In Her Orbit

by Red_desert_feline

Summary:

Season 1:

In a world where humans have evolved into alphas, betas, and omegas, after a series of events that have extincted men, Ari—a shy, artistic omega—enters a high-pressure tech company after years of remote work. She catches the attention of Lyra Veran, the elegant and powerful CFO, and finds herself pulled into a whirlwind of attraction, politics, and unexpected power plays.

As Ari navigates flirtation, confusion, and her own emotional awakening, she must learn to balance instinct with agency—and figure out what she truly wants in a world that keeps telling her who she’s supposed to be.

A slow-burn workplace drama filled with tension, tenderness, and the quiet revolution of knowing your worth.

From executive bathrooms to whispered warnings, stolen kisses, HR scandals, and art gallery revelations, Ari's journey is messy, vulnerable, and deeply human. Through it all, she discovers the strength to define her own boundaries, the courage to want more than instinct, and the resilience to love—not just others, but herself.
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Season 2:

The plot thickens!
Dark pasts are revealed, old flames revived. Friendships and relationships broken and new triangles are formed.

Chapter 1: The alphas at work

Summary:

...
Camille was bent over the desk, her blonde hair loose, her breath hitching softly, her skirt gathered at her waist like a flag of surrender. The air between them was heavy with something unspoken, something wild and molten. Lyra stood behind her, steadying herself with one hand braced on the desk’s edge, the other wrapped tightly around Camille’s hips. Her movements were deliberate—restrained, yet hungry. Her long black hair remained tied in a neat ponytail, but her fair skin was already damp with sweat, flushed pink from exertion.
....

 

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Lyra sat in her office, posture rigid, fingers frozen over the keyboard. For two years, she had been the assistant to the CFO—discreet, dependable, sharp. But now, she knows too much. The files she found last night still haunted her screen. This morning, she’d sent an anonymous report to the CEO. The weight of it pressed against her chest.

 

A soft knock.

 

Camille stepped in, as she often did. Calm, composed, with the faintest trace of perfume and a tiny usb in hand. “I brought the projections you asked for,” she said, placing it gently on the desk. Her eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary.

 

Lyra nodded without looking up. “Thank you.”

 

Camille hesitated, then added with a slight smile, “You know, you’re always so focused. It’s admirable. But exhausting, I imagine.”

 

Lyra’s eyes met hers. Tired. Guarded.

 

Camille straightened. “Anyway... this will be the last time I say something like that. I think you… don't like it.”

 

Lyra blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

Camille gave a soft shrug, already turning to go. “Just... I know when a door stays closed.”

 

She reached the handle.

 

Lyra’s breath caught. The pressure, the silence, the isolation—everything collided in that moment. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t. But she didn’t want to be alone right now.

 

“Camille,” she said quietly. “Wait.”

 

Camille turned back.

 

Lyra rose from her chair. “Stay.”

One thing led to another—the kind of shift that happens in silence, in eye contact held just a beat too long. Lyra didn’t remember who moved first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was Camille. It didn’t matter now.

 

Camille was bent over the desk, her blonde hair loose, her breath hitching softly, her skirt gathered at her waist like a flag of surrender. The air between them was heavy with something unspoken, something wild and molten. Lyra stood behind her, steadying herself with one hand braced on the desk’s edge, the other wrapped tightly around Camille’s hips. Her movements were deliberate—restrained, yet hungry. Her long black hair remained tied in a neat ponytail, but her fair skin was already damp with sweat, flushed pink from exertion.

 

Her control only made it more intoxicating.

 

The desk creaked beneath their rhythm, soft and steady at first, then more assertive as Lyra gave in to the pull of her own desire. Camille arched into her touch, spine curving, mouth parted in a silent plea. She had always carried herself like an equal, like a challenge—but here and now, she gave herself completely. Not as an alpha. Not as a rival. But as something else. Her blue eyes glistened, half-closed and trembling as she took Lyra in.

 

Lyra leaned over her, her breath grazing Camille’s neck, her fingers imprinting into her skin with possessive reverence. A quiet growl trembled at the edge of her voice as she murmured something low, something only Camille could hear.

 

And Camille—smiling, breathless—answered with a moan that wasn't the submission of an omega, but choice from an equal.

 

I'm yours… Lyra

 

In that moment, Lyra didn’t feel like a woman burdened by secrets or fear. She felt powerful. Desired. Alive.

 

And Camille—Camille was hers.

 

But Camille wasn’t… enough?...her type?

 

Camille wasn't meant for her and she felt it.

 

Lyra pulled out just before her release, jaw clenched, breath ragged. She stood still for a moment, letting the tension ebb out of her slowly. Camille shuddered against the desk, her body overtaken by pleasure that left her shaking, thighs glistening, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh.

 

For a few seconds, the room was filled with nothing but the hum of the city outside and their uneven breathing.

 

Then, Lyra moved—composed, precise. 

 

The illusion of power faded, the thoughts of those incriminating files came back rushing to her mind.

 

Camille was still that woman she respected, but not quite felt like she could commit to.

 

She adjusted her blouse, pulled up her underwear, smoothed her skirt. She didn’t rush, but she didn’t linger either. Once dressed, she glanced at Camille, who was still bracing herself on the desk, slowly collecting her strength.

 

“Thank you, Camille,” Lyra said softly, sincerely—but with a kind of finality.

 

Camille turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing. Her voice came low, dry, almost amused.

 

“So... thank you, huh?”

 

There was a beat of silence. The kind that says more than words ever could.

 

Camille’s tone wasn’t bitter—not exactly. But it carried weight. The weight of understanding. Of disappointment veiled. Of knowing she had just offered more than Lyra was ever willing to hold.

 

Lyra met her gaze, calm and unreadable. Respectful. But not tender.

 

Camille straightened, tugging down her skirt, slipping her underwear off the floor without ceremony. “Got it,” she said, more to herself than to Lyra. She didn’t ask for clarity. She didn’t need to.

 

As she walked to the door, she paused only once, hand resting on the frame.

 

“No regrets,” she said, glancing back with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But next time—maybe don’t say thank you.”

 

“There won’t be a next time…” Lyra said “I respect you too much to have that kind of relationship with you…”

.

.

 

“And there really wasn’t a next time.”

 

Suzie raises an eyebrow, amused. “Really? That’s sort of amazing. You, not getting a second round? Even after all this time? That’s like… solar eclipse energy.”

 

Camille chuckles, tilts her head back against the wall. 

Suzie blinks.

 

The executive bathroom—clean marble, backlit mirrors, and the faint scent of expensive soap, was the usual place for gossip for Lyra and Camille, but not anymore. Lyra now had her own bathroom in her new office.

 

Camille stands against the far wall, arms crossed, ankle resting over the other, back straight despite the weight she seems to carry. Her blazer is buttoned, her expression neutral but thoughtful, her long blonde hair, up in a cute bun. One heel taps softly against the tile.

 

Next to her, perched casually on the counter, is Suzie—in a structured black jacket over a slashed tee, one earring shaped like a miniature dagger, lipstick freshly reapplied in a deep matte plum. She holds a lollipop like it’s a cigarette, twirling it slowly between her fingers.

 

“She thanked me… and gently escorted me out of her office, we didn't even kiss once…” says Camille.

 

Suzie lets out a long, slow whistle. “Oof. Cold.”

 

Camille shrugs lightly. “I don’t think she meant to be cruel. She was just... finished.”

 

Suzie smirks. “Or efficient. And now—” she hops off the counter, sauntering closer, “she’s the CFO.”

 

Camille nods. “They pulled the old one this morning. Fraud charges confirmed. Legal’s already clearing her name off the door.”

 

“Wait…” Suzie says “ Are you Lyra’s assistant now?”

 

Camille nods.

 

“Oh,” Suzie says with mock gravity, “that’s awkward.”

 

Camille presses her lips together, exhaling through her nose. “Understatement of the year.”

 

Suzie bumps Camille’s shoulder gently. “You okay?”

 

“It’s been, what… two weeks?” Susie says, nudging her lightly. “Why don’t you, I don’t know… move on? I’ve got a concert at The Glass House this Saturday. Come with. I’ll be your wingwoman.”

 

Camille hesitates, then shrugs. “I could never do what you do, Suzie. I need more than one-night stands.”

 

Suzie pauses, her expression flickering—hurt, maybe, or just tired of being misunderstood.

“Okay, dokey,” she says, too brightly. “You just had a one-night stand though… just sayin’.”

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Lyra stands alone in her new office. The room is spacious, sunlit, quiet in a way that feels earned. Tall windows stretch from ceiling to floor, revealing the city skyline in soft gold. The furniture is sleek, minimal, every surface clean—stripped of the previous CFO’s presence, as if the past had been scrubbed away.

 

She runs her hand along the polished edge of the desk. The leather inlay, the brass trim. There’s a quiet smile on her face—relief, maybe pride—but fleeting, like something she hasn’t fully decided she deserves yet.

 

A soft chime breaks the silence.

 

Lyra looks at the desk, then taps her finger on the smooth, glowing button embedded in the surface. The door unlocks with a gentle hiss.

 

Camille enters.

 

She’s composed, professional—coffee in hand, her steps measured. Her expression is unreadable, but her posture is flawless, the kind only someone deeply committed to appearances can maintain.

 

Lyra’s eyes lift to meet hers, then glance away almost immediately. A faint blush touches her cheeks—not obvious, just a whisper of pink.

 

“Thank you, Camille,” Lyra says, voice quiet, neutral.

 

Thank you, Camille…

 

Camille steps forward and places the coffee on the desk. She doesn’t linger.

 

As she turns to leave, hand on the doorframe, she says simply—without turning back—

 

“Anytime.”

 

Outside Lyra's office Suzie stands, she puts her hand on Camille's shoulder and looks up at her eyes “I'm rooting for you, Cam.” She smiles.

 

Camille smiles back.

 

Lyra remains standing for a moment after Camille leaves, the echo of “Anytime” still soft in the room. She sighs.

 

She’s not giving up huh… I guess after all this time… A one night stand looks like progress…

 

She exhales, quietly, and takes her seat behind the large, elegant desk. The leather chair creaks slightly as she leans back, fingers brushing over the trackpad. The massive screen in front of her wakes, displaying a clean, sharp dashboard—folders, dashboards, names, charts.

 

She opens a file.

 

New Hires.

 

Her gaze moves down the list: two developers. Five engineers. One designer.

 

She clicks on each of them, skimming through credentials, experience, roles. It’s all routine. Until one profile makes her pause.

 

Ari L.

 

“Just Ari? Sounds like is short for something… but it's not…”

 

A soft chime of interest hums through her chest. Lyra doesn’t know why, but something about the woman’s presence—even through a headshot—pulls her in.

 

The designer looks to be in her early twenties, although her c.v shows she's probably thirty. Petite frame, thoughtful smile, caramel eyes. Her portfolio, linked below, features clean interface mockups and beautifully structured component systems. Everything she touches has clarity—intention.

 

Design Systems Specialist.

 

Lyra tilts her head slightly.

 

She scrolls through Ari’s prior projects. They are precise, intelligent. There’s a kind of personality in the way she presents her documentation—pragmatic, but not dry. There’s wit tucked between lines. Playfulness, even.

 

Lyra’s fingers slow on the trackpad. She catches herself leaning closer.

 

She blinks, shifts in her seat, then clicks to the next file. Back to business.

 

But Ari's name lingers, glowing softly in the tab bar. As if the system knows she’ll return to it.

 

The building has settled into stillness. Most desks are empty, screens black, chairs pushed in with habitual neatness. The hum of air vents and the distant buzz of city traffic fill the silence like white noise.

 

Lyra steps out of her office, the sound of her heels soft against the carpeted floor. The lights overhead are dimmed to night mode, casting a bluish tone across the space. She’s used to being the last one to leave.

 

But tonight, she’s not alone.

 

In the far corner of the floor, a single pool of warm light glows over a desk cluttered with sketches, sticky notes, a tablet, and two half-empty cups of tea. A small figure sits upright, headphones in, back lit by her screen.

 

Ari.

 

Lyra walks toward her, drawn not by curiosity, but something quieter—something akin to gravity.

 

The closer she gets, the clearer it becomes: Ari is focused, entirely lost in her own world. Her screen shows a live prototype of a component library—elegant, flexible, carefully annotated. Her hand moves fluidly across the trackpad, eyes darting between interface elements. She’s building something. Building it beautifully.

 

Lyra stops just behind her, watches for a moment. Then, softly:

 

“Nice work.”

 

Ari startles.

 

She pulls out one earbud, spinning halfway in her chair. She hadn’t heard the footsteps.

 

And in that second of surprise—perhaps a sharp movement, or a caught strap—her dress slips off her shoulder, trailing down one arm, baring the soft line of her collarbone.

 

The moment holds, suspended.

 

Ari blinks up at her. Breath caught. Eyes wide, but not afraid. There’s a flicker—of embarrassment, perhaps, or something else. Heat, curiosity.

 

Lyra’s gaze lingers for just a second longer than it should. Then she clears her throat and looks away.

 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says.

 

Ari adjusts her dress quietly, regaining composure. “It’s alright. I didn’t think anyone was still here.”

 

Lyra nods once. “I was heading out. Saw your light.”

She glances at the screen again. “That’s impressive work. Truly.”

 

Ari softens, a shy smile forming. “Thank you…”

Then, as her eyes fully focus on Lyra’s face, recognition flickers in her expression.

“Wait—are you… Lyra Veran? The CFO?”

Her voice shifts—suddenly more formal, a little breathless.

Lyra offers a small, reassuring smile. “I am. But I used to be a product designer, so I know good work when I see it.”

Ari blinks, visibly surprised. “You were? That’s… really unusual. And honestly kind of amazing.”

Lyra gives a light shrug, almost bashful. “It’s a less intimidating title when you know how many hours I spent arguing with engineers.”

Ari laughs—genuine, warm.

Then Lyra’s tone softens. “Anyway, don’t stay too long.”

“Oh, I just need to finish watching this training course,” Ari replies, already turning toward her screen.

“The courses?” Lyra arches a brow. “Those are long. You can finish it tomorrow… or at home.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue,” Lyra says, more playfully now. “Come on, shut that thing down.”

Caught off guard but smiling, Ari starts closing tabs. She moves quickly, a little flustered, and gently pulls the USB from her computer.

Lyra watches her, surprised at herself.

Am I being too bossy? she wonders, lips twitching at the thought.

But Ari doesn’t seem bothered—if anything, she seems a little flattered.

Lyra’s eyes catch on it. “Taking work home?”

 

Ari blinks, then smiles. “Oh—sorry. Am I not allowed?”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Lyra replies. “Just… you’re not actually going to work at home, right?”

 

Ari chuckles, slipping the USB into her bag. “Oh, no. I mean—I’m a workaholic, but not that kind of workaholic. I just want to use my own laptop next time, so I’m transferring everything tonight.”

 

Lyra tilts her head. “Do you live nearby?”

 

Ari shakes her head. “Not really. I actually live near Pomona.”

 

“Pomona?” Lyra repeats, surprised. “How are you getting to Pomona at this hour?”

 

“The… train?”  Ari asks, tilting her head.

 

Lyra shakes her head immediately. “Oh no. You’re not going by train at this hour with company property—let me take you.” She grabs her coat, calm and assured. “Come on—let’s go.”

 

Did she just grab my coat?

 

They step into the underground garage, where Lyra’s sleek black Rivian waits under soft overhead lights. The vehicle hums gently to life as she unlocks it with a tap.

 

Ari pauses as the door opens. “Wow.”

 

Lyra glances over. “What?”

 

Ari slides into the passenger seat, running her hand lightly over the dashboard. “It’s a really nice car.”

 

Lyra smirks as she buckles in. “Thanks. I like quiet power.”

 

Ari smiles, eyes still exploring the interior. It suits you.

Ari thinks.

 

She sits quietly in the passenger seat, the hum of the Rivian smooth beneath her. City lights move across the windshield like soft echoes of something unreal.

She glances sideways at Lyra—composed, confident, her hands steady on the wheel.

 

How did I get here?

The thought whispers through her mind, persistent and disbelieving.

How am I sitting next to Lyra Veran—the newly appointed CFO?

And me… just a new hire. Not even senior. Just… Ari.

 

She let her gaze drift to the window, and suddenly, she remembered.

 

That morning.

 

She had been in her small apartment in Pomona, still in her pajamas. The sunlight slanted through her half-closed blinds, catching on the cluttered desk where she was wrapping up a freelance job she’d pulled an all-nighter on. She had delivered the files just before the deadline, bleary-eyed and burnt out.

 

Her apartment was small, but hers—neat, warm, filled with soft lighting, potted plants, and mugs that didn’t match. Cozy. But she had felt restless. Caged.

 

The freelance work paid well enough. But it wasn’t stable. It wasn’t secure. She wanted friends, a schedule. Purpose. A place to build something, not just deliver and disappear.

Or so she told herself…

It wasn’t a lie but, what she wanted the most was to be touched.

 

“It’s been years working remotely!! I’m so fucking touch starved!!”

 

She wanted friends ahe could hug, coworkers to gossip with, face to face conversarions and most of all… a little bit of romance…

 

So, she applied.

 

She remembered scrolling through the company’s page on LinkedIn, looking at the faces of those who already worked there. Some she recognized from industry panels. Others looked confident, polished, like they belonged.

 

Then she saw her.

Lyra Veran.

Assistant to the CFO, at the time.

 

And Ari remembered thinking, just for a moment: Wow. That woman’s pretty.

 

She hadn’t thought much more of it back then. Just a passing curiosity. A name, a face. A soft kind of admiration.

 

And now here she was. Sitting beside her, in a luxury car, heading home.

 

Funny , she thought. There’s something to be said for the quiet power of a passing thought…

 

Lyra’s mind, on the other hand, was still partially caught in the past—in her old office, behind the delectable curve of Camille’s body, pressing against her. The memory lingered, unwelcome.

 

But she didn’t want to be there.

 

I wish it had felt right… but… 

 

It had been a moment of weakness. A crack in her composure. What had it been—ten, eleven months without sex? It was vulnerability, not connection. And it was over.

 

We didn’t even have a date… we didn’t even kiss… But… that’s not what was missing…

Lyra thinks.

 

“You’re a quiet one, huh?” Ari says, her voice light, a little teasing.

 

Lyra blinks, realizing she’s been silent the whole ride.

“Oh—sorry. I’m not usually like this. Just… a bit stressed, I guess.”

 

Ari takes the chance to really look at her.

 

Lyra is elegantly beautiful—so much so, it’s a little disarming. Her black eyes are sharp, almost unreadable, but there’s something mesmerizing in them. Her fair skin looks flawless, like serenity lives just beneath the surface. And her sleek black hair, pulled back, gives her an edge of quiet control that makes it hard to look away.

 

Ari finds herself smiling, unsure if she’s more curious or captivated.

 

“Um… I know a place nearby,” she says, her voice softening as she speaks. “It’s a coffee spot. They have tea… and other stuff. I go there when I’m feeling stressed.”

 

Lyra glances at her, one brow slightly raised.

“Miss Longsworth, are you asking me out?”

 

“W–w–what?!” Ari blurts, startled, her eyes wide.

 

Lyra bursts into laughter, warm and unguarded.

“I’m sorry—I’m just joking.”

 

Look at me, Lyra thinks, making myself feel better at someone else’s expense again… what am I looking for? Ugh… 

 

The smile fades just slightly from her face, her eyes softening with something close to regret. She glances away, jaw tightening for the briefest moment.

 

Ari exhales shakily, trying to steady herself, though she’s still trembling slightly.

 

“That’s a nice laugh,” she says, quietly.

 

Lyra’s expression eases again, her smile returning—but gentler now, more careful.

 

“So… is it nearby, meaning here? Or in Pomona?”

 

. 

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.

 

Ari closes the door behind her with a soft click and leans against it for a moment, keys still in hand. The quiet of her small apartment wraps around her like a blanket. Dim light spills from the kitchen. The air smells faintly of lavender and fruits.

 

She lets out a long breath.

 

Her coat slips off her shoulders as she walks in, the city still clinging to her skin. She toes off her shoes, drops her bag on the chair, and stands in the middle of the room for a moment—motionless.

 

Wavy brown hair brushes against her shoulders, a little tousled from the wind. Her caramel-colored eyes—wide and expressive—still hold traces of the evening's glow. Her skin is soft and warm-toned, with natural rosy cheeks that give her a quiet, youthful charm. Dressed in a feminine, professional blouse tucked into a skirt that flatters her petite figure, she looks like someone who carefully balances grace with capability.

 

Her apartment tells a different story.

 

The evening replays in flashes.

 

The café. Lyra sitting across from her, one hand curled around a ceramic cup, the other resting neatly on the table. The way she listened—really listened. The softness in her voice when she talked about her past in product. The faint smirk when Ari made her laugh. The way her gaze lingered a second longer than necessary. She had been so open and approachable.

 

Ari presses her fingers to her lips, as if to hold the moment there a little longer.

 

She walks to her desk and gently places the USB beside her laptop. The same USB Lyra had looked at earlier. Somehow, it feels heavier now.

 

What was that? she wonders. A beginning? A fluke? A mistake?

 

Or maybe… it just so happens that it's been long since I was in the presence of an alpha…

 

The tremble in her hands hasn’t fully gone away.

 

“I had forgotten what it was like to work with cute alphas…” she mutters to herself. 

 

And she said I can come visit her in her office anytime!!

 

Ari fangirls in her head

 

C'mon Ari… you're not going to stick to the first alpha you see, right? Are you just your hormones? Get it together!

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Chapter 2: Target acquired

Summary:

..
“So, the one who gets her first wins!” Suzie had grinned, practically vibrating with mischief.

“Wins what? Besides the joy of being first…” Hazel had asked, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Uhm… free coffee from the other ones. For a whole year.”

“Wait—don’t get me into this…” Camille had said, annoyed but not sharp enough to shut it down.

And now, as she watches Ari disappear between them, Camille realizes something.

She could have stopped them.
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The sun filters in through the tall windows, casting a soft glow across the open office space. Most of the team is just trickling in—coffee cups in hand, sleep still clinging to their movements.

 

Then comes Ari.

 

She steps into the room with a light bounce in her step, wearing a pale blue blouse tucked into a soft cream skirt. Her wavy brown hair is gently clipped back on one side, and her cheeks are rosier than usual. There’s something effortlessly bright about her today.

 

In her hands: a small pastel-colored box tied with string.

 

She places it on the edge of her desk and gently unties it, revealing sticky cookies—golden, warm, and fragrant with honey and spice. A handwritten note sits inside the box: "From my favorite place in Pomona. Please take one before I eat them all." A little doodle of a cookie with arms is drawn in the corner.

 

As coworkers begin to filter past, the smell draws attention. A few smiles. A soft “Oh my god, these are amazing.” Ari beams.

 

Then she hears the soft click of heels.

 

She turns.

Lyra.

 

Dressed in her usual sleek, black ensemble, her presence is sharp and steady as always. But when her eyes land on the box—and then on Ari—there’s a flicker of surprise. And something else.

 

Ari gives her a sheepish smile. “I, um… brought sticky cookies. Thought the team could use a sugar boost.”

 

Lyra raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “From Pomona?”

 

Ari nods. “Best ones in the city.”

 

Lyra reaches for one, then pauses, eyes resting on Ari. “Did you bring them for the team… or for me?”

 

Ari laughs—too quickly, too high. “Well… depends. Are you going to take the last one?”

 

Lyra smirks and picks one up with graceful precision. “I’ll try not to.”

 

She takes a small bite. Her expression softens.

 

“These might be worth the commute to Pomona,” she says, voice low, gaze lingering for just a second longer than it should.

 

Ari freezes for a beat. Her spine straightens, her hands now clasped tightly in front of her. Her eyes flick to Lyra’s mouth and then back down, unsure where to land. Intimidation prickles at her skin—but so does something electric.

 

She nods, murmurs, “I’ll let the baker know they’ve got fans in high places.”

 

Lyra steps back. The smirk fades just slightly. Her jaw tightens. She looks down at the cookie in her hand.

 

What am I doing? she thinks.

 

She walks away with effortless elegance, but there’s a tightness in her shoulders—guilt pressing faintly beneath her polished surface.

 

Ari watches her go, still holding a napkin she doesn’t remember grabbing. Her cheeks burn, and her breath feels shallow.

 

But beneath the nervous buzz… she’s smiling.

..

.

.

.

The door closes with a soft hiss behind her.

 

Lyra sets the half-eaten cookie down on a small ceramic dish near her desk, then moves to the window. The skyline is crisp, the light clear—but her reflection in the glass is tense, jaw clenched, brow furrowed.

 

Why did I say that?

The question beats against her thoughts.

Did I really just flirt with her? Do I even like her?

 

She exhales sharply through her nose, pinching the bridge of it like she’s trying to physically clear her mind.

 

Ari’s face flashes in her memory. The way her voice caught. The look in her eyes—not just startled, but vulnerable. She hadn’t meant to put that there. Not in someone so new. So earnest.

 

That was irresponsible, Lyra tells herself. She deserves better than to be toyed with because I can’t keep my head on straight.

 

Camille.

 

She sinks into her chair, staring at the cookie again, then pushes it slightly out of reach.

 

Her thoughts shift, almost unwillingly, toward Camille.

 

The soft light of her old office. Camille’s back arched against her desk. That one moment of need, of escape. A blur of breath, skin, and adrenaline.

 

Lyra closes her eyes.

 

She deserved better too.

She had told herself it was mutual, meaningless. A slip in judgment. But Camille hadn’t treated it that way. And Lyra had seen it in her eyes.

 

Maybe it’s too late to fix that. Maybe not.

 

She reaches for her phone, hesitates. Her thumb hovers over Camille’s name.

 

Should I apologize?

Would it help? Or would it just reopen something best left closed?

 

Lyra locks the screen and sets the phone face-down.

 

She’s not sure yet. But the weight of it presses down on her, quietly unrelenting.

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.

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Back at her desk, Ari sits surrounded by silence.

Most of the seats near her remain empty—design still a small, quiet island in a sea of louder departments. Across the floor, the developers work in focused solitude, headphones on, eyes locked to their screens. The marketers, fewer in number, make up for it with presence—some pacing as they talk into headsets, others filming clips for social content. A couple of stylish women laugh as they record a video near the big windows.

A group of suits passes through—older, polished, clipped voices and fast steps. Important people, maybe. They don’t look at her.

Ari glances around. Everyone has their orbit, she thinks. I’m still floating.

Then, she hears heels clicking against tile—an unfamiliar rhythm.

She turns and sees a blonde woman approaching. Flowy hair, a tight blazer over a too-short skirt, and a walk like she’s on a runway. She beams.

“Hey!” she chirps. “Thanks for the cookies. I heard Lyra saying they’re from a place in Pomona? Who would've thought fancy Lyra Veran would’ve ever set foot in Pomona!”

Ari stiffens slightly.

“Ha ha… yeah…” she laughs, but it’s thin. The remark wasn’t malicious, but it wasn’t innocent either. And sure, Pomona is rough around the edges—but it’s still home.

The woman sticks out her hand, bracelets jingling.

“I’m Hazel—the cute face of this office,” she says with a wink, then strikes a dramatic pose, like she’s mid-Instagram story.

Ari can’t help but chuckle.

 “I’m Ari.”

Hazel leans in slightly, her voice dropping into a more conspiratorial tone.

 “New designer, right? I saw your name on the orientation list. Welcome to the madness.”

Ari nods, smiling, though it’s a little more reserved now.

 “Thanks.”

She fidgets with the hem of her skirt, glancing down for a moment before looking back up—only to find Hazel still watching her, head tilted slightly, expression almost too warm.

“Um, Hazel… why is this area so empty? Where are all the other designers?”

Hazel laughs, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “You’re so cute. They all chose to work remotely, silly.”

There’s something about Hazel—her tone, her stare—that makes Ari’s shoulders tighten just a little.

She hesitates. “Uh… Hazel, are you, by any chance, an alpha?”

Hazel’s eyes go wide. A few people walking nearby glance over but keep moving without stopping.

Hazel leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper.

 “We’re not supposed to ask that in the workplace. Didn’t you watch the orientation video?”

Ari blinks. She had started it, but she got distracted halfway through when she had to run to the bathroom.

 “Um… I might’ve missed that part.”

“What about the mandatory courses?”

“Oh! I… I forgot to do those… I got busy filling the intranet page, you know, that social media thing we have but just for the company?”

Hazel smirks, amused. “Well, you can skip the courses, I’ll summarize it for you. The CEO banned any mention of designations in the office. Apparently, there were studies about how knowing someone’s status created all kinds of biases. So now it’s like, identity-neutral zone. No alpha, beta, omega talk. Just… vibes.”

Ari nods slowly, processing.

 “Right. Just vibes.”

“There, I saved you like an hour of looking at your screen.”

Hazel gives her a playful wink, then sashays off with a wave of her hand, her bracelets jingling faintly.

“She’s definitely an alpha,” says a low, dry voice from just behind her.

“Ah!” Ari startles, spinning around.

A woman is perched casually on the edge of her desk, right beside her laptop—elegant in a deliberate, punkish way. Straight black hair, dark lipstick, sharp eyes outlined in black. Her presence is striking, but not exactly loud.

“Uh… hi,” Ari manages.

“The name’s Suzie,” the woman says with a small smirk. “I’m basically Lyra’s assistant, in case you’re wondering.”

Ari blinks. “Oh…”

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about designations,” Suzie continues, her voice a smooth drawl, “but I know everything about everyone. So if you’re ever curious—wanna know who’s an alpha, a beta, who’s secretly married, who cries in the supply room—come to me.”

Ari stares, wide-eyed.

Suzie leans in just slightly, eyes glinting. “What? You looking for a sugar mommy?”

“W–what? No! Nonono,” Ari stammers, cheeks flushing. “I just—I asked because… I don’t know… it’s been a while since I’ve worked in an office. My senses are kind of… sensitive right now.”

She gulps, visibly flustered.

“Oh,” Suzie says, tilting her head. “Post-pandemic sensitivity, huh?”

“Pandemic? Wha—?”

“It’s a joke,” Suzie smirks. “From back when men became extinct.”

Ari half-smiles, unsure. She’s not great with historical references.

Suzie hops off the desk, already turning. “Anyway, new girl—I'll be in my office. Thanks for the cookies.”

She tosses a casual salute and disappears around the corner.

Ari exhales, tension slipping from her shoulders. Strangely… she feels a little more at ease.

She’s definitely not an alpha, Ari thinks. 

She smiles to herself, then turns back to her screen—feeling a little less alone in the office jungle.

Goddess of the omegas, grant me the strength not to crawl back into my apartment and go full-remote again.

She prays silently in her head.

 

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Lyra exhales slowly, leaning back in her chair. The screen in front of her fades to black as the last file closes. One major task—done. For a brief moment, she lets herself feel the satisfaction of progress, the soft hum of quiet.

Then: a knock, followed by the quiet hiss of the door sliding open.

Camille steps in, composed as ever, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She walks to the desk and places a tiny USB on its surface.

“These are the new hires for the finance department,” she says, tone even. “Also the latest fires. All cleanly processed.”

Lyra sits up again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

 “Thank you.”

Camille nods, but doesn’t immediately turn to leave.

The room is still, the air thick with all the things they’re not saying.

Lyra’s fingers graze the USB, but she doesn’t plug it in yet.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral. Almost too neutral.

Lyra nods but says nothing.

She lets her go.

—

Outside the office, Camille turns—and nearly walks straight into someone.

“Oh!” she exclaims, instinctively reaching out.

Her hands catch Ari, whose smaller frame fits easily between them. Ari stumbles slightly, wide-eyed, and looks up.

“I—I'm sorry!” she blurts out, heart racing.

But then her gaze meets Camille’s—those sharp, glacial blue eyes, framed by long lashes. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tall, elegant ponytail, not a strand out of place. Her presence is commanding but graceful, like she’s stepped out of another realm.

Oh my god… this is a mythical creature…

 And her hands are so warm… and comforting…

Camille steadies her—one hand gently on Ari’s shoulder, the other brushing her waist. Ari stiffens slightly at the touch, heart racing, her breath catching as warmth spreads across her skin.

Camille lifts an eyebrow, composed as ever.

 “Were you about to enter this office?” she asks—cool, but not unkind.

Ari blinks up at her, flustered. “I… uh, yeah. I was.”

“I’d suggest you not do that,” Camille says smoothly. “This is Lyra Veran’s office. She’s the CFO—and she’s very busy right now.”

“Oh… right…” Ari stammers. “It’s just… she said I could stop by. Or maybe—maybe it was just a polite thing, and I misunderstood…”

Camille narrows her gaze slightly. “She said that?”

“Yeah! Back at the—ah…place in… a Po… mo—” Ari falters again, caught staring at Camille’s perfectly sculpted face, her sharp features, that effortless poise.

Oh my god… her hand’s still on my waist. I’ve been frozen by this Ice Queen.

Camille watches her.

She scans Ari quickly, instinctively.

Yes—she’s cute. That soft, pretty kind of cute. Rosy cheeks, that deer-in-the-headlights expression. Wavy hair that falls around her shoulders with just the right amount of effortless mess. Petite. Feminine. Like someone you’d want to wrap up and protect.

Camille's jaw tightens imperceptibly.

Is she Lyra’s type?

She hates that the thought even forms. Hates how fast it came. That tight, unwelcome twist in her stomach.

What does it matter? she tells herself. Lyra was never mine. One mistake doesn’t give me the right to be possessive.

But still.

She steps back from Ari, brushing imaginary lint from her blazer sleeve as if the contact hadn’t registered.

Cool again. Controlled.

“Maybe you should wait a bit before dropping by,” Camille says, voice smoother than she feels. “She’s not exactly known for small talk.”

Ari nods, still caught somewhere between flustered and confused.

“Yeah… maybe I’ll come back later.”

But before she can turn away, the door opens with a soft hiss.

Lyra steps out, catching the tail end of the moment. Her eyes flick between the two women, brows raised slightly.

“Ari?” she says. “Do you two know each other?”

“Not really,” Camille replies smoothly, glancing back at Lyra.

Ari straightens instinctively. “Ah! I should’ve introduced myself—I’m Ari!”

Her voice comes out just a little too high-pitched, full of nervous energy.

Camille offers a small, elegant bow. “Camille.”

Ari stares, taking in the cool composure, the tailored silhouette, the tall ponytail and glacial blue eyes.

Damn, she thinks. She’s completely my type.

She swallows hard, trying to refocus as Lyra gestures toward her.

“Well, since you’re here,” Lyra says, her tone light, “I was about to check out the new coffee place nearby. Want to come with me?”

Ari blinks, caught off guard. “Uhm—yes! I mean… sure.”

Lyra smiles. “Great. Let’s go, then.”

They begin walking together, side by side, their voices fading into casual conversation as they head toward the exit.

Behind them, Camille stands in the hallway, watching.

Her expression remains unreadable to anyone passing by—but inside, the words settle like a stone.

I have no right to feel this way… but I do.

Camille’s eyes linger on the back of Lyra’s head as she disappears down the corridor with Ari. Her expression remains composed—but the storm beneath it simmers.

A few paces away, partially hidden behind the front counter like a pair of nosy schoolgirls, Suzie and Hazel peek over the edge.

Both watching. Both grinning.

Top. Tier. Tea.

Their thoughts synchronize like psychic static.

Hazel pops a gum bubble. Suzie sips from a coffee cup she hasn’t moved in twenty minutes. Neither blinks.

 

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Hazel walked out of the executive bathroom feeling ten feet tall. Her heels click with purpose. Her lip gloss glints under the overhead lights. Her eyes scan the open floor with a new sense of ownership.

She has information—and information is power.

She knows Ari is a well-known illustrator—or was, before she disappeared into freelance obscurity. She knows Ari loves anime and used to draw manga. She knows her favorite titles, her favorite coffee (which can barely be called coffee, it’s practically a milkshake), and her undying devotion to the sticky cookies from that obscure little café in Pomona.

She knows Ari likes to read. That she’s worked remotely for two, maybe three years. And that she’s obviously, unmistakably touch-starved.

Omega, Hazel thinks with certainty.

And above all, she knows one crucial thing:

Ari is vulnerable.

She flips her hair back with a practiced flick, adjusts her jacket, and smiles to herself.

This is how an alpha hunts.

Her gaze sharpens as she spots Ari across the floor, seated at her desk—shoulders slightly hunched, earbuds in, focused on her screen, completely unaware.

Hazel smirks.

Target acquired.

She adjusts her posture—more sway in her hips, more ease in her step—and begins her walk across the floor with the air of someone who already knows the ending to the story she’s about to write.

Hazel strides confidently across the floor, fully ready to make her move.

But just as she closes in, a flicker of movement catches her eye—a shadow slips ahead of her, swift and precise.

Suzie.

Like a cat pouncing on a sunbeam, Suzie glides behind Ari’s desk and, without hesitation, covers Ari’s eyes with both hands.

“Guess who…” she whispers near her ear.

“WAAAAH!” Ari yelps, jumping in her seat in full over-the-top panic.

Suzie bursts into laughter as Ari turns, flustered, arms drawn in like she’s shielding herself from another ambush.

“Suzie!” she exclaims, half-scolding, half-relieved.

Suzie grins, completely unbothered, and grabs Ari’s wrist playfully.

“I heard you and Lyra went to that cool new place yesterday. Right?”

Ari stiffens a little at the sudden touch—she’s not used to this much physical contact, not in a workplace, not with someone so… forward.

“Uhm, yeah… it’s actually one I go to a lot, near my place. So it was kind of amazing that—”

Suzie cuts her off, eyes glinting.

“That sounds great. Wanna go with me now?”

Ari blinks. “Like… now?”

“Yeah!” Suzie says, bouncing slightly on her heels. “I’ve been craving those sticky cookies.”

“You know about the sticky cookies?!” Ari asks, genuinely surprised.

A few steps away, Hazel comes to a halt, her smile tightening.

She watches as Ari hesitates—caught between flattered and overwhelmed. Suzie is already tugging her gently toward the hallway, as if the decision had already been made.

Hazel tilts her head, eyes narrowing.

The hunt just got complicated.

“Hey!” she calls out from across the floor. “Are you guys heading to that new café that opened nearby?”

Ari turns to answer, but before she can say a word, Suzie throws an arm around her and shouts back, cheerful and possessive,

“Yes! The one with my favorite cookies in the whole world!”

Hazel’s expression doesn’t shift much, but the twitch at the corner of her jaw says enough.

“Let me come with you!” Hazel insists, voice sweet but firm. “I absolutely love those cookies.”

Ari blinks, muttering to herself, “I didn’t know those cookies were so popular…”

And just like that, she finds herself walking between them—Hazel on one side, Suzie on the other. Both taller. Both talkative. Both brushing too close as they lead her toward the exit.

Ari’s shoulders shrink just a little.

She suddenly feels very small—and very trapped.

From across the floor, Camille had watched the entire interaction unfold.

Suzie’s playful ambush. Ari’s flustered smile. Hazel’s not-so-subtle interception.

And now, the three of them—Ari sandwiched between the two taller women—exiting together like a scene from a high school drama with corporate styling.

Camille doesn’t move. She just watches.

Her mind drifts back to yesterday, in the marble-lit stillness of the executive bathroom. The teasing, the low giggles echoing against tile.

“So, the one who gets her first wins!” Suzie had grinned, practically vibrating with mischief.

“Wins what? Besides the joy of being first…” Hazel had asked, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Uhm… free coffee from the other ones. For a whole year.”

“Wait—don’t get me into this…” Camille had said, annoyed but not sharp enough to shut it down.

And now, as she watches Ari disappear between them, Camille realizes something.

She could have stopped them.

She should have stopped them.

Usually, she would.

But this time… she didn’t.

Why?

Was it because she found Ari a little too charming?

 A little too sweet?

 Or—goddesss help her—a little too threatening?

She didn’t know.

And that unsettled her more than anything.

Camille exhales quietly through her nose and turns, heels clicking softly as she walks back toward her office—her face unreadable, her thoughts anything but.

 

 

 

 

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Chapter 3: Cool Beans

Summary:

Ari blinks, startled. “Was… she okay?”

Hazel shrugs, already halfway toward the nearest table. “Suzie probably hooked up with her,” she says casually, like she’s discussing the weather.

Suzie stops mid-step and turns to Hazel with a sharp look. “What? No way. I don’t just go sleeping around with every woman who flirts with me—”

Her eyes narrow.

“—unlike some people I know.”

Hazel’s smile fades, and she straightens slightly. “Like who exactly?”

“Oh you know… some people…”

Ari, sensing the sudden tension thickening between them, quietly slips away and settles at a nearby table. She taps the tablet a bit too quickly, eyes darting over the menu like it’s urgent.
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The café is small and minimalist—mostly white, with clean lines and soft lighting. A quiet hum of ambient music plays overhead. On each table, a sleek tablet glows softly, ready for self-service.

As the trio enters, the barista—a woman with straight brown hair and a plain beige apron—glances up from behind the counter.

Her eyes land on Suzie, and she visibly stiffens.

 “We—welcome to Cool Beans,” she stammers, voice cracking just slightly.

Suzie meets her gaze with a casual smile and a subtle wink.

The barista shivers again and quickly looks away, trying—and failing—not to show it.

“Um, you can use the screens on the tables… or at the counter to make your order…”

Then she practically vanishes into the back room.

Ari blinks, startled. “Was… she okay?”

Hazel shrugs, already halfway toward the nearest table. “Suzie probably hooked up with her,” she says casually, like she’s discussing the weather.

Suzie stops mid-step and turns to Hazel with a sharp look. “What? No way. I don’t just go sleeping around with every woman who flirts with me—”

Her eyes narrow.

“—unlike some people I know.”

Hazel’s smile fades, and she straightens slightly. “Like who exactly?”

“Oh you know… some people…”

Ari, sensing the sudden tension thickening between them, quietly slips away and settles at a nearby table. She taps the tablet a bit too quickly, eyes darting over the menu like it’s urgent.

Sticky cookies. Please let there be sticky cookies.

She shrinks slightly in her seat, her posture tight.

Why did this feel more like a power play than a coffee break?

The three of them place their orders—Hazel with an oat milk latte, Suzie with a straight espresso, and Ari with her beloved sticky cookie and a coffee so sweet it could pass for dessert.

The barista returns quickly, delivering their drinks with mechanical precision and avoiding eye contact—especially with Suzie. As soon as the tray is set down, she disappears again, as though fleeing something unseen.

They settle into a small corner table, elbows nearly brushing, knees occasionally bumping under the polished surface.

“So…” Hazel leans forward, resting her chin on one hand, her tone light and casual. “You’re an illustrator?”

Ari nods shyly. “Yeah… well, I was. I still do some stuff on the side, mostly for myself.”

“That’s so cool,” Hazel says, eyes widening. “I love illustration. I actually sketch a little too, mostly fashion stuff.”

Suzie raises an eyebrow but doesn’t challenge it. Instead, she sips her espresso and chimes in, “You into anime, too? You just give off that vibe.”

Ari’s eyes light up. “I am, actually. I used to draw manga when I was freelancing full-time.”

“No way,” Suzie says smoothly. “I grew up on manga. Like, Sailor Moon, Evangelion, all that stuff.”

“Oh my god,” Hazel adds quickly, “same. I was obsessed with drawing magical girls. Total comfort genre.”

Ari’s smile grows just a little—she wasn’t expecting this level of enthusiasm. “Wow, really? That’s rare…”

Suzie nudges her knee gently under the table. “We’re full of surprises.”

Hazel shifts closer, her arm resting casually along the back of Ari’s chair. “What’s your all-time favorite?”

Ari hesitates, glancing between them. “Hard question… maybe Nana. Or Berserk”

Hazel gasps like she’s just heard a confession. “Nana?! No way, that’s literally my favorite too.”

Suzie tilts her head. “Berserk, huh? That’s the one with the amazing art and horrifying trauma, right? I love contrast like that.”

Ari giggles. “Exactly.”

Hazel leans in, voice low. “Okay, that confirms it. You’re cool.”

Ari blushes at the comment—and at the slight touch of Hazel’s fingers grazing the back of her shoulder as she says it.

Suzie watches Ari’s reaction out of the corner of her eye, then smiles faintly to herself.

“Sticky cookies, Nana, tragic backstories… I think we found our people.”

Ari picks at her cookie, a little dazed. “Yeah… maybe…”

She’s not sure why she feels so seen. Or why the warmth of their attention is starting to feel too warm.

But she doesn’t pull away.

It almost feels like a high.

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.

.

Ari returns to her desk, still holding the warm buzz from the café. She’s barely had time to sit when a low, velvety voice cuts through the air behind her.

“Stay away from those two…”

Ari jumps slightly and turns around.

“Huh?”

Her heart nearly stops.

Camille.

The Ice Queen herself. Cool, tall, impossibly composed, standing just a step too close with that signature stillness that somehow commands a room.

“But… why?” Ari asks, confused and just a little breathless.

“They’re trouble,” Camille says simply, eyes glancing toward the far end of the room.

Ari frowns. “But… they seemed nice. We have a lot in common.”

Camille arches a brow. “What—anime? Illustration? Sticky cookies?”

Ari’s mouth opens, stunned. How did she know?

“They probably made all that up just to get closer to you,” Camille continues, her tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Believe me. Stay too long, and you’ll end up in the Eiffel Tower.”

Ari blinks. “The… Eiffel Tower?”

Camille smirks at her blank stare.

“The Eiffel Tower. Don’t you know what that is? The building… in France? From back when men existed?”

Ari nods quickly. “Well, yeah, I know that…” No she doesn't.

Camille sighs, lowering her voice. “Suzie did say you were kind of dumb.”

Ari’s eyes go wide. “She said that?! What a meany!”

Camille nods solemnly. “Yes. They’re both meanies. So stay away.”

And just like that, she turns and walks off with practiced elegance, leaving Ari frozen in her chair—offended, bewildered, and maybe… slightly enchanted.

FUCK! She’s totally my type… Ari whispers in her mind.

..:

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Soft lighting reflects off marble countertops, the faint scent of eucalyptus drifting through the air. A familiar sanctuary for private gossip and public strategy.

Camille, Suzie, and Hazel are gathered in their usual formation—Hazel perched on the counter, Suzie fixing her eyeliner, and Camille calmly dabbing her hands with a silk handkerchief.

“The girl’s a challenge, after all,” Suzie mutters, capping her liner with a click. “She plays all cute and giggly—but then vanishes on me like a damn ghost.”

Hazel throws her hands up. “Seriously! Like, what the fuck? I lean in, she smiles, and the next second she’s ‘suddenly needed in Finance’ or some shit. Am I losing my charm?”

Camille smirks faintly into the mirror. “Maybe you should leave her alone.”

Suzie whips around with dramatic flair, pointing at her.

“I knew it. You warned her, didn’t you?”

Camille turns slowly, eyebrows raised. “Why would you think that?”

Suzie narrows her eyes. “You always do this. You have a thing for protecting omegas. It’s honestly so annoying.”

Camille lifts her hands in a graceful shrug. “Can’t prove anything.”

Hazel gasps, eyes wide. “Oh my god. You totally did!”

“No fair!” she adds, hopping off the counter. “That’s cheating!”

Camille doesn’t deny it—she just returns to fixing her cuff, serene and untouchable.

