Page 3 of A Promise of Forever
I shove that thought down and straighten my collar, suddenly feeling naked without a tie, but I can’t return to that room now. Not when I’m already here.
I push into the main ballroom, my breath catching in my throat at the extravagant luxury unfolding before me. Large windows line the entire back wall of the gala, overlooking the main part of the city, a view that I would have never seen in amillion years, now staring back at me. Hundreds of people in formal wear move across the polished marble floor like dancers in a dream. The women's gowns are works of art, and the men's tuxedos fit like they were made by master tailors. And then there are the scents. Even with all the perfume and cologne in the air, I can pick out the distinct pheromones of all sorts of designations. The combinations make my Omega instincts go haywire. Part of me wants to submit to every dominant scent in the room, while another part screams at me to run before someone notices how out of place I am.
I force myself to smile and step into the crowd, trying to look like I belong. No one pays attention to me at first, which is both a relief and a disappointment. I watch other Omegas gracefully accept roses from admirers, their practiced smiles and confident body language making me feel like a clumsy child playing dress-up. I avoid the food, even as my stomach rumbles, trying to play off like I know what I’m doing.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can blend in long enough to find someone who—
A rancid scent fills my lungs, fear taking over my ability to think straight.No.My gaze scurries around the room looking for the scent’s owner as I ball my hands into fists, refusing to believe that he already made it here until my eyes lock on Wilson across the crowded ballroom, and my world stops. He's actually here, in his dress uniform with his chest full of commendations, looking every inch the respectable police officer. Which means that while I had been running, thinking he was chasing me halfway across the city, he was getting ready to show up right here.
Our eyes meet and Wilson's face splits into that cold smile I know so well. He says something to the Alpha he was speaking with and then starts moving in my direction. I hold back a scream, my whole body going into flight mode, adrenaline flooding my system as I dash across the gala to the nearestexit. People turn to stare as I push past them, my carefully constructed facade crumbling in seconds. There has to be somewhere I can hide until security deals with Wilson, or until he gives up and leaves, or until I can figure out some other way out of this nightmare. Riley said I could go to him or one of the guards, but they can’t protect me. Not from this.
I find a hallway leading away from the main ballroom and sprint down it, the dress shoes I borrowed slipping on the polished floor. Behind me, I can hear Wilson's voice calling my name, still trying to sound concerned and official even as he pursues me.
The hallway branches in several directions, confusion almost rendering me helpless before I choose one at random, desperate to put distance between myself and Wilson's voice. My ankle throbs with each step, but I push through the pain. If Wilson catches me now, after I've made such a public scene, he'll be able to spin it as a disturbed Omega having a breakdown. No one will question his right to take me into custody.
Most of the doors along the hallway are locked, probably private offices for the venue staff. But one handle turns when I try it, and I slip inside without looking to see what kind of room it is.
The office is dark, lit only by the city lights streaming through tall windows. It's clearly someone important's workspace—the furniture is all heavy wood and rich leather, and there are expensive-looking books lining built-in shelves. A massive desk dominates the center of the room, its surface polished to a mirror shine. I can still hear Wilson's footsteps in the hallway, and voices as he probably asks the staff if they've seen which direction I went. There's nowhere to hide in this room exceptunderthe fucking desk. God, this is such a bad idea, but I don’t have another choice.
My heart in my throat, I crawl under it, making myself as small as possible in the dark space between the drawers. I drag my knees up against my chest, trying to control my breathing so that no one can hear me, but my scent betrays me anyway. It’s sickly sweet with an acidic edge, my body trembling with terror as my heart races. Wilson will find me here. Or someone will. And they’ll return me to that Alpha.Fuck.
A small whimper tears from my throat as I try to calm myself, a sob forcing itself out as I take a deep breath, only to be met with rich notes of coconut and rum that remind me of tropical beaches I've never seen. There's something about it that makes me want to breathe deeper, to relax into the feeling of safety it provides. I don't understand why this particular scent makes me feel calmer when I should be more terrified than ever. I burrow deeper into the space under the desk, pressing my back against the solid wood panel where the scent is stronger, like whoever uses this office spends a lot of time sitting right here. For a moment, I forget that Wilson is just steps away and that I’m cocooned in a little ball of safety.
That maybe whoever the owner of this scent is could be my golden ticket out of here.
