as promised, my profile is already half-complete. Rachel even used my wedding-slash-bonding-ceremony photo from my cousin’s reception—the one where I look sleek, unbothered, and potentially homicidal.

Omega. 25.

Likes: spicy food, spite, and high SPF moisturizers.

Dislikes: men.

A heart icon blinks at the bottom of the screen. I stare at it, and for a second, I unwittingly think about the last time I scent-matched.

Wesley Knight was supposed to be everything an alpha should be. Steady and protective; the kind of guy who’d carry your groceries and rip someone’s throat out if they looked at you wrong. We met at college, when I pursued an English Literature degree and he studied Law, and quickly realized we were scent-matched. We dated until just before graduation, and I was so sure that we were going to be bonded, that he was going to officially claim me as we moved away from college and back into the real world.

Instead, he vanished the moment things got real, leaving a trail of silence and unanswered questions.

It’s been four years, and I’ve done an excellent job of pretending he no longer exists. Despite living in the same city, there’s been no contact, anddefinitelyno scent proximity. I’ve left our old friends behind, switched which stores I shope at, ducked outof parties early, and even crossed streets to avoid the gym he frequents. Even now, I still take the long way round to stayfaraway from his office, which is on my direct route home.

Overall, I have a flawless track record of post-knotting avoidance, if I do say so myself. Andfine—maybe I didn’t handle the rejection well, but what omega would? So Imighthave gone a little off the rails after the ghosting, but I’m biologically hardwired for clinginess and chaos. If anything, he’s lucky I didn’t have a full-on meltdown.

So no, I don’t believe in any of it. Not the apps, not the scent-matched fantasy, anddefinitelynot the happily-ever-afters wrapped in algorithmic pheromone bullshit and alpha growls pitched like lullabies. It’s not romance—it’smarketing. It’s capitalism with glands; a scam designed to sell overpriced candle sets, matching loungewear, and the idea that being sniffed equals being loved.

I used to believe. I really did. But then Wes happened, and now I believe in boundaries, lasagna, and petty revenge. And after remembering the way he left—without a word, without explanation, without even agoodbye—I believe in burning this entire scent-matching industry to the ground and dancing in the ashes.

I head back to my desk, open the app again, and finish setting up my profile, providing all of the identification, bloodwork and information that they need.

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