Suzie groans. “Ugh, whatever. You’re lucky I love you.”

Camille gives a soft, unreadable smile. “I know.”

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Ari sat at her desk, hands resting lightly on the keyboard, but her screen might as well have been blank.

She wasn’t working.

She was thinking. Again.

Ever since Camille had warned her about Hazel and Suzie, it had been replaying in her mind like a looped animation. At first, it was just the words—firm, cool, protective. But over time, it became the look in Camille’s eyes, the way she stood just a little too close, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. It was the tone of her voice—low, velvety, a voice that could say your name like a secret.

Then it was her hand.

On her waist.

Camille’s fingers had barely touched her and yet Ari could still feel it sometimes—soft, grounding, possessive in a way she hadn't realized she craved.

And that was the problem.

Ari kept telling herself she admired Camille’s kindness, her protective instinct—how she’d stepped in, subtly, elegantly, to help her. That was the part she wanted to focus on.

But god, who was she kidding?

Camille was hot. Like, unspeakably hot. Cool in a way that made Ari melt. Beautiful in a way that made her stomach flutter. And sensual—even when she was just walking past, not even trying.

And… and she was a little bit mean—which only made it worse. Or better. Ari wasn’t sure. She could picture her being the right amount of mean in other situations… Situations that made her blush just thinking about them.

Ari was touch-starved. Horribly so. And Camille?

Camille was the kind of alpha her entire nervous system seemed to be quietly praying for.

Behind her screen, Ari sat very still, murmuring softly to herself.

Okay. You’re gonna do it.

You’re gonna ask her.

It’s not a big deal. Just coffee. Or lunch. Or—whatever, just say words. Normal words. You’re capable of that.

She straightened her skirt, adjusted her blouse collar, and inhaled deeply.

She could do this.

Probably.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Two hours.

That’s how long it takes for Ari to gather the courage, piece by shaky piece. She rehearses the words under her breath at least thirty times, edits them in her head a hundred more. Her fingers twitch. Her heart won’t calm down.

And finally, she stands.

She steps away from her desk, trying not to overthink her every movement. She walks with purpose—past the break room, past the devs’ rows, past Lyra’s office—eyes quietly scanning the floor.

But Camille is nowhere in sight.

Ari pauses, then pivots, carefully avoiding the reception area where Hazel is deep in conversation, loud and glittery as ever. She drifts through the maze of sleek workstations and airy meeting nooks, heart sinking just a little with every empty spot.

Eventually, she loops back toward Lyra’s hallway, trying not to let disappointment settle in her chest.

Then she sees her.

Camille.

Just stepping out of Lyra’s office.

Ari stops in her tracks, almost backing behind a nearby column.

Camille looks… different. Just slightly.

Her posture is off by half a breath. One hand comes up to adjust the collar of her blazer with a precision that feels too careful. Her ponytail, usually flawless, is slightly off-center. Her cheeks are lightly flushed.

And then there’s Lyra, still standing in the doorway, watching her with a look that Ari can’t quite place—tender. Familiar.

The door closes gently between them.

Ari stares, her fingers tightening around the notebook she didn’t even realize she was holding.

What… happened in there?

A flicker of something unwelcome coils in her chest. Something small and sour. She’s not sure if it’s jealousy, confusion, or just plain deflation—but whatever it is, it stings.

Camille walks away, unaware.

And Ari is left rooted in place, watching her go, unsure if she still wants to follow.

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Ari stands there, notebook still in hand, heart thudding like a drum against her ribs.

She watches Camille walk away.

You know what? I need this.

“Hey!” she blurts out, louder than she intended. “Would you like to get coffee with me after work?”

The words echo through the open space.

Camille freezes mid-step.

Lyra turns slowly from her office doorway.

Both women stare at her. Blink.

Ari’s face turns bright red.

From the front desk, Hazel pops up like a prairie dog, eyes wide with curiosity. A few other women in the vicinity pause mid-task, subtly tilting their heads to listen.

FUCK. I messed up.

She wants to shrink. Disappear. Melt into the floor tiles.

But then—

“Uhm. Yes… that would be nice.”

An answer.

Ari blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” comes the reply—gentle, open.

And then Ari realizes.

It’s not Camille who answered.

It’s Lyra.

Lyra gives her a small smile. Soft. Maybe a little surprised—but genuine.

Hazel’s mouth drops open like a scene from a silent comedy.

A group of coworkers further down the hall exchange wide-eyed glances—amazed, confused… maybe even a little scared.

But it’s Camille’s face that changes the most.

Her expression turns to glass—blank, but brittle at the edges. There’s no sharpness in her features, but somehow, the air around her feels colder.

Her jaw tightens just slightly. And then she walks away. Not fast—but with purpose.

Ari stands frozen, panic crawling up her neck.

What just happened?

Why did I yell?

Why did Lyra say yes?

Why does it feel like I broke something?

She swallows.

She’s already regretting everything.

Cool… cool… cool… keep it cool, Ari… don’t let anyone know this was a mistake…

“See you at Cool Beans,” Lyra says, her smile warm, almost sweet.

Ari forces a nod, cheeks burning.

But then—she dares a glance at Camille.

Oh noooo…

Her face is blank.

Not neutral.

Cold.

Glacial.

Glacial beans…

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Note from the author:

All the animes mentioned are remakes made in that hypothetical future. 

 

I posted 3 chapters because it's my first post. I'll post once a week.

Chapter 4: 🌙 Too nice

Summary:

This is an actual teaser 🌙

Hazel’s laugh is still echoing off the tiles when Ari walks into the executive bathroom—and out of her comfort zone. One accidental eavesdrop later, she’s spiraling.

Camille? Ice-cold.
Lyra? Warm, radiant, devastatingly kind.

Too kind.

What starts as a coffee date turns into something far more intense when Lyra whisks Ari into Gangnam’s hidden heights—a luxurious café above the glittering city. But Ari’s heart is a battlefield. Confused by her own reactions, torn between comfort and craving something rougher, she blurts out the last thing Lyra expects:

“You’re too nice.”

What happens next flips everything.

🌙 "Too Nice" is a chapter of blurred lines, breathless tension, and soft hands hiding sharp hunger. Just one kiss—and everything starts to unravel.

 

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Hazel is doubled over in front of the mirror, practically wheezing with laughter.

“Bwahahaha! For a second I thought— OMG , Camille beat us both ! She got the new girl! But nooo—Ari was asking Lyra out! Bwahahaha!”

Suzie, leaning against the wall, rolls her eyes. “You better laugh it all out now, before Camille gets here. She’s gonna be pissed .”

Hazel waves her off. “Psh… she should get over Lyra already. It’s been, what, a month?”

Suzie smirks, arms crossed. “She’s  never, ever gonna quit 'cause quittin' just ain't her stick. Besides… They kissed. Recently .”

Hazel freezes. “Whaaat?! When?! Tell me everything .”

The day before – Lyra’s Office

The blinds are half-closed. Afternoon light spills in gently, catching on glass and polished surfaces. Camille stands near the door, hands clasped lightly in front of her.

“Do you need anything else?” she asks, tone neutral.

Lyra hesitates, then straightens behind her desk. “No. Actually… yes.”

Camille raises an eyebrow.

“I want to apologize,” Lyra says softly, meeting her gaze.

Camille’s lips curve into a cool smirk. “Please, stop. I told you—no regrets.”

“I know,” Lyra replies. “But I want you to know… I do respect you. I just… I don’t feel like I can give you what you need.”

A beat. Silence stretches between them.

Camille studies her, eyes steady. Then she steps forward.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll forgive you. But on one condition.”

Lyra’s breath catches. “What is it?”

Camille’s voice lowers, deliberate. “Try.”

Lyra frowns slightly. “Try?”

Camille tilts her head, her expression unreadable—but there’s heat in her eyes now.

“Kiss me,” she says. “And see how it feels .”

—------------------------------

 

“And did she kiss her???” Hazel gasps, practically bouncing in place.

“Duh,” Suzie replies with a smirk. “I already told you—”

“But give me details !” Hazel pleads, leaning in like a child begging for bedtime tea.

Suzie sighs, shaking her head. “No can do. I only got a peek before the door fully closed. Camille didn’t exactly debrief me afterward.”

Hazel pouts. “Ugh, come on ...”

“The only thing she said,” Suzie continues, lowering her voice for drama, “was that it was… okay. Not amazing , you know?”

Hazel blinks. “Oof.”

Suzie shrugs. “Yeah. Like, technically a kiss, but not fireworks. No teeth-clashing, no desperate breaths, no desk-clearing.”

Hazel looks genuinely offended. “Well that’s disappointing.”

Suzie smirks. “Welcome to Camille’s romantic life—high expectations, emotionally restrained execution.”

Hazel hums. “She needs someone to mess her up.”

Suzie grins, leaning back against the counter. “Don’t we all.”

Suddenly, the soft echo of small footsteps interrupts the moment.

Ari appears in the doorway of the elegant executive bathroom, pausing mid-step when she sees Hazel and Suzie inside.

She freezes.

Suzie’s eyes narrow slightly, her smile turning sharp— predatory .

“Well, well,” she says, tilting her head. “Are you lost?”

Ari stiffens, visibly trembling.
“I… ahm… I—yes.”

Without another word, she turns on her heel and hurries out.

A beat of silence.

“Geez,” Hazel says, raising a brow. “You didn’t have to be mean to her.”

“I’m mean to everyone ,” Suzie replies, unapologetic.

Hazel snorts, giggling. “Lyra is going to mess her up…”

She leans toward the door and calls out in a sing-song voice,
“Go get it, Ari!”

Outside, Ari hears it echo down the hallway.

She quickens her pace, face burning, desperate to escape the sound of their laughter trailing behind her.

.

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Nooo… Camille…
Uaaawwhhddhudhkehkhfre…
Ari was sobbing in her head, practically melting into herself as she replayed Camille’s face.
Cold. Shut off. Hurt.
The one she’d wanted to ask out… now looked at her like a stranger.

She wandered to the elevator in a daze, eyes glossy, lips pressed tight.

Maybe if I just disappear for the rest of the day… forever… that would fix it.

The elevator dings.

The doors slide open.

Camille is inside.

Wuaaaa!!! Ari screams internally, her brain full of static and panic.
But her feet move anyway. She steps in.

Camille doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t greet her. Not even a polite nod.

Ari stands beside her, stiff as a board, shrinking.

“…Hey,” she says softly, voice small. “Camille…”

Camille glances at her—just once. From above.
Cool. Distant. Effortlessly composed.

Ari feels her chest cave in.

Her inner sobbing intensifies.

I—I—I…

What was I even thinking? Was I going to ask her out too? Right here? Like an idiot?!

The elevator rides in silence.

The doors open at the parking level.

Without a word, Camille steps out—her heels echoing against the polished concrete as she disappears into the parking lot.

The elevator doors close again.

Ari doesn’t cry.

But her reflection in the metal wall looks like it wants to.

I fucked up… forever

She rides one level lower—to the lower parking deck—her body moving on autopilot. She walks toward her small, slightly dented EV when she spots her.

Lyra .

Leaning casually beside her car, glowing in that effortless way she does—sleek, poised, radiant. Her smile is warm. Genuine.

Ari panics. She wipes her expression clean and pastes on the friendliest smile she can manage.

“H-hello!” she stammers. “Ready for our… uhm… coffee… date ?”

Her voice shrinks toward the end like it’s trying to flee her mouth.

Lyra blinks. “Date…” she echoes softly.

Ari’s heart practically stops.

“Yes,” Lyra says with a soft smile. A faint blush blooms on her cheeks.

Oh my god she’s so cute.
Uaaghh Camille… uaghhh Lyra… uaaaghhh!! Oh no what am I feeling?!

Ari is bamboozled .

Lyra steps closer, her voice gentle. “I was thinking… Why not leave your car here? I’ll show you my favorite spot and drive you back.”

Ari blinks, still recalibrating. “Oh. Uh… sure! No problem.”

Lyra’s smile widens. “I liked Cool Beans, but I think you’ll really love this one.”

—

They drive across the city, and soon the skyline changes—sharper, cleaner, brighter. Towering glass storefronts, luxury brands, people dressed like fashion editorials.

Gangnam .

Ari stares out the window like a child at a theme park, her nose practically pressed to the glass.

All the lights. All the people. The sparkle of it all.

Lyra glances at her with a soft smile, visibly endeared.
“First time in Gangnam?”

Ari nods sheepishly. “Actually… yeah. It’s expensive just to walk around here.”

Lyra chuckles. “Do you know what Gangnam means?”

Ari turns to her, caught. Of course she doesn’t. Her mind flashes to Suzie calling her kind of dumb. Her expression sours—her lips pout slightly, eyes averting.

Lyra notices. She softens.

“Back when men still existed,” she begins gently, “there was a country called Korea. They had a neighborhood a lot like this one in their capital called Seoul. Flashy, wealthy, full of life. Gangnam means ‘south of the river’ in Korean. Since part of this city’s founders were Korean, they named this district Gangnam—even though there’s no river anywhere nearby.”

Ari blinks, then looks at Lyra with wonder.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “Nice fun fact.”

Lyra smiles, eyes warm. “I have more of those. If you stick around.”

Ari swallows hard.

They pull into an underground parking lot, but this one is nothing like the grim concrete caves Ari’s used to. It’s polished, softly lit, and smells faintly of lavender and leather. Everything gleams.

Lyra leads the way to a private elevator, swiping her access pass. They ascend in silence, smooth and swift.

A soft ding.

The doors open on the top floor of a tall building.

The space is breathtaking. The walls are glass, showing off a panoramic view of the glittering city. In front of them, a sleek restaurant glows gold under warm lights. A sign in tasteful script reads: Sun.

But the lights are dimming. Staff are tidying up. A hostess bows apologetically from across the entrance.

“Aw,” Ari says, her voice small. “Did we get here too late?”

Lyra turns to her and gently takes her hand.

“No,” she says, smiling. “Actually, the café is a little further in.”

Still hand-in-hand, they walk through the quiet, elegant restaurant. Past diners finishing wine, past linen-draped tables and hanging plants. At the back, tucked between mirrored panels and a minimalist art installation, there’s a small, understated door.

A sign above it reads: Moon.

Ari tilts her head. “Moon?”

Lyra pushes the door open.

Inside, it’s cozy and quiet, all deep blues and soft lighting. A few people sit in tucked-away corners, reading, typing, whispering. The scent of strong coffee and something spiced lingers in the air.

“This café opens at night,” Lyra explains, still holding Ari’s hand. “And stays open until early morning.”

She leads her toward a side corridor with softly glowing signage.
“It even has a kind of internet café area—soundproofed booths, adjustable lights, reclining chairs. Some people spend the night here.”

Ari’s brain short-circuits.
Spend the night… spend the night… spend… the… night…

And then, unbidden, Hazel’s voice blares in her head like a siren:

“Go get it, Ari!”

Ari’s face flushes a deep red. She glances down at their still-connected hands.

She is absolutely not okay.

“I sometimes spend the night here,” Lyra says casually, her gaze drifting toward the vast windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. “The view in the morning is just… unparalleled.”

The morning…
Viewing… the morning… with her…
Ari feels the floor tilt beneath her. Her knees wobble like noodles.

Lyra turns to her, brows gently furrowed. “Are you all right?”

“Y-yeah,” Ari blurts, trying to stabilize herself. “I… it’s just that I’ve never been in a place this fancy. I might not order much, haha…”

Her laugh is nervous, thin.

Lyra smiles again—calm, warm, effortlessly disarming. “Don’t worry. This one’s on me.”

Ari’s heart pounds so hard she’s convinced the whole café can hear it.

Why is she like this?!
Why is she so kind and soft and… dangerously perfect?!

And still—Lyra hasn’t let go of her hand.

They sit at a quiet corner table, sipping beautifully crafted drinks—rich coffee swirled with delicate syrups, creamy textures, edible gold on foam.

But as they talk, as Lyra keeps being kind and easy to be with , something starts to shift inside Ari.

She’s too perfect…
Not mean at all… not even a little harsh…

Not really… my type…?

Ughhh!! Why am I like this?!

A quiet sadness begins to settle in her chest.

Lyra notices almost immediately. She tilts her head slightly, setting her cup down. “Are you… bored?”

Ari’s eyes widen in panic. “WHAT?! No! I—how could I be bored?! I’m in the most beautiful bar-slash-café with the most beautiful—ah…”

It slips out.

Oh no.
AH.
What did I just say?! Did I just call her beautiful?? To her face?!

Ari’s entire body goes red.

Lyra giggles, light and genuine. She lifts her cup and takes a slow sip. “You’re pretty cute yourself.”

Ari swallows hard, then blurts, “Why?”

Lyra blinks. “Why are you cute?” She smiles. “You want me to list the reasons?”

Ari covers her face with her hands. “No—I mean… Why do you… like me? Why did you say yes?”

For a moment, Lyra’s expression softens even more. She looks down at her drink, then up at Ari.

“I’ve never been asked out on a date before,” she says quietly.

Ari freezes. “Huh? What?!”

Lyra shrugs gently. “Yeah. Everyone knows I’m an alpha… and, apparently, I come off as intimidating. So it’s always me doing the asking. Always.

Ari stares at her like someone just handed her the keys to a secret door in life.

Her brain: exploded.
Her soul: rebooting.
Her concept of reality: patched and updated.

This is a life-hack. This is wild. This is unfair.
And somehow… she’s still too perfect. Still not her type.

UUUUGHH.

Ari lets out a quiet sigh. Her fingers toy with the rim of her cup.

“You’re… too nice,” she says softly, a tinge of sadness slipping into her voice. “I’m not used to this…”

Lyra watches her for a moment, eyes unreadable. She takes a slow sip of her drink.
“What do you mean, too nice?”

Ari shrugs, eyes lowered. “I… I think I’ve been in my home for too long.”

Lyra tilts her head, listening.

“You know why I even started going back to the office?” Ari says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I needed to see more people. Just… feel people around me again.”

She doesn’t say touch-starved . She doesn’t say lonely . But the weight is there—in the silence between the words.

Lyra nods once, her expression softening.
“And has it helped?”

Ari lifts her eyes slowly to meet hers. “I don’t know yet.” She sips on her drink.

Ari mutters, barely audible. “I think I’m not alright… I think you’re too nice… and that shouldn’t be a bad thing…”

The words hang in the space between them, uncertain and fragile.

Lyra’s expression shifts—softness replaced by something quieter, more focused.

She hears the rejection in Ari’s tone. And she doesn’t look hurt.

She looks attentive.

“I think—” Ari begins again, flustered.

But Lyra gently places her hand on Ari’s wrist, stopping her.

“Ari,” she says softly.

Ari’s breath catches. “Huh?”

Lyra leans in just a little, her voice dipping into something low and calm.

“Come with me to the internet café area… I want to show you my favorite spot.”

She offers a faint smile, and there’s still kindness in it—but now it’s laced with something else. Something steady.

Ari hesitates, but then shrugs.

She’s been so nice… too nice. She doesn’t seem like the type to pressure her date into anything…

Although... some pressure wouldn’t be the worst thing right now.

They walk together down a softly lit hallway lined with sleek panels. The internet café area is tucked behind a sliding glass door. The atmosphere is hushed, cocooned. Some cubicles are occupied—muted typing, hushed voices, glimmers of blue light on faces.

Lyra leads her to the far end, where a small private booth sits slightly elevated, away from the others. The lighting is warmer here, the seating more lounge-like, with cushions and adjustable panels for privacy.

Ari steps inside the private booth slowly, eyes wide as she takes in the soft lighting, the subtle hum of white noise, and the vast glass window tilted slightly forward—giving a breathtaking view of the city lights below.

Lyra follows.

Without a word, she places her hands on Ari’s shoulders and gently turns her to face the window.

“It’s beautiful,” Ari whispers.

The floor near the glass is clear—so transparent it feels like standing in the air itself.

Lyra nudges her forward. Just a little.

Ari stiffens, letting out a nervous laugh. “Whoa… wait, Lyra…”

But Lyra’s hand moves swiftly, gripping the back of Ari’s blouse—firm, steady.

“This is the only window that opens,” she says, her voice low. Too calm.

Ari’s heart skips. “That sounds… kind of dangerous?”

Then—a sudden kick.

The window creaks open, and cold air rushes in. Ari gasps as the wind brushes her face.

“Oh my god—!”

Lyra presses a hand against the wall beside her head, anchoring herself, and tugs the back of Ari’s blouse tight—holding her in place. Not letting her fall. Not letting her leave.

Her body isn’t pushing—but she’s there, right behind her. Her presence hums like heat against Ari’s spine.

“Shut up,” Lyra whispers near her ear—not cruel, but edged. Controlled. Wounded.

“You were going to reject me, weren’t you?”

Ari’s breath catches. “What…?”

Uhm… kinda.

“You asked me out,” Lyra goes on, her voice trembling just slightly—not from fear, but from something darker. 

“And then you looked me in the eye and called me too nice. Like I’m something soft you can play with and put away.”

She leans in closer, her breath brushing Ari’s neck.

“It’s you, you are something soft,”

Ari stares out the open window, her breath shallow.

The wind rushes in.

Below, the city yawns like a glowing ocean of lights—but it feels miles away. All she can see is the drop. All she can feel is Lyra behind her.

She feels vertigo—not just from the view, but from the way her body heats with fear. With adrenaline. With something worse .

What is wrong with me?
Why am I—
God. Why am I turned on?

Because Lyra is not nice.
Not anymore.
Not at all.

Suddenly, Lyra pulls her back, firm and fast.

Ari stumbles—but instead of falling, she lands hard on the soft lounge cushion behind her, the small bed-like seat in the corner of the cubicle. The impact knocks the breath from her lungs.

She blinks up—and now she sees the small TV on the ceiling, glowing dimly above her. It flickers in silence.

Then Lyra moves. She steps to the window, shuts it with one clean motion, and locks it.

When she turns back, her expression is unreadable.

She approaches. Slowly.

And then she leans over Ari, one hand on the cushion beside her head, her shadow cast across Ari’s body.

“I could fuck you right now,” Lyra says softly—her voice a low blade, quiet, but burning. “Not a soul would hear a thing. I’ll cover your mouth the whole time… while I push and pull your insides… my hand on your mouth… just another omega being what an omega is… something soft…”

Ari’s breath hitches.
Oh god!!!

But her thighs squeeze together, her hands clutch the cushion.

What is wrong with me?!

Lyra watches her. Her eyes flicker.

And then—just like that—she pushes herself up, but Ari grabs her wrist.

“Do it,” she whispers. “P—Please.”

The word hangs in the air like a gift. A choice. One Lyra didn’t expect.

She blinks. The dominance fades for a second—replaced by surprise. Softness.

“You want me to?” she asks, voice low.

Ari nods, slowly. “Yes. I—I didn’t mean to push you away. I was…”

Touch starved, disoriented, thinking about tougher and meaner stuff… just like what just happened…

“…confused.”

Lyra exhales, steady and deep. Her hand shifts—now caressing the line of Ari’s jaw, slow and deliberate.

This little woman is too vulnerable…

She doesn’t move fast. She gives Ari time.

And when she finally leans in, it’s not to take.

“I’m not really going to fuck you…”

Ari feels a little bit disappointed.

“I am going to kiss you though… Are you ok with that?”

Ari nods emphatically, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Lyra leans in.

The kiss begins like a question—gentle, exploring. Her lips press softly to Ari’s, barely there, just enough to feel the heat, the shape, the tension trembling in the space between them.

Lyra deepens the kiss just a breath more—still slow, still controlled. It’s not possessive. Not yet. But it’s firm. Certain. Anchored in choice.

And then, just as the moment swells, Lyra stops herself.

She exhales quietly, pulling away with care, her touch lingering only briefly before she shifts to Ari’s side. She sits beside her, composed but quiet—eyes forward, jaw tense, breathing shallow.

Restraint. Total, practiced restraint.

Ari is left lying there, heart hammering in her chest, body pulsing with unspent heat. Her lips are still tingling, her limbs soft, heavy, warm.

Should I say something?
Should I ask her to—
No. I’ll sound desperate. Or worse… pushy.
But… god, I want her.

She glances sideways at Lyra—her strong profile lit softly by the ambient light, her expression unreadable, her posture composed.

Ari swallows. Her thoughts blur.

Say something. Anything. Or she’ll leave.
Or she’ll think you didn’t want it…

But still, she says nothing.

Her body speaks for her—still arched slightly toward Lyra, still open, still trembling with permission she’s too shy to voice.

Beside her, Lyra finally speaks, her voice low and steady.

"I'm sorry about the window thing," she says, sighing as she pinches the bridge of her nose. Her eyes close briefly. "I’ve been under a lot of stress. Honestly… I haven’t really been acting like myself lately."

Ari blinks, startled by the shift in tone. She swallows. Her lips part, but she says nothing.

Lyra glances over, her expression softer now. "If you want to leave, I’d understand."

Without thinking, Ari reaches out and gently grabs her wrist.

"No, not at all," she says quickly. "I… I sort of don’t feel like myself lately either. Or maybe… I’m just discovering a side of myself I didn’t know was there. I don’t know."

Lyra watches her quietly, then gives a small, amused smile. She shifts, laying beside Ari now, propped up on one elbow. Their closeness makes Ari’s heart skip.

"I’m usually not this… reactive," Ari murmurs, cheeks flushed.

Lyra lets out a quiet laugh. "I read your file. You've worked remotely for years. And... you're an omega. It's not uncommon. A lot of omegas isolate. It’s quieter, safer. But when they come back into contact with others—especially alphas—everything wakes up again. I should have known… I should have been better…"

Ari’s eyes widen. "So I’m not... abnormal?"

Lyra's gaze softens completely. Her smile is reassuring, warm. She shakes her head.

"No. You’re not," she says. "You’re just responding. That’s all."

Ari stares at her for a long moment, her breath catching. Lyra is so close now, her scent soft but intoxicating, her presence powerful but calm.

She doesn’t move away.

Ari’s breath hitches—but she doesn’t hesitate.

She leans forward and presses her lips to Lyra’s.

It’s quick at first, uncertain. A flicker of impulse. But it carries something that had been stirring under the surface all along—curiosity, yearning, and a deep, wordless ache.

Lyra is caught off guard.

This woman! Maybe she is a little bit atypical…

Her eyes widen, her breath stills—but only for a second.

Then she kisses Ari back.

It’s slower now, more deliberate. A response rather than a reaction. Their lips move together with care, like they’re discovering the edges of something new—something fragile and real.

Ari melts almost immediately.

Her hands rise to cup Lyra’s face, gentle and reverent, as if holding something delicate. Her fingers tremble slightly, like she’s afraid Lyra might vanish if she doesn’t stay connected.

And then—without thinking—Ari reaches for the buttons of her blouse, her breath unsteady.

Lyra notices.

Her hand moves swiftly, catching Ari’s wrists. “What are you doing?”

Ari blinks, cheeks flushed. Her voice is a whisper. “I’m… I’m… con…sen…ting…”

For a moment, Lyra is frozen—eyes wide, lips parted.

Then, gently, she lowers Ari’s hands and folds them between her own.

“Stop,” she says softly. “It’s not right. Not like this.”

Ari’s heart skips.

“We need to… properly court,” Lyra adds, looking away for a second, her face turning a warm shade of pink.

Ari stares at her, stunned.

Oh my god… she’s blushing… I made an alpha blush…

.

.

The drive back to Ari’s place is quiet, the air between them still humming with something unspoken. Outside, the city blurs by in soft streaks of light.

When they arrive, Lyra slows to a stop in front of Ari’s building. Her gaze lingers on the entrance—dimly lit, worn around the edges. It’s not unsafe, but it isn’t the kind of place she imagined for someone like Ari.

She doesn’t say anything about it. But she worries.

“I’ll send a cab for you tomorrow morning. I hope you had a nice time… and again… sorry…” Lyra says instead, her voice quiet, careful.

“It’s ok…” Ari’s fingers fidget in her lap, and she opens her mouth to speak again—but stops herself. What she really wants is to kiss her again. To reach for her like she did earlier. But now... now she doesn’t know if it would be too much.

Lyra turns to her.

And just when Ari thinks she might drive off without another word, Lyra leans in and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. Her lips linger there for a second—warm, grounding.

She pulls back, opens the door for her, and smiles faintly.

“See you tomorrow, Miss Longsworth.”

Ari steps out—dazed, a little disappointed… but mostly glowing. It wasn’t more. It wasn’t everything.
But it felt like a beginning.

Later, in her apartment, the euphoria hits her all at once.

“AAAAAAHHHH!!!” she shrieks, punching the air in joy. “Go get it, Ari!! Yessss!”

Then she slips on a sock left on the floor.
“Auuch!” she winces, crashing to the floor.

No one saw it.

Good.

She beams up at the ceiling, breathless.
Still glowing.

 

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Leave commeeenttsss!! I wanna know what you think of my storyyyyy. x3

Chapter 5: 🔥Soft no, Hard yes

Summary:

Ari was just trying to survive the day—show up (late), do her job (barely), avoid eye contact with her boss (fail).
She wasn’t planning to get pinned against a wall by one alpha, or dragged into the executive bathroom by another.

Now she’s the center of office gossip, there’s a picture circulating, and HR might be involved.
Also, apparently she’s “touch-starved,” whatever that means.

She really should’ve taken that course on managing alpha attention before kissing her boss.
Or maybe before almost letting Hazel wreck her life in a citrus-scented bathroom.
Too late now.
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.————————————————————————————————————

The elevator dings open, and Ari rushes out like a small whirlwind—hair slightly tousled, blouse half-tucked, cheeks flushed from sprinting the last block.

Hazel, perched at reception with a half-eaten croissant in hand, raises an eyebrow as Ari bolts past.

“Girl, what happened?” she calls, swiveling in her chair. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Ari, breathless, tries to flatten her hair and act like she isn’t falling apart.
 “I just… woke up late… my alarm…didn't…” she mumbles, clutching her tablet like a life raft.

Hazel watches her with a lazy smirk. “Woke up late, or didn’t sleep at all?”

She couldn’t sleep, the cab arrived on time, meaning, early, which gave her no time to dress properly or do her hair, but Hazel doesn´t need to know that.

Ari doesn’t answer. Her eyes have already drifted toward the other end of the office.

Lyra is standing outside her office—poised, composed, wrapped in a slate-gray suit that fits like it was made just for her. She’s holding a tablet, calmly pointing something out to Camille.

And then—subtle, brief—Lyra glances up.

She sees Ari.

A small smile touches her lips. Almost imperceptible. But Ari sees it.

It hits like a sunbeam straight to the chest.

Camille sees it too. Her jaw tightens slightly. Her eyes flick toward Ari, just for a second. The shift is subtle, but sharp.

Ari quickly looks away and ducks into her desk. Her heart is pounding. Her face burns.

Hazel leans back, still chewing her croissant, eyes narrowed like a cat watching birds at a windowsill.

“Uh-huh,” she murmurs to herself. “This is gonna be good.”

.

.

.

Hours pass.

Ari buries herself in her work, mumbling to herself now and then—half notes, half prayers. She’s hunched over her desk, trying to disappear into her screen, sipping from a cup of lukewarm coffee she doesn’t even remember buying.

Somewhere else in the office, the executive bathroom—usually home to whispered schemes and territorial gossip—sits one member short.

Where’s Hazel?

Ari’s halfway through pretending to care about a dropdown menu when Hazel’s voice cuts through the air—light, almost sing-song.

“So… how’d the date go?”

Ari jumps, nearly knocking her coffee over. “Wh—what?”

Hazel is behind her now, strolling past like she just happened to be there. Not circling. Not exactly. But there’s something feline in the way she moves—lazy, fluid, deliberate.

She leans an elbow on the edge of Ari’s cubicle, resting her chin in one hand like this is all just harmless girl talk.

But when Ari isn’t looking, Hazel’s eyes sweep lower—down her back, along her waist, lingering for a beat too long.

Tracking. Measuring.

Ari keeps her gaze fixed on her screen, pulse ticking just a little faster. “It was… I don’t know. We went out. We talked. That’s all.”

Hazel tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s heard a whole different story in Ari’s tone.

“You don’t know?” she repeats, drawing the words out like taffy. “That’s a pretty vague review… especially for someone who looked like they’d been hit by a sexy truck this morning.”

Ari stiffens.

Hazel just smiles.

Ari stiffens, but doesn’t respond right away.

Hazel’s words hang in the air like perfume—sweet, teasing, just a little too sharp.

Ari stares at her screen, the rows of UI components suddenly meaningless. She wants to brush Hazel off, roll her eyes, throw up a wall of silence.

But instead…

Her fingers hover above her keyboard. Her lips part—then close again.

Because the truth is… she does want to talk about it.

Not just the date.

The kiss. The tension. The way Lyra held her, and didn’t hold her. The parting, the tenderness, the ache.

But Hazel?

Hazel, who flirts with everyone, who lies about anime and sleeps with HR nightmares and always watches more than she says?

Hazel might laugh. Hazel might twist it. Hazel might already know.

Ari swallows.

“I… it was nice,” she says finally, her voice low, guarded. “Different. Lyra’s… not what I expected.”

Hazel raises a brow. “Too perfect for you?”

Ari hesitates.

That question. That exact question.

“…No,” Ari says, quieter. “Not exactly.”

Hazel doesn’t leave right away.

She lingers just a step behind, her gaze trailing over Ari—not in the obvious, hungry way from earlier, but with something slower now. More careful. Studying.

Because she knows.

Ari is alone. She barely talks about her life, never mentions weekend plans, never slips away for lunch dates or video calls. According to Suzie, she spent years freelancing—working from home, skipping parties, letting the world spin without her while she stayed inside her bubble.

A lonely path.

And Hazel can see it written all over her now. She knows omegas too well.

The way Ari’s fingers hover above her keyboard like she’s forgotten how to type. The way her eyes flick toward her screen, then away again, like she’s bracing for something. Rejection, maybe. Or just… silence.

She’s close to breaking.

Close to saying something.

And Hazel feels it—like a shift in the air. That fragile moment before a confession.

Then, it happens.

A small sound. Barely a breath.

Hazel pauses. She glances back over her shoulder.

“Did you say something?” she asks, her voice softer now. No teasing, no edge. Just… open.

Ari’s eyes lift, meet hers.

Wide, vulnerable, unsure.

Hazel feels it like a slow pull in her chest. Something warmer than she expected.

Oh.

There you are.

Now Ari’s being led into the infamous executive bathroom—the one no one dares to use.

Not because it’s restricted.
But because Hazel, Suzie, and Camille have claimed it like queens marking their territory.
And everyone else knows better than to cross the border.

“This tea,” Hazel says with a lilting voice, “can’t be spilled near the interns.”

“Tea?” Ari echoes, trying to keep up.

They push through the door. It smells faintly of citrus and quiet judgment. Two women are chatting by the mirror—until they spot Hazel.

Hazel doesn’t slow.

“Scram,” she says, cool as ice.

The women share a look… and flee.

Hazel turns back, satisfied. “We’ll have privacy now.”

Ari hovers near the sink, arms crossed like armor. Hazel leans against the counter, giving her a slow, assessing glance.

“So,” she starts, eyes glinting. “Did you do it?”

Ari frowns. “Do what?”

“With Lyra,” Hazel clarifies, taking a small step forward. “Don’t play dumb.”

The teasing tone stays, but her gaze sharpens—patient, watchful, unblinking.

“First day you got here,” Hazel continues, “you asked me if I was an alpha. You were looking for one, weren’t you?”

Ari swallows hard.

“And you got one. The alphaiest of alphas.” Hazel’s head tilts. “So… did you two do it?”

Ari shakes her head. “No! And… actually… she…”

Hazel lets her flounder for a second, then backs off—just enough.

“Alright,” she says. “Start from the top. Chronological order.”

Ari breathes in slowly, steadying herself.

“We went to this… really fancy place.”

“Hmh.”

“And I thought it was going well, but then she took me to this private booth. A cubicle, kind of… with a floor-to-ceiling window…”

Hazel’s eyes sharpen with interest. “Go on.”

“She opened it. Made me stand right at the edge.” Ari’s voice wavers slightly. “And she… whispered something. I couldn’t move.”

Hazel leans in slightly, a thrill building in her smile.

“And then?”

Ari shifts her weight, arms still folded tight across her chest. Her eyes flick away from Hazel’s, down to the sink, then back up again.

“She held me there,” Ari says quietly. “Right at the edge. The wind was so strong, and for a second I thought…”

She trails off.

Hazel raises an eyebrow. “You thought what?”

Ari shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. She didn’t hurt me. She just… she got really close. Whispered things.”

So Lyra warmed her up…

Hazel leans forward slightly. “What kind of things?”

Ari exhales, slow. Her cheeks are pink. “Stuff that made it clear she wasn’t just being nice anymore.”

That makes Hazel pause. She studies her carefully.

Lyra warmed her up good…

“You liked that,” she says. Not a question.

Ari doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t deny it either.

Hazel smirks. “So she showed a little bite. About time.”

“She wasn’t mean,” Ari murmurs. “Not really. Just… not soft.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Thank you, Lyra, you warmed up this omega for me.

Then Hazel laughs, quiet and knowing. “You didn’t come in here for advice, did you?”

Ari blinks. “What?”

You just needed to say it out loud.

To someone. Anyone. Before it eats you alive.

Hazel thinks.

Ari looks down again, suddenly shy.

“What?” she asks again

Aw… she’s too easy… maybe I should just let her be… I don’t want Lyra’s sloppy seconds…

Hazel’s expression shifts—just slightly. The predator eases back.

She folds her arms and adopts a more thoughtful tone.
“So you really like that?” she asks, genuinely now.

Ari sighs, the tension in her shoulders softening just a bit.
 “I guess I did…” she says quietly. 

“Good I guess” Hazel says

“Good?” Ari echoes

There’s a pause.

“I guess I encouraged her to… be a little dangerous… since I was about to reject her…·

Hazel’s eyes widen like she just heard a mouse insult a lion.

“You whaaaaaat?!”

The echo bounces slightly off the elegant tiles.

Hazel stares at her, blinking.
This little omega was about to reject Lyra Veran?
The alpha of alphas?
The one women swoon over just from a hallway glance?

Hazel’s jaw drops slightly, then shuts with a click.

She doesn’t even know whether to laugh or call security.

Hazel blinks once. Then twice.

She was going to reject Lyra Veran. She’s not Lyra’s sloppy seconds…

Hazel leans back against the marble counter, a slow smile curling on her lips. Her gaze drops, then climbs again—a deliberate scan, unhurried now, like Ari’s suddenly become a puzzle worth solving.

She tilts her head. “You know…” she says, her voice silkier than before. “That’s kind of impressive.”

Ari frowns, still confused. “What is?”

“You.” Hazel uncrosses her arms and steps closer—not too close, but just enough to shift the air between them. “I mean, not many people walk away from Lyra Veran. And you—you were about to walk away just because she was too perfect?”

“I—I didn’t mean to offend her,” Ari stammers. “It’s just… I didn’t expect her to be so…”

Hazel holds up a hand gently, stepping into Ari’s space.

“No, no… I get it,” she purrs, smiling. “You wanted something… else.”

Her eyes narrow, gleaming with a different kind of interest now.
 “You like alphas with bite. Ones who press back. Ones who don’t let you get away with too much…”

Ari’s breath hitches.

Hazel notices. Her posture shifts—one hip leaning into the counter, her shoulder angled, relaxed but intentional. Her voice lowers again.

“You know, I’ve always thought you were cute,” she says. “But I didn’t think you had teeth.”

Ari gulps. “I don’t—”

Hazel steps just a little closer. Not touching, but close enough that the distance becomes a question.

“You do,” Hazel whispers. “And that makes you interesting.”

Her hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Ari’s ear with a touch that’s featherlight but confident—not a test, but a signal.

Ari’s breath quickens.

Hazel watches her carefully. “You don’t have to keep chasing someone who will want to either go slow with you or suddenly threaten your life…”

Ari can’t think of a single thing to say.

Hazel doesn’t wait for one. She lets the silence bloom—then smiles slowly and turns toward the mirror.

“Ah… I know you lied about liking anime…” Ari blurts.

Oh my god.
 Why did I say that now??

Hazel turns her head slowly, lips parting in amusement. Her eyes glitter.

“Mm,” she hums. “Yes, it was to get close to you, silly.”

Ari trembles—just slightly. She feels it in her spine.

Hazel steps in, smooth and easy, and places a hand on Ari’s waist. Light, but sure. Fingers resting with purpose.

She leans in, her lips brushing close to Ari’s ear—not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.

“Did it work?” she whispers.

Her body is too close.

Ari shivers. Her breath catches, her heart stuttering inside her chest.

Hazel doesn’t move back.

“I would’ve studied your whole watchlist if it meant getting that flustered look on your face,” she adds, voice like velvet over a blade.

Ari’s legs feel unsteady. Her thoughts are static. How did she end up against the wall?

Hazel’s lips hover just a breath away. “Say the word,” she murmurs, “and I’ll take real good care of you.”

The bathroom is silent.

Hazel’s hand slides lower, fingertips grazing along Ari’s thigh with an unbearable slowness. She leans in again, her breath brushing Ari’s ear.

“You’re not resisting…” she whispers “Is that an implicit yes?”

Hazel’s body presses against hers.

Ari’s breath catches. Her hands tremble at her sides, but she doesn’t move.

Can’t move.

Does she want this?

Why am I like this? Why is this making me so horny?? Don’t I need at least to be asked out? to have a first date? To be properly courted or whatever? I want to be properly courted!! Lyraa oh my god!!

“I need you to say that you want this…” Hazel whispers in her ear.

I like my omegas completely surrendered, Ari, say you want this and it’s a done deal…

Hazel’s hands slide with confident slowness, and Ari… leans into the touch...

Then—suddenly—

“Gwheeeeeiiii!!!”

A high-pitched shriek cuts through the haze.

They both freeze.

Opal, the small, round-faced woman from accounting, stands in the doorway—eyes wide, phone held up.

“You can’t do this in the workplace!!” she squeals.

Hazel whirls around. “Give me a break, Opal!”

“No!” Opal gasps, already tapping frantically on her screen. “No more of that, Hazel! Not in the executive bathroom again!”

Click.

She snaps a picture.

“Whaaat are you doing?!” Hazel and Ari shout at the same time, faces flashing with disbelief and horror.

“I’m telling!!!” Opal cries. “I’m telling everything!”

She bolts for the door, surprisingly fast for someone in ballet flats.

Hazel stares after her for half a second, then takes off in pursuit.

“You cockblocking, motherfuuu—Opal get back here!!”

Ari’s still frozen against the wall, skirt half-raised, soul halfway to heaven and back. She slowly covers her face with both hands and mutters:

“…I’m gonna die.”

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.

.

Twenty minutes later

Ari walks back into the open workspace like a ghost who’s accepted her fate. Her expression blank, her movements slow and deliberate. She returns to her desk and begins quietly packing her things—tablet, charger, stress ball shaped like a cat.

Muttering softly to herself:
 “Welp… it was fun while it lasted…”

Suzie rolls up, iced coffee in hand, eyebrow arched.

“Huh? You joining the Remote Life Cult? Another 100% work-from-bed convert?”

Ari glances at her, eyes hollow like a prisoner being walked to execution.

“I’m about to get fired.”

Suzie blinks. “Dude, what?”

Ari doesn’t answer. She just resumes slowly winding her charger cord like it’s a ritual.

Suzie sets down her drink, brows furrowed.
 “Wait, wait—what did you do? Blow up the espresso machine? Eat someone’s lunch? Sabotage the cloud storage?”

Ari says nothing.

Suzie leans in, voice dropping like she’s part of an underground operation.
 “…Did you accidentally kiss Camille?...we’ve all tried…”

Ari turns, deadpan.
“Ha-ha.” I wish…

Suzie chuckles—then suddenly gasps, eyes wide.
“Wait. Did Hazel fuck you, record the whole thing, and now she’s passing the video around the office and I owe her free coffee for life?!”

Ari blinks.
 “What?! No! I—she and I were just…”
 She trails off, face burning.
 “We were caught. Doing stuff… not that I was doing anything! It was all her… In the executive bathroom. By Opal.”

Suzie’s jaw drops.

Ari’s expression twists. “Wait. Back up. Why would you owe her free coffee?”

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.

.

Suzie and Ari sit by the window, two oversized mugs between them. The café hums softly around them, full of indie music and cinnamon-scented air.

Ari looks… less depressed. Still mortified, sure, but upright and caffeinated.

Suzie is—surprisingly—being a good friend.

“Okay, don’t hate me,” Suzie says, stirring her drink, “but… we had this bet.”

Ari exhales like she already knew. “What?! That’s so friggin 'mean!!!. 

“I haven´t told you what the bet was about!” Suzie says

“You said it before!! The video… and stuff” 

Ari sighs.

Suzie chuckles softly. “That was an exaggeration. But Ari, the bet was off. Hazel just—got invested. Real fast I guess….”

Ari sulks, poking at the rim of her glass. “Great. So I was just another checkbox on a bet and now I’m getting fired.”

“It’s not like that,” Suzie says gently. “Honestly, I think it’s because you asked out Lyra—and she said yes. That doesn’t happen. Ever. And Hazel is an alpha, but she’s insecure as fuck, so she’s got to be the first and alphiest… don’t tell her I told you that.”

Ari raises a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not even about you—I mean, it is, but it’s also... an alpha thing. She said yes, and suddenly it’s like you’re a prize everyone’s gotta win.”

Ari snorts. “Wow. Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

Suzie sips her drink and eyes her carefully. “But seriously… Do you even like Hazel?” She pauses. “Or Lyra? Are you like, serious with Lyra?”

Ari goes quiet. Sighs and takes a sip of her coffee. “I like Lyra… but I have these… urges… I’m super sensitive… so I didn´t stop Hazel… and Lyra and I just had one date!”

Her voice trails off.

“I think I’m just…”

“Touch-starved,” they both say at the same time.

“Heeeh?!” Ari turns to her, scandalized. “How did you know I was going to say that?!”

Suzie smirks, raising a brow. “Because you’re super transparent, babe.”

Ari sulks into her mug.

“Dude, chill. That’s just like… an omega thing. You have to take the free courses.”

Ari blinks. “Free courses?”

“Yeah. You’ve been cozy and remote for way too long—another omega thing. Now your senses are firing off at every alpha who shows you a little interest. There’s a course on the company platform—'Managing Alpha-Induced Sensory Overload'. I call it Calm Yo Tits 101.”

Ari stares at her.

“Lyra did say it was normal… and she did mention the course… but I was a little distracted and forgot to take it… ”

Distracted by her

Suzie sips her coffee. “You’re kinda stupid, you know that?”

“Hey!”

Suzie grins. “I mean it in a loving, legally non-actionable way. You’re an omega. You’ve gotta be better informed. The world’s a beautiful mess—but it’s also sharp.”

Ari leans on the table, pouting. “Since when?”

Suzie gazes out the window dramatically. “Since the year 235… approximately.”

Suzie shrugs, still gazing out the window like she’s narrating a documentary.
 “The year we started diving into deeper genetic research… the year we all started getting a little more different.”

Ari nods slowly, trying to look like she knows what that means.

Suzie turns back to her and squints.
 “Girl… you really gotta study your history better.”

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.

.

As they return from Cool Beans, the office lights feel harsher somehow—too bright, too aware.

Ari’s footsteps slow when she spots Lyra standing near her workstation.