Wilson’s voice draws closer, other voices mixing in before footsteps stop just outside the door, the terror from before returning. I press my hand over my mouth to muffle any sound, tears streaming down my cheeks as I hold myself as tightly as possible. My whole body shakes with the effort of staying silent, and I close my eyes as if that might make me invisible.Just go away,I silently yell at him.I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours.
Forrest
I growl under my breath as I adjust my suit jacket for the third time tonight, the midnight black fabric pulling across my shoulders with each movement. The maroon tie feels like it's strangling me, but my brother, Caelan, insisted it would pop against the black. My brother has terrible taste in formal wear, but arguing with him takes more energy than I'm willing to spend tonight.
"You look like you're heading to a funeral instead of the most exclusive mating gala in the state," Caelan teases from behind me, that insufferable grin I know so well spreading across hisface. His own suit fits him perfectly, of course, and he wears it with the easy confidence of someone who actually enjoys these social events.
"I'm not attending the gala," I snap, checking my watch again. The numbers blur slightly as frustration clouds my vision. "I have business meetings scheduled in the back offices. The timing just happened to coincide."
That's not entirely true. When Hendricks moved our meeting from ten to eleven-thirty, it pissed me off enough that I almost canceled the whole thing. The Night of Scarlet venue offered me the use of a private office for my after-hours business dealings, and I'd planned to be in and out before the main event got into full swing. Now I'm stuck here in formal wear, surrounded by the kind of desperate hope and manufactured romance that makes my skin crawl.
"Right, business meetings," Caelan muses, his tone dripping with disbelief. "You know, when's the last time you actually got laid? And I don't mean those quick transactions with working Betas who don't give a shit about you."
The question hits closer to home than I care to admit. When was the last time? Six months ago? Eight? The encounters blur together into a series of meaningless physical releases that left me feeling emptier than before. But admitting that to my Alpha brother would be like handing him ammunition to use against me for the next decade. The fucker has a pack of his own at home, one that our parents would have been so proud of. Hell,I’mproud of him, but I just haven’t found the right dynamic yet. It’s either someone who wants me for my status or my money, or both. I’d rather just have silence than have a trophy on my arm like some Alpha and Valla do these days.
I turn to face him, letting enough menace creep into my expression to shut down his line of questioning. "I knew I should have left your sorry ass at home."
Caelan just laughs, completely unfazed by my attempt at intimidation. Being blood relatives gives him immunity to the fear I inspire in most people, something that's both a blessing and a curse. "Come on, Forrest. You're thirty-five years old and you've never even considered taking an Omega. Dad always said we'd need mates eventually to solidify our position in the business."
The mention of our father sends a familiar spike of anger through my chest. "Dad said a lot of things. Most of them were bullshit designed to control us through fear and obligation. I don't need an Omega cluttering up my life with emotional drama and biological demands."
The truth is more complicated than that, layered with years of watching other Valla lose their edge once they took mates. I've seen powerful men become soft and distracted, more concerned with their Omega's happiness than maintaining the fear and respect that keeps our organization running smoothly. Power is the only thing that matters in this world, and emotional attachments are just weaknesses waiting to be exploited by enemies. But there's another truth I don't want to examine too closely. The truth that maybe I've never found an Omega who made me want to risk that weakness. Maybe I've been waiting for something I didn't even know I needed.
Caelan shrugs, straightening his own tie in the mirror with practiced ease. "Your loss. But don't come crying to me when you're seventy and alone with nothing but your precious business empire to keep you warm at night."
I don't dignify that with a response. Instead, I check the time again and head for the door. Hendricks and his associates should be arriving soon, and I want to review the distribution routes one more time before they get here. Numbers and logistics are things I can control, unlike whatever emotional landmine my brother just tried to detonate.
The private offices are located away from the main ballroom, accessible through a series of quiet hallways that insulate business dealings from the romantic theater happening elsewhere in the venue. My temporary office for the evening is spacious and well-furnished, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. It’s quite the view and definitely a selling point for talks like these.
The moment I step inside, every instinct I possess goes on high alert.
Someone has been in my space. At first, I think it might be someone working against me or someone trying to gain information about this deal. And then I catch the sweet notes of apricot and vanilla, cut with terror, devastating every defense I've built around my heart. I've never smelled anything that called to me so strongly. The scent bypasses every rational thought in my head and goes straight to the most primal part of my brain. My nostrils flare as I try to process what I'm experiencing, but my body is already responding, my cock twitching in my pants as I subconsciously seek to claim the owner of that scent.
