Page 67 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

When I first typed that title, it felt powerful.Bold. A little unhinged, sure, but righteous all the same. A manifesto that Icould truly get behind, and a middle finger to every smug alpha who ever thought an omega’s bond was his birthright.

And then, after finding out I’d been matched by the app to Wes and his pack, it was supposed to be a takedown. A slow, controlled unraveling of the most arrogant alpha I’ve ever known—and proof that scent-matches, soulmate packs, and all that fairy-tale bullshit was just a hormonal scam with good PR and a cult following.

Now, it stares back at me like a threat I don’t know how to follow through on. Not because Wes doesn’t deserve it—hedoes. He’s still every inch the self-important, control-obsessed asshole he revealed himself to be to me four years ago.

It's crazy to think that there was once a time when I saw something totally different in him; a time when he was sweet, when he was soft and gentle and protective, when his possessiveness didn’t feel toxic and his love felt kind. Now, he’s cold and sharp-edged, mean and angry and emotionally constipated enough to qualify as a cautionary tale.

He still hasn’t apologized for the way he treated me. For how he ghosted me as though I was disposable, as if I never meant anything to him at all.

He makes my blood boil. He also makes my thighs clench. Which is—frankly—rude.

ButCam?Jace?

They weren’t supposed to be part of this, and they weren’t meant tomatter. They were supposed to just be background noise; supporting characters and casualties of narrative. Names I planned to forget once I proved my point.

But now theyaren’t. They’re kind and they’re sweet and they’rereal,and they’re all the things I’ve ever wanted in an alpha, or a pack, or… or amate.

They’re everything I once believedhewas. Or at least, what hecouldbe.

Cam folds my laundry and brings me tea and flusters himself into a full-body blush every time I so much as look at him with intent. He told me yesterday that I make the house feel more like home, and then he smiled like he hadn’t just punched me in the feelings.

Meanwhile, Jace has me laughing until my sides hurt and makes me feel lighter. He's easy to be around, fun and silly while being an excellent listener and good company. He sat back and let me rearrange the cupboards three separate times andstillmanaged to find the cinnamon I buried behind the emergency granola bars. He just raised a brow and passed it to me with a smirk, like he knew I was spiraling but didn’t want to embarrass me about it.

They don’t deserve to be caught in this. And sure, maybe it started as a little experiment, a thesis wrapped in chaos, but now I’m living with them, laughing with them,wantingthem; and what’s worse—

They want me back.

They’ve seen the version of me that I haven’t even let myself fully be in years. The chaotic, sharp-edged, soft-hearted hurricane of a girl who just wanted someone to stay; and suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a thesis anymore.

It feels like a lie I don’t know how to climb back out of.

And despite the fact that I’m suppressed and scent-blocked to high heaven… I feel it. The way we’re scent-matched, the four of us. I feel it in every nerve-ending, every shared look, in every stupidly soft domestic moment I didn’t plan for.

My body reacts like it knows something I don’t want to admit, andtheydon’t know that I’m faking it. That it started as a lie.

Eventually, they’re going to find out. And when they do…

My stomach tightens. It’s not as if I haven’t thought about that part—Ihave.But it always felt… clinical.Distant. A necessary side effect of teaching Wes a lesson he’s had coming for four long years. I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve told myself any damage was justified, that it was collateral.

But now they’ve defended my glitter war, fucked me in the back seat of an SUV, gone along with ridiculous things like my purchasing of fluffy dice and obnoxiously named scented candles and sequin cushions that I don’t evenlike.They’ve backed me up on the stupid strawberry milk stunt, sung pack songs with me in the kitchen, and even helped me cover up the knife-drawer rebranding as though it wasnormal.

So yeah: now, it feels different. Now, it feels like I’m not just exposing a broken system, but like I might be breaking something good.

I blink down at the cursor blinking on the page, chewing my lip. If things were different—if this wasn’t an article, if this wasn’t a plan, if Wes hadn’t ruined everything before it even started—then maybe...

No.That’s not how this works. Thingsaren’tdifferent. This isn’t some romantic comedy redemption arc. This isn’t fate or bonding or some scent-matched fairy tale.

It’s revenge. It’s strategy.

It’swar.

Wesley Knight is still the same cocky, controlling, emotionally unavailable alpha-hole who humiliated me in front of half our old friends and acted like it didn’t matter. He’s still the man who single-handedly made me feel small and unwanted and replaceable, who deemed me unworthy of an explanation, never mind a goodbye.

He hasn’t changed. He never will.

So I won’t, either.

I click into the document and start typing again, voice steady, fingers moving fast.

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