Straight-backed. Hands clasped behind her. Eyes fixed on Ari.

Her expression is unreadable—but more serious than usual.

Suzie, sensing something in the air, leans in quickly. “Good luck,” she whispers, then stealthily veers off down the hall, leaving Ari behind.

Ari stops, suddenly feeling small.
 She gulps.

“May I see you in my office, Miss Longsworth?” Lyra asks, voice cool and composed.

Ari gulps again.
She nods.

 

 

 

Inside the office, Lyra moves to her desk with slow precision. Ari sits stiffly on the sofa, clutching the edge of the cushion like it’s an anchor.

Lyra leans over her desk slightly, gaze sharp, words quiet—but pointed.

“You did stuff in the bathroom with Hazel?” she asks. 

Ari’s eyes widen. “I didn’t! I swear—”

She stumbles forward in her seat, hands covering her face.

“I have trouble saying no… but I didn’t say yes…”

Lyra straightens slowly, the sharpness in her eyes hardening into something colder. Not anger—not yet—but a dangerous kind of stillness. A storm gathering at the edges of her control.

She walks around the desk, heels muted on the plush rug, and stops in front of Ari.

“You didn’t say yes,” Lyra repeats, her voice low.

Ari nods, unable to meet her gaze. “I didn’t say no either. I—I froze. It just… happened. I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Lyra’s jaw tightens slightly.

“I’m not angry at you,” she says carefully. “But I need to know that you feel safe. Here. In this office. Around me. Around everyone.”

Ari finally looks up, eyes wide and sincere. “I do. With you… I really do.”

Lyra studies her for a breath, then slowly stands again. “Good.”

She walks back to her desk, composing herself with every step.

“I’m seeing that you still haven’t completed the mandatory courses on workplace boundaries and dynamics,” she says, glancing at her screen. Her tone stays formal. “Assigned days ago.”

Ari flinches. “I… meant to. I just got distracted…”

Her eyes are wide and apologetic—and painfully cute. Lyra looks at her for a second too long before remembering.

Right.
 I’m the one who told her to put it off. Took her for coffee instead.

Guilt flickers across Lyra’s face—but only for a second. She straightens her shoulders.

“Regardless… The courses are important. They’re designed to help prevent situations like this one,” she says more softly now. “And… I’m going to have to report the incident. It’ll appear in your performance review.”

Ari sulks, her lips pressing into a pout. “Seriously?”

Lyra almost smiles at her expression. But instead, she nods. “It won’t reflect poorly on you once the details are filed. But I can’t give you special treatment.”

Even if I want to.
Even if I already have.

Ari sighs and nods slowly. “Yeah… I understand.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Lyra turns back toward her slowly—her tone lower, more personal, the softness in her expression returned, edged with heat. “But if I wasn't your superior in this office, “ she gets real close, she whispers in her ear “... I would take you right here, right now, to claim you before Hazel could ever touch you again.”

Ari flushes and trembles.

Again… you do this again… just like in the booth…and I’m fighting with all my strength to not beg you to just do it.

Lyra looks at her again with restraint.

Ari’s breath catches. She flushes deeply, visibly trembling.

Lyra holds her gaze for a second longer, then straightens, smoothing her blouse, emotion retreating behind her usual cool exterior.

“I’ll deal with Hazel,” she says simply.

Then she walks back to her desk.

“And don't forget to take the course, I’ll email you the link”

Uuugh! You flip from insanely hot to all serious so fast, Lyra

.

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Ari is curled up on her bed, knees pulled in, laptop balanced on a pillow in front of her. Her little studio in Pomona is dim and warm, lit only by the soft amber of a desk lamp and the cool glow of the screen.

She hits Play on the free course Suzie mentioned.

The title card is gentle, almost corporate-cheerful:
 “Understanding Your Omega Sensory Profile: Adapting to Alpha-Present Environments.”

Then, the voiceover begins—calm, even, detached.

“In the year 235, after what is commonly referred to as the Great Reset, advanced genetic mapping began revealing subtle but consistent divergences across human behavioral profiles. These genetic expressions, which had long gone unnoticed or been socially flattened, started to manifest more clearly.”

Cut to softly animated diagrams: neural pathways, hormone charts, historical timelines.

“As humanity adjusted to life post-extinction of the Y chromosome—”
 (a small footnote flashes: ‘Note: full context on the male extinction event available in Course 103.’)
 “—the emerging categories of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas began to exhibit distinct neurological and physiological traits, it was very difficult to document since the process was very slow…”

Ari leans in, brow furrowed. She takes a small sip from a mug of tea she’d forgotten was still warm.

What the fuck are men? Anyway…

“At first, these classifications were dismissed as social constructs. But over time, physical dimorphism began to develop—minor differences in muscle density, scent receptors, pheromone responses, and behavioral instinct loops.”

The screen shows three identical silhouettes slowly changing—posture, energy, expression.

“The world is now layered. And society is still adapting. The labels we have now might not be enough in the future for the variety of forms us humans are acquiring”

Ari swallows.

“This course is designed to help you understand your profile—particularly if you identify as Omega. If you’ve experienced sensory overload in proximity to Alpha individuals, an increase in craving physical closeness, or heightened emotional responses under pressure, you’re not alone.”

A pause.

“You’re responding to instinctual patterns that are just being studied and understood.”

Ari blinks. Her fingers brush along her own collarbone, as if grounding herself.

The narrator continues:

“This program will walk you through the most recent research, provide guided sensory regulation exercises, and offer support for navigating complex social hierarchies in Alpha-present environments—particularly in professional and enclosed contexts, such as offices, shared workspaces, and executive dynamics.”

Ari stares at the screen, wide-eyed and still.

This isn’t just about hormones.

She knew alphas and omegas experienced the strongest attraction. She knew betas were kind of... meh. And she definitely knew how she felt around each of them—how her body reacted, how her thoughts frayed.

But the extinction of “men”?
The slow emergence of dimorphism?
The idea that people like her were still actively evolving?

This was news.

"Maybe I really am stupid," she mutters, sinking deeper into the blankets.

As if on cue, the calm, pleasant voice of the documentary responds:

“You’re not stupid.”

Ari flinches.

“You’ve been hired by one of the most advanced, high-tech companies in the world. You have access to research and insight that most citizens haven’t been exposed to yet. If you didn’t know these facts—just know, that’s normal.”

Ari exhales, pressing a hand to her forehead.

Phew.

She squints at the screen, smirking faintly.
 “See, Suzie?”

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Author’s Note

 

 

Hey everyone, just a quick message.

 

The other day, I received a comment—actually, the same comment twice—from different users, both linking back to the same Twitter page. They were trying to sell me illustration services. When I politely declined, I was met with repeated, pushy messages and some emotional coercion disguised as flattery about my fanfiction.

 

To all illustrators and readers: please don’t do this.

 

This isn’t the way to sell your services, and it’s definitely not the way to connect with creators or build friendships. I love genuine comments. I really value thoughtful messages and people reaching out when they enjoy my work—I do the same when I love someone’s art or writing. But fake, AI-generated compliments followed by a sales pitch? That’s not it.

 

Please respect creators’ boundaries. Thank you.

 

 

 

Chapter 6: Correction Protocol 🥊

Summary:

Ari didn’t mean to ask Lyra out.
She meant to ask Camille.

But now she’s tangled in the chaos of corporate hierarchy, alpha politics, a not-quite relationship with her intimidating executive boss, and Camille—who alternates between cold detachment and smoldering tension with enough precision to fry Ari’s nerves.

Hazel’s mysterious disappearance from work. A quiet correction in the parking lot. Office gossip that won’t stop circling. Ari just wanted to feel normal again after finishing her omega professional development courses, but nothing is normal—not when Lyra’s too warm, Camille’s too distant, and no one’s talking about what really happened.

It’s not.

Especially not when Camille finds out the truth.

A slow-burn alpha/omega workplace drama full of unresolved tension, corporate secrets, and one very flustered baby deer.
(Omega Ari / Alpha Camille) with background Camille/Lyra and Suzie/Hazel.
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The next day, Hazel didn’t show up to work.

No explanation. No message. No warning.

Ari noticed immediately—but said nothing.

Later, over coffee at Cool Beans , she finally asked.

Suzie sipped her drink and shrugged.
“Uhm… she’s sick.”

That was it.
No elaboration. No concern. Just… “sick.”

Ari returned to her desk unsettled.
Sick? That’s all?
Not suspended. Not written up. Not even a slap on the wrist?

The next day came. Still no Hazel.

Just the usual routine: a warm “good morning” from Lyra that made Ari blush too easily…
…a quiet glance from Camille that could freeze tea mid-pour…
…and no Hazel.

More days passed. Ari found herself drinking too much coffee with Suzie and checking her inbox far too often.

At first, she refreshed her email every hour, waiting for a message from HR.
Then twice a day.
Then only after lunch.

Still—nothing.

No summons. No apology. No carefully worded explanation.

The weekend passed in a haze of thoughts she couldn’t fully untangle.

Then—Monday.

And there she was.

Hazel.

Perfectly at ease behind the reception desk, typing like nothing had happened.

No tension. No nervous glances. Just Hazel. Present. Unbothered.
Untouched by consequence.

But she didn’t approach Ari.

Ari walks in without knocking.

Lyra glances up from her tablet, surprised but not displeased. “Oh—Ari. What a nice surprise.”

Ari doesn’t smile. She stands near the door, arms crossed.

“I want to talk about Hazel.”

Lyra straightens slightly, her posture shifting into something more formal. “Alright.”

“She’s back,” Ari says quietly. “Like nothing happened. Like it was all fine.”

Lyra is silent.

“And no one’s said anything. Not HR, not you. Not even an email. I thought... I thought there would be consequences.”

“There were,” Lyra says softly.

Ari frowns. “Then why is she sitting at reception like she always does?”

Lyra sets down her tablet, then walks around the desk until she’s standing in front of Ari—not towering, just close enough for eye contact.

“I understand why you’re upset,” she says carefully. “I would be too. But some consequences don’t look the way people expect.”

Ari looks down, frustrated. “It just… it makes me feel like this company—like you —don’t take it seriously. Don’t take me seriously…”

After you said you wanted to properly court me…

Lyra’s eyes flicker, hurt, but she doesn't pull away. “I do. More than you know.”

“Then why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t anyone? I didn’t even get a follow-up. I thought I’d feel safe here, but now it just feels like I’m supposed to forget it ever happened.”

Lyra’s expression hardens—still calm, but fierce. “You deserve to feel safe. And respected. And seen. I handled it the way I believed would protect you the most—not just legally, but emotionally.”

Ari hesitates, lips parting slightly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Lyra puts her tablet down, she approaches Ari and looks down at her with eyes almost pleading.

“I can’t always say everything out loud,” Lyra continues. “But please don’t mistake my silence for inaction. And don’t think, even for a moment, that I’d ever let anything happen to you without standing between you and the threat.”

Ari looks at her. Really looks at her.

She looks adorable…

And for a second, the frustration melts into something more complicated.

She nods once. “Okay,” she says softly. “But I’m still disappointed.”

Lyra nods too. “That’s fair.”

Silence lingers.

Then Ari turns to go.

Right before she reaches the door, Lyra reaches for her wrist and speaks again.

“For what it’s worth… I never stopped thinking about how I could have protected you better,” Lyra says, her voice low and sincere. “And I won’t stop now.”

Her hand briefly brushes Ari’s arm—a simple touch, but it lingers. Warm. Steady. Reassuring in a way that makes Ari’s heart ache.

It feels so good to be touched by her.

Ari swallows hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m still upset…”

Lyra nods, understanding, and lets her go.

Ari walks out of the office slowly, her mind spinning, her chest tight. When she finally gets to her desk, she drops into her chair and sighs heavily, arms crossed, lower lip jutting.

She stares blankly at her screen for a moment.

Uuuuugh… I don’t want to be mad at Lyra…

She buries her face in her hands.

Uwaaaaah!! Why is she so warm and hot and confusing all at the same time?! I gotta stay strong! I have to be upset at her!

A tiny frustrated groan escapes her lips as she slouches deeper in her chair, caught somewhere between sulking and pining.

.

.

.

At lunchtime the marketers and the devs were gossiping about something, glancing at Ari. She started to feel self conscious but she convinced herself that it was her imagination. Once the stares were too obvious she ran to Suzie.

“Whoa… what is it?” 

“Suzie, you’re the queen of gossip, do you know why everyone is staring at me?”

Suzie widened her eyes “Do you… really not know?”

Ari shakes her head.

Suzie grabs her by the wrist

“C’mon!” She pulls her to the executive bathroom.

“Suzie!”

.

.

Inside the executive bathroom, Suzie leans against the sink, arms crossed, voice low—like she’s been dying to spill this.

“Camille beat up Hazel in the parking lot,” she says, like it’s just another piece of gossip—but her eyes say otherwise.

Ari blinks. “What?! Seriously?!”

Beat up?! Like… with her own hands?!

Suzie nods, her expression grim. “A couple of interns saw it happen. They’re too scared to say anything. And honestly? I don’t blame them. There’s no one they can actually report it to. Lyra’s basically our boss—and she’s not going to do anything about it. She can just say it wasn’t work-related. You know how it is with alphas… Camille made sure not to hit her face. She aimed for spots that are hard to see, hard to prove. Terrifying, right?”

Ari’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“It wasn’t like a full-on fight,” Suzie adds. “More like… correction. Alpha to alpha. Quiet. Clean. Brutal.”

Ari stares at her reflection in the mirror, heart pounding.

“…Why?” she finally whispers.

The bathroom door bursts open.

Lyra steps in, slightly out of breath, like she’s been rushing. Her hair is immaculate, but her pulse is visible at her neck. Her gaze sweeps the room—locks onto Ari, then Suzie.

She exhales. “Suzie… please don’t drag omegas into the executive bathroom like this.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s a warning edge to it.

“You’re aware there was an incident not long ago, right?”

Suzie startles. “Oh! Right. Sorry, boss…”

Lyra looks to Ari, her expression unreadable.

And Ari… doesn’t know what to feel.

 

.

.

.

.

.

 

After finishing the full course—plus the pre-course titled “Being an Omega at Work: Navigating Professional Environments with Sensory Balance”—Ari realized something that made everything click.

 

She wasn’t some hormonal mess.

 

She was… normal. For an omega.

 

Apparently, a huge number of omegas had chosen full-time remote work in the past decade. Not because they were lazy or antisocial, but because their senses thrived in solitude. Working from home meant fewer scent triggers. Fewer emotional feedback loops. Fewer complicated power dynamics.

 

The problem was, no one told them that.

 

And then they'd re-enter the workforce, surrounded by alphas and betas, and their instincts exploded like a repressed wildfire.

 

Knowing this? It helped.

 

She’d started doing the exercises. Meditation. Breathing drills. Even nutrition modules. (Turns out she was way too dependent on sugar for dopamine regulation. Oops. And caffeine? wasn't helping either.)

She still felt things—deeply, messily, constantly.

Hazel had become distant but still threatening.

Camille was still cold. Distant. Cool like glass—untouchable.

And Ari still sulked about it… quietly. Often.

But Lyra?

Where does she stand with Lyra?

Ari walks to her humble little EV in the parking lot, the one that always looks a little too tired at the end of a long day—and then she sees her.

Camille.

Statuesque. Blonde. Her hair down and loose around her shoulders, catching the faint glow from her phone screen. It lights her face like something sculpted—divine.

Ari stops cold.

Lyra talked about courting… but she didn’t protect me.
They hadn’t made anything official. No labels. No promises.
Maybe… maybe Ari still had time to figure things out.
To get to know Camille better.
Or maybe even…

Camille looks up, catching Ari’s gaze across the lot.

Her deep blue eyes land on her—sharp, focused.

“Eeek!” Ari squeaks, freezing in place.

Camille raises an eyebrow from a distance. “Do you want something?”

Ari tries to speak. Her lips move, but nothing comes out. She pouts, shoulders trembling, and takes an awkward half-step back.

“Oh, come on ,” Camille sighs. “Don’t be such an omega.”

And with that, she starts walking over.

Ari practically starts vibrating—like a phone on silent, barely holding it together.

“Camille, I—I—I…” she stammers, words falling apart in her mouth.

Camille stops just in front of her, arms crossed, head tilted. “Spit it out, baby deer.”

Baby deer.

Ari’s eyes widen. Her heart flutters like something fragile and ridiculous.

She liked that.

Too much.

“You liked that, huh? Baby deer? ” Camille teases, one brow arched, smug and amused.

Uuuuugh! Why is she so completely my type?!

Ari bites her lip. “Camille… I… I feel like ever since I asked Lyra out—by accident—you… you’ve hated me.”

Her voice is shaky. Honest. Too honest.

And suddenly—tears.

Her eyes sting before she can stop them, and she quickly turns her face, horrified.

Oh no. No no no. I can’t cry now. Why am I crying now?!

Camille freezes, her expression faltering.

“Ah… c’mon, Ari…” she says, the teasing tone gone. “I… ah…”

“I’m s-sorry,” Ari blurts out, wiping at her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to cry!”

Camille stares at her, caught between guilt and surprise, the moment suddenly way heavier than she expected. She opens her mouth—then closes it.

For once, Camille has no clever line.

“I don’t want you to hate me…” Ari murmurs, voice small, cracking.

Camille blinks. “Wait… you asked out Lyra by accident ? Because from where I was standing, it looked very intentional. You practically yelled it at her.”

Ari freezes. The blood drains from her face.

“Oh… I… I actually meant to… ask someone else.”

Camille narrows her eyes, the pieces shifting into place. “Who?”

Ari gulps. Her throat feels tight. “Someone who was nearby.”

Camille stares at her for a beat—then slowly lifts a finger and points at herself.

Ari nods, eyes brimming.

And then she really starts crying.

“Oh my bot,” Camille mutters under her breath, suddenly unsure what to do with this information—or with the softly sobbing omega in front of her.

She awkwardly digs into her bag, pulls out a packet of tissues, fumbles it open, and extends it with a hesitant hand.

“This is… unbelievable,” she says, more to herself than to Ari.

Ari sniffles and takes a tissue with a tiny, grateful “thanks,” still trembling.

Camille stands there, stunned, watching her.

And for once, she’s not teasing. Not smug. Just… confused.

Because somehow, this —this crying, trembling, totally sincere mess of a girl—is the one who once made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years.

And now?

She’s not entirely sure what to feel at all.

After a beat, Camille breaks the silence.

“You know… Lyra and I… we were sort of a thing.”

Ari drops the damp tissues in her hands, her jaw falling open.

“ Whaaat?! Since when?! Why did it end?!”

Her voice is cracked with shock—and something else.

Two gorgeous alphas. Together?!

Camille rubs the back of her neck, already regretting having said anything, but the damage is done. She exhales.

“It wasn’t official or anything,” she says. “We just… did stuff. Once.”

Once at the office... She tells herself.

Did stuff?!

Ari is imploding. Her entire brain is short-circuiting. She wants to ask what stuff. When. How.

But she won’t.

She can’t.

Because if she does, she’ll never stop imagining it.

Camille exhales, her voice quieter now. More real.

“We kissed… right before you asked her—me—out. I wanted to know if…”
She hesitates. Looks away.
“I wanted to know if we could be something. Something real.”

Ari watches her. There’s something achy in Camille’s expression. Sad, yes—but soft. Open in a way she rarely is.

She looks irresistible like that.

“Is it too late?” Ari asks, almost in a whisper.

“Huh? It’s six p.m…” Camille replies, confused.

“I mean… to ask you. ”

Camille’s eyes go wide.

“You’re dating Lyra! You little, silly, brave , silly, silly SILLY SILLY WOMAN!”

“But—she didn’t defend me. And… we only had one date. We’re not… official.”

Camille’s jaw drops. Her eyes widen even more. Then, without warning, she grabs Ari by the shoulders and shakes her—just enough to jolt the moment.

“Are you actually an omega?! How dare you say that?!”

“Suzie told me you beat up Hazel…”

Ari starts to feel a little dizzy. Camille’s hands are strong and warm, her face suddenly very close. Everything about her is overwhelming.

Then Camille exhales through her nose, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to stop herself from smiling.

“How about this? Let’s go to that crappy coffee place you love so much. If you want, you can call it a date… but I get the right to cancel that label whenever I feel like it.”

Ari blinks up at her, stunned.

Did Camille just… say yes?

Camille sighs and nudges her toward the parking lot. “Move before I change my mind, baby deer.”

Ari follows—dizzy, trembling, glowing.

They walk.

.

.

.

What happened after Hazel’s thing: 

 

The first to hear about it wasn’t HR.

It wasn’t the CEO, who was halfway across the world on a tour of New Asia.

It wasn’t the CCO, either—a sweet, soft-spoken omega so deeply omega she practically lived in a diffuser cloud and hadn’t shown her face in the office for weeks.

 

No.

 

The first to hear about it was Lyra.

 

Because even though it wasn’t technically part of her job, everything ended up on her desk eventually.

Because no one else in the building could—or would—handle it.

 

The door to her office had burst open without warning.

 

Opal came in like a siren in flats.

 

“She did it again!” she shrieked, waving her phone in the air. “Hazel! In the executive bathroom! With that new girl! Look!”

 

She shoved the screen toward Lyra.

 

Lyra blinked once.

Calm. Flat. Cold.

 

Behind her, Hazel stormed in—eyes blazing, coat half-off.

Opal flinched and fell to the floor with a yelp.

 

“It’s a lie!” Hazel snapped. “It’s AI! She faked that because she’s a perv! I got hacked!”

 

Lyra stood slowly, fixing her sleeves. “Enough.”

 

She pointed to the couch in her office.

“You. Sit.”

Then she looked at Opal. “You too.”

 

They obeyed—grumbling, glaring, but sitting.

 

Lyra turned the phone toward herself and studied the photo.

 

Her eyes went dark for a moment.

Rage.

Then something colder.

Precision anger.

 

But her voice was flat, as always.

 

“Hazel,” she said calmly, “Again?”

 

Hazel scoffed, arms crossed. “I can't help that omegas like me. She teased me and let me take her to the bathroom, no resistance…”

 

Lyra’s expression didn’t shift.

 

But Hazel knew Ari had almost rejected Lyra.

And now Hazel was in front of her, casually brushing off the same girl like a passing thrill.

 

It made Hazel want to smirk.

To feel superior.

But she didn’t.

Because one wrong look would get her fired, even if her aunt was the CEO and founder, there was a limit.

 

“You’re going to have to take the mandatory courses again, and go to counseling for a month.”

 

Opal broke the silence, whining again.

 

“It’s not fair! You always cut her slack! She’s done this before!”

 

Lyra’s gaze slid toward her.

 

“There’s no actual proof of those other times.”

 

But there was, it just so happened that the CEO’s niece needed much more than that to get fired.

 

Hazel shrugged, hands up innocently.

“That’s just Opal’s fantasies. She’s obsessed with me.”

 

Opal’s jaw dropped. “Wha—?!”

 

Lyra held up a hand.

 

“That’s enough.”

 

Both women shut up instantly.

 

“Email me that picture, and then erase it,” Lyra said without looking up.

 

Opal nodded instantly, fumbling with her phone. Within seconds, Lyra’s inbox pinged.

 

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was cold, but polite.

“You can leave now.”

 

“What?” Opal blinked. “Just like that? After everything—?”

 

Lyra looked up, calm as still water.

“You can leave now.”

 

Opal stared for a beat too long—but obeyed. Hazel followed her, wearing a smirk so smug it could crack glass.

 

As they walked out, Hazel brushed past Opal with a mockingly delicate:

“After you, snitch.”

 

Opal huffed. “Ugh.”

 

The door shut.

 

Lyra tapped her screen and opened the image.

 

It was grainy, a little blurry—but clear enough.

 

Hazel’s body, partially blocking the view.

Ari, flushed.

 

Lyra stares.

 

Hazel’s hand was somewhere it shouldn’t be.

 

Touching her.

 

Touching Ari.

 

Her Ari.

 

Lyra hadn’t even realized she’d made a fist until her nails pressed sharp into her palm.

 

No. Stop.

 

This is just an alpha thing.

It’s instinct.

Nothing more.

 

But then…

 

She remembered Ari’s voice.

 

“You’re too nice.”

 

That little frown. That disappointment.

 

Lyra exhaled, slow and shallow.

“God, that’s such an omega thing to do…”

 

She stood and walked to the window, just as movement caught her eye.

 

Ari.

 

She was entering the building, walking beside Suzie, giggling about something, cheeks pink from the cold.

 

Lyra watched them—watched her.

 

That was it. Another alpha, too close to Ari.

 

That was the moment.

 

She straightened her cuffs, turned from the window, and whispered to herself:

 

“I can’t fire Hazel.”

 

A pause.

 

Her eyes narrowed.

 

But I can use company assets to correct her behavior.

She picks up her phone.

“Send Camille to my office,” she says into the receiver, her voice calm—too calm.
Her finger taps the desk once, deliberate.

 

.

.

.

 

Does this little misfit not know it was Lyra who sent me to deal with Hazel?
Does she seriously take office gossip at face value without even double-checking?

Camille sighs inwardly as she lowers herself onto the large floor pouf beside Ari. It's soft and wide—more like a short, squishy bed than a proper seat—and the only thing left in the packed café.

“Sorry,” the barista calls out over the hum of conversation. “It gets busy at night.”

Every other seat is taken. They’re forced to sit close— very close—knees nearly touching, thighs brushing. The pouf dips beneath Camille’s weight, shifting unevenly and jolting Ari slightly with every move.

Camille sits perfectly upright, arms crossed, gaze forward. She’s still trying to figure out how she ended up on a date in a place that looks like a kindergarten nap zone.

“This place sucks,” she mutters.

Ari pouts, lips puffing out as she tries to steady herself on the wobbling cushion.
“ NUUU ... it’s just very full right nooow ,” she defends, drawing out the last word with exaggerated protest.

Camille side-eyes her.

Misfit, indeed.

Ari’s lip trembles. Her eyes are glassy again.

Camille groans under her breath. “Don’t you dare cry.”

Ari sniffs, blinking fast, and manages to hold it in.

Then, softly, “Why do you even like me?”

Camille asks.

Ari looks down at her hands, thinking. “I don’t know… you protected me. Twice. And you…”

You’re kind of mean to me… and insanely hot...
She swallows that part.

“…you seem like a person who feels deeply,” she blurts out instead.

Camille looks at her— really looks at her. And for a moment, she forgets she’s supposed to act like she doesn’t care.

“Why do you say that?” she asks, her voice softer now.

Ari hesitates. She doesn’t really know—she just said the first thing that came to mind to avoid blurting out because you’re so hot.

“Um… when you talked about Lyra,” she says, fidgeting, “you… I don’t know. You looked like someone who feels things. Deeply.”

Camille exhales, slow and tired. “Forget about Lyra. I should too. She’s… hard to read.”

She stares down into her coffee, as if it might explain something she doesn’t have words for.

Ari watches her. Eyes wide, earnest. Worried.

Oh no… maybe she’s not over Lyra…

Camille glances up, catching the look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You had a sad look on your face…” Ari says, voice barely above a whisper.
“And… it makes you look even more beautiful.”

Camille’s eyes widen, blinking once.

This little omega.

She exhales through her nose, trying not to smirk. “Ari, why should I even like you?”

Ari opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her lips tremble. Her eyes go wide, glossy with emotion.
Because you’re so hot. So, so hot. And you protected me. So now you can have me—right here, right now—
and do whatever you want with meeee!

But none of that makes it past her lips. Instead, a tiny, broken sound—more wheeze than voice—escapes her.

Camille bursts into laughter—sharp, sudden, unfiltered.
Ari blinks, startled, then starts to giggle too, soft and breathy, her cheeks blooming pink.

“You’re a funny one,” Camille says, still smiling as she shakes her head.

Ari shrinks a little, but her voice is earnest. “I—You can’t just ask why you should like me… You have to get to know me and… and the reasons will emerge.”

Camille leans back slightly, still smirking. “You’re a strange little thing,” she says, and then—without warning—she reaches out and flicks a strand of Ari’s hair.

Ari flinches, blinking fast. “W-what was that for?”

Camille shrugs, casual. “Just making sure you’re real. You feel like a cartoon.”

She pokes her arm next—lightly, playfully. Then lets her fingers linger for a second too long.

Ari tenses. Her breath catches. She’s touching me—Camille’s touching me.

Camille notices the way Ari freezes and flushes, and her eyes narrow with amusement.

“Oh? Sensitive?”

She trails her fingers down Ari’s sleeve, then taps her side lightly, making her jump.

“Camille…” Ari says, voice high and shaky.

Camille chuckles, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re so reactive. It’s adorable.”

She rests her hand on Ari’s thigh, just barely, just lightly—enough to test the waters.

Ari forgets how to breathe.

Camille means to keep teasing, but her hand stays there longer than intended. Her thumb brushes the fabric of Ari’s leggings.

Soft.

Warm.

Cute.

She glances down at the curve of Ari’s thigh and suddenly realizes… it actually feels good to touch her. Really good.

Camille’s smirk softens.

She traces a small circle with her thumb—almost unconsciously now.

Ari’s voice is barely a whisper. “Camille…”

Her heart is pounding. She’s trembling slightly, caught between nervousness and a deep, dizzying thrill.

Camille leans in just a bit, her tone lower, slower.

“You’re kind of… ridiculously touchable,” Camille murmurs, her thumb still lazily tracing circles against Ari’s thigh.

Ari can’t even form words—she just nods, fast and breathless, her whole body warm and buzzing.

Camille watches her, amused. “You want to two-time Lyra with me?”

Ari’s eyes go wide. She shakes her head furiously. “No, no, no! I—We haven’t made anything official!”

Camille leans in, voice like velvet. “What if I told you I want to take you to my place right now…?”
She lets the silence hang for a beat.
“Would that make us official?”

Ari turns beet red, visibly imploding. She starts shaking—caught between panic and something dangerously close to arousal.

Camille bursts out laughing. “Relax! I’m joking,” she says, her grin wide, eyes sparkling.
“I’m not that kind of alpha.”

But she still doesn’t move her hand.

Instead, her fingers trail slightly—just a little more pressure now, gliding down Ari’s thigh and then back up, slow and casual, like it means nothing.

Ari holds perfectly still, like a rabbit caught in sunlight.

Camille tilts her head, pretending to inspect her.

“You’re warm,” she muses, and brushes a stray lock of hair behind Ari’s ear. Her fingers graze the edge of her cheek, then trace the line of her jaw. “Soft, too.”

Ari’s breath hitches—sharp and high. Her thighs press together instinctively.

Camille smiles, clearly enjoying herself now. “You always this nervous when someone touches you?”

Ari blurts out, almost mechanically—
“It’s perfectly normal to feel jumpy or nervous as an omega who has been isolated when they’re in contact with an alpha!”

Camille stares for a beat—then bursts into a giggle. “Oh my gods. Did you just quote a training video?”

Ari flushes red, shrinking slightly. “...Maybe.”

Camille leans in just a little, her smirk playful. “That’s ridiculous. And kind of adorable.”

Ari looks up at her, wide-eyed. Then, bravely:
“Do you like to… cause these reactions… in me, Camille?”

Camille pauses.

She hadn’t really thought about it in those terms—but yes. She does like it. She’d been feeling invisible for a while, rejected and distant to Lyra, and suddenly here’s this bright, soft little omega hanging on her every move. It’s… refreshing. Addictive.

But it’s not just the attention.

Ari is cute . Cuddly. Different. There’s something daring about her, something unexpectedly bold beneath the fluttery nerves. Something that holds Camille’s attention.

Still—she doesn’t say all that.

Instead, she brushes her fingers down Ari’s arm and says simply,
“I do. I like messing with you.”
She lets her hand rest just above Ari’s knee.
“You have adorable reactions.”

Ari practically short-circuits. And Camille… definitely notices.

Camille stretches, then lets her arm fall—casually, deliberately—around Ari’s shoulders.

Ari tenses like a startled bird. Camille doesn’t even look at her at first, just keeps sipping her coffee, her other hand still resting lightly on Ari’s thigh.

The contact isn’t rushed. It’s slow. Natural. Claiming.

People start to glance. One woman double-takes. Another gives them a sideways smirk. But Camille doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe she just doesn’t care.

Ari’s entire body is burning. She tries to act normal, but Camille’s fingers keep brushing her thigh in absent circles. She even shifts slightly closer, until Ari’s tucked into her side like they’ve done this a hundred times.

Camille finally leans her head a little, letting it rest briefly against Ari’s.

“Mm,” she murmurs. “You’re so warm.”

Ari makes a soft, high-pitched sound that she immediately regrets. Camille grins.

But then, as abruptly as she settled into the softness, Camille straightens and pulls her arm back.

“Okay. That’s enough touching for one night,” she says, standing and brushing invisible dust off her coat. “I’m tired.”

Ari blinks, stunned. “Wait—that’s it?”

Camille tosses her a glance over her shoulder, playful but firm. “It’s called pacing, baby deer. Try it sometime.”

And with that, she’s out the door—leaving Ari a puddle of overheated feelings on the floor pouf, staring after her like the world just tilted.

What?!

A buzz. Ari gets a text.

Camille: Wasn´t a date-

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Thank you so much for reading! 🦌
If you made it this far, I’m genuinely honored. I pour a lot into these original characters and this messy, charged little world—so if you enjoyed any part of it, I’d love to read from you.

Comments are fuel for writers, and even a few words mean the world. Whether it’s a scream, a theory, or a mean “this sucks,” I read and treasure every one, lol. 💬💖

Thanks again . See you in the next chapter. 💼🔥

Chapter 7: Touch and Territory / Vulnerable

Summary:

Camille reflects on her tangled feelings for both Lyra and Ari during a quiet night alone, haunted by past passion and present temptation. Meanwhile, Ari wrestles with confusion after a seemingly intimate moment with Camille throws her already fragile emotions into chaos—especially when Lyra catches them in the act. Tension explodes as Lyra confronts Ari and later Camille, revealing unresolved jealousy, control, and vulnerability. Emotions run high, kisses are exchanged, truths are weaponized, and by the end, a new and dangerous question emerges.

This chapter explores tangled intimacy, the pull of power and softness, and the raw vulnerability hidden under alpha pride.
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At her sleek, modern apartment—equal parts elegance and cutting-edge tech—Camille moves through her nightly skin-care routine. She cleanses her face, applies serum, pats in moisturizer with deft fingers. The bathroom lights adjust subtly to a softer glow as she finishes.

 

She sets her alarms with a quiet voice command. The lights in the bedroom dim. The kettle hums in the kitchen as she prepares herself a calming herbal tea.

 

She takes a slow sip, then leans against the counter, letting the warmth settle into her.

 

And just like that, she remembers.

 

Ari.

 

The feeling of her—pressed close, trembling slightly, impossibly soft. It had been a long time since Camille touched an omega like that. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it. The gentle way their warmth seeps into you. The scent—tentative, sweet, a little confusing. The way Ari had leaned into her despite all her nervousness.

 

She liked it.

 

Ari had been cute. Very cute. And touchable in a way that made Camille's hands itch now that they were empty.

 

She takes another sip of tea and exhales through her nose.

 

This is dangerous, she thinks.

 

But her mouth curves into a faint smile anyway.

 

She takes another sip of tea and, unbidden, another memory surfaces.

 

Lyra.

 

How it felt to be had by her—how commanding she was, how effortlessly magnetic. When they kissed, Lyra took control, like she always did. Confident, sure, like she already knew how Camille would respond.

 

And when Lyra had her on her desk…

 

Camille swallows hard.

 

So deep. So good. So precise. Like she was built for it. Lyra was built to fuck like that. For a second, Lyra made Camille feel like what she imagines an Omega would.

 

She presses the rim of the mug to her lips, trying to shake the memory—but it clings. The way Lyra’s hand gripped her hip. The heat of her breath. The rhythm. The restraint that always, always snapped in just the right moment.

 

Camille closes her eyes and forces a slow exhale.

 

Stop .

 

She shouldn’t be thinking about that before bed. Not when everything is so complicated.

 

She sets the tea down and heads to her room, lights dimming automatically behind her.

 

She slides into bed and pulls the blanket up to her chest.

 

Ari’s softness.

Lyra’s dominance.

 

Camille sighs into the dark.

 

Of course Lyra’s drawn to her. I get it now.

That kind of softness… it pulls at you. Lyra is made to be in control…

And Ari is begging for someone to take her… they could actually work…

 

.

.

.

After the date with Camille, the office feels tense again. The weekend didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse.

 

Ari was bamboozled.

She received no text from Camille, other than the one saying ‘Wasn´t  a date.’

She sulked.

 

Her meditation sessions—once peaceful—became ambush zones for unwanted images: Lyra kissing Camille. Lyra doing stuff to Camille. Her brain wouldn't stop replaying it.

 

This morning, she had to down a coffee just to gather the strength to come in. She barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, there was Camille—touching her, teasing her, saying things no alpha should say to an omega so carelessly.

 

Now, she’s a mess. Again.

 

“Uuughh…” she groans, slumping in her seat, forehead pressed to the desk in front of her laptop.

 

It’s only Monday.

 

She clicks into the workplace social media, navigates to her profile, and toggles her status from on-site to remote. She hesitates. Then clicks on update.

 

A familiar voice startles her.

 

“What? You’re going remote?”

Suzie, standing behind her with two iced coffees and a suspicious frown.

 

Ari jumps in her seat. “Ah—yeah. I… I’m going remote.”

 

Suzie steps closer. “What? Nooo. We were just starting to get along.” She squints. “Look, I’m not doing this to get into your pants, I swear.”

 

Ari giggles, a little sheepish. “No, no—I trust you. I really do. It’s not that.”

 

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I just… I think I need to calm down a little. You remember what we talked about.”

 

And they had talked.

In an unguarded moment, Ari had confessed everything: her hopeless little crush on Camille starting work, the way Hazel made her knees weak and her brain short-circuit. How her senses felt turned up to eleven since coming back on-site. But what made her go remote again was the art exhibit.

 

Suzie had actually listened.

 

“I’ve been doing well with the meditation,” Ari continues. “And the nutrition stuff too. I think I just need to step back. Regroup. Paint more. Think more. Be more… also… less coffee”

 

She looks up at Suzie and smiles softly. “Then come back. Stronger. More focused. Like… a sharper version of myself.”

 

Suzie sighs, leaning on the edge of the desk. “That’s what they all say.”

 

Ari blinks. “Really? They all say that?”

 

Suzie shrugs. “No. Not really. But, I mean… the whole design team? Probably all omegas. And they’re never here. It’s like haunted desk syndrome in your row.”

 

She pauses, a little more serious now. “It does affect performance, you know. Performance reviews hit omegas the hardest. Especially in design.We can’t find beta or alpha designers for some reason. So we’re constantly walking a line between ‘support them’ and ‘keep them producing with designers.”

 

Ari nods slowly. “I understand.”

 

And she did.

 

But that doesn’t stop her hand from trembling—just slightly—as she unplugs her tablet and slips it into her bag.

.

.

.

 

Lyra sits at her desk, reviewing numbers, documents, status logs. She also thinks about the date her and Ari had, she smiles. Then sees it.

 

Ari Longsworth – Status: Remote.

 

Her eyes narrow.

 

“What? She’s going remote?” she muttered, her voice sharp with disbelief.

 

She leaned back in her chair, head tilting until it rested against the leather headrest. Her hair slid over her shoulder as she stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

 

“That’s so… omega of her.”

 

She let out a long exhale. And then—

 

No. I can’t let her.

 

Her fingers move quickly across the keyboard.

She opens a secure line. Types a short but purposeful message. Attaches a few photos. Embeds performance data. A graph. One quiet request.

 

Then she hits send.

---

 

New Asia – The Next Morning

 

Thousands of miles away, in a sun-drenched Neo Kyoto villa, a bright red-haired woman in a sleek black suit sat cross-legged in a formal tea room. Her sharp eyes, lined with a flick of perfect eyeliner, softened as a traditionally dressed host offered her a matcha bowl with a bow.

 

She received it with grace, returned the bow, and sipped.

 

Then—buzz.

 

Her phone.

 

She sets the bowl down, excuses herself from the room, and checks the screen.

 

A message.

 

From Lyra Veran.

 

Her brows lift.

Lyra never messaged.

 

She opens it.

 

Silence.

Then a slow smile spreads across her lips. Her eyes gleam with intrigue.

 

“She’s finally taking the role seriously,” she whispers to herself.

 

—-

 

Ari lies on a beanie in the quiet lounge area near the small cafeteria, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying—really trying—to relax.

 

A voice interrupts.

 

“Do you want me to sit beside you on that uncomfortable thing like I did at the coffee shop? Is that our thing now?”

 

Ari jerks upright, eyes wide. Camille stands there, arms crossed, the usual glint of amusement in her gaze.

 

Ari nods instinctively, almost too fast.

 

Camille blinks, then sighs. “It was a joke, Ari…”

 

The audacity of this omega , she thinks, fighting a smile.

 

She stares at Ari for a moment… then gives in.

 

“Okay, come on. Stand up—make space for me.”

 

Ari scrambles to her feet, heart already racing. Camille settles into the beanie with ease, then pats the space between her legs.

 

“You’re tiny. You’ll fit right here.”

 

Ari implodes internally.

 

“I-I-I…”

 

“C’moooon,” Camille teases, grabbing her gently by the wrist.

 

Before Ari can process what’s happening, she’s sitting between Camille’s legs on the oversized beanie, her back pressed lightly against her. Camille wraps her arms around her—casual, secure, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 

Ari forgets how to breathe.

 

From across the lounge, Lyra sees them.

 

Camille.

Arms wrapped around Ari.

Ari, tucked neatly between her legs like they belong there.

 

What the fuck is Camille doing?!

 

Lyra starts walking toward them, fast and sharp—but is intercepted by an HR woman waving a clipboard.

 

“Excuse me, Lyra? We need to talk—there’s been a report about someone stalking in the bathroom—”

 

“I don’t have time for this,” Lyra snaps, eyes fixed on the scene behind her.

 

Meanwhile—

 

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” Camille murmurs, her chin resting lightly on Ari’s shoulder.

 

Ari nods, lips parted, overwhelmed.

 

Camille’s lips brush her ear. “Use your voice, baby…”

 

Ari opens her mouth—and emits the strangest wheezing sound. A squeak. Maybe a dying breath.

 

Camille bursts out laughing. “Oh, that was adorable.”

 

Ari covers her face with both hands.

 

“How am I supposed to figure out what I like about you,” Camille teases, “if we don’t talk?”

 

Ari peeks through her fingers and nods again.

 

Camille leans in closer. “Or maybe… I’ll find out without talking.”

 

That’s it.

Lyra brushes past the HR rep and storms into the lounge. She’s not going to stand there one second longer. Not while Camille is holding her omega like that.

 

Lyra approaches with quiet precision. Her stride is smooth, her expression unreadable—shoulders relaxed, mouth neutral.

 

But inside, she’s fuming.

 

Every step is a controlled effort not to rip Camille away from Ari by force. Not to shout. Not to bare teeth. Her blood feels hot, her jaw locked tight.

 

She stops in front of them, tall and composed.

 

“Ari,” she says calmly. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

 

Camille doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. “She’s sitting,” she says lazily. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

 

Ari, nestled between Camille’s legs, feels her whole body tense. She’s hot all over—face flushed, breath shallow, thighs pressed tightly together. Camille’s arms are still around her, and her hands have been anything but still.

 

She’s not just teasing anymore.

 

Camille likes the feel of her. The way Ari’s waist fits beneath her palms. The softness of her thighs. The way her back curves gently into her. And the way she trembles—oh, goddess and gods—the way she responds even in front of Lyra. The way her thumb grazes her stomach just a little too long. She likes her size, her shape, the way she fits in her lap. She’s been enjoying every second.

 

Camille leans in slightly, nose brushing against Ari’s hair. She likes her scent too. Sweet. Confused. Vulnerable.

 

Camille likes her. Ari feels it. 

And Ari… is weak to it.

 

But she likes Lyra too. A lot. And she’s dating her, right?

 

And now she’s sitting in the lap of the woman Lyra used to sleep with.

 

She doesn’t want to let go just yet.

 

Why am I like this?!

 

Lyra watches, her hands at her sides, fingers curled just enough to dig into her own skin.

 

“Camille,” she says evenly. “Let. Her. Go.”

 

Camille leans forward one last time and presses a soft kiss to the top of Ari’s head—possessive and slow.

 

Ari closes her eyes for a second, feeling that familiar warmth in her belly, and the sharp twist of guilt.

 

“Go ahead, baby deer,” Camille murmurs. “Run to your alpha.”

 

Ari rises slowly, heart racing. She’s dizzy with scent and touch and conflict.

 

She meets Lyra’s eyes. Cool. Steady. But she knows better. Lyra is angry.

 

“Let’s talk,” Lyra says, and turns without another word.

 

Ari follows—quiet, uncertain, and aching—caught between the pull of one alpha’s arms and the silent fury of another’s back.

 

The office door clicks shut behind them.

 

Ari stands near the entrance, hands folded, heart thudding. Lyra walks to her desk, silent, deliberate. She doesn’t sit.

 

She just turns—and looks at Ari.

 

Not with anger.

 

Worse.

 

With that stillness.

 

That too-calm composure that always means something is dangerously close to breaking.

 

“Ari,” Lyra says, her voice low. Controlled. “What was that?”

 

Ari flinches. “I… I didn’t plan it. Camille just—she sat down, and there weren’t any other seats, and I didn’t think it would—”

 

“You didn’t think,” Lyra interrupts, quietly. “That much is obvious.”

 

Ari’s breath catches. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you…”

 

Lyra exhales slowly, arms crossing with precision. Her posture remains flawless—composed, almost regal—but her eyes are a storm barely held at bay.

 

“You’re dating me, Ari. You chose me. And yet today, in full view of everyone, you let Camille touch you like that. Hold you. Kiss you.”

 

Ari’s voice wavers. “I… on Friday, I talked to her because I thought she hated me. After I asked you out. I didn’t want there to be tension between us, so we started talking again. We became… friends, kind of. And she told me…”

 

Lyra’s expression doesn’t change, but Ari sees it—just the slightest shift in her shoulders. The way her arms tense across her chest.

 

Ari swallows hard.

 

“…she told me about you two.”

 

Lyra gulps—once, quiet, but unmistakable.

 

A beat of silence.

 

“I didn’t know,” Ari whispers. “I didn’t know you were with her. That you’d been with her right before—before us.”

 

Lyra looks away for the first time.

 

Because there it is.

 

The part she never said.

 

Lyra exhales, her gaze drifting. “So… this is what it’s about,” she murmurs. “She’s getting back at me.”

 

Ari stiffens, a flicker of hurt crossing her face.

 

So… you think… Camille doesn’t actually like me?

 

Now that possibility sits like a weight in her chest.

 

“Now it makes sense…” Lyra mutters.

 

Ari looks down, voice small but firm. “And you didn’t defend me with Hazel, Lyra. I’m still upset about that. And you haven’t said we’re official. We had one date and…”

 

Lyra’s eyes widen. “I said I wanted to properly court you!”

 

“I don’t know what that means,” Ari blurts out, cheeks flushed.

 

There’s a charged silence.

 

Then, suddenly, Lyra grabs her wrist and pulls her close.

