Page 140 of Stream Heat
“So to Quinn, if you’re watching this, then I want you to know that I hope you’re truly happy. I hope those bonds are everything you deserve after what this industry put you through. And thank you, from me, from every Omega who’s ever been told to be less, to hide more, to pretend just to survive. You didn’t ask to be a symbol, but babe, you’re changing everything.”
I closed the tab, and the tears just kept flowing. Not humiliation, not fear. Solidarity.
Another text popped in, it was Reid, of course, direct and to the point:
Just checking in. How are you feeling? We’ll be home soon.
I rubbed my eyes dry and forced a smile.
Better than I expected. Have you seen what’s happening online?
His response was immediate and I wondered what he felt through the bonds.
Hard to miss. The platform executives have been calling non-stop. So have sponsors. Apparently authentic designation content is the new marketing gold standard.
I let out a snort of laughter. For years I thought my designation would be my downfall, the reason I’d never have a career. Now it was the thing everyone wanted to put on their brand.
Where are you all?
I asked, because now I actually wanted to know.
Secret mission. Home in an hour. Rest while you can.
The old me would have been twitching at the cryptic brush-off. Now? I just rolled my eyes and finished my tea.
I moved to the window, mug warm between my hands, and watched the light shift through the leaves. Three months ago, I was still pretending to be a Beta, pumping myself full of illegal suppressant cocktails just to keep up the lie. Then, I’d moved into this house thinking I’d drawn firm lines, that the pack was just a “business arrangement.” Finally, I stopped fighting. Gave up the losing war I’d been waging with my own nature.
And now? Reid had claimed me on camera for the entire world to see. Now everything was different. Or maybe everything had always been this way, and I was only seeing it clearly now.
I traced the marks. Reid’s on my left shoulder, Theo’s on my right. Jace at my wrist, Ash at the back of my neck. Malik’s, still settling in at my elbow. Each bite was its own signature, its own story. Each one a choice.
My phone pinged, a new message from the streaming platform.
Dear Ms. Quinn,
In light of recent events, we are pleased to inform you that your partnership status has been fully reinstated with upgraded benefits. Additionally, we would like to invite you to participate in our newly formed Designation Diversity Advisory Board to help shape more inclusive policies for creators of all designations.
The unprecedented response to your recent content has demonstrated a clear market demand for authentic designation representation. We believe your unique perspective would be invaluable as we work to create a more equitable streaming environment.
Please contact us at your earliest convenience to discuss this opportunity.
Sincerely,
Marcus Stein
Head of Creator Relations
I didn’t even know what to do with that. All my old nightmares, the ones where my career vanished after the heat crash, after the claiming bite, after all the ugly truth came out, they ended up inverted. Now they wanted me to help write the new rules.
New notification, this time from Theo.
Check the front door in 10 minutes. Don’t peek early or you’ll ruin the surprise!
Of course it was Theo. That was the only guarantee here, chaos, excitement, probably sugar, maybe confetti.
I set a timer and killed the next few minutes scrolling #OmegaRights and #PackProtection. Other creators were joining the chorus, brands tripping over themselves to apologize for old decisions, tournaments hurrying to announce that they “supported creators of all designations.” It was a landslide.
When the timer went off, I headed for the door. Whatever my pack had cooked up, I was curious enough not to hesitate.