 

Ari gasps as Lyra wraps her arms around her and kisses her—deep, slow, and unyielding. One hand slides down to grip her backside, firm and possessive. Ari shudders.

 

This Lyra—intense, focused, physical—makes her dizzy.

 

“It means I want to know you first,” Lyra breathes against her lips, “and I’m using every ounce of strength not to take you right now…”

 

She squeezes Ari’s backside again, slow and deliberate. Ari moans softly, breath caught in her throat.

 

“To take you good… to make you mine… or is that what you need me to do, Ari…?”

 

Lyra kisses her neck, then lingers there—pressing her lips softly, then harder.

 

Ari’s knees weaken. “Lyra…”

 

She doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a plea.

 

Lyra’s breath grows heavier against Ari’s neck, her hands firm, possessive.

 

Then, in a low, rough whisper right in Ari’s ear, she groans:

 

“On the other hand… it would be so easy to just take you here…”

 

Ari gasps, body trembling.

 

“You’d be mine,” Lyra murmurs, voice dark and velvet. “You’d be marked…”

 

Ari’s breath catches again—high, shaky, somewhere between fear and desire.

 

Lyra presses closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “No one would touch you. No one would dare.”

 

Ari clutches at Lyra’s shirt, dizzy with heat, scent, and the wild, impossible pull of what it would mean to belong like that.

 

“What happened to properly courting?” Ari breathes out.

 

“Do you want that? Do I want that? Or are we fooling ourselves?” Lyra growls.

.

.

 

One thing leads to another—and now Ari is running.

 

Flushed, overwhelmed, nearly tripping over her own feet as she hurries down the hall, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

 

Back in her office, Lyra closes the door, exhales shakily, and drops into the futon.

 

She leans forward, elbows on her knees, pinching the bridge of her nose, breathing in slow, measured pulls.

 

Get it together.

 

She had almost lost control. Almost taken Ari right there. Almost—

 

She breathes deeper. Slower.

 

Across the lounge, Camille catches sight of Ari darting past, eyes wide and face red.

 

She straightens slightly in her seat.

 

What the hell just happened?

 

A flicker of concern crosses Camille’s face before she forces it down—but it lingers.

 

Across the lounge, Suzie spots Ari hurrying toward the elevator, her bag clutched tight, eyes glassy.

 

“Hey, Ari!” Suzie calls, following after her. “Are you okay?”

 

Ari doesn’t answer—just presses the button and stares straight ahead, like holding herself together is the only thing she can manage.

---

 

Camille doesn’t wait. She walks straight into Lyra’s office, barely knocking.

 

“What just happened with Ari in here?” she demands.

 

Lyra sighs, still seated on the futon, her posture tense, her eyes stormy.

 

“None of your business.”

 

Camille crosses her arms. “You have a problem, Lyra. You shouldn't be dating an omega in your state...”

 

Lyra stands—fast. Controlled, but furious. “Enough. You’re doing this to get back at me. Even after you said no regrets. You don’t even like her, Camille. You still like me.”

 

Camille’s eyes widen, caught off guard—then she quickly looks away.

 

A pause.

 

“…One thing is true,” Camille says quietly. “I do like you.”

 

She swallows, then lifts her eyes to meet Lyra’s again.

 

“But… she’s cute. And she’s starting to grow on me.”

 

Lyra’s body tenses. Without thinking, she grabs Camille by the collar.

 

“What?! You don't even date omegas!”

 

Camille doesn’t flinch. “You don’t even know her. The truth is—she’s just an omega you spend a lot of time with and asked you out, the first omega to ever ask you out.”

 

Lyra looks offended.

 

“That’s not true!”

 

“Really?” Camille tilts her head. “What’s her favorite color?”

 

Lyra freezes. Her grip falters.

 

Camille doesn't know either, but Lyra is the one in the spotlight right now.

 

Camille’s voice softens, but it cuts deeper. “Did you know she used to like her coffee sweet? Full of toppings and syrups. But she stopped ordering it that way—because she’s trying to be more stable. She doesn’t want to go back to remote work. She wants to be a functioning human being even among alphas like you, and you’re not making it easy for her.”

 

Sorry Lyra… I'm being a hypocrite but for a good reason… maybe…

 

Lyra slowly lets go of her collar, her hand dropping to her side.

 

“I knew… part of that…”

 

Camille exhales.

 

“You should take care of yourself like that too, Lyra…” she says, her tone gentler now. “You’re so stressed. Always holding it in until you snap.”

 

She steps closer.

 

“You can barely control yourself lately… and the thing is—you’re vulnerable too.”

 

She reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from Lyra’s face, her fingers grazing her cheek.

 

Lyra flinches—just barely.

 

But she doesn’t pull away.

 

And for one brief moment… she lets the touch linger.

 

Camille leans in and kisses her.

 

Soft. Unrushed. Not to provoke—just to feel her again.

 

And Lyra… lets her.

 

Her lips part slightly, just enough to return the kiss—not fierce, not possessive, but something quieter. Something that aches.

 

Camille lingers for a second longer than she meant to, then pulls back, her breath shaky.

 

“See?” she murmurs. “You’re vulnerable.”

 

Lyra doesn’t deny it.

 

Camille steps away, the weight of the moment hanging between them.

 

“That’s why I’m done chasing you,” she says, more gently now. “And I’ll be sending a formal message… asking permission to date Ari, since she is a coworker. To be fair, you should have done the same…”

 

“Okay, wait…” Lyra says suddenly, her voice low. “You have a point.”

 

Camille pauses, brows lifting.

 

Lyra exhales. “You just kissed me and… I’m supposed to be dating Ari. I’m such a hypocrite, scolding her for far less… and I can't tell her not to date you if she wants that…”

 

Camille gives a soft, knowing smile, then sighs.

 

Lyra meets her gaze. “But I don’t want to stop dating Ari. I want to get to know her. Really get to know her. Even if I don't know what her favourite color is I know other things… we're just getting started with this…”

 

Camille’s expression shifts—curious, skeptical. “In your state? Lyra, do you really think you’ll be able to hold back enough to get to know her beyond the physical? You know how things are with omegas”

 

Lyra takes a long breath, steadying herself. “I will hold back.”

 

A silence stretches between them. Camille watches her closely.

 

Then, after a beat:

“So… we both date her?”

.

.

.

 

Notes from the Author:

Hello! Uaaa—I saw your comments on the last chapter! 

Posting this on a weekday to give you all a little boost of strength to get through work! 💼💪 Thanks for being here! 💖 Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and enjoying the story. It means a lot!

I didnt know how to name this chapter, so it has two names. Which one do you like most?

 

Chapter 8: 🐺 An Office Full of Omegas

Summary:

Ari was doing fine. Working remotely, drinking her tea, avoiding certain alphas.

But when a sudden change pulls the design team back into the office, she finds herself surrounded—by new faces, old rumors, and complicated feelings she thought she had under control.

Camille is as teasing and charming as ever. Lyra is as unreadable as always. And the tension? It's everywhere.

Ari just wants to do her job. Maybe make a few friends. Maybe survive whatever this new energy is.

But some office hours come with more than just meetings.
.
.
.
.
.
.-----------------------

Ari sits cross-legged on her worn but beloved couch, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through pale curtains. Her small apartment smells faintly of chamomile and clean linen. The hum of her laptop fills the room, color studies glowing on her screen as she sips slowly from a warm mug of tea.

She’d done her meditation that morning—eyes closed, breath in and out, fingers resting lightly on her knees. It helped. A little. She feels calmer now. Functional. Focused.

But not at peace.

Her mind still wanders, slipping when she least expects it.
Slipping back into Camille’s arms.

She can still feel it sometimes—the warmth of Camille’s chest against her back, the way those elegant arms wrapped around her like she belonged there. The teasing in her voice. The possessive brush of her lips against the top of her head. Camille held her, and it felt safe and thrilling at once. But also… distant. Detached. Like Camille was playing, even as her hands lingered. Like Ari was an unexpected softness she was curious about—but not quite serious about.

She could have anyone, Ari thinks, a little bitterly. And maybe she likes me because I’m so easy to fluster. I'm just her entertainment.

She exhales and sets the mug down, forcing herself back into her work.

But then— Lyra.

And everything inside her twists again.

Lyra didn’t tease. Didn’t play.
Lyra kissed her like she was starving.
Held her like she’d already made up her mind.

Ari blushes, remembering the weight of Lyra’s body pressed against hers, the way she gripped her, kissed her neck, whispered that she wanted to take her slowly… kindly . Lyra felt serious . Invested. Fiercely so.

But also… too much.

Like the dam could break at any moment, and Ari wasn’t sure if she’d be destroyed or worshipped.

Camille leaves me guessing. Lyra leaves me breathless.

She brings the mug back to her lips, takes a slow sip.

Lyra makes me feel wanted, she thinks.
But does she make me feel safe?

The warmth in her chest cools a little.

Because Hazel is still in the office.

Still walking around like nothing happened. Like she hadn’t humiliated Ari, snapped at her in front of others, made her feel small. And Lyra— Lyra, her boss, her alpha, her... something —had done nothing.

No formal statement. No confrontation. Not even a quiet check-in the next day.

Ari shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

She had waited. Hoped. Thought Lyra might step in.

But she didn’t.

Not in public. Not when it counted.

On the other hand… Camille.

Camille didn’t hold back. Camille confronted Hazel. Or— beat her up, allegedly. Ari still isn’t sure what happened in that parking lot. HR had kept it quiet, but rumors swirled, and Camille didn’t deny them.

It wasn’t for show.
Camille didn’t even tell her about it— Suzie did.

She didn’t need me to see it. She just… did it.

Ari fumbles with her braid, fingers tugging through strands nervously. She sighs, long and low, and tries to refocus on the color palette glowing on her screen.

Calm. I need to stay calm.

Then— ping.

A Slack notification pops up.

Suzie:
Hey, why are you not in the office?

Ari blinks. Her fingers hesitate over the keyboard.

Ari:
I’m remote, remember?

There’s a pause.

Suzie:
Read your email, silly.

Ari’s stomach tightens.

She switches tabs. Checks her inbox.

And there it is—bold and unread.

Subject: New In-Office Requirement – Design Team
From: HR Department
To: Design Team – All
Sent: 8:12 AM

Dear Design Team,

As per a new directive from the CEO, effective immediately, all members of the Design Department are expected to return to in-office work for a minimum of four days per week.

This decision reflects a company-wide initiative to foster in-person collaboration, creativity, and stronger cross-functional alignment. Exceptions may be considered on a case-by-case basis through direct approval from your department head.

Your updated attendance schedule will be posted by end of day.

Thank you for your understanding.

— HR

Ari stares at the email, lips slightly parted.

The tea in her mug has gone cold.

Mandatory…four days a week.

Back in the building.

Back with Hazel.
Back under Lyra’s watch.
Back in the orbit of Camille.

She leans back into the couch, heart sinking.

So much for calm.

.

.

.

.

 

Earlier that day the elevator doors had opened.

 

An army of omegas had stepped into the lobby—timid, styled, notebooks and tablets in hand.

 

Short. Tall. Curvy. Lean. Shy. Curious. Quiet. Giggly. Every type. Every flavor. Except for loud or confident.

 

All of them, gorgeous in the eyes of Hazel.

 

All of them dressed professionally… and distractingly.

 

Hazel’s jaw drops.

 

Her senses explode.

 

“What is this?” she whispers, frozen.

 

She scans the crowd, trying to zero in—but there are too many. Her usual radar is jammed.

 

She backs up.

 

“Suzie,” she hisses. “Suzie!”

 

Suzie pops up from behind the reception counter like a meerkat. “What—?”

 

Then her eyes widen.

 

“Oh my God. It’s an army of shy little hotties.”

 

“The design team?” Hazel asks, panic blooming.

 

Suzie blinks. “On-site work just became mandatory for the design team,” she says, almost reverently, reading it from her phone.

 

Hazel grabs the edge of the desk. “I’m gonna lose my mind!”

 

From the mezzanine above, Lyra watches them all arrive, arms folded, professional. Her expression is serene.

 

But inside?

 

She is smiling.

.

.

.

 

Ari enters the office hours after the army, she doesn’t suspect a thing, she just knows that the toggle in her profile is gone and she has to come to the office whether she likes it or not.

.

.

 

The office, once a quiet tundra of half-occupied desks and passive-aggressive bots, is now alive with energy—the design team is finally present, and it shows.

 

Laughter, conversations, the sound of more electronic devices and more steps.

 

Ari walks past a row of new faces, a gentle smile on her lips. “Hi, I’m Ari. Welcome to—”

 

“We know,” one of them says.

 

Ari blinks.

 

The woman is a little taller than her, with straight brown hair and amber eyes.

 

“You’re Ari, right?” she continues “I'm Allen, the Visual Designer, remember?”

 

Ari remembers the avatar of a furry speaking with her voice during a meeting. 

 

“Oh right! Hey! Nice to finally see you” Ari smiles.

 

“We also know about you and… you know… your thing…”

 

Ari hesitates “Um… my thing—?”

 

A short-haired blonde behind her steps forward, tapping Ari lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t be so hostile,” she says to the first woman, then turns to Ari. “We’ve just heard that, uh… you like to tease the alphas in this office and that's why you come here instead of working remotely. And now you’re like… two timing Lyra and Camille after Hazel dumped you… or something…I’m Nova by the way…”

 

Ari’s face freezes. “Huh?!”

 

The blonde immediately covers her mouth. “Sorry! That sounded so rude. I didn’t mean it like that—”

 

A third woman joins in—taller than both, with dyed green hair and a curious smile.

“Is that so?” she asks, cocking her head. “Because honestly, I don’t think there’s any shame in that.”

 

Ari blinks. “What—?”

 

The green-haired woman steps in closer, voice soft and sincere.

“But… like, how do you do it? Aren’t you scared? I could never… I'm Gina, I'm another UX, I'm using your Design System but, we’ve never talked, ha-ha…”

 

Ari looks around.

 

She was surrounded—but not in a bad way. The rumors were bad but she felt ok, at least she had a shield of omegas around her.

 

She spots Hazel from afar, Hazel smirks and waves.

 

That moron!

 

“Oh,” Ari says, a little flustered. “Okay, uh—no. That’s a misunderstanding. I don’t tease alphas  and I'm not two timing anyone. The Hazel thing was… a situation. A bathroom. It’s complicated. But yes, Lyra and I are dating… the thing with Camille was… not a date…”

 

A few of them giggle.

 

“Have you seen the courses?” Ari asks, suddenly hopeful. “Like—the free course about being an omega? The one on the company platform?”

 

Most of them blink.

 

“No?”

 

And nobody said anything???

 

“Oh,” Ari says, blinking fast. “You guys should really see that.”

 

A few desks away, Suzie sits with her boots propped on a cabinet and an iced drink in hand, watching the scene like it was a nature documentary.

 

She smirks, muttering under her breath:

 

“Yep.

They’re all a little bit stupid, all right.”

 

.

.

.

 

Apparently, Lyra had done more than just glance at Ari’s remote status.

She had run the numbers.

She compiled data from past quarters, drew up comparisons between on-site collaboration and fully remote workflows, and laid out a compelling case for why the design team should be on-site—at least temporarily.

Her rationale?

On-site presence would improve cross-team collaboration. It would speed up design-dev handoffs. It would help omegas, especially newer hires, socialize and feel less isolated.

She didn’t phrase it emotionally.

She phrased it efficiently.

Charts. Metrics. Trendlines.

The case was solid. The CEO approved within 24 hours.

And once the CEO approved, things moved fast. Before the remote status for Ari could even be checked by HR, the order was given.

.

.

.

Lyra stands on the second floor, watching the results of her work—a floor now full of omegas, buzzing with energy.

Camille steps up behind her. “Did you do this to keep Ari here? Or are you curious to see if other omegas can take you there the way she does?”

Lyra doesn’t turn around. “I did it for the company. To get the designers working across teams.”

Camille smirks. “Sure you did.”

.

.

.

The change in the office was exponential.

The design area buzzed with new life—warm chatter, shared snacks, overlapping sketches passed between desks. It still functioned like a company, but now it felt more like a studio. A creative space again.

Even the betas from marketing dropped by more often. The air had softened. The alphas weren’t as overwhelming anymore.

And Ari—Ari wasn’t just surviving.

She was doing okay.

She was thriving.

She had friends now—omegas like her. Nova, the blonde with the pixie cut. Rainy, the one with green hair and too many rings. Hailey, who had once called her a tease but now shared her favorite crackers at lunch.

Ari laughed more. Ate with people other than Suzie. Got invited to things. And it was only Friday.

Her mind had more things to think other than Lyra and Camille… And work of course.

Weeks later, a quiet memo from the CEO landed in Lyra’s inbox.

Subject: Great call.

 Your decision to bring the design team on-site was clearly the right one. The mood in the office has improved significantly. Good instincts.

 —A.

Lyra reads it in silence. Then close the message with a single blink.

No smile.

I have to know where I stand with Ari .

 

Lyra steps out of her office and glances toward Ari’s desk. She considers walking over—maybe to talk, maybe to ask her out again, something direct. Something honest.

 

But she slows when she sees the scene unfolding nearby.

 

Suzie is there, effortlessly commanding the space, her alpha energy drawing attention like a magnet. A group of omegas hover close, laughing a little too loudly, finding excuses to stay near her.

 

But Suzie?

 

She’s focused on Ari.

 

Their conversation is light, easy. Suzie is animated, talking with her hands, smiling. Ari responds, laughing softly, a little shy, but comfortable.

 

Lyra watches from a distance, analyzing it like a battlefield. She wants to walk in, to interrupt, to pull Ari aside—but something in her recoils.

 

It’s not the right moment.

 

Then Camille walks in.

 

Just like that, the energy in the group shifts. She slides into the group effortlessly, flashing a smile that turns heads. Even the omegas fawning over Suzie glance her way now, subtly adjusting postures. Suzie jokes with her, Camille jokes back.

 

Lyra's chest tightens.

Ah… joking… how long has it been since I've done that?

 

Camille joins the conversation, tossing a glance toward Suzie. “I’m going too.”

 

Suzie raises an eyebrow. “Weren’t you busy?”

 

Camille smirks. “My date cancelled.”

 

Ari, mid-sip of her tea, looks up. “Your… date?”

 

Camille’s eyes flick toward her, amused.

 

“Are you jealous, baby deer?” she teases. “Should I remind you that you’re dating Lyra?”

 

Lyra watches Ari—watches the flicker of heat rise in her cheeks, the way her mouth parts to respond but doesn’t quite form words.

 

And suddenly, Lyra feels like she doesn’t belong in the scene at all, she can’t just walk in like Camille, joke and search for Ari's touch.

 

The distance between her and Ari feels greater than ever.

 

Ari flinches at Camille’s teasing words. Her gaze lowers, fingers tightening around her cup. She murmurs—barely audible:

 

“I… I don’t know if… that’s still the case.”

 

Lyra hears it.

 

Clear enough.

 

She doesn’t wait for anyone to look her way. She turns silently, her expression unreadable, and walks back into her office—each step steady, controlled, and just a little too quiet.

 

The door clicks shut behind her.

 

Lyra exhales and sinks onto the futon, letting the tension melt into the cushions.

 

She stares at the ceiling, then smiles—just barely.

 

Maybe Camille was right.

Maybe I’m not ready for the high of being with an omega. Not yet.

 

The intensity. The responsibility. The restraint it demands. The pain and rage of seeing her with others.

 

Or maybe… not being outside this office, surrounded by all that energy,

all those curious eyes and subtle scents—maybe that’s part of the problem too. I'm a shut in, not used to being with more omegas…

 

Camille knows me so well…

 

She closes her eyes, pressing her hand lightly over her chest.

 

I wish I could fall for her, it would be easy.

 

Lyra exhales through her nose, staring at her phone screen for a moment. Then she starts typing—quick, precise, and without overthinking this time.

 

She hits send.

 

Half a world away, in a smoky rooftop lounge in New Asia, the CEO lounges with a hand of cards. Her wild red hair is tied up messily, eyes sharp as ever. Around her, armed and tattooed women trade jokes and wagers over flickering lantern light.

 

Her phone buzzes against the table.

 

“Excuse me, ladies,” she says smoothly, picking it up.

 

She reads the message, eyebrows lifting slightly.

 

Then, with a crooked grin:

Lyra Veran… you’ve been so proactive lately.

.

.

.

.

.

 

“Let me take you in my car,” Camille whispers in Ari’s ear, her voice low and teasing.

 

Ari squirms, a shiver running down her spine. Camille giggles softly.

 

“Ah… okay,” Ari murmurs, already blushing.

 

“Hey! Take me too!” Suzie calls out, approaching with a half-jog. “Hazel’s car is in the shop. She usually drives me and now she can’t.”

 

Suzie… why did you bring up Hazel?

 

Camille gives Suzie a look—pointed, flat, and clearly saying you’re not getting the hint.

 

Before she can respond, a green-haired omega pops up beside them.

 

“If you’re going, can you give me a lift too?” she asks brightly.

 

Suzie squints at her. “And you are…?”

 

“I’m Gina! Hiii!” the green haired omega says, all charm and enthusiasm, practically bouncing as she waves.

 

Suzie rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I call shotgun!”

---

 

Great, Ari thinks as she climbs into the back seat next to Gina.

Now I’m wedged back here when I was supposed to be alone with Camille.

 

She sighs internally, watching the back of Camille’s head, wondering if the universe is always going to cockblock her like this.

 

Gina bounces slightly in her seat beside Ari, her green ponytail swaying with every bump in the road.

 

“So…” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in a bit. “What’s Lyra really like?”

 

Ari blinks. “Lyra?”

 

Gina nods eagerly. “Yeah. I’ve only seen her in the team photos. She never leaves her office. She’s like… a mythical creature. Half the design team isn’t even sure she exists.”

 

Ari chuckles nervously. “She exists.”

 

From the front passenger seat, Suzie shifts her attention subtly—eyes flicking toward Camille, who keeps her gaze on the road. But Suzie doesn’t miss it: the slight tightening of Camille’s jaw, the way her fingers flex on the steering wheel, just once.

 

“She’s… intense,” Ari says carefully.

 

Gina grins. “Intense-hot or intense-scary?”

 

Ari blushes. “Both, I guess. She’s very composed. Sharp. Kind of intimidating at first. But then—” she falters, realizing she might be saying too much.

 

Gina leans closer. “But then…?”

 

Ari looks down at her hands. “Then sometimes she says something really sincere. Or does something unexpectedly gentle. And it just… stays with you.”

 

From the front, Camille’s expression shifts—barely. Her smirk vanishes for a breath. Her brows knit ever so slightly, then smooth out again. Her lips press together.

 

Suzie notices.

 

But she doesn’t say anything.

 

Gina, oblivious, sighs dramatically. “Damn. Now I really want to meet her.”

 

Ari smiles faintly, then glances at the window.

 

And in the quiet that follows, Suzie keeps watching Camille.

Noticing everything.

And filing it away.

 

“Boo, let’s talk about something cooler,” Suzie says, waving a hand dismissively. “Like my band.”

 

Ari and Gina glance over, curious.

 

“We’re called Suzie and the Motherfuckers.”

 

Gina explodes with laughter. “Bwahahahah! Why the Motherfuckers?!”

 

Suzie spins halfway around in the front seat, grinning like a maniac. “Because they could all fuck your mom if they really wanted to.”

 

Ari and Gina stare at her, wide-eyed, horrified.

 

Camille doesn’t even glance over—she just lifts a hand and casually bonks Suzie on the back of the head.

 

“Don’t scare the children,” she says dryly.

 

Suzie snorts and slumps back into her seat, unfazed. “You’re just jealous you’re not in the band.”

 

“I value my dignity,” Camille replies.

 

“Lame,” Suzie mutters.

 

Gina’s giggling a little bit too much.

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.

.

The office is dim, lit only by the cool glow of her monitor and the soft amber light from the lamp on her desk. It’s past office hours, but Lyra hasn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes. Her blazer lies draped over the back of her chair, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her wristwatch resting silently on the desk beside a forgotten cup of tea.

She’s scrolling slowly—absently at first—through Ari Longsworth’s art account on Bluesky.

At first, she’d followed it out of curiosity. She told herself it was just part of getting to know her team. A habit. A harmless indulgence.

But now, here she is—half an hour later—quiet, still, and completely taken.

The tone of Ari’s posts shifts subtly as she scrolls further back. The cute illustrations, the stylized portraits, the viral chibi characters—those are recent. Clever. Commercial. She knows how to work the algorithm.

But the oil paintings are older. Less liked. Less shared.

More revealing.

One in particular stops her. Lyra’s hand slows, her eyes narrowing with something like reverence.

A beach, at night.

The sea is thick and heavy with shadow. The brushstrokes are layered, textured, chaotic in places—intentional chaos. The sky bleeds into the ocean like it’s trying to disappear.

And yet—there’s a small figure standing near the waterline. So small you might miss it at first glance. A person. Alone. No moon above them, even though, in the earlier sketches Ari had posted, it had been there. Full and bright.

Lyra opens one of the process videos. She watches it carefully.

The moon was painted in.

And then it was scraped away.

Layer after layer pulled from the canvas, until there was nothing left but darkness and a sky with no mercy. No light.

She sits back in her chair slowly, eyes fixed on the screen. Her fingertips hover above the mousepad, then rest against her lips in thought.

That decision—removing the moon—meant something.

And Lyra knows enough about precision to recognize that it wasn’t just a compositional choice. It was personal. That small figure on the shore wasn’t just aesthetic.

It was a confession.

She whispers to herself, not even realizing:

 “Why did you erase the moon, Ari?”

The image stays on her screen long after she stops scrolling.

And as Lyra leans back in her chair, her head tilted toward the ceiling, she lets out a soft exhale.

Ari Longsworth is more than she seems.

There are oceans inside her.

And Lyra suddenly, fiercely, wants to see more of them.

 

“Working late?” a soft voice asks.

 

Lyra looks up from her screen.

 

An omega stands in the doorway—short blonde hair, blue eyes, neatly dressed, but with a faint flush on her cheeks. Her fingers twist the hem of her blouse, but there’s a glint in her eye that betrays something… less innocent.

 

“Miss Nova Seligman,” Lyra says, her tone measured. “Product Designer, right?”

 

Nova’s blush deepens. “You— You know who I am?”

 

“I’ve read everyone’s files,” Lyra replies, returning her gaze to the monitor for a brief second before closing the laptop. “You’re part of the new team rotation.”

 

Nova steps in, hesitating for just a breath before closing the door behind her.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you really existed,” she says with a nervous laugh, walking slowly toward the desk. “You never come out of your office.”

 

Lyra studies her carefully. “Some things are easier to manage from a distance.”

 

Nova nods, then glances away—then back again, bolder this time.

 

“Do you… always work this late?” she asks, her tone softer now, more deliberate.

 

Lyra leans back in her chair, folding her arms. “When I need to.”

 

Nova swallows and shifts closer, just barely on her side of inappropriate. “I’ve… heard you’re very disciplined,” she says, voice low. “Focused. Intense.”

 

Lyra doesn’t react. “Is that why you’re here? To confirm rumors?”

 

Nova’s breath quickens. “No. I just…” She trails off, then takes a daring step forward, fingers brushing the edge of the desk. “I thought maybe you could use a break. Or… company.”

 

Is not the first time a coworker has tried to seduce her, only Camille has succeeded, but it was the first time in years that it was an omega.

 

She’s still blushing, still soft—but her scent says otherwise. It says she’s hungry. Starved. For affection, or maybe for something rougher.

 

Lyra watches her, completely still.

I know your type. You're hiding something.

 

“You came here to seduce me, Miss Seligman?” she asks flatly.

 

Nova freezes for half a second—but she doesn’t retreat.

 

“I…I… came here,” she says, voice trembling but clear, “because I know what I want.”

 

A long silence settles between them.

 

Lyra stands slowly, her height casting a subtle shadow over Nova. She walks around the desk, gaze steady.

 

“And what is it,” she murmurs, stopping just short of touching her, “that you think I’d give you?”

 

Nova stands frozen as Lyra approaches—tall, controlled, and utterly unreadable.

 

But it’s more than her height. More than her posture.

 

It 's the presence.

 

Being near Lyra feels like standing in the shadow of something massive—something coiled and silent and dark. Like the quiet breath of a beast just before it decides whether to spare you… or devour you.

 

Nova trembles.

 

Her omega instincts scream to submit, to run, but she pushes through it.

 

“I… I…” she swallows hard, barely able to meet Lyra’s gaze, “...I think you know what you'd give me…”

 

Her voice is breathy, desperate, offering.

 

Lyra’s hand moves—gently at first—caressing Nova’s throat, her fingers barely grazing the sensitive skin. Nova gasps, overwhelmed by the heat of it.

 

But then Lyra grips.

 

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough to make the message clear.

 

“Go home, Nova,” she says, her voice low and final.

 

Then she pushes her back—firmly but without violence—guiding her out the door and closing it behind her with sharp precision.

 

Nova stands there in stunned silence.

 

Staring at the closed door.

Her breath shaking.

Her body still buzzing with everything she’d wanted—and didn’t get.

 

And then she runs.

 

Down the hall.

To the elevator.

Out into the parking lot.

 

By the time the night air hits her face, she’s sobbing. Quiet at first, then harder. Not just from rejection.

From shame.

I didn´t think it was going to go this way... Lyra Veran really is something...

She touches her neck, then she brings her hand to her nose and inhales.

At least I have her aroma...

.

.

 

Lyra closes her laptop with a soft click. She exhales, long and slow, her shoulders finally settling.

 

No…

 

It’s not just that Ari is an omega.

 

I do like her.

I want her to come to my office at these hours to offer herself to me! Not just any omega! Her... FUCK!

 

She powers her laptop back on and begins filling out the HR form— Request to Date a Coworker.

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Author’s Note:

I was planning to post this later, but I already had it ready and just couldn’t resist—lol. Hope you enjoy it! 💕

Chapter 9: Just like her 👁

Summary:

A night of music, tension, and unexpected confessions shifts the dynamic between Ari and Camille. As secrets surface and sparks fly, Camille sees something in Ari she hadn’t before—something dangerously familiar.
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‐'xxxx----‐--------------------------------------------------------

After Suzie and the Motherfuckers, The Otters take the stage—a laid-back, funky band that shifts the atmosphere into something mellow and breezy. The crowd relaxes, and so do Ari and the others, letting the music wash over them as conversation flows more freely.

“Oh my god, Suziieee! You were amazing!” Gina gushes, already tipsy, her voice bright and unfiltered.

Suzie grins, energized from the performance. “Thanks,” she says. Then she leans in slightly, curious. “What did you think of the Motherfuckers?”

Gina blinks, trying not to laugh at the name. “Yeah… amazing, of course…”

“Meh,” Camille says, sipping her drink, not bothering to soften the word.

One of the Motherfuckers—a tall woman with electric purple hair and winged eyeliner sharp enough to wound—whirls around. “What do you mean meh?!”

Before things get tense, Suzie steps in, amused. “Guys, relax—she’s Camille.”

That lands. A few of the band members exchange glances.

“She was my lead back in college,” Suzie adds. “Frontwoman, rhythm guitar, wrote our best stuff. Scared half the tech crews we worked with—but she knew her shit.”

Camille sighs like she’s tired of the spotlight but speaks anyway. “Alright. Since you’re asking… The vibe was great. But the transitions between tracks were messy—especially from your second to third song. You lost the tempo for a bit.”

She looks directly at the second guitarist. “You’ve got chops. But you’re rushing your phrases. You need to let the chords breathe. Funk isn’t about speed—it’s about space. Give it room to land.”

Silence.

Then: “Holy shit,” the purple-haired woman says.

Another pulls out her phone and starts typing notes. The bassist leans in, eyebrows raised. “She’s not wrong.”

Camille just shrugs. “ Just tighten the pacing.”

One of them mutters, “She should be a producer.”

Suzie smiles. “She won’t. She likes judging from a safe distance.”

Camille raises her glass, not denying it. “Much better view from here.”

Everyone clinks glasses, including the Motherfuckers—half impressed, half stunned.

Everyone clinks glasses, laughter bubbling back into the air—except Ari. She’s watching Camille.

The way she sits so casually, one arm draped over the back of her chair, drink in hand, completely unfazed by the praise or the surprise. The way her voice dropped just enough when she said “Much better view from here”—like she wasn’t just talking about the stage.

Ari’s heart skips.

God.

Camille is… so hot right now.

She’s always been attractive—commanding, sharp, annoyingly charming—but this? This version of Camille, cool and confident, respected even by creative strangers with neon hair and egos? It’s magnetic. Dangerous.

Ari swallows. Her cheeks feel warm.

“Everything okay?” Camille asks, glancing her way, catching her staring.

Ari looks away too quickly. “Yeah,” she murmurs, flustered. “Just… you sounded really smart.”

Camille smirks. “That’s because I am.”

And damn it, the smirk just makes it worse. Ari grips her glass a little tighter and takes a sip, trying to calm the flutter in her chest.

Suzie leans in with a teasing grin. “You wouldn’t think she’s that cool, huh? I swear, liking Lyra did some real damage to her awesomeness.”

Camille groans. “Suzie…”

Ari’s smile wavers. The words hit like a ripple across her chest.

Liking Lyra.

Camille had already told her—back in the parking lot. The kiss, the stuff, the way it still sat in Ari’s head like a song she couldn’t shake.

She keeps her gaze down, stirring her drink slowly.

Camille glances at her, catches the subtle change in Ari’s posture. Her voice softens. “That’s old news.”

Suzie, meanwhile, pulls out her phone and scrolls until she finds it. “Wait—here.”

She flips the screen toward the group. It’s a college photo: Hazel, Camille, and Suzie, all younger, brasher. Hazel wears her cheerleader uniform as expected, Suzie’s a slightly toned-down version of her current punk self, mid-pose with a goofy expression. Camille towers between them—effortlessly cool, a touch wild, a hint of musician’s rebellion in her posture.

“Woooow,” Gina breathes.

“Suzie, you look so cute!” she adds, grinning.

“Shut up,” Suzie mutters.

Ari doesn’t say anything at first. Then, voice low but clear:

“You’re kind of… hotter now, actually.”

She says it to Camille.

Camille stills.

Suzie raises an eyebrow. “The bravery! Ari, are you sure you’re an omega?”

Ari’s eyes widen slightly—she didn’t mean to say that out loud. Her cheeks flush pink, betraying the booze in her system.

Camille lets out a warm laugh. “This little omega is a box full of surprises.”

Suzie gives her a sideways look. “Ari, aren’t you, like… dating Lyra? Shouldn’t you be jealous or something?”

Camille smirks. “Suzie. You talk like you don’t know omegas at all.”

Gina, nursing her drink, mutters without looking up, “That’s hard to believe…”

Suzie gets the hint and wishes she hadn't.

Ari bites her lip, unsure whether to hide or double down. Camille’s gaze lingers on her a second longer, unreadable but intrigued.

There’s a spark now. Something charged, half-accidental, half-invited—and it’s not just the alcohol.

“You know who’s also secretly cool?” Gina says suddenly, grinning as she wobbles slightly with her drink. “Ari.”

Ari turns her head, startled. “Secretly?”

Suzie snorts.

Gina flashes her phone. “Look!”

On the screen is Ari’s illustration page on Bluesky—A_draw_xoxo.

Ari’s face turns red instantly. “Oh my god, no—don’t—”

But it’s too late. One of the Motherfuckers—a tall woman with bright blue hair and theatrical glitter makeup—leans over, snatches the phone, and stares. “Wait. You’re A_draw_xoxo?!”

Ari groans softly. “Uhm… yes…”

The woman gasps. “DUDE! I commissioned you forever ago! You drew my alien necromancer with the jellyfish wings!”

Ari’s eyes brighten, her whole expression transforming. “That was you?! That one was so fun to do!”

The two launch into conversation, fast and animated. Another member leans in, recognizing a post she’d saved. “No way. You’re that Ari?”

Ari nods, laughing now, hands fluttering with excitement. “Yeah! That was a weird but really cool brief. I still have the layers saved.”

More heads turn. Questions come in. Compliments. Ari’s fully in her element—alive, expressive, confident.

Camille is sitting right beside her, arm slung casually around the back of Ari’s chair. She says nothing, but her fingers have stopped idly tapping the wood. Her eyes track every shift in Ari’s face. The way her eyes light up. The way her laugh rolls out like it forgot to be shy.

Suzie, seated on Camille’s other side, glances at her sidelong.

“Hey,” she whispers. “What’s, uhm… on your mind?”

Camille doesn’t blink. “I—nothing.”

But her voice is soft. Unconvincing.

Suzie watches her a beat longer, then smiles to herself and sips her drink. “Right.”

Camille still doesn’t move her arm. And Ari, so caught up in the attention, hasn’t even noticed.

“Hey.”

The voice cuts through the chatter like a blade. Familiar. Tense.

Ari stiffens. Everyone else turns, surprised.

“Hazel?” Suzie says, blinking as she sees her approaching the table.

Hazel stops just short, arms crossed. “So… are we not friends anymore? Because of her?” She jerks her head toward Ari.

Camille’s voice drops low, a warning. “Hazel.”

“What?” Hazel shrugs, eyes sharp. “You're gonna destroy my new car too? I’ll just buy another one.”

Ari turns slowly to Camille. “Wait… you destroyed her car? And beat her up?”

Camille clears her throat. “Uhm. No. Technically I only destroyed her car. And… slapped her a little. But don´t tell Lyra, ok?” She winks.

Ari’s brows shoot up. “What? You didn’t beat her up?”

Don’t tell Lyra???

Hazel rolls her eyes. “That’s just a rumor someone started. But she did destroy my car… and I have to go to counseling on weekends… and those slaps really hurt!”

There’s a pause. Ari blinks at Camille. Her bright, slightly drunk glow dims just a touch.

Suddenly, she’s… a little less attractive.

Suzie pushes her chair back and stands slowly, steadying her drink before setting it down.

“Hazel,” she says carefully, stepping around Camille. “We’ve known each other a long time. So I’m going to ask this with a little patience—what the fuck are you doing? What do you want?”

Hazel crosses her arms, clearly defensive. “I came to talk. To you. Because it feels like I lost my best friends over a girl who didn’t even know where the executive bathroom was two months ago. A girl who doesn't know anything about anything!”

“Hey!” Ari complains.

Suzie lets out a slow breath through her nose. “You didn’t ‘lose’ me. You put me in the middle of your shit, and then made it worse. Friends don't do that.”

Hazel rolls her eyes. “Oh, right. Because I’m the villain for having needs. I’m an alpha.”

Suzie narrows her eyes. “No, you’re the villain for cornering a vulnerable omega in a bathroom and trying to seduce her when she was barely holding herself together.”

Ari stiffens again. Her knuckles go white around her glass.

Isn’t Camille going to do anything?

Hazel flinches. “I didn’t corner her.”

Camille’s voice cuts through, low and sharp. “You knew she was overwhelmed. You watched her freeze.”

Ari watches Camille.

Hazel’s voice rises, cracking. “She didn’t say no!”

“She didn’t say anything,” Suzie snaps. “That’s not consent, Hazel. That’s confusion. And you know better.”

Hazel opens her mouth, ready to defend herself—then stops. No words come out.

Camille shifts beside Ari, notices her shrinking into herself, her discomfort growing with each raised voice. She leans closer and murmurs, “Hey, it’s ok… I got you”

Somehow that isn´t enough for Ari, but she wants it to be.

Hazel suddenly chokes on a breath—her eyes glassy. “But… but she wanted it…”

Everyone freezes. The tension sharpens like glass.

Ari is startled. I…I think that might be true… o crap!

Camille’s eyes darken. Her chair scrapes back an inch as she moves to stand—but Ari reaches out and grabs her wrist.

“Guys…” Ari’s voice trembles. “I think… I think she’s… she’s right. I didn’t say no. And I…” her face reddens, “I kinda… felt horny.”

And just like that, Ari seems a little less radiant in Camille’s eyes. Still beautiful, still soft—but the glow has dulled.

You wanted it, Ari?...psh… that’s so basic omega shit.

Suzie’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my god—shut up! You’re such an omega! Don’t you see she tricked you?!!”

The words hang there, loud and brutal.

“Don’t you see?” Suzie goes on, voice strained. “You were vulnerable. And she was hunting you. That doesn’t make it okay just because your body got confused.”

Ari murmurs something behind Suzie’s hand, too quiet to hear.

Then Hazel suddenly breaks, her voice cracking into a sob. “I don’t care about her! I just want my friends back…”

It’s clear now—she’s been drinking. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyeliner already smudging.

Suzie hesitates, then approaches and wraps her arms around her. “Oh, Hazel… you stupid, idiot… moron… dummy…”

Hazel leans into her, crying harder, years of friendship and recent chaos tangled up in the silence between them.

Camille exhales, stands, and steps over to them. She places a hand gently on both their heads—Suzie’s and Hazel’s.

“You’re both idiots,” she says, voice low but warm. “And me too. We all encouraged this for years… or brushed it off… we are at fault too…”

Suzie lifts her head, frowning. “What?! We didn’t—”

Camille thumps her lightly on the back of the head. “You most of all. You and your Eiffel towers…”

Suzie yelps. “Ow!”

Suzie knows Camille is right.

Camille smirks faintly, but her eyes are tired now. Not angry—just… done. Like she’s finally acknowledging a mess they all let grow too long.

Ari watches from her seat, quiet. Her hands wrapped around her glass, her thoughts suddenly hard to name.

Camille sighs, then reaches out and grabs Hazel by the back of the neck—firm, but not cruel—like a mother dog dragging her unruly pup.

“Come on,” she mutters, guiding Hazel toward Ari’s side of the table. “You’re going to apologize. Like you mean it.”

Ari straightens in her seat, eyes wide. Her heart stutters. This is too much, too sudden.

Hazel stares at her through red, teary eyes, still sniffling. “I’m sorry, Ari. You’re like… very kissable.”

Camille slaps the back of her head with a loud whack.

“Not like that.”

Hazel winces. “Ow, okay! Okay…”

She shifts, looks at Ari again—more sincere this time, or at least trying.

“I’m sorry,” Hazel says softly. “I did hunt you. I knew you were vulnerable and I used that. I’ll… I’ll stay away from now on.”

The words hang in the air for a moment.

And suddenly, Hazel isn’t so terrifying anymore. Just messy. Sad. Human.

Ari nods once, tightly. “Okay.”

Camille releases Hazel and steps back, watching both of them. Her jaw is still tight, but there’s a flicker of relief behind her eyes.

Meanwhile, across the table, the Motherfuckers had been silently watching the entire spectacle unfold—soft tacos in hand, beers halfway to their mouths, eyes wide with secondhand tension.

Gina sat among them, equally stunned, a taco frozen mid-bite.

After a long pause, one of the band members—a woman with glittery freckles and a mouthful of carne asada—murmurs, “Woah… Ari’s got rizz. She's dating Lyra Veran, she made out with the cheerleader right there, and Camille is like… About to steal her from Lyra…”

Suzie gives her a subtle side eye.

The rest of the band slowly nods in agreement, like a jury just reached its verdict.

“She didn’t even do anything,” another adds.

“Exactly,” the first one says, eyes still on Ari. “That’s pure rizz.”

Gina finally takes her bite, nodding thoughtfully. 

Hazel and Suzie move to a nearby table, sitting close but no longer in the middle of the group. Their voices are low, but the body language says everything—leaning in, hands fidgeting, heads tilted toward each other. Hazel cries openly now, shoulders shaking with every breath.

Ari watches, surprised. She hadn’t expected that kind of grief from Hazel.

She remembers something Suzie once said, casual but loaded:

"Hazel is super insecure... she has to be the alphiest of alphas just to feel okay."

And now, watching Hazel sob through smudged mascara and whispered regrets, something clicks.

 Ari sort of gets it.

 Not forgives—not forgets—but understands. A little.

Her eyes shift, instinctively, to Camille.

Camille is still at their table, still within reach—but not reaching. She’s not touching Ari like before. Not watching her. Not even sitting quite as close. Instead, she’s chatting with one of the Motherfuckers, laughing at something said, her body angled just slightly away.

Ari feels it—the difference. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just… a soft pull back. A new quiet in Camille’s attention.

The kind of quiet that feels like absence.

It’s small, but it stings.

She stares at her for a little while.

So… she’s actually not… the type to beat other alpha up…

“Are they kissing?!!” Gina suddenly exclaims.

Heads snap toward the other table. Sure enough, Hazel and Suzie are leaning across it, lips locked in a surprisingly tender kiss. Hazel’s still sniffling through it.

Ari’s eyes go wide.

Gina is already pulling out her phone. Click. Click.

“Oh yeah,” Camille says with a quiet laugh. “They do that sometimes.”

“What the fuck?!” one of the Motherfuckers blurts. “Our Suzie is with that… that…?!”

Camille chuckles. “Relax. It’s an alpha thing. They do it to ease tension. Sometimes they fuck, too. But… in a friendly manner.”

There’s a collective gasp.

One of the band members narrows her eyes. “How did you know we’re not alphas?”

Camille shrugs, her smile sly. “I didn’t.”

A beat. A few of the Motherfuckers shift in their seats.

Ari glances over at Camille, who still isn’t looking directly at her, but is looking.

And even though she’s not sure what it means, Ari sits up a little straighter.

A few more hours pass in a blur of music, laughter, and tacos. The tension from earlier fades, softened by time, drinks, and the strange comfort of shared chaos.

Eventually, Gina stretches and yawns. “Alright, I’m calling a cab. My feet are done.”

One of the Motherfuckers stands with her. “We’ll ride with you—we’re just a few blocks away anyway.”

“Group chat me when you get home,” Suzie calls after them, already helping a sleepy Hazel to her feet. “Come on, drama queen. Let’s get you horizontal before you start crying about alpha’s rights or whatever.”

Hazel mutters something unintelligible, her head resting briefly on Suzie’s shoulder as they head out.

Camille finishes the last sip of her beer, then turns to Ari.

“Want a ride?” she asks, casual but direct.

Ari meets her eyes, trying not to look too eager. “Yeah. I do.”

Camille nods once, stands, and holds her leather jacket in one hand. She doesn’t say anything else—just waits.

And Ari follows.

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.

.

The hum of the engine fills the silence for a while. City lights pass in soft blurs across the windshield, casting fleeting shadows inside the car. Camille drives with one hand on the wheel, calm, focused. Ari sits beside her, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

Then, quietly: “Is it really… an alpha thing?”

Camille glances over. “What?”

Ari hesitates, her voice barely above a murmur. “To, like… have sex just like…to ease tension.”

Camille’s lips curve into a faint smirk. “Yes and no.”

Ari looks at her, confused.

“I mean,” Camille says, eyes back on the road, “sex does relieve stress. And yeah, alphas tend to use it that way more often. It’s biological. But we’re not ruled by instincts. We can control it, we can release tension in other ways.”

Though is common for alphas to have sex with each other and even have a favorite alpha to do it with...

She thinks of Lyra...

She pauses, then adds with a dry note of humor, “Those two just… choose not to.”

Ari’s face flushes instantly. She turns toward the window, hoping the passing lights hide the heat rising in her cheeks.

Camille doesn’t press. But the corner of her mouth twitches, just slightly.

.

.

 

Camille’s white Rivian is sleek and unmistakably bold, a quiet kind of luxury that doesn’t scream for attention—but still turns heads. The humble streets of Pomona don’t usually see cars like that. As the Rivian glides past cracked sidewalks and chain-link fences, it looks more like a visitor from another world.

When Camille pulls up in front of Ari’s building, she frowns slightly, eyes scanning the dimly lit street.

“Uhm… is it here?” she asks, glancing at Ari.

“Yes. Thank you for the ride,” Ari replies, already reaching for the door.

Camille doesn’t unlock it. “Ari… do you, like… own this place?”

Ari blinks, then shakes her head. “No, I’m just renting.”

Camille exhales slowly. “Then please move out.”

Ari freezes, halfway to opening the door. “What?!”

Camille finally unlocks it with a soft click. “Seriously. Just… think about it. I don't feel comfortable with you living in a place like this.”

Aw… she wants me to be safe… why didn't she properly punish Hazel then?

Ari keeps her hand on the door handle, but she doesn’t move. She stares down at her lap, gathering courage like breath before a plunge.

“I…” Her voice is soft, trembling. “I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to talk more. To actually… get to know each other better.”

Camille turns to look at her, curious.

Ari swallows hard. “And maybe… you could still find reasons to like me. I just… I feel like you like me less now, and I don’t know why. But… please—can we go on a proper date before you decide for sure?”

Camille’s eyes widen, caught off guard. “You little…”

Asking me out twice... twice!

She exhales, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. “How are you suddenly so daring? Are you drunk?”

Ari shakes her head.

And then it hits Camille.

Ari—shy, soft-spoken Ari—has the same disarming flashes of boldness. The same quiet unpredictability. The same bite beneath the gentle surface.

Just like Lyra. She suddenly wants something and she reaches for it.

The realization flickers across Camille’s face. Something sparks behind her eyes, a heat that wasn’t there a second ago. Her gaze sharpens—not with criticism, but with hunger. Interest. Desire.

Ari feels it instantly. It hits her like warmth behind her ribs, like a match striking inside her chest. Her whole body responds before she can think—back straightening.

She looks at Camille—really looks—and she sees it: that fire. And she lights up in return.

Seems I said something right!

The air between them is charged now, dense with possibility.

She’s—Just like Lyra.

Just like Lyra.

Just like Lyra.

.

..

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.

 

Woohoo, weekend! Next chapter has smut—naturally. 

Hazel being a cheerleader has a reason.

Thank you so much for reading! If you're enjoying the story, I’d love to hear your thoughts—comments always make my day.

Also… I drew Ari! Let me know if you’d like to see her. 💖

Chapter 10: Alpha Protocol / Ghost of you

Summary:

Ari feels like she’s trespassing into something dangerous and beautiful—something she might not survive unscathed.
The night lingers in amber light, all tension and restraint—until it doesn’t. But morning brings clarity, signatures, and a set of rules no one asked for. Boundaries are drawn, lines are blurred, and nothing about this feels simple anymore.

Some decisions feel like freedom.
Others feel like a trap.
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Camille didn't let her get out of her car.

They're in Camille’s apartment now, and everything around her feels like a different world.

The living room is a study in sleek elegance: high ceilings, minimalist lines, and a palette of cool neutrals warmed by soft amber lighting. A single, sculptural floor lamp casts a gentle glow over state-of-the-art tech—discreet speakers built into the walls, a floating entertainment console with invisible wiring, a matte black projector nestled in the ceiling. The furniture is clean and low, with an ultramodern touch: a modular gray sectional that seems more art than couch, and at its center, the futon—unfolded, wide, and inviting.

Ari sits astride Camille’s lap, one leg draped over each side of her thighs. The movement is slow, deliberate. Her skirt slides up just enough. Her breath is shallow. Camille's hands cup her face.

They kiss.

Camille feels it immediately—that same careful restraint she once sensed in Lyra. But Ari’s is different. Softer. She hides her fire behind trembling lashes and careful movements, like she’s afraid of burning too brightly. It only makes Camille want her more.

If Lyra was an Omega… would she be like you? Ah… fucking Lyra…

She wraps her arms around Ari’s waist and pulls her close, deepening the kiss. There’s no rush. Just indulgence. Her mouth moves with purpose—slow and coaxing. Her lips part just enough to bite softly at Ari’s lower lip, then soothe it with a languid stroke of her tongue. 

Ari gasps, her hands clinging to Camille’s shoulders as if the room is spinning. Her eyes flutter half-closed, her entire body radiating heat. Every nerve ending tuned to the slow rhythm Camille sets.

Camille tilts her head, kissing her again—deeper this time, messier, tasting Ari’s breath as much as her lips.

Ari melts into her, completely undone.

The room, the night, everything else disappears.

Camille’s hands slide down Ari’s sides, gripping her firmly by the waist.

Is this how Lyra felt?
The thought sparks, uninvited.

When Lyra had held her down—strong, sure, overwhelming—pressed her into the desk in that sealed-off office, breath hot against her neck, taking her deep and good. No hesitation. No space left between them. Just power and want.

Camille’s grip tightens slightly, her thumbs pressing into Ari’s hips as memory collides with the present. Ari is so soft. 

She parts her lips from Ari’s, her breath coming slower now, more deliberate. Her eyes search Ari’s face—flushed, glowing, slightly dazed—and something warm pools in her chest.

“You’re really full of surprises,” Camille murmurs.

Ari nods once, dreamy-eyed, lips parted, breath caught.

Camille smiles—soft at first, then deeper, more dangerous. She kisses her again—hungry, tasting, learning—and then in a single, fluid movement, she shifts her weight and pins Ari gently down onto the futon.

Ari lets out a soft gasp as her back touches the smooth fabric, her hands sliding up to Camille’s arms, gripping instinctively. Her thighs part just slightly, welcoming the press of Camille’s body.

Above her, Camille looks down—eyes dark, the smile gone, replaced by something slow and smoldering.
“I want to see what else you’re hiding,” she whispers, rolling her hips with deliberate intent.

Ari gulps.

There are words caught in her throat—truths she’s never dared say aloud, desires she’s only whispered in dreams.
Things she wants.
Things she wants done to her.

I should tell her…

She opens her mouth, but the weight of it all holds her still. The longing. The fear. The ache.

I don't think I can tell her though!!

Camille watches her, still moving, reading every flicker in Ari’s eyes—the heat, the hesitation, the unspoken plea.

Ari’s fingers tighten around her arms. Her body arches, just barely, but enough.

She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t have to.

Camille feels it.

Just like Lyra…

That same quiet trembling under a bold exterior. That same flicker of fire, barely contained.
And it drives her wild.

She kisses Ari harder, devours her lips with a kind of reverence and hunger twisted together.

It’s so wrong that this is what turns me on the most about you… she thinks, breath catching between kisses.
That restraint. That sweetness—just waiting to be undone.

She trails her mouth down to Ari’s neck, pausing there, letting her breath linger against skin flushed with heat.

Then she leans in, lips brushing the shell of Ari’s ear.

“Use your voice, baby deer,” she whispers—soft, coaxing, electric.

Ari shivers.

And somewhere inside her, the words begin to tremble free. But Camille lifts her torso, rising above Ari, breathless and still—her gaze sweeping down the girl beneath her. For a moment, she doesn’t move. She just looks at her, really looks.

And then the memory hits—her own body bent over Lyra’s desk, Lyra behind her, gripping her waist like possession. Like prayer.

The image flickers through her mind like a flame.

Camille smiles, not resisting it anymore. She lets herself go.

Without a word, Camille rises to her feet, slipping her arms beneath Ari’s thighs and back. She lifts her easily—effortlessly—and Ari gasps, eyes wide, arms clinging tight around Camille’s neck.

But she doesn’t protest.

Camille turns, carrying her with quiet purpose, and lowers her onto the edge of the futon, belly-down. The motion is fluid, unhurried—leaving no room for doubt, no space for hesitation.

She arranges Ari with care and certainty. One hand anchors her waist, firm and steady. The other braces against the futon beside her.

Just like she had been.
Just like Lyra had held her.

Ari’s breath stutters.

Her pulse pounds.

Is she reading my mind? she wonders, dizzy with sensation. How does she know? I crave this… could this be? Is she THIS compatible with me?

Ari feels she could cry of joy.

Her insides spiral, heat blooming in every direction. Her thighs press together. Her fingers curl into the cushions.

And Camille, standing behind her, holding her like she owns her, feels it too.

A low hum of power. Recognition. Desire that runs both ways.

Am I really going to take this girl like this… just because Lyra…?
Camille’s grip falters slightly on Ari’s waist.

No. Not just that. I want her. I do. But… is it that? Is that why this started?

Her thoughts spiral. Shame claws up her spine.

God, I’m such a hypocrite. I told Lyra she shouldn’t be with this girl because she couldn’t control herself… and here I am—

Her throat tightens.

Trying to fuck her because she reminds me of—of Lyra. 

The thought lands hard.

Camille suddenly lets go.

She steps back, breath shaky, and moves to the nearest chair. She sits down heavily, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together, trying to steady herself. Her chest rises and falls in uneven waves.

Ari lifts her head slowly, confused, flushed, and still burning.

Camille doesn’t meet her eyes.

She just stares at the floor, willing the storm inside her to quiet, her mouth parted, breath catching like it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Ari slowly pushes herself up from the futon, the flush still warm on her cheeks, her heart pounding for entirely different reasons now.

“Camille?” she says gently. “Are you alright?”

Camille shakes her head, still hunched forward, her elbows braced on her knees. “No, Ari. To be honest… I’m not.”

Ari crosses the room without thinking, kneels beside her, one hand hovering at Camille’s shoulder like she’s afraid to touch her too soon. “Oh… Camille… What is it? Tell me.”

Camille lifts her gaze, eyes meeting Ari’s.

“We can’t do this right now,” Camille says, her voice thick, low. “I need to… I don’t know. Be exorcized or something.”

Ari blinks.

That’s exactly how I feel about myself…

Camille lets out a laugh that’s closer to a sigh, raw at the edges. “I told Lyra she couldn’t be with you because she couldn’t control herself. And now here I am—trying to make love to you because you remind me of her.”

Ari shifts, sitting back just a little, letting the weight of those words settle.

Make love…

Camille continues, softer now. “I like you, Ari. I do. But I don’t want to be with someone just because they light up the same part of my brain as a past mistake.”

Ari’s expression shifts—gentle, open. There’s no panic in her eyes, no wounded pride. Just stillness. Thoughtfulness.

Camille looks exquisite when she’s sad—like a mythical creature caught in a moment of stillness. Her blue eyes are half-lidded, distant with nostalgia, and Ari finds herself aching to sketch and paint her.

That’s in part why I like you, Camille…

She reaches up and cups Camille’s face, her touch warm and careful, like she’s handling something precious.

“I like that part of you that feels deeply, Camille,” she whispers.

Then she kisses her—softly, slowly, with no pressure behind it. Just feeling.

Camille is stunned.

Is this girl serious?!

But she doesn’t pull away.

They kiss again, and this time it’s softer still. Not out of hesitation—but because they finally understand what it’s made of.

.

Later, after a quiet shower and fresh clothes, Camille sets up Ari in her bed. The sheets are cool and clean, the lights dimmed, the silence warm between them. Camille has already laid a spare blanket and pillow out on the second bed she keeps in the living room—an elegant daybed with dark wood frame and pale linen cushions.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Ari asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“Yes,” Camille says, smiling faintly. “My bed is big, but I’d rather sleep outside tonight.”

Ari nods. She understands.

She slips under the sheets and smiles back. “Goodnight, Camille.”

Camille pauses at the door, one hand on the frame. Her voice is quiet.

“Goodnight, baby deer.”

She turns out the light.

And walks away, heart steady, breath slower.

For now, it’s enough.

Who am I kidding… Camiiiiiille! Ari screams in her mind. I wish you were making a mess out of me right now…

.

.

.

The next day, Camille drives Ari home. It’s early afternoon, the sun casting a warm glow over the quiet street. In the daylight, Ari’s neighborhood looks softer—worn but familiar.

As the sleek white Rivian glides to a stop in front of her building, it draws immediate attention.

One of Ari’s neighbors—a friendly woman with tangled curls, chipped nail polish, and the jittery cheer of someone who’s been through a lot and come out chatty—is out front tending to a few stubborn plants in repurposed paint buckets.

She pauses mid-prune, squinting at the stunning electric vehicle now purring in front of the curb.

When Camille steps out—tall, composed, windswept in black sunglasses and a crisp blazer—the woman’s jaw drops.

And then Ari exits the passenger side. Her hair is damp, still clinging to her neck and collarbone.

The neighbor’s eyes go wide.

Camille walks Ari to the sidewalk, her tone casual but warm. “See you Monday, baby deer,” she says, and leans in to kiss her cheek.

The neighbor lets out a tiny squeal—hand over mouth, pruning shears forgotten.

Ari glances over, flustered. Camille just smirks and gets back in the car.

As the EV pulls away, the neighbor continues to stare at Ari like she just stepped out of a music video—dazed, impressed, and visibly shaken.

“So she finally did it…” the woman mutters to herself, almost reverently. “She became a hooker for the rich…”

Then, louder—so Ari definitely hears it:

“I’ve been where you are, girl! No shame in making a living! Us omegas gotta do what we gotta do!”

Ari freezes mid-step.

She turns, half-smiling, half-panicking, and gives a small, awkward wave. “Uh… thanks?”

She has no idea what to say or what she means by that.

The neighbor just nods sagely and goes back to pruning her withered basil, like she’s passed on sacred wisdom.

Ari hurries inside, blushing all the way to her ears.

.

.

.

.

In Suzie’s apartment—a sleek, modern space of matte black finishes and shiny purple tech—morning light filters through the smart glass windows. The atmosphere is soft, quiet, perfectly tuned. Even the air feels curated.

She lies sprawled across her bed, tangled with Hazel. Hazel is naked, loose and content, while Suzie wears an old band tee, the faded logo of her college punk days barely legible.

Hazel presses a slow kiss to her collarbone, then another. “Did you see how cozy Camille was with Ari?”

Suzie’s breath catches—barely—but she recovers smoothly. “Yeah…”

Hazel hums, trailing kisses up her neck. “What do you think is going on there?”

Suzie stares at the ceiling for a beat, fingers gently tracing Hazel’s spine.

“I think Camille’s experimenting… and Ari’s pretending she’s not terrified.”

Hazel smirks against her skin. “So not serious?”

Suzie pauses. “It is. That’s the problem. It already is…”

Hazel lifts her head, curious now. “You think they’re gonna fall for each other?”

Suzie lets out a dry laugh. “Camille doesn’t fall. She leans slowly until she forgets she’s not standing.”
She adds, more quietly, “But Lyra… she's in there too…”

Hazel studies her, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You talk about Camille like you know her inside out.”

Suzie smiles, that same practiced smirk that hides so much. “I do. We’ve been friends for long, remember?”

Hazel watches her a beat longer, but doesn’t press. Instead, she kisses her again, softer this time. “Well… if they implode, I call watching rights.”

Suzie chuckles, the sound easy. But deep down, something aches quietly.

She keeps it buried. Like always.

Suzie shifts, one hand sliding to the back of Hazel’s neck as she pulls her in for a kiss—slow, warm, and deliberately lazy. The kind of kiss that makes time blur. The kind that says I know exactly what to do with you.

Hazel melts into it, a soft sound escaping her throat. Suzie deepens the kiss just slightly, just enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

Then she pulls back, lips brushing Hazel’s, her voice low and smug. “And I also know you inside out…”

Hazel lets out a breathless giggle, her body already soft and pliant against her. “Yeah… you do.”

Suzie smirks, nuzzles behind Hazel’s ear, and murmurs something unintelligible but possessive. She doesn’t need to say much—Hazel’s already undone.

And for a moment, Suzie lets herself forget about everything else.

.

.

.

She now lounges behind the reception desk, one leg tucked under her, the other casually resting on the footrest. She and Hazel share an earbud, music playing low between them. Hazel’s scrolling through something on her phone, occasionally nudging Suzie with her elbow when a new track comes on.

Gina approaches with a careful smile and a slightly-too-full iced coffee. She leans against the desk, trying to sound casual.

“So… is Suzie short for Suzanne or something?” she asks, twirling her straw.

The whole design team watches as her brave omega designer tries a risky maneuver.

Suzie doesn’t look up right away. She’s focused on the screen, flipping through something, eyebrows slightly raised. Hazel glances at her like she already knows what Suzie’s thinking.

Finally, Suzie answers, voice even, mildly amused. “No. Just Suzie.”

Gina nods, a little flustered. “Right. Cool. I just thought—sometimes people, you know, shorten stuff.”

One designer brings popcorn and eats as they watch.

Hazel smirks, eyes still on her phone. “Gina, you’re so bad at small talk.”

“I’m not!” Gina protests, cheeks already pink.

“You kinda are,” Suzie adds, glancing at her over the rim of her cup. Her tone’s light, teasing. “But it’s… fine. It’s cute.”

Gina brightens—just a little. Like she’s won something small but precious.

A few feet away, the design team is definitely not working. They’re casually leaned against chairs or holding half-filled mugs, openly watching the exchange with barely concealed interest. Nova mouths “oh my goddess” to Rainy, who’s already smirking.

Hazel glances up now, eyebrows raised. “Are you trying to flirt with my mess of an ex?”

“Ex?! …I’m not flirting!” Gina blurts. “I’m just—”

“I’m not your ex,” Suzie says flatly.

“But I wish you were, baby,” Hazel fires back, grinning.

Suzie snorts.

“I had fun at the concert the other day…” Gina mutters, trying to sound breezy.

And then she realizes half the floor is watching. She spins on her heel and speed-walks to her workstation, muttering under her breath and trying hard to look cool about it.

Suzie watches her go, then glances at the design team—who all pretend to go back to work immediately.

She turns to Hazel. “You think I should’ve been nicer?”

Hazel shrugs, still smirking. “Nah. That was your nice.”

Gina sinks into her seat in front of her laptop, trying to act casual while clearly mortified. A few quiet giggles ripple across the design area.

 

Nova walks over, composed as ever, smoothing her skirt before perching gracefully on the edge of Gina’s desk.

“That was quite brave,” she says gently, with a small, approving smile.

Gina sighs. “It was a disaster.”

She turns to Ari, sitting beside her and fiddling with a paper straw wrapper.

“How do you even do it, Ari?”

Ari looks up, blinking. “Do what?”

“You know... function… date alphas… function”

Ari shrugs with an apologetic smile. “I don’t know. I’m kind of a disaster.”

Nova chuckles softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, you make it look charming. Maybe that charms alphas.”

 

Gina immediately grabs Ari by the shoulders, eyes wide. “And you've charmed the two most gorgeous, powerful alphas in this whole office! How do you do it?! You gotta tell meeee!!”

 

Ari squeaks under the shaking. “Gina—!”

 

Nova tilts her head. “Two?” she asks, voice still calm but slightly pointed. “Weren’t you dating Lyra… exclusively?”

 

Ari freezes. Her cheeks go bright pink. “I… I’m… dating Camille… I think…”

 

Silence.

 

Just a beat too long.

 

Nova’s smile doesn't falter—but something in her posture shifts. A little straighter. A little stiffer. “Oh,” she says lightly. “That’s… new.”

 

Ari fidgets with her sleeve, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

 

Nova nods, ever poised. “Well. Good for you.”

 

Just then, Lyra walks past the design area. She glances toward the group—calm, unreadable. The kind of look that makes everyone instinctively straighten up.

 

“Ari,” she says, pausing mid-step. “Walk with me.”

 

“Yes!” Ari bolts to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair. She follows Lyra without a second thought, posture suddenly perfect, pace just a step behind—like a soldier answering a call.

 

The design team watches them disappear down the corridor in stunned silence.

 

Then, as soon as they round the corner:

 

“Oh my...,” Gina whispers.

..

 

They reach the second floor.

 

There, behind the sleek transparency of a new glass-walled office, Camille stands—poised, confident, and unmistakably radiant.

 

As they enter, Camille looks up and greets her with a warm smile.

“Hi, Ari.”

 

Ari’s heart flutters. Her expression softens before she can hide it.

Lyra notices.

 

“Ari,” Lyra says, her voice calm but clipped, “it’s company policy that employees who are dating must update their relationship status on our internal network.”

 

Ari blinks. “Oh.”

 

“And,” Lyra continues, not looking at Camille, “you’ll both need to file a disclosure form with HR and submit a formal request to the leadership team. It’s part of the transparency agreement. You’ve seen the handbook.”

 

Lyra’s gaze lingers on Camille for a beat before shifting back to Ari.

 

“And just so it’s clear,” Lyra adds, voice even but unmistakably loaded, “you’ll both need to file the form with HR. And so will I.”

 

Ari blinks. “Wait… what?”

 

“I intend to submit my own request,” Lyra says, calm and resolute. “Because I want to date you too.”

 

Ari stands frozen, eyes wide, the hum of the glass-walled office suddenly deafening.

 

Lyra continues, her voice composed but intense. “I spoke with Camille. We both want you. And we agreed—no pressure to choose. Not yet.”

 

“Not yet?” Ari echoes, stunned.

 

“We’re both going through some things,” Lyra says, measured. “And neither of us can promise we’ll be what’s best for you long-term…”

 

Camille, beside her, silently mouths I’ll be good for you while pointing to herself, eyes gleaming with mischief. No sound—just pure Camille.

 

Lyra ignores it. “So we agreed to date you. Properly. Get to know you. And you get to know us.”

 

Ari lets out a stunned breath. “Are you serious?”

 

Lyra nods. “We’ll both file disclosure forms. If you want this, you’ll file one too. For both of us.”

 

Camille steps in, her tone softer. “We’re not asking you to juggle us. This isn’t a game.”

 

“But,” Lyra adds, her tone sharpening, “you can’t be involved with anyone else in the office. Just us. No exceptions.”

 

Ari looks between them. Overwhelmed. Heart racing. But deep down, she already knows.

 

She nods, slowly. “Okay… Yes. I’ll file mine. I accept both of yours. No one else.”

 

Lyra studies her for a long second. “Good. That’s clear.”

 

Camille’s smile turns amused, almost smug. “Now comes the part where we don’t compete for your attention.”

 

Lyra shoots her a look. “Technically.”

 

“Technically,” Camille echoes, grinning.

 

Ari sways slightly on her feet.

 

This is fine.

This is totally normal.

I’m dating two alphas.

Oh goddess. I’m dating two alphas.

 

“Oh, and we can’t have sex with you until we know which one of us is going to be your long-term girlfriend,” Camille says casually, like she’s talking about the weather.

 

Ari’s head snaps up. “What?!”

 

“Yes,” Lyra confirms, unfazed. “If it happens, we’d know. And it would be… a mess. We’d want to rip each other’s throats out. We wouldn’t be able to work in the same company”

 

Camille nods solemnly. “It’s an alpha thing.”

 

Ari stares at them both in disbelief.

 

Lyra hits send on her form.

Camille hits send on hers.

They turn to each other and shake hands like diplomats at a tense summit.

 

Ari just stands there, sulking on the inside.

 

No sex.

None.

With either of them.

 

Kill me.

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Notes from the author

 

Bwahahaha! I’m evil… poor Ari, condemned to a sexless season… or is she? 👀
Anyway, I’ve been trying to insert my drawings here like I’ve done before, but it hasn’t worked—so I uploaded them to my Ko-fi instead!

https://ko-fi.com/album/In-her-Orbit-Y8Y11G9PWM

Thank you so much for all the support! Wishing you love this Tuesday—it's only the beginning of the week, so take it gently.

Chapter 11: 🌙 Gravity Works Both Ways

Summary:

A quiet evening turns into something unforgettable as Ari and Lyra share their second date—filled with art, intimacy, and truths that flutter just beneath the surface. What starts as a simple gallery visit slowly draws them into each other's orbit, where every glance, every brush of the hand, feels like a gravitational shift. One wants to take things slow. The other wants everything—but only if it means more. And when the night ends… will either of them be ready to let go? 💫🖤🖌️

soft burn, yearning vibes, museum dates, tension you can taste...
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Lyra stands in front of her closet, wrapped in a towel, her hair still damp from the shower. The space around her is minimal, modern, composed—just like her. But her expression tonight is anything but cool. She stares at her clothes like they’re enemy territory.

She picks up a soft cream turtleneck, hesitates, then tosses it aside. No—too gentle.
She grabs a black silk shirt, buttons halfway down. Too bold.
Eventually, she lands on an outfit that feels just right: a deep navy blouse, sharp high-waisted trousers, a sleek coat. Powerful. Polished. Softened only slightly by her perfume—something expensive and untraceable that clings close to the skin.

In the mirror, she studies herself.
Not too eager. Not too cold.
She wants Ari to feel safe. Wanted. Seen. But she also doesn’t want to lose control.

She exhales.

Ari has tried on four outfits. One is still crumpled on her bed. The third option, a soft dress with long sleeves, feels too formal. The second, too clingy. She ends up in something simple: a vintage blouse she’s always liked, tucked into a dark skirt. She adds a jacket just in case she gets cold—or nervous.

She fixes her hair again even though she already did it twice.
Touches her lip balm. Changes earrings. Stares at herself.

Her reflection stares back with wide, nervous eyes.
“You’re fine. You’re cute. You’re cool. She likes you,” she whispers. “Just… don’t say anything cringe.”

She feels everything she just said is cringe.

Her phone buzzes.

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The sound of a sleek electric hum announces Lyra’s EV pulling up in front of the building.

Ari peers out her window and sees her. Lyra steps out, leaning casually against the door. She looks so… composed. So alpha.

Ari’s heart skips.

She grabs her bag, takes one last breath, and steps out into the night.

Lyra straightens when she sees her. Smiles—not the tight, polished one she wears in meetings. A real one.
“You look beautiful,” she says.

Ari blushes. You too…

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The gallery is one of the hidden gems of the artistic part of town. It’s tucked inside a converted warehouse, all concrete, soft lighting, and floating music. The space is buzzing—not crowded, but alive. Ari steps inside first, her eyes wide with quiet wonder.

Paintings line the walls—abstract swirls of blue, grey, black. Some are soft and pulled by invisible forces, others jagged and crashing. The theme is immediately clear: the pull between alpha and omega, rendered in metaphor. Oceans and moons. Tides and longing.

A small plaque explains the exhibit:

"Now that there are two moons in the sky, who pulls the tides of the heart?
We used to think alphas were the gravitational force. But maybe… maybe omegas are the ocean, deciding where to rise, and when to drown us all."

Ari reads it twice. Her heart thuds once, deep and private.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” Lyra says softly at her side, close enough for Ari to feel the warmth radiating off her coat.

Ari glances up. “Yeah… it is.”

They move slowly through the exhibit, stopping at a piece where an enormous moon hangs low over a stormy sea, nearly kissing the surface.

“Do you think it’s true?” Ari asks, her voice quiet. “That omegas move alphas too?”

Lyra looks at the painting. Then at her.

Are you seriously asking that?!

“I think,” she says slowly, “that gravity works both ways. One just doesn't notice it until one's already drifted too close.”

Ari swallows hard. She feels the way Lyra is watching her—not devouring, but studying. 

They walk on. There’s a sculpture ahead: two moons cast in glass, rotating slowly around each other. Between them, a thin strand of water suspended in midair by unseen wires.

Lyra nods toward it. “That one’s my favorite.”

“Why?”

“Because neither of them is bigger,” she says. “They both move. They both change the ocean.”

Ari looks at the sculpture again. She doesn’t say anything, but her hand moves—just barely—toward Lyra’s.

They don’t hold hands.
Not yet.

But the space between them is less than it was.

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They go to a small café. It’s a small place on a quiet corner—dim lights, high ceilings, mismatched mugs, and the scent of cinnamon and espresso drifting through the air. Lyra and Ari sit at a window booth, their coats draped over the backs of their chairs. Outside, the city glows, reflected faintly in the glass.

Ari’s cheeks are flushed from the cold—or maybe from how close Lyra is sitting.

“I kept thinking about the moons,” Ari says, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “Like… maybe they’re both reflections. Like identity. Maybe what moves us is something we can’t even see. Maybe it’s just what we think the other person could be to us.”

Lyra doesn’t interrupt.

Ari keeps going, more animated now. “And the ocean—it was always a metaphor, but the artist turned it into something primal, something… I don’t know. Erotic, but also not. Like, how it feels to want someone without understanding why. That pull.”

She pauses, suddenly self-conscious. Her fingers tighten around her mug. “Sorry. I’m talking too much.”

Lyra reaches across the table and gently takes her hand.

Ari looks up, startled. Lyra’s eyes are warm. Clear.

“Please don’t stop,” Lyra says. “I love hearing how you see things.”

Ari freezes. For a second, she forgets how to breathe. Then she looks down at their hands, still joined—Lyra’s palm firm and warm over hers.

Her voice comes out smaller. “You do?”

Lyra nods, smiling. “You're an artist. I want to see the world the way you do.”

Ahhhhh! Lyraaaa!! If you saw yourself the way I see you… Ughh! I feel like you’re the moon on steroids and I’m the ocean on fire right now!

But Ari doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she brings her cup to her lips and takes a careful sip of her coffee.

“W-what did you think about the exhibit?” she asks, pretending her voice isn’t trying to climb an octave. “Which piece did you like the most?”

Lyra leans back slightly, eyes drifting to the window as if recalling the whole gallery at once. But when she speaks, it’s not about any of the paintings they saw.

“I kept thinking of yours, actually,” she says softly.

Ari looks up, wondering.

“The one with the dark ocean. And the sky where a moon used to be, but you’d scraped it out. Like it never existed.”

Lyra nods. “I couldn’t stop looking at it. It didn’t have a title… but it felt like mourning. Or… aftermath.”

Ari swallows. “It was. Kind of. I painted it after a breakup.”

“I figured,” Lyra says gently. Then, with a faint smile: “You scraped the moon off the canvas, but the ocean still rose like it was there.”

Ari’s eyes flicker away. Too raw. Too intimate.

She shifts in her seat and stirs her drink, voice suddenly lighter. “So… you said you work out in the mornings? Is that every day?”

Lyra watches her. Noticing.

A change in rhythm. A retreat.

But she doesn’t call her out on it.

Instead, she smiles softly, adjusting with her.

“Almost every day,” she says. “Unless I have an early meeting. Or I stay up thinking about a painting with no moon.”

Ari blushes so hard she could boil the tea in her cup.

Lyra sips her drink, but her thoughts drift—uninvited—back to the office.

To Camille.
To Ari.
To that bean bag.

She remembers how casually intimate it had been—Ari nestled between Camille’s legs, her back pressed to Camille’s chest, their limbs lazily tangled. How Ari had melted under her touch, flinched and smiled and leaned in without even realizing it.

Lyra’s jaw tightens, just a little.

Her eyes scan the café, as if searching. She spots a cushioned corner bench, low and tucked away, with a throw blanket draped over one side. Another small table by the window has an armchair pressed too close to a stool—not ideal, but…

She starts to wonder.
If she were to shift things, guide Ari there—would Ari let her hold her that way too?

Would she lean in?

Would she squirm in that soft, flustered way?

Lyra exhales through her nose and finishes her coffee, clearing the thoughts from her head—or trying to.

Ari tilts her head slightly. “What are you thinking about?”

Lyra raises an eyebrow, then meets her gaze. “About you… actually.”

Ari averts her eyes, lips parting. “What about me?”

Instead of answering, Lyra taps the tablet on the table, paying for both coffees with a few silent gestures. Then she reaches for Ari’s hand—warm, deliberate.

Her fingers wrap around hers. Firm. Certain.

She looks into Ari’s eyes. “Come with me.”

Ari doesn’t hesitate. She stands, a little breathless, caught in the quiet pull of Lyra’s gravity.

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Her hand is warm—soft but strong—and Ari feels her pulse quicken. She doesn’t look away this time. She watches Lyra’s profile as they walk, quietly enchanted.

She doesn’t know where they’re going.
But she would follow her anywhere.

“Why did you stop painting?” Lyra asks suddenly. “Oil, I mean.”

“Huh? Oh…” Ari stumbles over the answer. “Digital is cheaper. Cleaner. I needed to pay the bills. And oil painting is… kind of ancient.”

Lyra smiles gently. “I think you enjoyed it more.”

Ari looks at her, curious.
Is that something she can tell just by looking at my work?

Before she can ask, Lyra stops in front of a storefront.

“Here we are.”

It’s an art supply store—but not just any store. The windows glow with warm light, and through the glass Ari can see people inside grinding pigments, mixing mediums, brushing color onto canvases. There’s wood everywhere. Brass handles. Pigments in glass jars. It feels like a hidden atelier from another time.

Ari’s mouth falls open.

“Goddess of all omegas, what is this plaaace?!”

Lyra’s smile grows. “It’s one of the hidden gems I thought you’d like.”

Ari looks at her, eyes wide, full of something swelling in her chest. She could cry from how much she loves this.
From how much she loves being seen .

“Lyra! You’re amazing!”

Lyra blushes, flustered. “Uh… tha-thanks, I—”

Ari throws her arms around her.

The scent of oil, paper, and powdered pigment wraps around them as they stand in the doorway. Lyra holds her, quietly stunned.
Huh… this feels nice.

Inside, the woman who runs the store guides Ari gently through the space—answering every question, showing her rich pigments, handmade brushes, linen canvases. Ari’s eyes shine. She asks about everything.

Eventually, she picks up a single small tube of oil paint—a striking, luminous blue. She holds it up like it’s a treasure.

“I’ll take this one!” she announces.

Lyra blinks. “Just that small thing?”

Ari nods quickly. “I-I really shouldn’t spend too much right now… ha-ha—” she trails off, a little sheepish.

When they reach the counter, Lyra quietly pays for everything Ari had admired. Ari doesn’t even notice until the bag is handed to her.

“Lyra! What are you doing?!”

Lyra shrugs, calm as ever. “It’s fine.”

Ari’s cheeks are already red when Lyra adds, her voice soft:

“I know how much you make now, remember? You’ll be able to buy nice things soon. Let me spoil you until then.”

Ari clutches the bag to her chest like it’s sacred. Her heart feels too full to speak.

She just nods and blushes deeper.

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They walk a little more before reaching Lyra’s car. Ari climbs in, glancing at her—no, admiring her.

This woman… she’s so kind… so…like a warm blanket… And I… I’m so lucky.

Lyra starts the engine and pulls onto the road. Ari’s thoughts race ahead, wondering what’s next.
What is Lyra’s home like? Does she collect art? What kind of bots does she own? What are her favorite movies?
But instead of asking, she just watches her drive—quietly mesmerized.

Lyra glances over, sensing the gaze. “Ari… what is it?”
She blushes a little, and Ari nearly gasps.

I can make Lyra blush?!

“I—I was just thinking…” Ari stammers. “You know so much about me. I feel like I know almost nothing about you.”

Lyra’s lips curl into a small smile.

“My favorite color is burgundy. My favorite food is ceviche…”

Ceviche? Ari blinks. Wait—what is that?
She debates asking, but decides to play it cool. Don’t look dumb… just Google it later.

“…I don’t have a middle name. I’m not a fan of sweet things. Except—”
She glances at Ari, voice dipping ever so slightly—
“Certain sweet little women...”

Ari’s entire face flushes, hot and pink.
She sinks a little in her seat, giddy and undone.

Lyra, hands firm on the wheel, feels the pull of Ari’s stare and risks a glance. That’s right… You make me blush, I’ll make you blush three times more, she thinks, lips twitching in the smallest smile.

Ari turns to the dashboard. The navigation line confirms it: they’re heading toward Pomona. Her smile begins to fade.

"Are you… driving me home?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Yes," Lyra says. Then, catching something in Ari’s tone, she adds, "Or… did you want to go somewhere else?"

"Oh, I…"

I wanted to see your place. I wanted to know how you live. What art you have. What books you keep on your nightstand.

"Yes?" Lyra prompts.

Ari twists a bit in her seat. "I… thought maybe… we’d go to your place…?"

Lyra’s eyes widen slightly. This omega is either boldly direct… or adorably clueless.

"Uhm—" Lyra clears her throat. "We could go to yours. Have some tea, maybe."

Why did I say that? I don’t want to be in that neighborhood…

...

But it’s too late—they’re already pulling up.

Lyra steps out of the car beside Ari, eyes sweeping the street. Cracked sidewalks. A flickering streetlamp. A cluster of teens loitering near the corner, low music thumping from a speaker.

It’s not dangerous. But it’s not what she wants for Ari.

She hides the tension in her shoulders, smooths her expression, and walks beside her like everything is perfectly fine.

Ari throws a cheerful wave at the teens. “Hey!”

They wave back, a few grinning. One shouts, “Nice car!”

“We’re safe. See?” Ari says with a small smile.

“Mm-hm… let’s get inside,” Lyra murmurs.

Once the door shuts behind them, Lyra takes in the apartment.

It’s not awful, but it’s definitely cluttered. Lived-in. Sketches pinned to the walls, paint-streaked mugs on the counter, an unmade couch-bed hybrid with a worn blanket tossed over it. The scent of linseed oil lingers faintly in the air.

Ari follows Lyra’s gaze—and dies inside.

“Oh goddess—uhh—I didn’t clean today, this is so embarrassing!” she blurts, cheeks blazing. “It’s not always like this! I mean—it is, but not when I have guests! I mean—!”

Lyra’s gaze lands on the couch, then lingers. She smiles.

“Actually… by looking at this place, I feel like I know you even more.”

Ari freezes. She’s horrified.

“You don’t have to say that,” Ari mumbles.

“I’m not just saying it.” Lyra turns toward her, voice soft. “It’s full of life. Like you.”

Ari wants to melt into the floor. Or kiss her. Possibly both. One first, then the other.

Lyra looks at her and smiles—tender, open, almost reverent. “This place feels warm and cozy… like you.”

Ari’s breath catches. Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly. Without thinking, she cups Lyra’s face and presses her lips to hers.

Lyra freezes for a beat—startled.

Then something shifts.
Like a spark catching dry tinder.

She grabs Ari by the waist, lifting her effortlessly. Her mouth finds Ari’s again, fierce and hungry, kissing her like she needs her soul.

Ari gasps, arms wrapping around Lyra’s neck instinctively as she’s carried across the small room. They crash into the couch bed in a flurry of limbs, breath, and desperate want.

“Ari…” Lyra groans, pushing her down gently but firmly, hovering above her.

Ari trembles beneath her, feeling the weight, the heat. It’s a little forceful—and she likes it.
“Lyra… Lyra… careful…”

But Lyra’s eyes blaze. Her voice is low, unshakable.
“No.”

Ari blinks. “Huh?”

“No, Ari,” Lyra repeats, gaze locked on hers. “You’re just saying that, but you want me to be rough.”

And something in Ari unravels.
She feels her whole body hum with desire.

Lyra… I do…

Lyra’s mouth is wild on her lips—biting, licking, kissing with urgency. Her hands glide down Ari’s legs, up her thighs, slow and firm, teasing every inch of soft skin. Ari parts her legs, skirt riding up—she doesn’t care.

Lyra kisses her jaw, then her neck, trailing warmth. One of her hands guides Ari’s wrists above her head, pinning them to the cushion. Long enough to make Ari feel wanted, claimed. Then she lets go, but Art's hands stay there.

Both of Lyra’s hands explore now—down Ari’s sides, across her hips, gripping her thighs.

“I know we said no sex,” Lyra murmurs against her skin, fingers curling into the hem of her skirt. “But this… this isn’t exactly that.”

She slides down and presses a kiss to Ari’s inner thigh. Then, reverently, her lips find the fabric of Ari’s underwear.

Ari gasps, her fingers tightening around the couch cushions.
“Lyra… oh ga—!…”

Lyra smiles softly against her. “I’ve got you,” she whispers.

She nestles between Ari’s thighs, parting them with her hands—firm, grounding, tender.
Then she leans in and kisses her center through the cloth.

“Ah—!”

A slow, deliberate kiss.
Then another.
And then her mouth opens—warm breath, teasing tongue, soft suckling against the damp fabric.

Ari jolts. Her body reacts before her mind can catch up.
She threads her fingers into Lyra’s hair, gasping.
“Oh my goddess…!!”

Lyra hums, the sound vibrating against her, playful and focused. She licks again, her mouth making soft, wet sounds—pleasure sounds—like she’s savoring her favorite taste.

Ari shivers violently, hips twitching, breath caught in her throat.

Lyra adds a delicate bite—barely there, more worship than tease—and when Ari moans, she pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes fluttering closed as if overwhelmed.

“Ah… Ari…” she breathes. “You’re really… delicious.”

The words land softly and envelop Ari.

Trembling and flushed, she strokes Lyra’s hair, voice breaking.
“Lyra… take me… I can’t help it… move the underwear …if you want… and take me”

The words hit Lyra like lightning. Her breath hitches. Her smile turns molten.

“Ari…” she murmurs, mouth at her belly. “If you ask me…”

She pushes herself up, kisses her, just below the navel, her breath hot.

“I won't just move the underwear… I'll rip it and bury myself inside you…”

Ari’s lips part. The want is there, raw and ready. She almost says yes.

But—
Camille.

The memory flashes like cold water. The almosts. The pull. The confusion.

Uaagh! I’m such a mess. I still want to date Camille. I’m such a selfish, stupid stupid stupid—!!!

Her face gives her away.

Lyra pauses, instantly attuned. “Ari?”

Ari blinks up at her, caught, guilt and longing tangled in her gaze.
“Ah… sorry… I… I think this is close to being sex,” she says softly, honestly.

Lyra looks at her for a long moment. Then she nods, her chest rising with a deep, steadying breath.
“You’re right…” she murmurs, gently lowering Ari’s skirt. “I… I lost it again.”

Ari exhales hard, then throws her head back with a groan.
“Uuugh! I’m such a mess! And… and now… you know it!”

She sulks, curling into herself like a scolded cat.

Lyra watches the small, flustered woman pouting on the worn-out couch, and despite everything, a smile tugs at her lips.

Without a word, she lifts Ari up easily.
“Whoa—” Ari squeaks as Lyra shifts to sit, settling Ari in her lap, cradling her from behind.

Lyra wraps her arms around Ari, holding her close, her breath warm against her ear.
“This…” she whispers with a soft smile, “is definitely not sex.”

Ari shivers at the intimacy, then lets out a small, surprised giggle.

There’s a quiet beat, then Lyra adds, almost reluctantly, “I hated seeing you all cozy with Camille on the beanbag at the office…”

Ari tenses slightly, her smile faltering. Lyra’s voice is so close, so honest—it makes her chest ache.

“Ah… I don’t know what to say, Lyra…” Ari murmurs. “Maybe I need to be stronger… or just… not be so cuddly at the office.”

Lyra laughs quietly, the sound wrapping around them like a blanket.
“‘Cuddly at the office,’” she repeats, amused, then hugs her tighter.
“I’m jealous, alright? I want you all to myself… I hate that deal we have with Camille…alright?”

She pauses, then continues, her voice dipping lower, more vulnerable.
“But I don’t want this to be some quick burn. I don’t want to ravage you for a few months and then realize we have nothing in common. I want more than that. With you.”

Ari’s breath catches.

Ravage you for a few months.
Her brain is definitely stuck on that. Replaying it. Savoring it.
But she nods anyway. Because everything else Lyra said… she wants that too.

There’s a quiet moment, warm and a little tangled, before Ari whispers, her voice dreamy, hopeful:
“Do you want to stay here? Like… spend the night? Without … you know… breaking the contract?”

Lyra kisses her cheek, soft and affectionate. Then her lips drift lower, and she licks gently at Ari’s neck.

Ari shivers, breath hitching.

“I would love to,” Lyra murmurs, voice thick with restraint, “but… I don’t think I can…”
She kisses her neck again, slower this time.

“Oh, Lyra…” Ari breathes out, trembling.

“Ari…” Lyra echoes, just as breathless.

It’s happening again—the heat, the ache, the magnetic pull between them.

But Lyra catches herself. She presses her forehead gently to Ari’s shoulder, sighing.
“Ah… I gotta stop…”

And this time, she really means it.

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She steps out of Ari’s warm little hideout, the night air cool against her flushed skin. As Lyra climbs into her sleek black Rivian, she glances back one more time.

Ari is at the window, waving softly, wrapped in a blanket, cheeks still pink.

Lyra pauses before getting into her car, glancing back. She smiles with ache and waves.

But Ari’s heart is in pain. There’s something in the way Lyra looks at her—they both want the same.

So why not?

She’s so thoughtful. So sensual. She chose the place for their date mindfully—Ari knows it. She actually thought of her and her likes.

And she's so hot… aaghh! I’m such a mess… 

And Lyra desires her. Ari can see it, feel it. Lyra wants her so badly… that she’s reluctant to stay.

But maybe—just maybe—Ari could teach her. Help her be stronger. Help her feel safe enough to resist, to stay without crossing the line.

Because Ari wants her to stay. Goddess of all omegas, she wants her to stay.

“Stay…” 

Stay .

Ari breathes the word out without thinking, barely audible through the glass.

Lyra pauses, halfway into her car. She looks back, eyes catching the movement of Ari’s lips.

She knows what Ari said. But still—

“What?” Lyra asks, like she needs to hear it again.

Ari doesn’t repeat it. She just stands there, frozen in the window light, heart pounding.

And then Lyra closes the car door.

She walks toward the house—slow, deliberate steps. Ari’s breath catches. She hadn’t expected that.

Now they’re face to face. Just the window between them.

Lyra steps closer, and Ari meets her at the door. She opens it—just a crack—and they’re suddenly standing inches apart, looking into each other’s eyes.

Lyra’s pupils dilate. Her voice is low. “You said something, Ari.”

She leans in slightly. “What did you say?”

Ari trembles. Her voice is barely a whisper.

“…Stay.”

 

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

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Author’s Note

Thanks for reading this chapter — I really appreciate you taking the time to follow Ari and Lyra’s story. If something in this chapter stood out to you, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Next chapter is smutty 🖤🖤🖤 - black hearts for Lyra .

I'm trying to draw Lyra but... ugh... I don´t feel that I can get her right like she is in my head...

Anyway, the workweek is almost over, hang in theeree! 

 

Edit, I tried making Copilot draw Lyra, it's something: https://ko-fi.com/reddesertfeline

Chapter 12: Mistakes Were Made (But You’re Mine Now) 😳🔥

Summary:

A quiet night, a shared couch, and the growing weight of unspoken truths. As restraint is tested and vulnerabilities rise to the surface, Ari and Lyra find themselves closer than ever—physically and emotionally. What begins as a pretense becomes something far more real, tender, and tangled. Secrets are confessed, tension simmers, and by the end, nothing between them feels quite the same.

“What do you think about me, Ari? Why did you ask me out?”

The question lands like a stone in still water. Somehow it feels like Lyra is testing her.

Ari blinks. Her heart pounds in her ears.

She tries to answer, but her mouth is dry.

Because the truth is—

Ari wants to be honest.

Honest about the whole asking out thing.

“Lyra… I… what if I didn’t mean to ask you out?”

Lyra smiles, slow and calm. “But you did.”

Ari’s brows draw together. “But… what if I hadn’t?”

Lyra tilts her head. “This question is confusing. And you still  haven't answered mine.”

 

Ari looks away, heart thudding.
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They’re lying together now, pressed close, under Ari’s carefully worded excuse—helping Lyra gain restraint.

 

On the couch again.

 

Lyra doesn’t argue. She doesn’t tease or smirk. She just nods, quiet and accepting, like it makes perfect sense.

 

But inside, she's burning.

 

I just want to touch her.

I want to bury my face in her hair, breathe her in.

I want her skin pressed against mine. Her sounds. Her thighs around me.

Her around me… clutching…

 

But she doesn’t move like that. She keeps it buried, deep, where it won’t show.

 

Only her arms betray her—strong and warm around Ari, pulling her close.

 

They both breathe slowly. Too slowly. Measured. They’re trying not to betray themselves, not to let their arousal rise to the surface.

 

Ari strokes Lyra’s face, then down her arm. She nuzzles against her neck, barely brushing skin.

 

“I learned these breathing techniques from the videos…”

 

Lyra groans—soft and involuntary—and holds her tighter.

 

Ari’s breath catches.

 

Lyra feels unreal. Like some tall, shadowed creature made of warmth and tension and restraint, wrapped around her.

 

Not dangerous. Not exactly. But not tame, either.

 

Goddess of all omegas… I can feel an aura of tension around her.

Goddess… I want to relief her tension somehow… aghh I'm awful!

…And she smells so good… 

 

Like something earthy and clean and faintly sweet—like night air, or some forbidden thing you were never supposed to touch.

 

Ari doesn’t know all the things Lyra wants.

But she can feel them, just below the surface.

 

She's a lot like me… Ari thinks

 

“Lyra,” Ari murmurs softly, her fingers still tracing lazy patterns on her arm. “Did you ever have an artistic phase?”

 

Lyra smiles faintly, eyes half-lidded. “What do you mean by an artistic phase?”

 

“I mean… did you ever paint? Or sculpt? Or do something artistic? Before being…” Ari hesitates, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “You know. A finance person… or product person...”

 

That makes Lyra smile wider, but there’s a blush rising to her cheeks. Luckily Ari is not looking at her face.

 

Ari continues, “Because you seem really sensitive. Not like—your typical finance… woman.”

 

That catches Lyra off guard. Both the comment and how gently Ari says it.

 

Her mind drifts.

 

She thinks of her mother one of the many abandoned omegas out there… out of that city.

Not rich. Not even close. They barely made it through some months.

There were days when Lyra’s belly ached with hunger—real hunger, the kind you can’t forget.

 

But her mother… she had this softness. A sensitive soul who never gave up on beauty.

She brought Lyra to every free exhibit, every public concert, street performance, poetry reading, community mural, those artistic and cultural events felt like an escape at first, and like handouts from the city later.

She’d whisper, “You’ll buy one of these paintings one day, baby. And hang it in your own place.”

Not out of materialism, but as a way of saying you’ll live differently—safely, beautifully, surrounded by art.

 

Lyra had never practiced the arts herself, but she had absorbed them—held them close. Whether during the brutal years at military school or the bittersweet moments in her fragile childhood home, the arts had always been a quiet refuge.

 

The memory of her mom, her home, calms her. Grounds her.

She exhales, the heat of desire dimming, replaced by a different kind of warmth.

 

“I didn’t actually practice anything,” she says quietly, looking down at Ari with soft eyes. “But I’ve always been an admirer of the arts.”

 

Ari nods slowly, eyes searching her face.

 

Ah… I should’ve known…

Wealthy people always have time to admire great art…

She probably knows more about it than me.

 

“When I told you I wanted to, perhaps, go to your place,” Ari begins, her voice uncertain, “what I meant is that…” She pauses, hesitates. “I wanted to see your place because I think… one’s home can say a lot about the person living in it.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

Then Lyra snorts softly. Not mocking—just surprised.

 

Ari blinks. Oh no.

 

She just implied her small, chaotic rental says something about her soul.

 

She rushes in to fix it. “Wait, no—this is a rental. I don’t even own half the things here. I know you’re a homeowner, so I just—”

 

Lyra smiles gently. “I understand. Don’t worry.”

 

Then her gaze drifts, slow and thoughtful, around the room. “And don’t bother explaining your apartment.”

 

She takes it in—the mismatched mugs, the clean blanket folded neatly on the couch, the soft light that Ari clearly adjusted to make the space feel warmer.

 

“Your place is actually nice. Nicer than some others I’ve seen.”

 

Her gaze lingers.

 

And as it does, memories begin to layer themselves behind her eyes.

 

A tiny kitchen, a chipped tile floor. Cold winters and a rattling heater that never really worked. But her mom always made it feel like something more. She scrubbed every surface, lined the cabinets with old newspaper, stuck up faded postcards as decoration. Even when they had almost nothing, she made it tidy. Made it theirs.

 

And now—Lyra sees that same quiet effort here.

 

She looks at Ari and thinks:

You try. Even when the world gives you scraps. You make it feel like home.

You don't look the type to come from a privileged education or have connections so I wonder… How did you get the job at this company? Anyway…

 

Lyra’s voice softens, low and velvety. “It feels like you. It's warm, I can see the details that show your tenderness, those flowers, that poster, I can see how you adapted this couch… you’re resourceful…resilient… cute…”

 

Ari’s breath catches.

 

There’s something in that voice that wraps around her—slow, warm, certain.

 

And also, Lyra feels so real.

 

Ari feels something settle low in her stomach. A heat she wasn’t expecting.

 

Lyra’s eyes don’t move, they are almost all black.

 

And Ari—she’s not sure what to say, because right now, she’s too busy trying to keep her legs from spreading.

 

“You know, Ari,” Lyra says, her voice calm, but weighted, “it really surprised me that an omega was daring enough to ask me out.”

 

Ari stiffens slightly. Her fingers freeze where they’ve been resting against Lyra’s arm.

 

“Not even alphas usually ask me out,” Lyra continues, tone unreadable. “Well… not many, at least. But I know they want to.”

 

She pauses. Her eyes linger on Ari. “For example… Camille.”

 

The air shifts. Something sharp and unspoken threads between them.

 

Ari swallows. Her throat feels tight.

 

“But,” Lyra adds, voice gentler now, “when you asked me out, I knew you had something special. And I wasn't wrong.”

 

She leans in just a bit closer—not aggressively, but with a quiet intensity that makes it impossible for Ari to look away.

 

“What do you think about me, Ari? Why did you ask me out?”

 

The question lands like a stone in still water. Somehow it feels like Lyra is testing her.

 

Ari blinks. Her heart pounds in her ears.

She tries to answer, but her mouth is dry.

 

Because the truth is—

Ari wants to be honest.

 

Honest about the whole asking out thing.

 

“Lyra… I… what if I didn’t mean to ask you out?”

 

Lyra smiles, slow and calm. “But you did.”

 

Ari’s brows draw together. “But… what if I hadn’t?”

 

Lyra tilts her head. “This question is confusing. And you still  haven't answered mine.”

 

Ari looks away, heart thudding.

 

Because the thought is suddenly too loud:

What if we get serious? What if she falls for me?

What if we move in together? Get married? Have a baby? A lot more babies...

 

And then, one day, Lyra finds out—that I never even meant to ask her out in the first place. She will be hurt…

 

What if that tiny truth makes everything unravel? I'll be just another abandoned omega… 

Stop it, stop overthinking!!!

 

Ari trembles.

 

Ughh! Just confess!!

 

She wants to reach for Lyra, and also run from her at the same time.

 

But Lyra is still watching her. Still close. Still warm.

Unmoving. Unafraid.

 

“Lyraaaa… you're too good for meee… I’m such a mess!” Ari exclaims, hiding her face in her hands.

 

Lyra chuckles, the sound like velvet brushing over her skin.

 

“Is that what you think of me?” she asks gently. “Ari…”

 

Ari peeks through her fingers, heart pounding.

 

I think you’re fierce…

You had to become fierce, because you’re sensitive.

So sensitive you can be easily hurt… and you probably have been.

 

And I don’t want to hurt you.

 

I want to do the opposite.

The entire opposite.

 

But I didn't knew any of this before today!

 

She keeps those words inside. Doesn’t say them.

Not yet.

 

Instead, she moves.

 

Boldly.

 

Ari reaches up, cups Lyra’s face in her hands, and kisses her—deep and slow.

 

Not shy. Not tentative.

 

It’s a claiming kiss, full of heat and intent.

 

Lyra flinches—just slightly, caught off guard—

 

But then her hands are on Ari, caressing her body up and down with a slow, deliberate touch. Her eyes close slowly.

 

Fingertips tracing her sides, her back, her waist.

 

The kiss deepens.

 

“Lyra…” Ari breathes.

 

But Lyra pulls back slightly, holding her gently by the arms. Her lips part, her voice low.

 

“Ari… stop.”

 

Ari blinks, heart racing.

 

Lyra meets her eyes. “You were supposed to teach me restraint.”

 

Ari trembles, breath caught in her throat. Then, in a whisper:

 

““I… I’m the worst person in the world to teach you restraint.”

Ari’s voice wavers, thick with nerves.

 

She swallows hard, cheeks flushed.

 

“And… about your question…I just wanted you to stay… because I think you're so hot…”

The last part slips out in a whisper, almost a whimper, like she’s embarrassed she even said it.

 

This isn’t what I’m supposed to be honest about, Ari thinks, horrified. “I’m so pathetic.”

 

But Lyra chuckles again—soft, dark, and devastating.

 

“You’re not pathetic,” she murmurs, her hands brushing slowly over Ari’s hips. “You’re just very, very bad at pretending you don’t want me.”

 

You’re a little bit like me…

 

Ari lets out a shaky exhale. Lyra’s body is pressed close. Her scent is rich and dizzying. Ari can’t stop looking at her mouth.

 

But guilt creeps in again.

 

The real truth. The stupid, chaotic beginning.

 

“I didn’t mean to ask you out,” Ari blurts, heart thudding.

 

Lyra pauses. Still close. Still touching. Her eyes narrow a bit—not angry. Just curious.

 

“Oh?”

 

“That day. In the office.” Ari swallows. “I meant to ask someone else out.”

 

Lyra blinks.

 

“…Camille?”

 

Ari groans. “Yeah. I—uughhhh. I was yelling. Across the room. I said, ‘Do you want to go… have coffee?’ or something… and Camille did look up, but you were standing so close to her, and you answered. And I panicked. I didn’t clarify. And then suddenly, I was going out with you.”

 

She hides her face in her hands. Again. “And now we’re all dating, and you’re both amazing, and I keep thinking if you knew—if you really thought about how that started—”

 

A long silence stretches between them.

 

Then Lyra speaks.

 

“I knew it.”

 

Her voice is low. Calm. But there’s a crackle underneath it. Like something slow-burning.

 

“I knew it. Plus, you were so obvious about it, you were so jumpy. Your face went blank when I said yes, then red.”

 

She tilts her head, eyes dark and unreadable. “But you let me kiss you anyway. And even wanted to have sex on the first date…”

 

Ari averts her gaze, shame spreading across her face. “I didn’t plan it. I just… you were so confident, and I didn’t want to stop it. And then I liked it. And… the dating… Camille was okay with it, and it somehow—”

 

Lyra moves—slowly, deliberately. She takes Ari’s wrists and pins them to the couch cushions, her touch firm.

Ari’s breath catches.

Lyra leans over her, their bodies aligned now, the heat between them unmistakable.

“You asked Camille out,” she murmurs, voice low and controlled, “but I didn’t allow it. I took the invitation before she could.”

Ari trembles beneath her. “Lyra… so when you were praising me… for asking you out… that time in our date… and right now…”

“I was testing you,” Lyra says, her voice like velvet pulled taut. “Pushing you. Seeing what you'd do, seeing if you’d come up with lies or do something else. ”

She dips lower, lips brushing the edge of Ari’s jaw.

“But Ari…”

Her breath is warm against her skin.

“You chose me. You stayed. And now?” Lyra's lips graze her ear. “You’re mine.”

Ari gasps, arching slightly as Lyra’s hands slide down her sides, slow and unrelenting, claiming every inch.

“All this time,” Lyra whispers, “you’ve been walking around with your little secret, thinking I wouldn’t notice. You wanted Camille to pin you first, didn’t you? Because you think she can fuck you in ways you crave. But she can’t. You asked her out because of that mistake.”

Ari’s mouth parts, but no sound comes out.
But Camille was so close… she held me… she was about to… how can you know she can't satisfy me? How is she so sure?

Lyra kisses her—slow, consuming, possessive.

“I corrected your mistake,” she says against her lips. “I got to you first, like it should have been… like it is…”

Ari trembles, breathless, melting into Lyra’s touch, her thoughts scattered.

“Lyra… but… Camille… she almost…”

“Almost what?” Lyra asks, her gaze sharp, pupils dilated.

“She…” Ari bites her lip, instantly regretting the slip.
Shut up, Ari…

Lyra’s eyes narrow—sharp, perceptive. She sees it.

“You were about to say something… about Camille.” Her voice drops, almost a growl. “That she almost fucked you, weren’t you?”

Ari lowers her gaze, caught. Then, with a shaky sigh, she nods.

“You say she can’t give me what I want, but… she almost did…”

Lyra's expression shifts—possessiveness blooming in a slow, dangerous smile.

“You… you—”

Ari slowly releases one of her wrists, she lifts her hand, cups her face with that one hand. Gentle. Deliberate.

Lyra freezes.

She’s touching me so kindly? After everything I just said?

Ari looks at her—eyes soft, warm, not afraid.

“You knew I had rejected you from the start,” Ari whispers. “But you still pursued me…”

Something in Lyra falters. Her grip on Ari's wrist loosens slightly. Her chest rises in a sharp, shallow breath.

Why does that feel like… grace? No one’s ever looked at me like that while I was being this much of a monster.

She blinks slowly, pupils trembling. Her voice wants to rise, to bite back— You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.
But her body doesn’t move. Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

“I think… saving distances… we’re a lot alike in some ways,” Ari says softly.

Lyra’s throat tightens. She tries to scoff—just a twitch of her lip—but the sound doesn’t make it out.
She’s too aware of Ari’s hand on her cheek. The warmth of it. The stillness.

I’ve pinned her down, laid claim to her body … and she’s… feeling sorry for me? empathetic??

Her jaw shifts, tightens, then relaxes again.

She’s not afraid of me.
She should be.

Lyra takes Ari's hand off of her face by the wrist and pins it against the couch again.

But she’s not.

Lyra’s gaze softens—just a flicker, but enough. Her hands remain on Ari, still framing her body, still claiming her… but the force is gone. What remains is contact. Presence.

Ari speaks, her voice quiet but clear.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though…”

Lyra’s posture shifts—slightly more open, more receptive. Listening. Her hands, still on her.

“Why didn’t you protect me from Hazel?”

Lyra’s eyes search hers for a moment, then she answers, calm and direct.

“I did. I sent Camille to handle it. I can’t touch Hazel… not without setting off everything. I knew only Suzie or Camille could intervene. They can hurt her and nothing will happen to them…”

So something will happen to Lyra if she does anything to Hazel…?

Ari takes in the words, that’s all she needs for now. Part of her is curious, wants to ask more.

But something deeper pulls at her. Something warmer. More urgent.

And in that moment, her curiosity rests and something else awakens.

She lowers her gaze briefly. Then tilts her head.

And gently—deliberately—she turns her face toward Lyra’s wrist, still near her cheek.

Her lips press softly to the skin on the inside. A kiss, warm and slow, almost peaceful. 

Lyra inhales sharply. That place—tender, vulnerable, the pulse so close beneath the skin.

Ari didn’t kiss her lips. Didn’t ask to be let go.

She kissed the part of Lyra that was holding her, pinning her down.

Ari feels Lyra’s pulse against her lips, she gives her wrist a subtle, almost imperceptible lick before parting.

Lyra stares down at her, eyes wide, her mouth parting as something inside her tightens and loosens all at once.

For a breathless moment, Lyra feels it:
She sees me. She understands me. She’s still here. She accepts this… 

The anger in her shoulders melts—subtle but unmistakable. The tension she held so tightly unspools all at once, like a thread cut loose.

But something else creeps in.

Ari notices. Her eyes widen, voice trembling just slightly.
“Lyra… are you… scared?”

Lyra’s eyes widen too—caught. Exposed.
She blinks. Then, quietly, she lets go of Ari.

Just like that, the space between them expands.

. . .

The door opens.

Lyra steps out into the night, her movements fast but not frantic—controlled, yet clearly retreating. Her eyes wide, her stare fixes on the car.

Ari scrambles off the couch and follows. “Lyra, wait! Stay!”

Lyra pauses just outside, one foot already beside her sleek electric vehicle. She doesn’t turn to face Ari. Doesn’t risk it.

Her voice, when it comes, is low and steady—but tinged with something raw.

“Yes,” she says. “I am scared… you were honest with me so…”

A long beat.

“…I won't stay tonight but, one day I will . Alright? ”

Ari stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, cheeks burning.

She nods—but Lyra doesn’t see it.

She gets on the EV, the lights flicker on. A soft hum builds as it powers up.

Lyra rides off into the night.

.

.

.

Ari closes the door slowly, the soft click echoing in the quiet room.

Lyra is gone. But her presence lingers.

The scent of her still hangs in the air—clean, electric, unmistakably her. The warmth of her body hasn't faded from the room yet. Ari can still feel the press of her hands, the weight of her gaze, the softness beneath all that intensity.

She turns toward the couch.

The cushions are slightly askew where they tangled. The impression of Lyra’s body still faintly there.

Ari exhales shakily, a small, helpless smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m never going to be able to work on that couch again…”

She stands there for a moment longer, caught between the afterglow of something tender and the ache of something unfinished.

And then—slowly—she sits. Right where Lyra had held her.

Still warm.

Still hers.

She inhales the scent.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Happy Monday! 

See you later!

Chapter 13: Hunted

Summary:

An office vanishes. A single glance lingers too long. And one very explicit video sends shockwaves through the design floor. Between stolen touches, biting jealousy, and dangerously close encounters, the power dynamics shift—and no one’s playing it cool anymore. Temptation brews stronger than the nitro, and suddenly it’s not just about work.

Because some are just flirting with fire… and others are ready to burn for real.

Monday.

Ari arrives early.

She walks into the office with purpose, clutching her thermos and scanning the halls. Her steps quicken as she nears Lyra’s door—expecting to see her inside, already working.

But—
There’s no door.

No office.

Just an empty space where it used to be.

“Huh…?” she whispers, blinking.

.

.

Meanwhile, at Cool Beans—

Two nitro cold brews rest between them, condensation trickling slowly down the sides of the glass. Lyra and Camille sit side by side in a corner booth, the silence between them thick and charged.

“So you’re telling me,” Camille begins, her voice low, “that you always knew she meant to ask me out… and you wanted to punish her for it?”

“Yes,” Lyra says plainly.

“But now you don’t.”

“Aha.”

Camille narrows her eyes slightly. “It sounds like you were just looking for a reason to relapse.”

“Maybe,” Lyra admits. “But I could’ve taken any other omega in the office. I didn’t. I’m not going to relapse.”

Camille sips her drink, eyes steady on Lyra.
That’s a little arrogant, Lyra… she thinks.

“I bet this is more complicated than that—” she begins, but her words falter.

Something catches her attention—a scent, faint but unmistakable. Her expression tightens.

She leans in, voice low and cutting.
“I can smell her on you. On your mouth… it still lingers.”

Lyra freezes.
What?
Her thoughts reel. I washed my mouth… my face…
But the look Camille gives her says it all—
it wasn’t enough.

“You broke our contract,” Camille growls.

Lyra keeps her eyes on the drink. “It wasn’t technically sex, Camille.”

Camille scoffs sharply. “Don’t you treat me like a fool.”

“But… it wasn’t,” Lyra says, her voice quieter now. “I stopped. Just like you did.”

Camille’s jaw tightens. Her words slice through the low café murmur.
“My thing was before we signed the contract. Yours wasn’t.”

Lyra doesn’t argue.

“I… that’s why I’m telling you how I felt,” she says.

“Liar,” Camille spits softly. “You weren’t going to tell me you almost had sex with her. Just that you… kind of, sort of… had nefarious intentions. Or were pivoting between nefarious and wholesome the whole time.”

She takes a long, slow sip of her coffee—dark and bitter.

“You always say it’s about restraint,” she murmurs. “So why didn’t you?”

Lyra exhales, eyes fixed on the slow swirl of her cold brew.
“…I did stop… the contract wasn't specific on limits… besides… Ari, yes, she’s an omega, but she can be… I don't know… she’s silent one minute and the next she just takes what she wants.”

Camille blinks.
Just like you!!.
You must have noticed!!!

And you gave in!!

A beat of silence passes before Camille sighs, leaning back against the booth.

“Well… I guess it’s my turn to take her out, then. You’ve had two dates with her. I’ve had zero.”

Lyra’s head snaps up. “What?! You’ve had two!”

Camille shrugs coolly. “Nope. Those weren’t dates.”

Lyra lets out a sharp, annoyed chuckle. “Now don’t you treat me like a fool.”

Camille smirks into her drink. “I’m serious. Hanging out at work? Going for drinks after? Those were ambiguous social interactions at best.”

Lyra narrows her eyes. “You cuddled her on the beanie. In.The.Office”

“She initiated.”

“You took her to your place and almost fucked her!”

Camille shrugs again, calm and unbothered. “Still not a date.”

Lyra grits her teeth. “If you touch her—”

“Relax,” Camille cuts in, eyes glinting. “I said take her out. Not pin her to a couch and have almost-sex with her.”

Lyra looks away, biting down a growl. They both know Lyra did more than that, but Camille is ok with it, since she has similar plans for Ari.

Camille sips her coffee. “Besides… it’s her choice, isn’t it?”

Ari wants me… I know it.
Lyra almost lost control with her—I saw the way she ran from her office the other day. Lyra's too much for her.
I’ve got this in the bag, Camille thinks, a slow smile curling on her lips.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment. The silence stretches—tense, knowing.

.

.

.

The elevator dings.

“Morning, Lyra. Camille,” Hazel says with a grin, holding her coffee like a prop she doesn’t need. Her eyes flick between them—sharp, knowing.

Ari hears the greeting from down the hall. She lifts her head instinctively, eyes searching.

And then she sees her.

Lyra.

The familiar weight in Ari’s chest returns—warm, magnetic, alive. Just seeing her makes something stir. The memory of her hands. Her voice. Her retreat.

Ari watches her walk through the open office space, tall and unreadable. Still holding something back.

And suddenly, she wants to know everything.

Why can’t she touch Hazel? Why does she only send Camile or Suzie? Why did she run the moment they were closer than ever? Did that scare her? or was it something else?
What happened to make her like this?

But before she can even finish the thought—
She sees Camille.

Walking beside her.

Casual. Beautiful. A little smug.

Ari's breath catches.

Right… Camille.

She had forgotten about her entirely.

A flicker of guilt pulses through Ari’s chest—light, sharp, confusing. She lowers her gaze, forcing herself to refocus on her screen.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, motionless.

But her mind is still tangled up in Lyra .

Fuck. I want to talk to her. Alone.
But it’s only Monday. And without her office, how the hell is she supposed to find a moment? Corner her in the hallway? Wait by the bathroom? Uuughh!

She glances up again, pretending not to. They’re heading for the stairs—Lyra and Camille side by side, moving as if the tension between them doesn’t radiate.

“So you got rid of it?” Camille asks, nodding toward the empty space where Lyra’s office used to be.

Lyra shrugs, nonchalant. “Didn’t need it anymore.”

Ari watches them, subtly, out of the corner of her eye.

Camille is the first to notice. She lifts a hand and waves, composed and charming.

Ari hesitates. Then gives a half-hearted wave back. Polite. Distant.

Camille’s brow twitches.

She definitely notices.

She doesn’t say anything—just keeps walking—but her eyes narrow slightly as she looks at Lyra.

What the fuck did Lyra do to her?

They reach the top of the stairs, tension still crackling between them.

“So,” Lyra says casually, adjusting her blazer, “I’ll be at that empty desk by the design team if you need me.”

Camille stops mid-step. “What?! You dismantled your office just to sit with the omegas?”

Lyra lets out a subtle laugh. Low. Controlled.
“I’m doing it because of something you said, actually. I do listen to you, you know?”

Camille blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Lyra shrugs, eyes ahead. “You told me I isolate too much. That I live above everyone, not with them. You weren’t wrong.”

She gestures vaguely. “I need to touch grass. Be around people. Omegas, betas… whatever.”

Camille stares at her, stunned.

I didn’t say that! Where did she get that from?!

No smirk. No sarcasm.

And for a moment, Camille forgets how to respond.

What the fuck did Ari do to Lyra?

.

.

Business on the second floor wrapped up, Camille storms into the executive bathroom like a woman on the brink.

She summons her besties with a group text:
“Emergency. Bathroom. Now.”

A few minutes later, Suzie leans against the sink, arms crossed—her gaze lingering on Camille a beat longer than necessary. Hazel’s by the mirror, reapplying gloss like she has all the time in the world.

“And she just… waved at me. Like— meh .” Camille throws her hands up. “No spark. No smile. Just this half-dead wave.”

Suzie bites her lip, clearly holding back a smirk—but something in her eyes is less amused and more… measured.

Hazel rolls her eyes. “Maybe she was focused. You know, on her job .”

“And Lyra…” Camille lowers her voice like she’s revealing a ghost story. “Lyra is like… changed. She dismantled her office. She’s going to sit with the design team. With people… omegas .”

Suzie raises a brow. “ And what, you don’t like it?”

Camille grabs Suzie’s cheeks, holding her face a little too tightly. “Did you forget Lyra was an addict? Don´t you remember college?”

Suzie doesn’t flinch. She likes the touch. “I remember very well. But she’s been clean for ages now, she even stopped dating omegas... well, until now.”

Hazel leans in, arms crossed. “If anything, that sounds like progress, doesn’t it?”

Camille opens her mouth to argue, then falters. “…I don’t know.” She lets go of Suzie.

Suzie’s teasing edge softens. She glances down at the tiled floor, then back up, voice quieter.

“You really like her, huh?”

Camille blinks. “Lyra? No. I decided to let her go.”

Suzie rolls her eyes—this time more to cover something than to provoke. “No. Ari . Gosh, never mind.”

Hazel snorts and leans back against the counter. “That girl ain’t that special… she was about to be miinee … technically, I got to her first…”

Camille visibly recoils. Ew.

Suzie catches the reaction and smirks faintly, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. Then she tilts her head, studying Camille.

“On the other hand… what happened to you, Camille?”

Camille blinks. “What? Have I changed?”

Suzie leans in, her voice light but just a little too personal.
“You’re like… not powerful right now. Not that sexy, just like that time you got infatuated with Lyra in college and she was fucking omegas left and right. It’s not Lyra who’s back in college days, it’s you.”

Hazel gasps softly and gives Suzie a pat on the arm. “Suzie! Don’t be mean!”

Suzie shrugs, feigning innocence.
“Soooorrryyy, I’m just being honest” she sings, dragging out the word with a crooked smile—but she doesn’t look at Hazel. Her eyes are still on Camille.

Camille just stares back, deadpan. “I hate you for making me think about that…”

Suzie grins. “No, you don’t. You just hate being perceived, like actually perceived.”

Hazel snorts. “She is just off her game, it happens. It's not that deep.”

Camille crosses her arms. “I am not off my game. I am—processing.”

Suzie nods with exaggerated understanding, but there’s an edge of tension under the joke.
“Right. ‘Processing… or maybe just jealous?”

Camille glares.

Hazel quickly turns toward the mirror, pretending to fix her eyeliner but definitely hiding a smirk.

Camille exhales through her nose. “Whatever… I’ll ask her out on a date now. For real this time.”

Suzie blinks. “You’re asking out Lyra ?”

“No!” Camille snaps. “ Ari! ”

Suzie chuckles, arms folded across her chest—more tightly now. “Just checking. Your love triangle’s been a little… wobbly lately.”

Camille rolls her eyes. “It’s not a triangle…”

Hazel mutters under her breath, “I was almost in… it would have been a square.”

“Or a triangle with a dot by its side…” Suzie mutters.

Camille ignores them, pulling out her phone like she’s about to text right now.

“I was hoping for good advice from you, at least you Suzie, but you’re both useless…” she mutters.

Suzie watches her. She doesn’t say anything. But she looks… just a little too still.

“I have another concert this Friday…” Suzie mentions casually, not looking up. “You could bring Ari.”

Camille shakes her head. “No. I need it to be a real date. Just the two of us. Alone.”

Suzie frowns slightly, lips pressing together for a second.

Hazel loops an arm around Suzie’s shoulder and grins. “I’ll go, love. And we can make out after. Muah muah muah .” She peppers exaggerated kisses in the air near Suzie’s cheek.

Suzie rolls her eyes, smiles and doesn’t pull away.

Camille taps her fingers against the sink, thinking.
“How about… that other coffee place? The fancy one…”

“What, Red Brew?” Suzie raises an eyebrow. “That’s a little too—”

She stops. Her posture softens, expression shifting.
A smile tugs at the edge of her lips.

“…Actually, that’s a great idea.”

Hazel claps. “Yeah, yeah! That place is super fancy. You can totally out-fancy Lyra.”

Camille chuckles. “Not the point, but… bonus.”

Suzie glances at her, longer than necessary.
Quiet. Watching. Then, a small smile.

They fall into easier conversation—college days, how Lyra hooked up with half the omegas in Advanced Spanish Lit, how Suzie and Hazel used to fight all the time.

By the end, they’re laughing. Camille exits the bathroom.

Hazel turns to Suzie.
“Red Brew? Seriously? We both know that place isn’t her style.”

Suzie looks down, twirling a strand of hair. “I know.”

Hazel narrows her eyes. “You want them to stop dating, don’t you?”

Suzie doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look up.
“Maybe…”

Hazel blinks, quiet.

But, why?

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.

.

Ari’s phone buzzes.

She lifts it without thinking, her eyes skimming the screen.

Camille:
You and me, this Saturday. I’ll take you where you’ve never been before.

She reads it once. Then again.

A week ago, a message like that from Camille would’ve made her melt—cheeks warm, stomach fluttering, thoughts spinning.

But now?

She feels… nothing.

No heat. No flustered heartbeat. Just a quiet, flat stillness.

What’s happening to me? she wonders, phone still in hand.
When did Camille stop being the one I wanted?

She types a reply.

Ari:
Sounds great, can’t wait.

She hits send without thinking, then sets the phone aside and turns back to her screen.

The design system waits—tokens, components, a spacing issue she actually wants to fix.

She stares at it for a second, then smiles faintly to herself.

Wow… I can’t believe I’m more excited about my job than a date.

And yet, it’s true.
Is this healthy? Is this a good thing?

Before she can unpack it, Lyra walks by.

Ari flinches. Instinctively straightens in her seat.
She’s not the only one—several omegas shift, sit taller, eyes flicking toward the new presence in the room.

Lyra doesn’t acknowledge anyone. She moves with purpose, expression calm, posture composed. She chooses a desk—one a few rows back, not too close, but not far enough either.

She sits. Opens her laptop. Starts working.

No nod. No glance. No wave.

She’s avoiding me, Ari realizes.
And still—she feels her. Every movement. Every breath. The energy in the air changes.

Uuuuughh!!! I was on a roll! Ari clenches her jaw. And now she’s right there?! How am I supposed to focus with her three desks behind me?

.

 

Meanwhile, Lyra.

She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t dare.

I thought this was going to be easy…

Her fingers tap against the keyboard, filling in nonsense just to keep moving.

But how am I supposed to focus if she’s right there?

Back to Ari.

Uaaaaugh!! I can’t stand it! I’m about to—

Someone moves.

But it’s not her.

It’s Nova—the team’s pixie, soft-spoken and always a little too beautiful for comfort. She stands up quickly, head low, her expression shadowed. There’s a nervous energy about her as she makes her way toward the bathroom.

Hazel’s eyes follow her. Slow. Predatory. Like she already knows something’s about to happen.

Lyra notices the shift in Hazel’s expression. Just for a second.
Hazel feels it and masks it immediately, smiling, stretching as if she hadn’t just been hunting.

Ari turns slightly, glancing toward Lyra—casual, or at least trying to be.

Lyra senses it and instantly ducks behind her laptop, shoulders stiffening like a reflex.

Ari groans in silence.

Uuuugh!! This is unbearable!
How are we all pretending this is a normal workday?! Ari screams internally.

Hazel, however, is watching.

She notices everything—Lyra ducking behind her laptop, Ari visibly tense, and the whole design team slightly off their rhythm. The energy in the room is fractured, humming with unsaid things.

It’s perfect.

And there, like a gift, is Nova—pretty and prim, soft and sweet as sugar and so, so alone.

In the bathroom.

Hazel’s mouth quirks into the faintest smirk.

She knows she made a promise. No hunting. No vulnerable omegas. No Nova.

She promised Suzie.

Then again…

Suzie had made her promise it while Hazel was breathless, sprawled across her bed, legs trembling, begging for more. Suzie had been deep inside her when Hazel said it—voice shaky, eyes rolled back. Being grabbed by the nape of the neck. “I promise… harder please… Suzie… I promise!”

“Good girl…” the punk alpha had whispered, low and close against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

Not exactly a moment of objective clarity.

Hazel stands, stretching lazily. She glances toward the corridor that leads to the bathroom.

Just a check-in, she tells herself.

Just a moment.

She walks.

.

.

.

Fuck… the first one is always so good… Hazel thinks as she thrusts. It 's warm. Soft. Overwhelming.

“You’re mine…” she whispers, hands gripping Nova’s thighs as she lifts her, pressing her firmly against the wall.

Hazel looks at the omega in front of her—Nova, flushed and trembling, lips parted in something between disbelief and surrender.

For these few, fleeting minutes, she is everything.
The most beautiful, most sacred, most holy thing in Hazel’s world. Untouchable and completely hers.

And Nova…
She feels like she’s never felt before. Like something inside her is coming undone in the best possible way.

Hazel is ravenous—hungry, focused, intentional. She gives it everything, every ounce of restraint, every edge of desire. There’s no game in this, no half-measure. Just devotion cloaked in hunger. Or at least it feels like devotion to Nova. Because if there’s something Hazel is devoted to is to the hunt and the omegas, not one omega in specific.

Nova clings to her—Hazel, with her hard limbs and carved strength, feels like stone pressed against her skin.

But somehow… somehow even the granite against Nova’s back is warm.

.

.

.

Tuesday starts strong.

“This time I have undeniable proof!” Opal announces triumphantly, standing in front of Lyra’s desk—which now, unfortunately for everyone, sits very close to the design team.

She holds up her phone. One tap—and the room is filled with unholy sounds.

Moans. Growls. Lines some have only ever heard whispered in late-night videos. The entire design team freezes, horrified. A coffee mug hits the floor. A bot one picks it up while all the women are frozen.

Lyra blinks once, expression unreadable. She calmly stands and takes the phone from Opal, watching the video for three seconds before pressing pause.

Then she squints.

“Hmm… Hazel and Nova.”

The names land like a thunderclap.

Everyone hears.

Nova turns to stone. Her soul promptly evacuates her body.

Hazel, across the room, is already on the move—shoulders stiff, eyes locked on the exit.

“Camille…” Lyra says without raising her voice.

“On it,” Camille replies, already moving. In one smooth motion, she intercepts Hazel and casually immobilizes her like she’s done this a hundred times before.

Lyra’s eyes shift to Nova.

Nova jerks to her feet like she’s been shocked.

“You too,” Lyra says, calm but commanding. “Second floor. Now.”

And just like that, Tuesday begins with a trial.

.

.

“So,” Lyra says flatly, arms crossed. “You two had sexual intercourse in the bathroom.”

Nova looks like her soul is still dangling from her lips, threatening to float away entirely.

“And there’s proof! ” Opal chimes in, far too proud.

Lyra turns to her with an unreadable expression.
“On that note… Opal, you’re fired.”

The room freezes.

Hazel, Nova, and Opal stare at her, mouths open.

“Haaaaaaah?! Me?! Why?!” Opal shrieks.

Lyra’s tone shifts, sharp now—cold, controlled, and furious beneath the surface.
“There have been reports of someone taking pictures in the bathrooms. Including the executive bathroom. So, just to be sure, I installed a ghost app to scan your phone the last time you brought Hazel into my office, and of course took other measures that I’m not obligated to disclose.”

Opal blinks, frozen. Her phone trembles in her hand.

“You didn’t delete Ari’s photo like I told you to,” Lyra continues, her voice darkening. “And not only that—you’ve got dozens of photos of employees in your gallery. Some of them are in compromising situations.”

Opal scrambles to unlock her phone.

Lyra doesn't flinch.
“Don’t bother. I already copied your data to my laptop and forwarded everything to the authorities. Morph Co. can’t be associated with someone like you.”

Everything but the picture of Ari

Her voice cuts like steel.
“You’re done here. Clean your desk.”

Opal’s soul does leave her body as security arrives and begins escorting her out. 

Lyra doesn’t even watch her go.

She turns instead—calm, cold, focused.

“Now,” she says, voice crisp. “Hazel. Nova.”

Both women flinch at the sound of their names.

Lyra levels her gaze. “Are you two going steady? Is this a serious relationship?”

Nova’s eyes light up. Literally.

Her soul snaps back into her body like a golden spark—and suddenly she’s radiant. She practically glows, breath catching, heart soaring. Dating Hazel? The Hazel Astoré? Her brain skips to wedding dresses, shared apartments, matching mugs—

Meanwhile, Hazel feels like her soul just left her body.

Steady? Serious?!
She glances around like the walls might offer her a way out. How the hell is she supposed to commit to one omega when the office is now overflowing with new, untested possibilities?

Her mouth opens, panic rising—

“I want to remind you, Hazel,” Lyra cuts in, tone darkening, “that this time, there’s undeniable proof. And you do have a record. If this reaches the higher-ups, they’ll have every reason to reopen past cases. Is that clear?”

The higher ups… my family!

Hazel gulps. Her shadowed eyes flick toward Nova, who is now clinging to her like a trophy wife in the making.

“…Yes,” Hazel says, voice low. “We’re steady… serious….”

Nova squeals. Loudly. Her arms squeeze Hazel tighter, her whole body vibrating with joy.

Hazel closes her eyes like she’s made a pact with a higher power, an evil one.

“Good, then it's not that big of a deal I guess,” Lyra says, her tone clipped and businesslike. “This will affect both your performance reports, and you’ll need to rewatch the mandatory videos— you know which ones. ”

Nova is practically levitating.

Hazel, by contrast, feels like she’s plummeting down an elevator shaft.

“Oh—and don’t forget to submit the HR form,” Lyra adds smoothly. “Once approved, your status will update on the company social feed. That makes it official.”

Nova gasps like she’s just been proposed to. Her grip on Hazel tightens.

Hazel swallows the scream building in her throat.

Lyra closes her folder with finality. “That’s it. Out. Now.”

Nova all but skips out, dragging Hazel behind her like a prize she’s just won at the fair.

Hazel stares straight ahead, dead-eyed, as if walking toward her own funeral.

.

.

.

-----------------

Author’s Note:
Bwahaha! Office drama strikes again… Anyway, I got so many amazing comments last time that I got fired up and wrote a ton! I still need to edit, though—bear with me!

Also… the Farcille fic I wrote has been on my mind lately. I really should finish it!! Ugh. But I feel like my writing’s improved so much—I could probably do a way better job writing a new one now. Aaagh.
Anyway, do you have any ships you prefer? I think Farcille is my current favorite. 

Thanks for the comments and the support!

Chapter 14: Circle back to me 🌪️

Summary:

Tensions rise at Morph C.O. as unspoken feelings, office rumors, and sudden confrontations pull everyone into emotional orbit. Ari struggles to keep her focus, Camille reevaluates what she wants, and Suzie watches it all unfold with quiet intensity. In a day full of distractions, secrets, and unexpected turns, nobody leaves untouched.

—A chapter about near-misses, tangled desires, and the quiet sting of being left behind.
.
.
.

.
.
.

Fuck! It’s been days already and I’ve gotten zero alone time with Lyra.

Thinks Ari.

She’s watching her from her desk—again—which only makes it harder to focus.

Oh no… she keeps looking… thinks Lyra, her fingers frozen above the keyboard.

She types gibberish. 

Camille strolls by the design team and waves.

“Hi everyone, don’t mind me, just going to visit the big baddie in the back row,” she grins, clearly referring to Lyra.

Ari glances around.

Five—maybe seven—omegas are blushing and squirming, getting their first workplace crush.

Just like she did months ago.

She sighs.

Was I like that?

Meanwhile, Nova is still whispering to Rainy, the quiet beta, going on about how amazing Hazel is.

How Hazel just happened to like the same obscure tea, the same bougie travel destinations, the same exact matcha lattes.

Ari can’t help but listen—and cringe.

So Hazel really researches her prey before striking, huh?

She tries to focus.

Just one line of code. One coherent thought. Anything.

“Uhm… Ari…”

 It’s Nova.

What do you want?! she thinks—

But she says, “Hey, what’s up?”

Huh?! What’s with that face?!

Nova is flushed, trembling slightly, fidgeting like a wind-up toy about to pop.

Ari narrows her eyes.

Nova looks like she’s about to burst.

She’s dying to tell someone—anyone—about her sexy time with Hazel.

She wants input. She has questions. She needs tips. Validation. Moral support.

And apparently, the only person she thinks might have any experience in that department... is Ari.

“Can I ask you a question?” Nova asks nervously.

Lyra can’t help but notice the strange interaction from her desk.

Before Ari can respond, Nova grabs her by the wrist—

And just like that, Ari is being pulled into the executive bathroom again.

Hazel notices. Her eyes sparkle.

“Two for one…” she whispers to herself, already drifting into a fantasy.

WHACK!

A smack to the back of her head pulls her out of it.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Oh, nothing. It was a bee,” Suzie says innocently.

“What?! in here?! You know how much those surveillance drones cost?!” Hazel huffs.

“Ugh, Hazel… you’re so dumb sometimes…”

Hazel pouts and clings to Suzie.

“That’s mean! I need at least one more reassurance now… one more… pleaasee”

“You’re so slutty…” Suzie whispers with a smirk.

“That’s more like it,” Hazel purrs.

WHACK! WHACK!

A double smack this time—Camille.

“You idiots can’t fuck anymore—Hazel’s taken,” Camille says flatly.

Hazel pouts dramatically.

 “Nooooooo!”

“Unless Nova agrees to it,” Camille adds. “Otherwise, you’ll traumatize the girl, and she might press charges or something."

Hazel’s mouth opens, then her expression shifts. “Hm… so I just have to convince her…”

Suzie scoffs. “And who’s going to convince me?”

Hazel turns to her. “What? You don’t want to? You’re saying you don’t wanna do the Eiffel Tower with her in the middle?”

Suzie narrows her eyes. “No, Hazel. Mark my words. That girl is trouble.”

Hazel blinks, then waves her off with a lazy flick of her hand. “Pffft. Your loss.”

But inside, the words sting more than she expected.

.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Nova goes on and on, breathless and glowing, about how amazing it was—how she’d never felt anything like that before.

Ari wasn’t enjoying any of it.

It felt like staring into a pathetic mirror.

She tried hard to keep her expression neutral, to stop her face from twisting with discomfort—but one small microexpression must have slipped.

“So… I… know this must be awkward,” Nova said.

“Huh?”

She noticed I’m cringing? Oh no…

“Because you… you’re Hazel’s ex…”

Huuuuh?!

She still believes that?!

“Nova, no. It’s okay. We weren’t in a relationship,” Ari says, shaking her head gently. “She basically hunted me down, figured out what I liked, and cornered me in this ba—ah…”

She trails off, noticing Nova starting to piece things together. Her eyes are beginning to glisten.

Ari softens. She places a hand gently on Nova’s arm, searching her eyes.

“Hey…” Ari says softly. “I’m sure it’s different with you…”

Footsteps thunder toward the bathroom.

Hazel bursts in, Suzie right behind her.

“No! Ari, what are you doing?!” Hazel shouts.

Ari lifts an eyebrow. “Me…?”

Before she can react, Hazel rushes over and pushes her aside, wrapping her arms around Nova.

“Hey!” Ari complains.

“It’s a lieee! Whatever she said it’s a lie!” Hazel cries dramatically.

She kisses Nova.

Nova starts slapping her chest—soft, ineffective hits—

Hazel grabs her wrists and kisses her again, this time deeper, hungrier. She then puts her arms behind her and grabs both her wrists with one hand as the other hand cups her chin to deepen the kiss.

Ari and Suzie blink, frozen. Then, they glance sideways at each other with a mix of confusion and embarrassment.

“…Okay,” Hazel breathes, pulling back just slightly. “Ari wasn’t lying. I did hunt her. And you, and a ton of other omegas—”

Nova’s eyes go wide. “You—!”

Hazel kisses her again, muffling the protest.

“Mmmf!!”

Ari stares, deadpan. “Should we… stop them?... Should we go?”

Suzie shrugs. 

Just then, Camille pushes the door open and sighs like she’s walked in on a crime scene.

“Girls… Break it up…” she sounds fed-up.

Hazel doesn’t even blink. Still holding Nova like a stolen bride, she turns toward Camille.

“Camille, I gotta go. It’s a thing… my aunt’s thing… and I'm taking Nova”

Aunt? Ari blinks.

Camille visibly tenses. “Oh… uh… okay.”

What?! Just like that?! Ari thinks, incredulous.

She lets her go just like that?! Again with the special treatment! Whyy?!!

Suzie side-eyes Hazel. “You’re, eh… going to the Dragon’s Den?”

Hazel grins. “No. She’s coming to my …den. My apartment.”

Nova blinks. “Your… aunt?”

Ari is clearly upset, but she doesn’t say anything directly. Instead, she huffs, “Welp… guess I’ll just get back to work, then! Just another day in Morph C.O!”

Camille watches her, amused. “Are you mad, baby deer?”

Ari stiffens, flustered. “Nop.” She walks off, a little too briskly.

Camille chuckles to herself. Adorable.

---

They all exit the bathroom.

 Hazel still carries Nova, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear.

Suzie follows, making exaggerated faces of disgust.

Ari quickens her pace, eager to put distance between herself and the group—while Camille lingers behind, smiling with quiet satisfaction after witnessing Ari’s reaction.

…

In the parking lot, as Hazel approaches her car, she still carries Nova.

Nova sighs.

“Are you going to put me down anytime soon?”

.

.

.

Gina spots Ari approaching, her expression still tinged with frustration.

“That Nova is a smart little woman…” murmurs Gina as Ari slides back into her desk chair.

“Really?! She’s with Hazel… why would a smart person do that?” Ari replies, brows raised.

“Yeah… no shit. She hunted her,” Gina says, still scrolling through her screen with casual precision.

“Whaaaat?!” Ari nearly shouts.

“Shhh!” Gina hisses, glancing around.

“She told Rainy, and Rainy told me. Nova noticed Hazel the first day she saw her… which was before they even hired you, Ari”

“Whaaaat?!” Ari gasps again, louder.

“Shhh!” Gina hushes her, grinning as she throws a playful glare.

Ari glances around nervously—then toward Lyra, who appears unusually focused that day.

“She looked her up on LinkedIn and found out Hazel’s the rich little niece of Morph Co’s CEO and founder. Did you know that?”

Ari stiffens.

Her mind flashes to Lyra—her voice, low and velvety, whispering that she couldn’t touch Hazel directly, but she could use her friends. It makes sort of sense. Or is there more to it?

“Ah… I didn't know” Ari mumbles, cheeks a little warm from the memory.

Gina leans in, voice low, conspiratorial.

“She also figured out Hazel’s whole alpha thing—how she loves to hunt omegas, especially the ones no one else can get… So Nova seduced Lyra and—”

“Hold on—she what?!” Ari blurts.

Gina shushes her again, peeking around from behind her laptop. She turns back to Ari.

“Well… she meant to,” Gina murmurs, eyes gleaming. “But she failed. Even when Lyra was rumored to be a player…”

Ari narrows her gaze. “Failed how? …A player?!!”

“But she got Lyra to touch her,” Gina says, voice low and conspiratorial. “Came back with Lyra’s scent all over her… then faked being all soft and vulnerable, luring Hazel into the bathroom…”

Ari just stares.

Astounded. Horrified. A little impressed.

But mostly—

She got Lyra to touch her?!

What the fuck does that even mean?!

And why does it hit so hard?!

Her stomach flips. Her jaw tightens. Her thoughts spiral.

She shouldn’t care. She really shouldn’t care.

But—

Lyra touched her. Lyra is a player.

And suddenly, that matters way too much.

Gina is still watching, eyes barely peeking above her laptop screen, clearly savoring every flicker of Ari’s reaction.

Ari feels… off. Unsteady.

She has to understand what that means.

Without a word, she stands up and starts walking.

Right toward Lyra’s desk.

Lyra, blissfully unaware, is finally making progress—thanks to her wireless earphones and an 8-hour video titled “Ottercore Chillest Beatz – Flow State Guaranteed.”

She’s deep in it. Focused.

But then—

A shift.

A scent.

The prickling sensation of being watched.

Lyra slowly takes out one earbud.

Turns her head.

Ari is walking straight toward her.

Lyra stiffens in her seat.

Ari’s expression is unreadable, but something in it—tight lips, stormy eyes—screams reproach.

Lyra straightens slightly, one hand still on her keyboard, suddenly unsure whether she should be defensive or thrilled.

“You… you… you touched Nova?” Ari asks, voice trembling, almost shaking.

Lyra blinks, confused.

“What?”

Ari’s eyes are glossy now—hurt and disbelief rising like a wave.

Lyra’s confusion shifts instantly to alarm. She stands up without thinking and grabs Ari’s hand.

Without a word, she pulls her along—fast.

They weave through desks, heads turning.

Everyone in the design team watches as their paladin of chill suddenly rushes off, dragging Ari behind her like it’s code red.

Up the stairs.

Second floor.

Into an empty glass office.

The door shuts behind them.

The silence that follows is thick.

Downstairs, the team stares, frozen mid-task.

Camille watches as Lyra and Ari rush up the stairs.

She takes a step forward, almost follows them—

But Suzie gently grabs her arm.

“I sense this is a private matter,” she says calmly.

Camille stops.

She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t move. Just stands there.

A flicker of something sharp cuts through her chest.

The sting of losing Ari.

She exhales quietly and stays where she is.

.

.

.

“Explain it!” Ari bursts out, her voice shaking.

“Explain what?” Lyra asks, already leaning in—hunching slightly to gently hold Ari by the arms, her eyes searching Ari’s face with quiet urgency.

“Gina says Nova had your scent all over her because you touched her… What does that even mean?!” Ari’s trembling, her voice breaking at the edges.

Lyra freezes. The sight of Ari—upset, eyes wet, breathing shallow—is like a gut punch.

But underneath the panic… she feels something else. Ari is jealous. And not subtly. She’s burning, and that feels amazingly good.

Lyra speaks quickly, voice low but firm.

“Nova came to my office and… offered herself to me. I literally pushed her out. You can ask her yourself. There’s also cameras.”

Ari sniffs, her expression tight.

“So… what Gina said—”

“—was probably taken out of proportion,” Lyra finishes gently.

Too late.

Ari is crying now, trying her best to stay quiet about it. But the tears are there.

Lyra pulls her into a soft, protective embrace.

“Oh, Ari…” Lyra whispers, pressing her cheek to Ari’s hair.

She gently lifts her face by the chin.

Ari is flushed, her eyes glassy, expression carved with pain—so open, so raw it nearly breaks Lyra.

But it’s also… achingly beautiful.

“So beautiful…” Lyra murmurs before she can stop herself. The words just slip out.

Ari’s eyes widen. A deeper flush colors her cheeks.

Lyra leans in, slowly, reverently—

And licks a single tear from Ari’s cheek.

Ari gasps, trembling under the touch.

Then Lyra meets her eyes. Holds her gaze.

And kisses her.

Ari melts into the warmth of her lips, the gentle sweetness of her tongue.

Lyra’s arms wrap around her fully now—secure, protective.

Ari feels the press of her body, the strength in her hands—firm, kind, claiming.

She’s undone.

She wants her.

All of her.

Now.

“No,” Lyra says firmly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye.

“No?” Ari blinks, caught off guard. “No what?!”

She’s upset—but deep down, she already knows what Lyra means.

“I know how you feel,” Lyra says gently, her tone calm—almost like she’s soothing a child. “But we need to wait.”

Ari frowns, lips pressed together. She doesn’t argue. Just takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

Lyra watches her, then smiles—warm, amused. A soft chuckle escapes her.

“You’re laughing at me…” Ari mutters.

“No!” Lyra protests quickly. “It’s just… seeing you jealous—it makes me happy.”

Ari keeps frowning, but something in her softens.

There’s no way she’s a player… She’s had plenty of chances to take things further with me, but every time—she pulls back.

She doesn’t say it aloud, but the affection blooming in her chest is undeniable.

Ari meets her eyes, steady and searching. Lyra's smile grows, touched.

“You can’t touch Hazel because she’s the CEO’s niece… right?”

Lyra blinks, surprised. “Where did that come from?”

Ari sniffs, looking down briefly. “I’ve been trying to get you alone to ask you about it. And about other things. But you’ve been avoiding me… so I’m asking now because…”

Her voice wavers. “I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”

Lyra sighs softly. “You will. We’ll be alone soon—after your date with Camille,” she adds, a sharp edge of bitterness slipping in.

Ari hears it. Feels it. But she doesn’t let it distract her.

“Hazel,” she repeats. “Why can’t you do anything about her?”

Lyra hesitates. Then, with a gravity Ari doesn’t expect, she says:

“Because I owe her aunt my life.”

Ari’s eyes widen, startled.

“You owe her your life… because she’s the CEO?”

Lyra shakes her head. “No. She did hire me, but it’s more than that. She paid for my college. She changed everything for me.”

Ari stares at her, astonished. “Wait—what? Like… how did that even happen?”

Lyra smiles gently. “Let’s save that for our next date, okay?”

Ari huffs, clearly unsatisfied—but after a beat, she nods. “Fine. Next date.”

Still, her mind is racing.

Lyra watches her with a soft smile. “Do you have any other questions?” Her voice is gentle, her eyes are warm.

Ari sniffs, hesitating. “Yeah… I do. Why did you get scared at my place? Why did you leave? We were… bonding. Does that scare you?”

Lyra’s smile fades, her expression turning more serious—more vulnerable. She steps closer, slowly, deliberately, and places her hands gently on Ari’s arms.

 

Because I was about to relapse… because you were like a mirror—a sweet one. And for the first time… that mirror wasn’t rejecting me. I wanted to punish you… for not choosing me… but you did choose me… and I would have had you that day as punishment… but you became that sweet accepting mirror and I couldn’t… and I won't tell you about it yet.

Leaning in, her lips close to Ari’s ear, she speaks softly, her voice low and honest:

“Because… we were about to make love and disrespect our agreement with Camille.”

Ari trembles, her voice barely above a whisper. “Ah… but… we were… ah…”

Lyra slowly releases her arms and steps back, giving her space. “We need to get to know each other more, right?”

Ari nods, flushed—her mind flashing back to Lyra’s earlier words. She hadn’t wanted this to be a quick burn. She didn’t want to ravage Ari for just a few months. Ari remembers that phrase often.

The thought had aroused her then. It still does now.

“I have to go, Ari,” Lyra says gently. “Ask me anything on our next date. I will answer, ok?”

With that, she turns and exits the glass office, her steps calm, collected. She heads for the elevator without looking back.

Ari exhales, finally letting herself collapse gently onto the couch.

She draws in a deep breath, trying to steady her pulse—trying to calm the storm inside her.

Heavy day…

She inhales deeply.

Ah… Lyra’s scent

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Cool Beans is quiet at this hour—muted light from the street drifting in, blending with the soft glow of hanging bulbs. Minimalist décor. Bare concrete walls. Black ceramic cups. It smells faintly of bergamot and burnt espresso. A playlist hums low—something piano-based and too introspective for comfort.

Camille sits with perfect posture, one leg crossed over the other, her blazer crisp, the curve of her lip unreadable. She doesn’t fidget. Her iced coffee rests untouched beside her phone.

Across from her, Suzie perches on the edge of her seat, black hoodie sleeves pushed up, chipped nail polish clinking against her tiny spoon. Her rings gleam against the matte table. She watches Camille like someone watching a storm they know better than to interrupt—but can’t stop admiring.

“You’re brooding,” Suzie says, tone light.

Camille hums. “I’m not brooding.”

Suzie tips her head. “You have your brooding face on.”

Camille exhales through her nose. “I’m just… done, I think.”

Suzie raises an eyebrow.

“With Ari,” Camille adds.

“Oh.” A beat. “Done as in… ‘done done’?”

“She’s unsure,” Camille says. “I don’t have time to wait for someone to circle back. I’ve done that before.”

Suzie nods slowly, her fingers tightening just slightly around her drink. The cold glass helps. It always helps.

“Yeah,” she says, carefully casual. “Not really your style anymore. I know.”

Camille glances at her. “You say that like you’ve studied me.”

Suzie smirks. “I’ve known you since sophomore year. I’ve survived group projects with you, I was there in your Lyra‐obsessed era.” She lowers her voice “I've slept in your bed…of course I’ve studied you.”

Camille almost smiles. It’s faint, but it’s there.

“Then you know I’ve only ever chased one person.”

Suzie leans in a little. “Lyra.”

Camille exhales slowly, like the name itself drags something out of her. “Yeah.”

“You ever get over that?”

“I thought I had,” Camille says. “But every time she walks into a room… I remember.”

Suzie goes still for half a second. 

Of course she does. Fucking Lyra really did a number on her…

Then:

“She's… she was inconsiderate to you, Camille… all those sleep-overs at your dorm after she fucked some random omega. All that emotional comfort she got from you while you got only crumbs… that’s not what… friends do.” Suzie lowers her voice.

Camille sips her drink finally. “I’m starting to see it...”

Because Ari is so much like her…

A beat.

“You didn’t date omegas in college,” Suzie says, her voice softer now, testing the waters. “What happened? What changed?”

Camille looks up, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “I got asked out and thought… why not?”

“You used to say they were too delicate for you. That you needed someone who could push back.”

Camille lets out a quiet chuckle. “Goddess, I was arrogant. Honestly, I just didn’t want to end up an addict like Lyra…”

“You still kind of are,” Suzie says, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Arrogant, I mean. Not an addict.”

Camille’s expression softens, the edge of her smile lingering.

There’s a silence then—comfortable, but heavy.

Suzie stares down at the ice melting in her cup. She swallows and says lightly, “So now that Ari’s off your radar, and Lyra’s… Lyra, what’s next?”

Camille lifts a brow. “You planning on signing me up for something?”

Suzie shrugs. “Just saying. You might be surprised who’s been here the whole time.”

Camille tilts her head, studying her now. “Are you speaking generally… or personally?”

Suzie tries to hold Camille’s gaze, steady and cool, but something flickers. Just beneath the surface, a tremble stirs—instinct clawing its way up through years of control, years of suppressants and practiced aloofness.

She forces a smile. “I guess that depends on how well you read between the lines.”

But then—

The bell above the door chimes softly. They both glance over.

It’s Ari. Flushed from the sun, clutching a phone in one hand, scanning the room. Her eyes land on Camille.

“Hey, Camille! I… I was wondering if you had time today. To maybe… talk?”

Camille’s attention shifts—fully. Something in her face opens, just slightly.

Suzie watches the pivot happen in real time. Her mouth closes around a thought she won’t say.

Camille glances back at her. “Can we continue this later?”

Suzie nods, once. Controlled.

Camille’s already getting up, already moving. Ari’s face lights up, and the two of them slip out through the door, the sunlight catching in Camille’s blonde hair as it disappears behind her.

Suzie stares after them for a moment. Then she takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes fixed on the table.

She mutters under her breath, more to herself than anyone else:

“I don’t know, Camille. I don’t have time to wait for someone to circle back either.”

The café hums around her, gentle and indifferent.

Outside, Camille and Ari are already gone.

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Chapter 15: What They Don’t See🎭 (the CEO shows up)

Summary:

This is that one chapter about secondary characters.

In this emotionally charged chapter, Suzie faces the weight of a life built on performance and denial as the carefully constructed façade of her identity begins to crack. Across the city, Hazel and Nova share a moment that blends intimacy with discomfort as a powerful figure from Hazel’s past arrives, shaking the foundation of their connection. With identity, power, and vulnerability simmering beneath every interaction, each character is forced to reckon with who they are—and what they’re willing to risk to be seen.

Overall, the chapter explores the quiet breaking points behind curated personas—when performance slips, and the real person underneath begins to surface.
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The room welcomes her without needing to be asked: lights fading on in muted layers of violet and deep cyan, the ambient hum of her domotics system shifting into quiet synth. Mirrors reflect the glow in fragments—on the dark glass of her kitchen cabinets, across the sleek wall panels, and from the long panel mirror near her closet that reflects just enough of herself to be unsettling.

Suzie kicks off her boots, silent on the polished concrete floor. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.

The apartment knows her rhythms. It dims further, the neon glow curling into corners like smoke.

She walks to the living area—dark velvet couch, low matte coffee table, and a black case waiting at its center. She sinks into the cushions, lets her head fall back for a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

The case clicks open.

Inside: two slim, high-end injectors. One marked in red with her ID and hormone dosage. The other—suppressants.

They gleam like trust.

Her fingers move without thought. Swab, prep, line up. She’s done this dozens of times. She’s the test case they love. The omega who walks like an alpha. Reads like one. Leads like one. They don’t know she’s hiding to be seen.

But tonight, the needle doesn’t press.

Her thumb hovers. Her breath catches.

The lighting shifts—faint flickers of magenta now dancing along the floor trim, reflected in the mirror across from her. The soft synth track on the speakers stutters once as the system adjusts.

She stares at her reflection.

At the lie.

At the calm face of someone whose chest still aches when Camille turns away too quickly.

She lowers the injector.

Sets it back in the case. Slowly. Quietly.

And leans into the silence around her.

“I’m not doing this because of them,” she murmurs. To the air. To herself. To no one.

But even her voice sounds like a lie in the neon dark.

The lights in the living room dim automatically as she leaves, melting into a slow, pulsing lavender along the hallway. Her bare feet are soundless against the polished floor as she moves toward her bedroom.

The door slides open with a whisper.

Her bedroom is minimal, somehow cavernous and dark. The king-size bed dominates the space—low-profile, dressed in deep gray sheets, surrounded by mirrored panels that catch the faint glow of shifting pastel lights overhead. Violet, turquoise, pink. The room always feels like a dream you might not want to wake up from.

Suzie flops face-first into the bed with a dramatic groan.

“Stupid, gorgeous, blonde, heartbreak machine,” she mumbles into the pillow.

She rolls over, grabs her phone from the nightstand, thumbs it open without thinking.

Suzie → Hazel
Hey. I’m sad. Let’s fuck.🧡

Delivered.

She waits.

Hazel replies faster than she should:

Hazel → Suzie
Awwww 😢🥺💔 I can’t… unless Nova’s invited 🐣💋

Suzie stares at the screen, disgusted.

She mutters into the neon-lit dark: “Ugh…”

Her thumbs fly.

Suzie → Hazel
NVM. 

Hazel’s typing bubble blips once, then delivers:

Hazel → Suzie
🥺💔

Suzie tosses the phone onto the other side of the bed and sighs.

The ceiling pulses in soft pinks and purples above her.

“Of course…,” she groans. “Fucking moonbeam took my best fuck buddy.”

She pulls the blanket up to her chin, face sinking into the pillow. For a long moment, she just lies there. Silent. Breathing.

She’s not doing this because of Camille.
Not because of Ari.
Not because Hazel has her own chaos rotation.

She’s just tired.

Of hiding. Of waiting. Of pretending none of this matters.

She mutters it first. Just to the room. To herself.

“I just don’t want to be an alpha anymore. What’s the big deal?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Because it is a big deal.

Not to anyone else—not yet.

But to her?

It’s everything.

She stares up at the ceiling, lit with slow-shifting neon patterns. Her eyes are tired. Not from the day. From carrying this weight for years.

Her voice, low and to no one:
“When did it even start?”

She closes her eyes.

And remembers.

She was just out of high school. Seventeen. Baby-faced but already sharp-eyed. A bullied omega like so many others—but she had bite. She didn’t flinch when pushed. She pushed back.

College had been a ticket out. And then—an unexpected goldmine: a prestigious internship at Geno Inc., a rising biotech lab with ties to military hormone research. Years before it would be bought out by Morph Co.

She'd said it once, offhandedly, during a heated classroom debate:

“I hate being an omega.”

A few teachers looked up.

Not with judgment. With interest.

She was a standout student. Aggressive. Clever. Unafraid to call professors out mid-lecture. Of course someone took note. Of course someone signed her up for the pilot program.

Back then, it was just research.
Mice. Enzyme blockers. Receptor muting.

She watched it all up close as a lab intern—charting behaviors, measuring scent changes, counting the days.

Then the human trials came.

And they fell short.

Suzie volunteered.

No one questioned her twice. She signed the waiver. Took the first injection.
Her cycles vanished. Her scent dulled. Her designation blurred.

Extra credit? Sure.
But what she really got was freedom. Or so she thought.

She could breathe again.

No more extra sensitivity, no more blushing always, no more of that weird phenomenon that happened once… a heat, the scientists had called it, something some omegas were developing all of a sudden. The very thing that got her in trouble, got her bullied.

No more of that.

 

A year later she was back in the lab—older, harder. That’s when the second compound rolled out.

A hormone disruptor in the other direction: alpha enhancement.

It was experimental. Still unstable. But Suzie didn’t flinch.

She took it.

Her scent shifted. Her posture changed. She passed. People treated her differently—co-workers, classmates, even security. Even other alphas.

She was one of them now.

No more whispers. No more dismissive glances. No more soft stares waiting to see when she’d break.

She met Hazel in her third year.
Hazel didn’t question anything. Just accepted her. They clicked instantly.

And then came Camille.

Camille with her sharp eyes and quiet confidence. With that untouchable grace and blade-thin smile.

Suzie overheard her once—too casually, in the library, leaning across a table to another alpha:

“I don’t date omegas. It’s never worked for me.”

Suzie hadn’t flinched when she overheard Camille say it.

She’d just smiled to herself.

Because she knew.
She wasn’t an omega anymore.

She lets out a shaky breath now, palms pressed hard over her eyes as if she can block out the weight of that memory. Then—

Thud.
Both fists slam into the mattress beside her, hard enough to make her body bounce.

Then Lyra came…

Her jaw tightens.

“ Fuck. ”

Lyra had transferred in the middle of the semester—straight from some military-adjacent academy into their Ivy League world, all cold shoulders and perfect posture. Camille was smitten from the first week.

Hazel acted like she hadn’t been impressed, but she felt threatened… Lyra and her aunt were buddies or something, and Hazel felt left out.

“It’s because she’s very alpha, like… like the ones you rarely see… she’s not a bourgeois alpha, she’s very… I don´t know… authentic… ” Camille had said once, eyes still following Lyra across the courtyard, her younger face softer, with warmer eyes.
“Nu-uh ,” Hazel had scoffed. “ It’s because she’s a stuck-up.”

And Suzie—Suzie was an alpha. On paper. In scent. In file.
But she wasn’t the alphaiest alpha. Hell, most people thought she was just a very mean beta with great eyeliner.

She didn’t walk like Lyra. Didn’t command like Lyra.
And somewhere inside her, something small whispered:
You’ll never be like that.

Then came the fight with Hazel. The first one.

She doesn’t even remember what it started over—some asshole pushing an omega too far during a party, maybe. She and Hazel had thrown punches like they meant it. Bruises, blood, growls in the hallway.

Then—something shifted.

Flipped.

Clicked.

It was primal. Stupid. Inevitable.

They didn’t talk about it. They just... slammed into each other like magnets.

“If we do this,” Suzie had said, pinning Hazel to the mattress in her dorm, eyes wild, chest heaving, “I want to be on top. And inside you.”

Hazel nodded. No hesitation. Only anticipation.
Lifted her hips and presented herself like it was instinct. Like it was normal.

Suzie had chuckled, breathless.

“Under all that bravado…you’re just a softy.”

And if fucking another alpha— making another alpha submit—wasn’t the most alpha thing she could possibly do? Then she didn’t know what was.

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“Fucking Hazel…” Suzie mutters, pacing the edge of her bed. Her voice is sharp, cracking through the quiet like a whip.
“You were supposed to never get a steady girlfriend. That was the deal.” An unspoken deal...

No one answers, of course. Just the soft hum of her apartment’s domotics system and the low pulse of neon light on the ceiling—lavender shifting toward electric blue.

She stops pacing. Pulls her tank top off. Tosses it toward a chair that doesn’t catch it.

She peels off the rest—rips open her dresser, grabs black sports leggings, a tight top, throws them on like armor. The smart mirror flickers, calibrates to her body temp, and recommends hydration.

She ignores it.

Grabbing her phone from the nightstand, she thumbs out a message:

Suzie → Hazel:

I’m gonna go sweat at another alpha’s place 💦😈 Have fun playing house 🥱✌️

Send.

She shoves the phone in her pocket, grabs her keys, and slams the door behind her.

 

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Hazel reads the text and immediately pouts, her expression dramatic.

“Uuugh!” she groans.

“What happened?” Nova asks, concerned.

Hazel sighs, tossing her phone onto the couch.

“Oh, nothing... Suzie’s mad at me again.”

Autumn-like light spills into the open, glass-walled space. The ocean outside glows under a copper sky, and inside, Hazel’s house is warm, still, and a little too quiet.

Nova sits tucked against one corner of the sunken couch, wrapped in her soft beige cardigan over a turtleneck dress, tights, and boots long since kicked off. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve as she glances around.

Hazel is beside her—one leg up, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like she belongs here. Like Nova belongs here.

She toys with a strand of Nova’s hair, twisting it absently. Her green eyes stay on Nova’s face, studying every twitch and blink like they’re all part of some quiet game.

Nova shifts again. She’s been sitting there for almost an hour.

“Uhm…” she finally asks, voice soft. “Is your aunt coming soon?”

Hazel doesn't pause. She just smirks faintly, fingers still playing with Nova’s hair.

“Hmm?”

Nova turns to look at her. “You said she was going to be here. That we had to leave the office because of it.”

Hazel’s smile spreads slowly, deliberately. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Nova blinks. “Wait. Is she not actually coming?”

Hazel leans in, her voice low. “Does it matter?”

Nova’s cheeks flush. She pulls back slightly, flustered. “Hazel—”

"I just wanted you here. That okay?"

Nova pulls her knees closer to her chest, sweater sleeves bunching at her wrists. She’s quiet for a long beat before muttering,

"...You tricked me. Again."

Hazel chuckles, completely unapologetic.
"Relax. She is coming. I just... omitted the time."
She stretches, eyes glinting with mischief.
"We’ve got a couple of hours."

Nova stares at her, caught somewhere between suspicious and flustered.

Hazel just smiles, fingers trailing lightly over Nova’s knee like none of this is a big deal.

Nova hesitates, then asks, “Why did you change your clothes?”

“I prefer to be comfortable in my own place,” Hazel replies easily.

“But… your clothes were so cute,” Nova mumbles, then adds under her breath, “And now…”

Hazel raises an eyebrow. “And now what?”

Before Nova can answer, Hazel shifts—suddenly and smoothly pinning her to the sofa. One knee between Nova’s legs, her hands gently but firmly pressing Nova’s wrists into the cushions.

She leans in, her voice a low whisper in Nova’s ear.

“And now what?”

Nova gasps softly, eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat.

Hazel stays there, still and close, waiting.

And Nova’s whole body answers before her mouth can.

Hazel smiles down at her, slow and sure.

Without a word, Hazel pulls off her hoodie in one fluid motion, revealing a tight black top that covers only her chest—leaving her sculpted stomach bare. Her abs are visible, defined like a gymnast’s, and the casual ease of her movements only makes her strength more striking.

She slips a scrunchie from her wrist, gathering her hair into a high ponytail, all while her clear, focused eyes stay locked on Nova.

“If you don’t like it,” she says, teasing, “I guess I’ll just take my clothes off…”

Nova’s gaze betrays her—tracing the lines of the alpha standing over her, unable to look away.

Hazel catches it. Smirks.

“Now that we’re official,” she murmurs, leaning in just slightly, “I get to fuck you whenever I want.”

Nova blinks, breath catching. Her voice comes out shaky but honest.
“I… I don’t think that’s how that works…”

Hazel grins wider, and with deliberate slowness, she slides her hand down and lifts the hem of Nova’s dress.

Nova gasps—her thighs tense, her breath falters. She’s already wet. Obvious. Hazel’s smile turns into a low, amused chuckle.

“But you’re ready. It would be such a waste not to—”

“Get off that poor little girl, you stupid daughter of my sister! You’re an embarrassment to this bloodline!”

The voice is sharp and high-pitched, cutting through the air like a slap.

Both Nova and Hazel freeze.

Nova bolts upright, wide-eyed. Hazel lets out a low, irritated growl as she stands and turns toward the source.

“Who let you in?!” she snaps, already stomping toward the voice.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you—”

It’s her . The infamous aunt. The CEO. The founder of Morph Co.

Nova turns to look—and blinks in disbelief.

The woman in the doorway is… short. Short and deceptively young-looking. Her bright red hair is tied into a sleek high ponytail, and her eyes match—sharp, glowing crimson behind thin designer frames. She’s dressed in a tailored black suit, crisp and severe, like she just stepped off the cover of a power magazine.

Behind her trail two tall, elegant betas in matching coats, carrying designer luggage and moving like clockwork.

She’s clearly just landed. And clearly not in the mood for Hazel’s antics.

Hazel stops a few steps away, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You could’ve called.”

The red-haired woman scoffs. “And miss this display of family shame? Please.”

Nova sinks deeper into the couch, unsure whether to flee, apologize, or just cease existing altogether.

“This is my apartment,” Hazel fires back. “And if I want to fuck my girl in my apartment, I’ll damn well do it. No shame.”

The woman sighs, dramatically placing a hand to her chest. “You could’ve been a star athlete… but no—you just had to sleep with the entire team. And now it's happening again… but at work”

Hazel’s eyes narrow. “Why are you here early?”

“I called your office,” her aunt replies with a pointed sweetness. “Apparently you’d already left. Even though I told you I’d arrive at eight. So I thought—‘My darling niece must be so eager to see me she couldn’t wait another hour!’ Surely that’s it, right? You just love me so much. ”

Hazel growls under her breath.

“Always with a different girl,” she says with a sigh. “And that friend of yours… Suzie.”

Hazel rolls her eyes “You never liked my friends, whatever”

But Nova gathers herself. She rises and steps in front of Hazel, standing straighter than she feels.

“Hello, Mrs. Astoré,” she says carefully. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nova Seligman. I'm a Product Designer at Morph CO. , your company.”

The aunt’s eyebrows rise—just slightly, but enough to signal that something about her caught her attention.

Seligman.

Nova clears her throat. “I know about Hazel’s... past, and some of the choices she’s made. But I can assure you—this time, it’s different. We’re in a committed relationship.”

Hazel blinks behind her, caught off guard.

Aira stares at Nova for a beat—long enough to make it uncomfortable. Then her lips curl, something between a smirk and genuine intrigue.
“Well,” she murmurs, “aren’t you a brave little lamb, Miss Seligman.”

She circles her slowly, like a predator sizing up prey.

“How old are you?” Aira asks, voice smooth. “Have you even hit thirty?”
A pause. Then, casually: “Do you like older women?”

“Hey!” Hazel snaps, stepping forward. She grabs Nova’s arm and pulls her behind her, protective now.
Aira only smiles.

“If you’re planning to marry Hazel for our money, you’re wasting your time…”
Hazel growls. “Enough! Stop it.”

Nova’s shoulders tighten. She feels small. Insulted.

Hazel turns to her—and sees it. That hurt. That vulnerability. It hits her.

Aira lifts a brow, amused. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Miss Seligman. Honestly, I’d respect you more if you were after the money. It’d mean you’re thinking ahead—because frankly, that’s all my niece has. She's not giving you children, you know that right?”

She walks off, unbothered.
“If you need me, I’ll be on the third floor.”

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Nova stays with Hazel that night.
They lie in the same bed, close but not touching.
Hazel faces the wall, her breath steady, shoulders still. But Nova can tell—she’s not asleep. Not really.

Neither is she.

The bedroom is quiet, but Nova’s head is loud.
Everything that happened earlier plays on a loop.

She used to think Hazel was unshakable.
Commanding. Confident. A little wild, maybe—but always in control.

But tonight, she saw something else.

She saw Aira Astoré.

And she saw the way Hazel changed in her presence—not weak, no, never that—but wounded . Reactive. The kind of sharpness that comes from being cut too many times.

Hazel did talk back. She snapped. Defended Nova without hesitation. Even growled.
But underneath that fire, there was something tighter. Something deeper.

It wasn’t just anger.
It was old.
Like she’d been surviving Aira’s words for years.

Nova had felt Aira’s barbs herself—those cool, velvet-edged insults disguised as civility.
She’d smiled while testing Nova’s intentions. Toyed with her composure. Dismissed her dreams with a raised brow and a slow circle around the room.

But what chilled Nova most was the way Hazel froze , just for a second, when Aira spoke.
How she stiffened like someone bracing for impact.
Like she was used to being struck—not with hands, but with words.

Hazel, the bold alpha who pressed Nova against the wall and whispered “You’re mine”—was once just a girl raised in a house where affection had terms and loyalty came with threats.

Nova hadn’t known that.

This is a great insight… her hunter mind tells her. But her heart is sorry and… empathetic?

Yes, I planned this… I wanted her to be my alpha. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be real… Can it? Could this actually be real? or... 

She wants to reach out.

To hold her.

Instead, she whispers, just barely:
“I’m not here for your money.”
And then, quieter:
“I just want you to be okay.”

Hazel doesn’t answer.
But Nova swears—she hears the breath catch.

I could just take Nova now… it’ll make me feel better, Hazel thinks, but her pride is wounded, her feelings hurt, she would prefer a hug rather than a fuck.

“I know.” Hazel says.

And then, nothing but the quiet hum of two girls pretending to sleep.

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Author's note:

Hey! Just wanted to say—your comments seriously recharge my writing energy. Thank you so much! I’m being really careful with this fic, trying not to let it spiral like my last one (where too many characters took over 😅). This chapter focuses more on the secondary characters, but I hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter 16: Harrowgate✨

Summary:

Camille takes Ari on an unexpected detour that turns their evening into something far more personal than either of them planned. Amid nostalgic hallways, soft glances, and tangled memories, both women confront the quiet truths they’ve been carrying. What begins as a casual night slowly deepens into something tender, vulnerable, and unresolved. Feelings are shared, kisses are exchanged, and choices are made—but not everything finds closure. Some connections soothe, others linger, and one leaves a silent mark neither of them will forget.
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Camille’s hands rest casually on the wheel of her sleek EV as city lights glide past the windshield.

“Why the rush, baby deer?” she teases, glancing sideways. “Couldn’t wait to be in my arms again?”

Ari flushes, turning her gaze toward the window—but a shy smile lingers on her lips.

Camille chuckles softly, eyes back on the road. Something in her chest warms.

Maybe I have a shot, she thinks.

Minutes pass in a quiet rhythm of engine hum and shared silence, until another thought creeps in.

Huh... last time we had a date, she was the one chasing me. I wasn’t even sure I wanted her.

And now... I'm the one chasing?

What the hell.

Camille’s hands are steady on the wheel, but her mind drifts.

The elegant café she had in mind is just a few blocks away. She can already picture the hostess, the soft clink of wine glasses, the kind of atmosphere that says I planned this.

But something doesn’t sit right.

She glances at Ari—still a little flushed, still quiet. Maybe nervous. Maybe excited. Maybe both.

Camille exhales through her nose and, without a word, takes the next left instead.

“Wait—where are we going?” Ari asks, eyes flicking toward her.

Camille smiles. “I’m improvising.”

They drive a few more minutes, out of the buzz of the main streets, until a wrought iron gate comes into view—its ivy-covered crest unmistakable.

Ari blinks. “Is this…?”

Camille nods, pulling in.

“My alma mater,” she says simply. “Thought you might like to see it.”

They don’t enter through the front gate.

Instead, Camille takes a sharp turn into a narrow access lane flanked by living ivy walls and sleek metal fencing. She parks beside an unassuming maintenance post, steps out, and gestures to Ari.

“Shortcut,” she says.

Ari follows as Camille taps her access badge on what looks like a solid panel of mirrored glass. A door silently fades open, revealing a softly lit passage.

They step into a hidden walkway lined with glowing floor strips and walls embedded with digital ivy—its vines slowly moving with programmed elegance, a nod to the school's old-world aesthetic.

“Welcome to Harrowgate,” Camille says, voice low. “It’s changed a little, but this place… still breathes legacy.”

As they walk, the air grows quieter. Students pass by in silent gliders or walk with heads bowed under glowing hoods, the occasional robotic assistant rolling past with tray arms. Towering glass buildings arch like spires, and green tech fuses with old stone in seamless harmony.

Camille leads Ari through a solar-lit atrium, down a flight of smartglass stairs, and finally out onto a rooftop athletics complex—hidden above the lecture halls.

Ari gasps. “A track?”

“Built on top of the philosophy wing,” Camille replies, smiling. “Some things stay the same.”

She walks to the edge of the running lanes, staring out at the city skyline and the faint hum of wind turbines on the horizon.

“I used to run here. Every day. Before classes, before meetings, before pretending to have it all together.”

Ari approaches slowly. “Wow…You were disciplined.”

You probably still are.

“I had to be,” Camille says. “I wasn’t the smartest in the room. But I was always the one who showed up before sunrise.”

She glances sideways at Ari. Her expression is softer now—earnest.

“This place… made me,” Camille says softly. “And sometimes I hate it for that. But I owe it too much to pretend it didn’t matter.”

Ari nods, quietly moved.

Camille glances toward the far end of the rooftop track. “Sometimes Lyra and I would compete here. I met her in my second semester.”

Ari’s eyes widen slightly, intrigued. “You and Lyra met here…?”

Camille nods once. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat. Ari waits, and then asks gently, “What was she like?”

Camille stills. Regret coils low in her stomach. She shouldn’t have brought her up.

She remembers all of it—how Lyra arrived like a storm front. Ex-military or something… unreadable, magnetic. How she lit up the track and made the classroom more interesting. How Camille, despite herself, had been drawn in. How the quiet friendship had begun before the complications—before Lyra started attracting omegas and Camille started distancing herself out of self-preservation, to then start doing the complete opposite. It all got messy.

But Camille doesn’t say any of that.

She shrugs, keeping it casual. “She was… Lyra. The mysterious, beautiful, baddie. Tough… but also… you know… ”

Ari gives a small, thoughtful nod.

“Sounds like she was popular…”

Camille lets out a dry laugh.

“That’s an understatement. She had, like, ten girls and—”

She stops when she notices Ari staring.

Their eyes meet. Camille’s smile falters, just slightly.

Camille immediately steers the conversation away. “Anyway. You hungry? I know a place nearby with terrible lighting and amazing food.”

But Ari hesitates, fidgeting slightly. “I… I actually wanted to explore more of this place. Like… where was your dorm?”

Camille lifts a brow, amused. This little omega…

A small smirk curls on Camille’s lips as she leads Ari down a less-traveled path.

They slip through a side window, landing softly in a dim hallway. The air is hushed—lights off, everything cloaked in shadows and the scent of fresh polish.

They pass door after door, quiet footsteps echoing faintly. Near the end of the hall, Camille stops.

“The other dorm you see there…” she nods toward the one across from hers, “that was Suzie’s. Or, used to be.”

Ari tilts her head, curious. “Hmmm… can we peek inside?”

Camille smiles. “I don’t have all the keys, baby deer.”

She pulls out a sleek card from her pocket. “Just this one.”

She taps it against the pad beside the handle. A soft beep. The door slides open.

“Wow,” Camille murmurs, stepping inside. “I can’t believe they didn’t change it.”

Ari enters after her, eyes wide.

“This used to be my room…” Camille says quietly. “But now…”

They both pause.

The space is surprisingly cozy. Posters of the current smutty drama franchise line the walls. A mountain of plushies sprawls across the bed. There are pastel throw blankets, cute pillows, a shelf of romance novels and sticky notes with hearts on them.

Camille raises an eyebrow. “...Looks like an omega’s room.”

“Hey, hey—” Ari starts, flustered. “Uhm… it could belong to a very emotional beta. A soapy one! Don’t believe the stereotypes!”

Camille turns to look at her, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Mmhmm,” she says, leaning casually against the wall. “Sure, baby deer.”

Ari mutters. “Betas can like plushies too.”

Camille just smiles, eyes gleaming. “Of course they can.”

But her gaze lingers on Ari a little longer than necessary. This borrowed room—cozy, lived-in, not theirs feels oddly intimate.

“Did Suzie and Hazel ever visit you in the dorm?” Ari asks, her eyes scanning the space.

“Yeah, all the time,” Camille says, her gaze settling on the cringey posters and collection of plushies now occupying the room. 

“This used to be an alpha-only dorm,” she adds, half to herself. “Suzie would sleep over sometimes when her room got too cluttered.”

“Cluttered with what?” Ari asks, curious.

“Experiments. Random projects. Her place looked like a lab half the time,” Camille says with a small smile.

Ari tilts her head, intrigued. “She sounds like "the smart one” in the group.”

Camille smirks. “Yeah. And Hazel came attached to her,” she lowers her voice “for balance…”

Ari laughs.

A pause. The mood shifts.

“Did… Lyra ever visit?” Ari asks, voice quiet.

Camille doesn’t answer immediately. She glances again at the soft, pastel world around her—plushies, frilly curtains, something with glitter on the shelf.

Then, casually:

 “Wanna watch Flix?”

The dodge is obvious.

Ari notices. But she doesn’t push.

 

Before they know it, they’re on the bed, tucked beneath one of the dorm’s silly pastel blankets, the screen flickering quietly in front of them. Camille has the remote. Ari has her warmth.

They sit, half-lie under the mismatched blanket, bodies pressed close on the bed that doesn’t belong to Camille anymore—but feels familiar to both of them. The dorm is quiet, faintly scented with plastic packaging and a strawberry diffuser the new resident probably overuses.

Camille scrolls through the dorm’s Flix account. “Oh wow…” she mutters.

The new resident’s algorithm is… chaotic. Wall-to-wall soapy dramas, smutty romances, and overly emotional teen fantasy thrillers.

Camille shakes her head. “Let’s mess with her algorithm”

Ari lets out a soft laugh, she barely pays attention to the screen anymore. She’s curled against Camille’s side, her head nestled just under Camille’s chin, her body fitting snugly between Camille’s arms. She is inhaling her scent mixed with the strawberry aroma and ilimakes her feel very relaxed.

She lets out a quiet breath.

And she leans in just a little closer.

Camille’s arm stretches out lazily, remote in hand. Her thumb scrolls through Flix’s endless stream of chaotic recommendations.

“Smut, smut, overly dramatic smut, weird cartoon with abs… let’s add some documentaries…” she mutters.

Camille’s body is warm and composed beneath the blanket, her long legs half-tangled with Ari’s smaller ones. She looks like she belongs here—cool, relaxed, completely unaware of how deeply this moment is lodging itself into Ari’s memory.

Ari closes her eyes for a second. Camille’s scent surrounds her—clean, faintly floral, like lavender and something warm beneath it.

I think this will be my last chance, she tells herself.

Slowly, her hand rests on Camille’s waist. No movement. Just the quiet weight of it there.

Camille glances down. “You comfy?”

Ari nods. “Yeah.”

I think I could sleep in your arms, Camille, and wake up well rested.

They stay like that for a while, the flicker of the TV casting soft light across their faces and over the ceiling. A plush bear smiles from the headboard shelf, watching.

Camille eventually stops scrolling. The remote lowers to the mattress. Her free hand drifts to Ari’s arm, thumb brushing slow, idle arcs.

“You know,” she murmurs, “I didn’t expect tonight to feel like this.”

Ari’s voice is smaller. “Like what?”

Camille doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingers on Ari’s hand at her waist.

“Like something I’ll remember.”

Ari blinks up at her.

Camille smiles faintly, then turns back toward the screen. “Don’t make it weird, baby deer.”

“I wasn’t going to…” Ari whispers.

Camille chuckles. “Mmhmm.”

And for a while, neither of them speaks. But the silence isn’t empty. It’s thick with all the things neither of them is ready to say.

Camille’s hand lowers fully now, the remote forgotten beside her. She turns her head, just enough to look down at Ari—the curve of her cheek, those wide, waiting eyes.

“Kiss me,” Camille says. It’s quiet. Intentional.

Ari’s breath catches.

She searches Camille’s face, expecting a tease—but finds only sincerity. A soft, open challenge.

“Camille…” she whispers.

Camille doesn’t move, just waits. Her hand stays on Ari’s arm, steady and warm.

Ari leans in, heart thudding. Slowly, cautiously, until her lips hover just above Camille’s.

“Okay.”

Then she kisses her.

It’s soft. Hesitant. But Camille kisses back—tilting her head, brushing her thumb along Ari’s jaw. And everything melts.

No urgency. No heat. Just a kiss. Gentle. Careful. The kind that holds, not takes.

When they part, Camille doesn’t pull away. Their foreheads nearly touch.

“How did that feel?” she asks.

Ari hesitates.

It felt good. Sweet. A kiss that leaves no bruises. The kind that should feel right. It felt as good as a kiss from an alpha can feel to an omega…

She doesn’t say any of that.

Instead: “I think you know.”

Camille exhales through her nose. Her eyes flick away for a moment.

Then, quietly—more thought than accusation—she says:

“Ari… you’re just like Lyra.”

Ari blinks. Startled. But she doesn’t respond.

She doesn’t need to.

Because they both know.

Some things feel good.

But they’re not it.

.

.

.

.

They end up watching one of the soapy dramas, giggling at the over-the-top plotlines and ridiculous romantic twists—until it gets way too smutty.

Camille squints at the screen. “Okay, that escalated.”

Ari buries her face in Camille’s shoulder, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

They sneak out of the dorm, giggling like students, careful not to wake anyone. Camille drives her back to Pomona in the soft quiet of night, the roads calm, the city dim and sleepy.

Ari stares out the passenger window, the reflection of streetlights streaking across her face. Then she glances at Camille—hands on the wheel, focused, relaxed.

I wish I could fall for her… she thinks. It would be so easy. She’s mature, funny, attractive… if I hadn’t met Lyra…

She sighs. But I met Lyra.

“I’m sorry,” Ari mutters, almost too quietly.

Camille glances at her, then chuckles. “Ari, don’t.”

The sound of her voice is kind, not bitter. Just… honest.

It’s freaky how much this reminds me of that night at the office, Camille thinks.

“Some things just don’t work,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “And that’s it.”

Ari stares at her for a second, face softening.

Ughhh, she’s so mature! she sulks inwardly. And a little of that sulk shows.

Camille notices and raises an eyebrow. “Hey… don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who rejected you.”

“Ugh, I know,” Ari groans. “It’s just that you’re such an amazing person… I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

Camille laughs—really laughs this time. “Oh, my …You really are something, Ari.”

Ari turns toward her, a little desperate. “Can we still be friends? Please don’t hate me.”

Camille reaches over and ruffles her hair roughly. “Friends it is, baby deer.”

Ari’s hair ends up a mess, but she grins—grateful, relieved, and maybe just a little bit sad.

.

.

.

Back at her place, Ari waves Camille goodbye from the doorway, watching the taillights of the EV fade into the night.

She closes the door behind her, silence settling in like a weight. The living room feels too still. Her eyes land on the couch—that couch—where Lyra had once pinned her down, body heavy over hers, lips on her neck.

She hesitates.

Then turns away. She doesn’t sit.

Instead, she drifts into her bedroom and lets herself fall face-first onto the bed.

A beat of silence.

Then, a sob breaks free—raw, sudden.

“Uuugh! What’s wrong with meee!” she wails into a pillow, voice muffled and tight.

She sniffs, wipes her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, eyes red.

“Goodbye… Camille,” she whispers.

Quiet fills the room again. 

.

.

.

 

Email from Ari

Sent: Thursday, 01:17 AM

Subject: Remote Work – Thursday

Hi Lyra,

Just letting you know I’ll be working remotely tomorrow (Thursday). Nothing serious, I just need a quiet day to catch up on a few things. I’ll be online and reachable all day if anything comes up.

Best,

Ari

—

Lyra reads the email on her tablet while sipping her morning juice in the executive lounge. She’s already gone through three reports and a logistics update—but something about Ari’s message freezes her thumb mid-scroll.

She reads it again.

“Just need a quiet day.”

That’s not like her. Ari doesn’t take impromptu remote days, not without flagging it earlier in the week. And this late at night?

It was already Thursday and she wrote “Tomorrow”… that’s careless, that’s not her usual self.

Lyra lowers the tablet, her brow furrowing.

She taps her stylus against her palm. Thinks. Replays Ari’s face from yesterday—the way she was smiling, sure, but a little too tightly. The way her eyes avoided hers during their last interaction in the hallway.

She exhales through her nose. Sets down the tablet.

Something’s off.

Lyra glances at the clock, then to her phone. No messages. No follow-ups. Not even one of Ari’s usual emoji-laced "I'm-alive-and-hydrated" morning check-ins in the company's social media site.

She stands, grabbing her blazer from the back of the chair, and mutters to herself, “I’m going to regret this.”

But she’s already heading toward the garage.

Dim light filters through the concrete gaps above. Camille’s heels echo softly as she spots a familiar figure near the executive EV stalls.

“Huh? Lyra?” she calls out, walking closer. “Lyra, heading out so early?”

Lyra’s hand pauses on the car door. She turns, eyes sharp, her face pale with tension.

Camille slows, then frowns. “Woah. Lyra, you look like—”

Lyra interrupts her, voice clipped. “Ari’s not coming to the office.”

Camille blinks, caught off guard. Then she exhales, running a hand through her hair. “Ah, yeah… omegas…”

Lyra stares harder. “Does this have to do with you?”

Camille hesitates, scratching the back of her neck. “Yeah…”

That’s all Lyra needs to hear. Her eyes narrow, her whole body tightening with restrained fury. She takes a step forward, fists clenched, her jaw twitching.

Camille raises a hand, quickly. “Wait, whatever you’re thinking, it's not it—”

Lyra takes a deep breath.

“In fact you might be glad.”

Her phone buzzes sharply.

Lyra flinches, then yanks it from her pocket.

Caller ID: A. Astoré

Her blood runs cold. She gulps, then answers.

“Hello…”

A crisp, cold voice flows through the line—the CEO.

Lyra listens, rigid.

“Aha… Aha…”

Camille watches her, expression unreadable.

Lyra ends the call slowly, her thumb hovering over the screen, reluctant to let go.

“She wants to see me,” she says, voice flat.

Camille tilts her head. “Aira?”

Lyra doesn’t answer. Her shoulders are tight, jaw clenched, grip firm around the phone.

Camille lets out a short, dry chuckle as she steps back. “Good luck with that.”

“I’ll see Ari first,” Lyra says.

“What? Don’t be stupid, Lyra. Go to Aira—she doesn’t call unless it’s…” Camille exhales sharply. “Fine. I’ll go to Ari.”

Lyra growls. “Do you think that helps?”

“It should,” Camille snaps. “Ari doesn’t want me, alright?”

Lyra’s eyes widen. A rush of joy swells in her chest—quiet, undeniable. Her breath catches. She nods.

Camille smiles faintly, stepping closer. She reaches up and touches Lyra’s cheek.

“Camille…” Lyra murmurs.

Camille kisses her—soft, warm, steady. Lyra melts into it, kisses her back. When their lips part, the silence is tender.

“Calm down, okay?” Camille says gently.

Lyra nods, faint color blooming in her cheeks.

Camille turns and walks away, the sound of her heels fading into the garage.

Lyra remains still, eyes fixed on the concrete floor beneath her.

She exhales, slow and deep.

Reality returns.

She’s been summoned—by Aira Astoré.

And whatever this is… it’s always serious.

.

.

.

Camille pulls the white EV to the curb and kills the engine. The car hums as it powers down, a soft whirr fading into the morning air.

Pomona looks tired. The street is cracked and uneven, patched in places with old asphalt. A few tufts of grass grow rebelliously through the fissures. Across the road, someone’s front yard has turned into a jungle—ankle-high weeds, a toppled lawn chair, a tricycle slowly rusting under the sun.

Camille steps out, sharply dressed, her blazer too crisp for a neighborhood like this. She pauses for a moment, glancing around as if expecting someone to tell her she doesn’t belong. She notices the neighborhood's shortcomings more in the day.

She walks up the short path toward the apartment.

Knocks.

Footsteps shuffle behind the door, and then it opens. Ari didn’t even ask who it was.

She stands there in a hoodie that hangs off one shoulder, pajama shorts, and socks that don’t match. Her eyes are swollen from crying, but her face is clean now. Honest. She says nothing—just steps aside.

Camille enters.

She stands near the door for a moment, uncertain. Then she offers the box in her hand.

“Brought sticky cookies,” she says.

Ari blinks. “You didn’t have to…”

“I know.” Camille shrugs. “But I wanted to.”

They sit on the couch, eating in silence. The bagels are still warm. Ari spreads the cinnamon honey Camille remembered she liked, her fingers a little shaky.

Camille watches her with quiet focus. No judgment. No pressure.

Eventually, Ari speaks. “You’re not mad?”

Camille leans back, draping one arm over the top of the couch. “A little. But not at you.”

Ari glances down. “Then who?”

Camille pauses, eyes on the ceiling. “Myself.”

Ari blinks, but before she can ask more, Camille sits up, opens the box of sticky cookies, and bites into one like she needs the sugar more than the conversation.

“Anyway,” she says, mouth half-full, “why are you crying? You didn’t get dumped.”

Ari groans, burying her face in her hands. “Uuugh! I cry because I’m so stupid…”

Camille puts the cookie down and takes her hand gently. “Stop that.”

Ari freezes at the warmth in her touch—steady, kind. It makes her feel even worse.

So she tries to deflect. “Why are you mad at yourself, Camille?”

Camille sighs, her thumb brushing lightly against Ari’s fingers. “Because… I still have some residual feelings for Lyra.”

Ari turns to her, startled. “Wha—”

Camille exhales sharply. “Don’t judge me.”

Ari shakes her head quickly. “No, no… not judging. It’s just… we’re angry at ourselves for very similar reasons. That’s kind of amazing.”

Camille raises an eyebrow, side-eyeing her. “So… you regret liking Lyra?”

Ari sighs, twisting her fingers together. “I… I think Lyra’s not exactly the healthiest person between you two. So I keep wondering—why do I like her?”

Camille lets out a dry scoff. “Because you two are the same person.”

Ari flinches. “What?! No, we’re not— I mean… we’re similar, sure, but—”

Her eyes widen. Lyra’s kind of… messed up in the head… Oh my god. Am I messed up in the head?!

Camille grins, taking another bite of the cookie. “What’s going through that head of yours, baby deer?”

Ari exhales, eyes lowered. “I… I’m thinking about how I’m going to miss you.”

Camille freezes mid-chew, then swallows hard. She looks at Ari like she’s just grown antlers.

“Are you serious right now?” Camille says, incredulous.

Ari frowns. “It’s true! I hate myself for not choosing you.”

Camille lets out a surprised laugh—light, a little bitter, but real. She shakes her head, then leans back against the couch, eyeing Ari with a familiar glint.

“You know…” she says, voice low, teasing, “if you want… I could give you a proper goodbye.”

Ari freezes.

A proper goodbye?

Her mind stutters, races, scrambles for logic—fails.

She turns to look at Camille.

Camille’s smile is confident, a little wicked, completely unfazed.

And in that moment, Ari forgets how to breathe.

Because how could she say no?

.

.

.

.

 

They’re tucked into Ari’s bed, the blanket pulled up to their waists—just like they’d been in Camille’s old dorm room. The light is low, the screen flickering softly. Camille is lazily scrolling through Ari’s Flix queue.

“Baby deer… you actually have a decent selection of indie films,” she teases.

“Uuuaaghh! Camille, you’re making it worse,” Ari groans, burying her face into Camille’s shoulder—but she doesn’t move away.

Camille smirks, wrapping an arm around her. “I know, baby deer. I know…”

They scroll endlessly, half-watching five minutes of this, two minutes of that—never settling on anything. Eventually, Camille stops on a paused frame and lets the remote fall to the blanket.

“Ari,” she says, her voice softer now.

“Mhm?” Ari hums, still curled against her, cheek pressed to Camille’s collarbone.

“Do you want a kiss goodbye?” Camille asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Ari nods before her brain catches up—instinctive, unthinking. Then her eyes widen. She pulls back slightly, blushing furiously.

Goddess of all omegas… I’m the worst person alive.

Camille chuckles softly. “I know you, Ari.”

Ari turns her face away, flushed with guilt and embarrassment.

“You’re just like her,” Camille adds quietly.

Ari glances at her, mouth parting like she wants to respond—but the words falter. Instead, she looks down and mutters, voice tinged with sarcasm, “Do you also ask Lyra if she wants a kiss when she’s stressed?”

Camille smiles, but there’s a pause.

Then: “Yes.”

Ari blinks. That… was not the answer she expected.

Her breath hitches. She looks at Camille—who’s no longer teasing, just honest.

And that honesty stings a little… but also—

“Seriously?” Ari asks, her voice tentative.

Camille nods, unapologetic. “Yeah. We kissed right before I came here.”

Silence.

It spreads between them like slow fog. But Ari doesn’t feel the sharp pang she expected. Not the twist she felt when she heard Lyra had touched Nova.

Just… confusion.

Curiosity.

“Does she… like you?” Ari asks.

Camille sighs, not unkindly. “She and I are two alphas blowing off steam. Her more than me… it happens a lot even though it’s not… widely accepted…”

 

Ari processes that. Slowly.

 

“But…” she murmurs, gaze dropping, “I’m not an alpha. So what would that make us if we kissed?”

Camille turns toward her, eyes unreadable for a beat.

Then, she reaches out, gently cupping Ari’s cheek. Her touch is warm. Confident. Familiar.

“Well,” Camille says softly, “you seem a little tense too. And you and her…” her thumb strokes lightly, “you’ve got surprisingly similar ways of blowing off steam.”

Ari doesn’t flinch.

She should—she thinks she should. But she doesn’t.

She just blinks slowly, breath steady, her heart ticking like it’s listening.

“I’m not jealous,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

Camille raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “No?”

She leans in and closes the distance, pressing a slow, mindful kiss to Ari’s lips.

And Ari gives in.

Ah… what am I doing?! Ari thinks, panic curling beneath the softness.

What am I doing? Camille thinks, but she doesn’t stop.

They part, lips barely brushing as they catch their breath.

 “Camille…” Ari whispers. “I still want Lyra… I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

Camille chuckles—low, warm, completely unfazed.

 “Ari… I’m the one taking advantage.”

She leans in, kissing her again—deeper this time. Her body shifts gently, easing over Ari’s, one hand braced on the mattress beside her. The kiss is slow. Measured. Unhurried.

And Ari melts beneath her.

Her arms slip around Camille’s shoulders, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her lips.

“Camille…”

They keep kissing. Again. And again. No rush, no pressure—just the steady rhythm of breath and warmth and lips.

Camille’s voice brushes her ear.

“You asked if Lyra ever visited my dorm…”

A beat.

“She did. And this… is what happened every time.”

Then she claims Ari’s mouth again—hungry, tender. One hand stays braced on the bed, while the other glides slowly along Ari’s side, fingers curling just under her ribs, grounding them together with gentle intimacy.

Their bodies press close, chest to chest. Ari arches slightly, and Camille deepens the kiss.

Ari flushes at the image: Lyra… with Camille…

Goddess, have mercy.

It shouldn’t turn her on. But it does. Shame and arousal mix like smoke and honey in her chest.

Is this okay?

It feels too good. Camille is steady, grounding. So different from Lyra’s fire.

Ah… Camille…

They kiss for a long while. No urgency. No destination. Just comfort. Warmth. The quiet safety of being wanted and held.

Lyra can’t complain, Ari tells herself. We’re not official. They’ve kissed… I’m not doing anything she didn’t.

Between kisses, Camille murmurs, “It never went further than this though. Just that one time… at the office. But that was different.”

Ari’s breath hitches, aroused.

“What did you two do?” she asks, swallowing hard.

Camille leans in, whispering in her ear.

Ari’s eyes go wide. Her cheeks burn.

 “Oh wow…” she breathes.

Camille smiles, then lets out a soft laugh.

“Ari… you’re a very unusual omega.”

Still flushed, Ari whispers, “Can we… kiss some more?”

Camille lifts an eyebrow, amused.

“You shameless little thing…”

Then she dives back in to kiss her.

Ari parts her legs slightly, just enough to let Camille settle between them. Camille notices—of course she does. She's keenly aware of where she is, of the heat between them, of the way Ari responds. And even though desire pulses through her, Camille is firm in her decision: she won’t take this further. Not with Lyra still in the picture. Not like this.

But she allows herself one slow roll of her hips.

“Ah—!” Ari gasps, her body arching involuntarily.

“Easy… easy, baby deer…” Camille murmurs against her ear, her voice low and coaxing. “This is to relax you…” A soft, almost self-deprecating sigh escapes her. “And to console me…”

They keep kissing—long, slow, and open-mouthed. Camille holds herself still, her hips still now, resisting the urge to move again. She focuses on the press of their mouths, the heat of their breath, the quiet ache of restraint.

And Ari… Ari lets herself be kissed. Held. Wanted.

.

Eventually, the tension fades. The heat softens into something gentler.

They lie together, eyes fluttering closed between soft kisses.

They fall asleep like that—Camille curled protectively around Ari, one arm resting across her waist, fingers caught in the folds of her hoodie.

And for once, Ari doesn’t dream of chasing.

She dreams of stillness.

Of safety.

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.

.

Author's notes:

I originally planned for the next chapter to be the last, buuut… I’ve decided against it. I want to explore the characters a bit more and see where things go. Let’s see what happens!✨

 

 

Chapter 17: A Proper Goodbye 💫

Summary:

When the moment finally comes, it’s not about who stays—it’s about who sees you before they go.

In the quiet of night, an unexpected visit unearths old tensions, unspoken truths, and raw emotion. What begins with confrontation slowly transforms into something more vulnerable—where honesty is sharper than anger, and affection takes forms no one expected. As lines blur and roles shift, three hearts navigate what it means to choose, to let go, and to hold on—if only for one more night.

The climatic resolution we were aaalll waaaiting fooorr!!
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Black eyes.

 

Still. Unblinking.

 

Watching.

 

Lyra’s gaze cuts through the dim of the room—8 p.m., but it feels later, heavy with quiet. She stands just beyond the threshold, locked onto the two figures tangled in sleep.

 

Ari and Camille.

On the bed.

Breathing soft. Close.

 

Her expression is unreadable—but it carries a weight that fills the room. Camille shifts, sensing something. Her eyes flutter open. She blinks once, then again, slowly focusing—

 

And freezes.

 

“Lyra?!” she gasps, bolting upright. “How did you get in?!”

 

Ari stirs at the sudden noise, groggy. “Mmh…” She rubs her face, squints toward the door. “Lyra?”

Lyra doesn’t respond right away.

Her red lipstick stands out starkly against her skin, making her look almost dangerous in the dim light. Her straight black hair has come loose, falling around her face in sleek, disheveled strands—as if she’d undone it mid-motion.

Her dark eyes stay fixed on the scene, intense.

She just stands there, staring at them.

 

Still. Silent.

 

Ari, half-asleep, gives a small smile. “Lyra… I’m so happy you’re here.”

 

But Lyra keeps staring.

 

Tense. Quiet.

 

She’s going to kill me , Camille thinks. Her heart is pounding. She can feel the weight of Lyra’s presence, coiled and tense.

 

Then Lyra moves.

 

She kneels down beside the bed, her shoulders slumping as she exhales.

 

And then—she sits.

 

“I’m too tired,” she mutters.

 

Her voice is low. Hollow. Like she’s run out of whatever fire she’d brought with her.

 

Camille exhales, chest still tight.

 

Beside her, Ari shifts under the blanket, confused and drowsy, blinking in the dim light.

 

Lyra’s eyes are no longer on them. She stares at the floor, elbows resting on her knees.

 

Then—quietly:

“Camille…”

Her voice barely rises. “I should bite your head off for being in bed with my omega…”

 

Camille gulps. Ari blushes.

 

My omega.

 

“Luckily for you, this room doesn't smell like sex…” Lyra mutters, rubbing her temples, “ugh…and I guess I’m just too tired…”

 

Camille lets out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Oh… so it was one of those errands,” she mutters.

Phew! I’m sorry Lyra, but technically we didn't break any rules…

 

Then Ari speaks, voice light but pointed:

“Why don’t you kiss her to recharge… like you usually do?”

 

Camille tenses—hard.

Ari!!

Lyra’s head lifts immediately. Her eyes meet Ari’s, wide, caught. “Ah… that…”

 

She’s caught.

And Ari knows it.

 

“Ari… it’s an alpha thing,” Lyra says, trying to steady her voice. “It’s different…”

 

But Ari straightens, her gaze sharpening. No longer sleepy.

 

“But she likes you, Lyra. She’s a human being—not some outlet. And she’s amazing. You don’t get to be this cruel to someone like her.”

 

Camille petrifies and stares at Ari with alarmed eyes.

Ari!!! What the fuck are you doing?! Don´t you see that I’m in bed with you?!! DON’T YOU SEE HOW HYPOCRITICAL THAT IS?!

 

Lyra blinks, stunned—thrown by Ari’s …clarity? audacity? She’s not sure.

 

She turns toward her, searching for a way out. “Ari, but—”

 

“No buts, Lyra,” Ari cuts in, firm. “Apologize.”

Lyra stares at her—confused, torn.
Her chest rises and falls, caught between conflicting instincts: the urge to assert, the weight of guilt, the desperate need to explain… and something deeper. The quiet, maddening desire to please.

Because Ari isn’t angry.
She’s disappointed.

She’s figured it out.
The pieces fit now: Lyra and Camille have known each other for years—since college. They’ve kissed. Maybe more.
But they’ve never been in a relationship. And to Ari, that feels deeply unfair.
All that history, all that closeness… yet somehow never enough to name it. Never enough to claim it.

It makes everything feel unstable. Like Lyra chooses just enough to keep , but never enough to commit .

She remembers Camille’s sadness—the quiet longing in her eyes back at her place, in the hush of the living room.
The way she sat in that chair, her body close, her desire undeniable… but her restraint even stronger.

Camille could have made love to her.
She wanted to.

But she stopped.

Because she didn’t want to touch Ari as a shadow of Lyra.
She wanted it to mean something.
To be real.
To be Ari .

Not a memory.
Not a substitute.

And that choice— that restraint—stays with Ari more than any kiss ever could.

That’s why Ari is disappointed in Lyra, and that hurts Lyra more than anger.

 

Camille sits stiff between them, feeling like she’s glowing under a spotlight. Heart racing. Muscles braced.

I’m going to die here. Death by awkward power play.

 

But Lyra doesn’t explode. Doesn’t bite her head.

She exhales, slowly… and lowers her gaze.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice quiet, eyes cast to the floor.

 

Camille’s eyes widen, her mouth opens a little.

 

Ari holds her gaze a beat longer… then nods.

“Thank you.”

 

A heavy silence follows.

 

Then Ari speaks again. “You could’ve told me about it, Lyra.”

 

Lyra lifts her eyes, wary.

 

“I understand why you’d want to kiss her,” Ari continues. “I understand it better than anyone.”

 

“Ari—” Camille’s voice is taut, warning. “That’s enough—”

 

But Ari keeps going, calm and stripped bare.

 

“Camille is kind. She’s protective. She’s stable. She makes you feel safe and calm. Unlike you… and unlike me.”

 

Camille is trembling. “Ari, please—”

 

But Lyra answers before Ari can say more.

 

“…Yes.”

 

One word. Quiet. Steady.

 

Camille turns, stunned.

Eyes wide again—like she’s just heard something she didn’t know she needed.

 

“Yes, it’s true,” Lyra says softly, her voice more open than it’s been in days. “Camille… she stood by me when I was at my lowest.”

Camille meets her gaze, eyes steady, a quiet understanding passing between them.

 

Ari takes a mental note of that.

 

“You have.” A small smile flickers through.

 

Camille feels it break inside her, something swelling. 

Am I going to cry? No way! Fucking Lyra, shut up! 

She holds it in. Not one tear is shed.

 

“You read me like a book,” Lyra says, barely above a whisper. “So many times, I wished I could love you the way you deserve.”

 

Camille sniffles, voice trembling. “Lyra… please. Stop.”

 

But Lyra leans forward, bracing herself on the edge of the bed, and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to Camille’s lips.

 

Ari watches. Not jealous—just amazed.

 

Lyra pulls back slightly, breath warm against Camille’s mouth. “Thank you, Camille.”

 

Camille is stunned. The kiss… is soft. Familiar. Warm.

 

Then another set of lips.

 

Ari leans in, gently pressing a kiss to Camille’s cheek, then she softly but boldly pulls her chin with her soft fingers towards her and gives her a kiss on the lips.

 

Ari what the fuck?! This omega will be the death of me!!

 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

 

Camille blinks flushed.

 

She’s being kissed. From both sides.

 

Her heart is racing. Her brain stalls.

 

What is going oooon?! 

 

She stares up at the ceiling, dazed, lips parted, voice dry.

 

“Okay. I’m either hallucinating… or Lyra killed me and this is a very weird version of the afterlife.”

 

Lyra exhales, amused. “Okay, let me scooch in.”

 

Camille blinks. “What??”

 

Ari gently tugs Camille back, creating space.

 

Camille shifts. And just like that—Lyra slides into the bed. Pressed to Camille’s left.

 

Ari’s still on her right.

 

A medium-sized bed, suddenly full.

 

Camille lays there, frozen, sandwiched between a reformed storm and an audacious little deer.

 

Camille’s arms hover awkwardly. Her breath is shallow.

“I have no idea how I got here,” she mutters.

 

Ari giggles softly, nuzzling closer.

 

Lyra, eyes already fluttering shut, murmurs, “You took care of me for too long… and I’m…” She trails off, voice fading. “If what you told me in the parking lot is true, then Ari and I won’t be able to kiss you… or reach out to you like this anymore…”

 

Then suddenly—her eyes snap open. Her tone sharpens.

 

“Unless it’s not true!”

 

Camille blinks. She reaches over and gently takes Lyra’s hand.

 

“Calm down,” she says, squeezing lightly. “It’s true… Ari wants you. I'm out of the race, ok?”

 

Ari sighs. Oh Camille… why are you so you? You make it so hard…

 

Lyra exhales. The tension in her shoulders softens.

 

She presses a little closer, quiet again.

 

“…Okay,” she whispers.

 

Ari murmurs, “It’s amazing how Lyra and I seem to feel the same sometimes… ”

 

Camille turns her head slightly to look at her, she shifts towards her.

 

“Remember when you were hugging me on that beanie, Camille?” Ari asks, her voice low, eyes searching Camille’s face. “I was unstable as heck and… feeling you hold me calmed me slowly… at first it… didn't calm me… but then… it did, it relaxed me. And… the other day in your dorm—I felt it... That calming presence you have but, it did nothing to me”

 

That stings.

 

“Yet, today, you calmed me again and I gave in… but what happens when I'm ok and I don't need calming? You and I… it wouldn’t be fair to you if we dated. Lyra understands me better… I feel like I need her always…”

 

Camille blinks, it hurts but… she knows it's true.

It would be like what I had with Lyra—her reaching out to me just to blow off steam… and then disappearing or being like… she remembers the half hearted wave Ari gave her in the office. …ugh, I wouldn’t want that.

 

Then she feels warmth behind her—Lyra, curling around her, arms slipping around her waist as she presses close and breathes in her scent.

 

Camille’s breath catches. She’s enveloped. And then Ari shifts closer too, nuzzling softly against her neck, her presence delicate but deliberate, also inhaling her scent.

 

Camille holds Ari’s arms gently, feeling their weight across her.

 

“Soo?... What is happening here then?” she starts, the words dissolving into the quiet air around them.

 

Suddenly a sweet, velvety voice:

 

“I’ll miss you, Camille…” Lyra whispers against her ear.

 

A shiver runs through Camille's body.

 

“Me too… I’ll miss you,” Ari echoes, her voice soft and close.

 

Camille feels the warmth of both bodies pressing into her—Lyra at her back, Ari at her front. Their presence surrounds her, anchoring her in a moment so tender it steals her breath.

 

She melts, slowly, into their embrace.

Her lips tremble. “I… I… we’ll see each other at the office…”

 

Lyra leans in, her voice like velvet. “You know what we mean.”

 

Camille gulps.

 

Ari presses a soft kiss to her neck. Camille shivers, breath hitching. “Oh my…”

 

Lyra’s lips find her ear, warm and slow.

 

“Oh my… oh my…” Camille breathes, barely holding herself together.

 

Ari kisses her neck again, tender and deliberate.

 

Lyra’s hands gently grip Camille’s thighs, pulling her closer as she continues to kiss the nape of her neck, her lips soft and persistent.

 

“Lyra… mmm…” Camille sighs.

 

Ari’s hand trails lower, finding a place near Camille’s curve before settling, her touch growing more deliberate as she deepens the kiss.

 

Camille’s breath falters. “Ari!...” she gasps “Are you? Are you two planning to...?”

 

Her words trail off, lost in the heat of the moment. Lyra’s noises in her ear, Ari’s cute explorations with her tiny hands, it’s too much.

 

“Ah… girls… you’re too sweet…” Camille breathes, voice unsteady.

 

Lyra shifts against her, pressing into her curve—Camille feels it, the growing shape beneath Lyra’s clothes. A flush rises in her cheeks as her back arches instinctively, lips parting in a soft gasp.

 

“We are actually selfish…” Lyra whispers “...not sweet at all.”

 

Camille lets out a breathy laugh.

“No… you’re not… you’re endearing…”

 

Ari sees an opening and kisses her—slow, deep, tongue brushing against hers. Camille melts into it, responding without thought. Then she feels Ari’s hands slide up from below, cupping her breasts through the fabric, and her eyes fly open.

 

“Ari! You— mmmm!!”

 

But Ari doesn’t stop. Her lips stay locked with Camille’s as her fingers explore gently.

 

“I’m sorry for being selfish again, Camille… but if this is my last time with you, I want to feel you as much as I can…” she murmurs between kisses.

 

This little omega is unbelievable!! Maybe they really are selfish… a couple of endearing, selfish, creatures.

 

Camille is in paradise.

 

Lyra moves behind her in slow, gentle rolls, her hips pressing against the curve of Camille’s bottom, hands steady on her waist, lips leaving soft, lingering kisses along her neck.

 

In front, Ari kisses her tenderly—sweet, unhurried—while her hands continue their delicate rhythm over Camille’s breasts.

 

It’s incredible… Now that Lyra is here, I feel like I’m allowed to do everything I’ve ever wanted, Ari thinks.

As long as Lyra’s okay… then everything’s okay.

 

She peeks at Lyra—sees her grinding slowly, kissing Camille’s neck with quiet hunger.

 

That’s too much… too stimulating… Ari thinks, breath catching. Lyra… you look so into it…

 

It’s overwhelming—in the best way. Camille feels like she could die happily, cradled between their warmth, their breath, their touch.

 

Her hands reach up to Ari’s back, gripping her glutes softly, needing to hold onto her softness.

 

“If this is the last time… I also want to make the most of it…” She breathes out.

Ari gasps.

 

Ari lifts her gaze, meeting Lyra’s eyes over Camille’s shoulder. 

 

“Lyra… is this ok?”

 

Lyra leans forward. Their necks stretch, and then—lips meet.

 

Camille watches them kiss above her, caught between their bodies, awestruck. Her gaze lingers on their lips—the slow, wet pull of them, the delicate dance of their tongues. She sees how Lyra savors Ari’s mouth with unhurried hunger, how Ari’s lips tremble softly in response.

 

Maybe the goddesses do exist , Camille thinks.

 

Lyra shifts, rising above them on her knees and hands, framing both Ari and Camille beneath her. Her breathing is heavy, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering between them.

 

“Okay…” she says, voice low but steady. “If we’re really going to do this… let’s set a few rules.”

 

Rules? Now? Camille thinks, That’s so Lyra of you!

 

Still, Ari nods. Camille follows, heart pounding.

 

Lyra’s gaze softens as it lands on Ari. She turns to Camille “Ari is mine. Okay?”

 

Camille nods without hesitation.

 

Lyra turns to Ari. “And… keep your underwear on, at least the bottom”

 

Ari frowns, pouting slightly. “Fine…” she sighs, but there's warmth in her voice.

 

Then Lyra looks down at Camille, softer now—vulnerable. Her voice is barely a whisper.

 

“Camille… Can I be inside you?”

 

Camille’s breath hitches. A deep blush rises as she glances at Ari—who offers a small, reassuring nod.

 

Goddess of all omegas… I’m about to witness something incredible, Ari thinks, adjusting her smile so it doesn’t betray the heat stirring inside her.

 

Camille looks from Lyra to Ari, then back to Lyra.

 

“Are… are you both okay with this?”

 

They both nod.

 

Camille’s mind reels—her body already answering for her. Her thoughts scatter like sparks.

 

Her head might just explode.

Ari is beaming, trying her best to appear calm—failing. She looks like a child in a toy store, eyes wide, heart thundering.

It’s amazing… I’m so selfish. I don’t deserve this. Goddess… I don't deserve this!
But Lyra wants this too… and in her own way, she’s selfish, too.
And Camille… Goddess of all alphas, Camille deserves this more than anyone.

Lyra’s voice cuts in, still laced with the last threads of hesitation. “You can’t be inside Ari… okay, Camille?”

Camille blinks, then nods gently.

Ari frowns. “Wait—”

“In fact,” Lyra says more firmly, “nobody will be inside Ari.”

“Hey!” Ari huffs. “Then what am I supposed to do ?”

Camille shifts, amused. “Lyra… maybe we don’t use, you know, that , but… fingers? Tongue?”

Lyra groans, rubbing her face. “Ugh. Fine…”

Ari grins. “Okay...”

Lyra leans in and kisses Camille first, then Ari, slow and warm. Then, without a word, she peels off her blouse and straddles them again, hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain.

Ari notices marks on her chest.

“Alright,” Lyra murmurs, voice lower now. “Let’s stop talking.”

Camille and Ari smile up at her, starry-eyed.

A little nervous.

But they’re here. Together.

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After minutes of kissing, slow caresses, and undressing, Lyra finally enters Camille. 

The first thrust—sharp, deep, familiar—pulls a gasp from both of them.

“Ah—Lyra…” Camille breathes, her voice trembling.

Camille is on her knees, on the bed, her face buried between Ari’s legs. Ari is still wearing her underwear, but Camille devours her through the fabric, her mouth hot and wanting—like she might tear it apart if she could.

“Goddess of all omegas… please… help me…” Ari whispers, voice breathless and high, her hands tangled in the sheets. She leans back on the little pile of pillows she’s assembled to be her support.

Lyra grips Camille’s waist firmly, her hips moving with slow, deliberate rhythm. She savors the feeling of Camille around her—how she clenches, how warm and welcoming she is. Every movement sends a thrill through her, but it’s more than just sensation—it’s also the view.

Camille’s body, trembling and open beneath her, is breathtaking.

The way her back arches. The way her breath catches. The way she yields and holds, all at once.

Lyra’s pulse flutters.

She shifts her gaze to Ari, who watches them going from wide-eyed to half-lidded, breathless.

“How do you feel, Ari?” Lyra asks, her voice husky but steady, still holding the edge of control.

Ari opens her eyes and looks at Lyra, then down at Camille—the sight in front of her almost too much to process.

Lyra, radiant and flushed, is moving inside Camille with graceful power. Camille, trembling, is pressed to her with devotion, her mouth lost in Ari’s heat.

Ari gasps. “I’m… ah—feeling amazing…”

Lyra smiles, her eyes narrowing with pleasure.

“And you, Camille? Do you feel amazing?”

Camille doesn’t answer—not with words. She’s trembling, her hands tight on Ari’s thighs as she moves her mouth with slow, aching hunger. Her eyes flick upward, locking with Lyra’s—watching her thrust, watching her glow.

What a beauty… Camille thinks, awestruck.

Lyra sees it in her gaze and smirks, breathless but a little smug.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Lyra leans forward, bracing herself with one hand on each side of Camille’s body. She uses the strength in her legs to thrust deeper, harder, her breath ragged.

She groans “Ah… Camille… I will miss this… so much…”

“Ah—! Lyra…” Camille whimpers, her voice trembling with pleasure.

Ari shifts, moving her underwear aside. She places a gentle hand on Camille’s head, guiding her down with a soft, deliberate pressure.

Camille doesn’t resist. She kisses Ari—hungry, ravenous—the taste, the scent, the rhythm of Lyra’s movements behind her all crashing into her at once.

It’s too much. It’s perfect. It 's everything.

Camille presses in deeper, her tongue exploring Ari with growing urgency. Her lips move with instinctive rhythm, massaging Ari’s soft folds as her grip tightens on Ari’s thighs, pulling her closer.

Every thrust from Lyra behind her sends a wave of pleasure through her body—and she channels it directly into the way she devours Ari. There’s no hesitation, only need and reverence.

Ari gasps, her fingers curling in Camille’s hair, overwhelmed by the intensity.

Camille is lost in it. In them.
And somewhere inside, she’s grateful—grateful to be wanted like this, to give and receive so fully.

Lyra wraps her arms around Camille’s waist, her cheek pressed against Camille’s back. With each thrust, she rubs against her, breath hot and uneven. Then she lifts her head, eyes drifting to Ari.

Her gaze widens.

Ari’s face is flushed, glowing with heat—sweat beading on her brow, lips parted as she pants. Her eyes are unfocused, lost in sensation. She tries to speak, but the words falter before they reach her tongue.

Ari's eyes meet hers.

Lyra’s breath catches. The pleasure is building, but so is something else—something aching.

“Lyra… go softer,” Camille murmurs, her voice strained but tender.

Lyra blinks, grounding herself. She looks at Camille’s face—flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in a mix of pleasure and vulnerability.

“Oh—sorry,” she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to Camille’s back. “Sorry, baby…”

She hadn’t realized how much harder she’d been thrusting—how the sight of Ari’s flushed, blissful face had drawn her in deeper without her even noticing.

The tenderness between Lyra and Camille is just too much for Ari.

“Ah!!” she cries out, her whole body tensing as she grips Camille’s hair, fingers trembling. Her head falls back, eyes rolling up as a shudder runs through her.

She comes—sudden and overwhelming, her body trembling in Camille’s hands.

Camille watches her, wide-eyed and breathless. Then a soft, disbelieving laugh escapes her lips, filled with awe.

Lyra stares, her mouth parted slightly, mesmerized.

The moment feels suspended—tender, raw, and radiant with something unspoken.

Ari lets out a breathless laugh, still trembling. “This is the most incredible thing… that’s ever happened to me…”

Camille smiles, eyes warm—then suddenly gasps as a deep thrust rocks through her. Her expression shifts, eyes flying wide, mouth parting in silent pleasure. Lyra had gone deep and stayed there, her grip on Camille tightening, arms tense and trembling with restraint.

Lyra is panting now, a wildness in her gaze—eyes dark and locked on Ari. “I want to make her feel that too,” she growls, low and rough.

Camille, breathless, trembling, manages to speak through the haze. “I… ah… your thrusts… they guided my kiss…”

Lyra’s gaze flicks to her, startled.

“In a way,” Camille whispers, “you did that too.”

Lyra looks at Camille’s blue trembling eyes with tenderness.

“You’re so kind, Camille, but I want to cause it with my body.”

Camille shivers at the sensation of Lyra, so firm and deep, Lyra whispers in her ear “Like how if I move in here….” She rolls her hips just a little, making Camille whimper “that happens…”

Camille is close to the edge.

Lyra notices. A slow, knowing smile touches her lips. She thrusts again, steady and deep.

“Ah!... Lyra, don’t stop…” Camille pleads, breath caught between pleasure and surrender.

Lyra leans close to her ear, her voice a whisper wrapped in heat.
“I want you to know…” she thrusts, slow but unrelenting, “...after that time in my office… I thought about it over and over… I couldn’t stop. I do desire you, Camille… I do… I do… I love fucking your ass. I'll miss it so much… I… I'll miss you…”  It feels like a confession.

Ari stares in awe.

Camille breaks.

Her body tightens, then releases in a flood of sensation. She gasps as she comes, a wave crashing through her—her climax sharp, wet, and undeniable. She collapses onto the bed, face buried in the sheets, trembling.

Ari blinks, pleasantly stunned. Then her eyes shift to the growing stain beneath Camille.

Well there goes that sheet.

Lyra withdraws slowly, gently.

“You’re beautiful, Camille,” Lyra whispers.

Camille lies on her belly, cheek pressed to the bed, still panting. Her body trembles with soft aftershocks, lips parted in something between a moan and a sigh.

Lyra leans down and kisses her cheek, her voice low and gentle.
“You’re beautiful inside and out… I never wanted to make you feel bad. When I said I couldn’t stop thinking about it… I also meant I couldn’t stop feeling guilty. I was afraid I’d hurt you.”

Camille’s eyes close, a small smile forming as she exhales.
“Yeah… I know,” she says softly, her voice touched with understanding.

Ari watches them, her heart swelling at the tenderness between them.

Then, suddenly, she blinks. “Wait—Lyra, you didn’t come!”

Lyra chuckles, brushing some hair from her face. “It’s okay.”

Ari frowns, sitting up a little. “No, no. You must.”

Lyra lifts her hand awkwardly, laughing under her breath as she gestures. “No, really—it’s okay. I’m good.”

But Ari narrows her eyes, unconvinced. “Mmhmm… we’ll see about that!”

She tries to pounce on her—but her legs give out beneath her. She stumbles forward with a surprised noise, landing softly on the bed instead.

Ari blinks, visibly stunned by her own weakness. “Oh…”

Then she frowns, adorably disappointed. “Seriously?”

Lyra laughs softly, the sound light and warm.

Camille sighs.

So… I guess this is really goodbye. I’m going to miss this—miss you both.

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Wait, have I just been Eiffel towered?!!

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THE END OF SEASON 1!!! CONGRATULATIONS YOU MADE IT!!! (yep... there's seasons)

 

Author's Note:

Yes, Camille has been semi-Eiffel Towered, hahaha!

Aaaand as you probably guessed, I originally planned for this to be the final chapter… but I kept writing. There are still things that need closure. And honestly, as long as you keep reading, I’ll keep going—at least until we hit chapter 50, I don´t want to make it longer than that. I don’t want this fic to spiral into an endless saga like ahem certain other one I wrote... (In the Dragon´s nest )

Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with it this far! I hope you’ll keep reading 💖

Chapter 18: Afterglow - Start of Season 2

Summary:

After a quiet moment shared between the three of them, Ari and Lyra retreat to Lyra’s home for the night. The space—designed with precision and beauty—feels surreal to Ari, but Lyra slowly guides her into it with warmth and quiet care. As the night deepens, so does their emotional closeness. Through shared silences, tentative questions, and moments of vulnerability, they begin to peel back layers of themselves. What starts as a simple invitation becomes a tender turning point in their relationship—one that promises more to come.
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They lie together in the quiet afterglow, the air still thick with warmth and the slow settling of breath. Ari is in the middle, cradled gently between them. Lyra has one arm draped over her stomach, Camille’s fingers rest loosely on her hand.

No one speaks. They don’t need to.

 

Eventually, reality seeps back in—stickiness, warmth, the slow awareness of time.

 

Camille is the first to sit up. “Okay. Shower rotations. This place isn’t exactly a spa.”

 

They take turns, because Ari’s shower is barely big enough for one. Lyra eyes the tiny bathroom, the damp tiles and uneven faucet pressure, and frowns slightly.

“This is where you shower every day?” she asks Ari from the doorway.

 

Ari blushes in embarrassment. “Does it… look that bad?”

 

Lyra doesn’t answer, but her gaze scans the cracked tile grout again like it’s a personal attack. Camille walks past her with a towel, muttering, “Hey, don´t be hard on the little one.”

 

Nobody should live like this in this city… but somehow many omegas do...

Lyra thinks.

 

Camille goes in first. When she comes out, she’s wrapped in Ari’s soft pink towel like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She flops down next to Ari, still drying off, and pulls out a tiny travel-size UNO deck from her bag.

 

“You packed UNO?” Ari asks, stunned.

 

“I’m a planner.”

 

They sit cross-legged on the bed, hair still damp, mid-game, when—

“AaAAAHHHHHH—!” Lyra’s voice echoes from the bathroom.

 

Camille nearly drops her cards. Ari starts getting worried before she can stop herself.

“Is it—”

 

“It’s the cold water,” Camille says through laughter. “You have to twist the knob twice to trick the heater, right?”

 

Ari leans back covering her face with her hands, guilty. “I’m sorry! I should have told you both!”

 

She remembers the marks on Lyra's chest.

I wonder if the skin is sensitive there…

 

A few minutes later, Lyra emerges, wrapped in a towel, wet hair dripping, glaring in betrayal. Camille fans herself with a card and smiles playfully at her.

“Feeling refreshed?” 

 

Lyra mutters something unintelligible and flops face-down on the bed.

 

Ari’s eyes widen as she catches sight of a round scar on Lyra’s back. Her gaze lingers—studying the shape, the edges.

 

Oh goddess… It looks like… like a tube had been there.

 

Camille notices Ari staring, but says nothing. Her expression tightens just slightly—familiar with that scar, and with the questions it never answers.

 

By the time everyone’s clean, the room smells like lavender soap, warm skin, and faint shampoo. Ari is still drying her hair with a fluffy towel, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hits just above her knees. Camille is already dressed, slipping her jacket on with ease.

 

Ari and Lyra both pause to look at her.

Camille meets their eyes with a small, knowing smile.

 

“Don’t make that face,” she says softly, adjusting her collar. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She looks at her smartphone “Oh… or today… it’s 1:00 a.m”

 

Ari steps forward first. She presses a quick kiss to Camille’s lips, gentle but firm.

Then Lyra follows—slower, lingering a moment longer as their foreheads briefly touch.

 

Camille exhales through her nose, then slips out the door without another word.

Outside, the white electric car hums quietly to life. She pulls away from the curb and disappears into the night, leaving the glow of the apartment behind.

Inside, Ari and Lyra are still at the window, watching.

⁰

“…She looked really good,” Ari whispers.

Lyra nods. “She always does.”

 

They don’t move for a while.

I’m really going to miss her, they both think.

 

Ari turns to Lyra, still holding the towel to her damp hair.

“Do you… want to stay here?” she asks softly. “My bed’s not huge, but it’s enough for the both of us…”

 

Lyra looks at her for a moment, then answers with a straight face:

“No.”

 

Ari blinks, scandalized.

Whaaaaa?!! Lyraaa!!

 

But before she can spiral, Lyra tilts her head and adds, gently:

“Would you like to come to my place?”

 

Ari’s expression flips in an instant. Her whole face lights up like the moon just kissed her forehead. She nods eagerly, eyes wide.

 

Lyra smiles and reaches for her hand.

 “Okay, good. Let’s get you into pajamas,” she says, tugging her softly back toward the bedroom. “We’re going to have an adult pajama party.”

 

Ari blushes, the tips of her ears going red.

Lyra notices and clarifies “We will sleep, Ari.”

 

“Yeah yeah… I know…” Ari says

And…these are my pajamas… Lyra…

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The ride to Lyra’s house is quiet. Not uncomfortable—just full. Ari sits in the passenger seat of the black Rivian, still in her oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts, towel now folded neatly on her lap. The car glides through the city’s sleeping arteries like it knows exactly where it’s going—smooth, weightless, shielded from the outside world by tinted windows and luxury-grade silence.

 

She looks out the window, watching the neighborhoods change.

 

From narrow streets with patched sidewalks and old neon signs, to wider roads where the light pools softer. The homes here don’t have bars on their windows. The walls are smooth. The plants are real. Eventually, they reach a gated entrance—sleek, seamless, and eerily quiet.

 

A voice—not human—greets them.

 

“Welcome, Lyra. You may proceed.”

 

The gate opens with the softest hum, and the Rivian glides in like a shadow slipping into silk.

 

Ari tries not to gape, but it’s hard not to.

 

Eleven houses.

 

Each one feels like a quiet monolith. Imposing but elegant. The kind of architecture you only see in luxury magazines or AI-simulated moodboards—the kind of place she never imagined setting foot in, much less entering like she belonged. Lyra’s house, the third on the right, is nothing like Ari’s world. Smooth concrete, geometric layers, clean light embedded in the architecture itself. A vertical stone panel slices the facade, giving it texture without clutter. The plants out front aren’t overgrown or dying—they’re precisely arranged, even the wildness of the landscaping feels… curated. Probably because it is curated by AI.

 

Lyra pulls the car into the covered entrance and shuts the engine off. Lights embedded in the pavement brighten as they step out.

 

Ari stands frozen for a second, hugging the towel tighter.

 

“You okay?” Lyra asks gently, walking over to open the front door with a palm scan.

“Yeah,” Ari says, barely above a whisper. “It’s just… different.”

Lyra pauses. Her eyes soften.

“It’s just a house, Ari.” Lyra smiles.

But it doesn’t feel like just a house. Not to her.

Inside, the contrast is even sharper. The living room glows with warm ambient lighting from hidden panels in the ceiling and under the furniture. Everything is minimal—low-slung, matte black and soft taupe, no clutter in sight. The floors are smooth, the walls seamless. It smells like cedar and something floral, faint, expensive. There’s a staircase off to one side, glowing from beneath each step. Ari’s footsteps feel loud on the floor, even barefoot.

She wraps her arms around herself.

“It’s really beautiful…”

Lyra puts her keys down quietly. “You’re welcome here.”

Ari nods, not trusting her voice. Something in her tightens, but not in fear—more like awe, or maybe disbelief. That this is real. That someone like her is standing in a place like this. That someone like Lyra would open the doors to her home for her.

She feels Lyra’s hand brush hers.

“Come on,” Lyra says. “I’ll get you a toothbrush.”

Ari steps inside slowly, her bare feet making almost no sound on the smooth, warm floor.

She pauses. “The floor is warm!” she exclaims, surprised.

Lyra glances over with a soft smile. “I asked Taylor to heat it for you. I don’t have slippers small enough for your tiny feet, so I figured you’d be barefoot.”

Ari blinks. “Taylor?”

“The AI,” Lyra replies casually, already moving further in.

The lighting is soft and indirect, spilling gently from concealed slits along the edges of the ceiling, walls, and furniture. No harsh bulbs. No overhead glare. Just a quiet, architectural glow that makes every surface feel intentional—designed to be noticed but never loud. Even the shadows seem curated.

She doesn’t know where to look first.

It’s not what she expected.

Not cold. Not sterile. Just… composed. Like Lyra had carved out silence and filled it with presence.

There’s no classical art on the walls—no paintings in gold frames, no oil portraits. Instead, everything seems sculptural. In the corner of the living room, there’s a tall abstract figure—something dark and slightly twisted, like movement frozen in metal. By the glass corridor, another: a soft curve of stone resembling the lines of a sleeping back or an open palm. They're not labeled. They're not explained. But they’re clearly chosen.

Ari lingers by one, then another.

“Do you like sculpture more than painting or… drawings?” Ari asks, turning toward her.

Lyra pauses, her voice thoughtful. “I like form. Stillness with tension. Something that feels like it’s about to move.” She glances at Ari. “Like your painting. The one with the dark ocean.”

Ari flinches—she remembers that?

Her gaze shifts back to the room, tracing its clean lines and quiet elegance. “It feels like you live in a gallery.”

But not a cold one. Somehow, this place breathes.

Lyra shows her the guest room briefly, though it’s obvious neither of them plans to sleep there. Ari sets her things down anyway—out of habit, maybe nerves. Lyra doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t rush her.

Instead, she leads her down a narrow hallway. One wall is entirely glass, and just beyond it, a quiet outdoor corridor opens into a long, private garden. It’s narrow but lush. The ground is gravel and white stone, with bold steps of trimmed grass. And along the opposite wall—rising straight from the stone—is a sleek black panel, from which a thin sheet of water falls into a tranquil basin below.

The waterfall is soft. Gentle. But the space pulses with life. The air smells like leaves and something earthy, clean. The greenery presses upward in disciplined bursts—curated wildness.

Ari presses her hand lightly to the glass.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs. “You really live like this? Every day?”

Lyra tilts her head. “I live efficiently,” she replies.

 She pauses, remembering the first time she stepped into this house, this life—the surreal feeling, as if it were all too much, too perfect to be real. But everything comes at a price.

Ari stifles a laugh. “Efficiently? That’s a waterfall.”

Lyra smirks.

Ah… yes… I had forgotten how it was for me at first. This place might feel like too much for Ari... 

They continue, and Lyra taps a panel beside a door—it slides open, revealing a bathroom.

Ari freezes.

 

The first thing she sees is the moon.

Not a painting. Not a window. But a luminous, circular relief embedded into the wall above a large, curved tub. Water cascades from its center like moonlight liquefied, falling in a smooth sheet that splashes gently into the bath below. The ceiling twinkles faintly—tiny embedded lights mimicking a starfield. The walls are textured like stone, dark but not oppressive. Everything glows in a way that feels almost sacred.

Ari inhales softly.

 

“…It’s like a shrine.”

 

Lyra watches her from the doorway.

 

“It’s my favorite room.”

 

Ari steps in, slowly, instinctively whispering, as if her voice could shatter the atmosphere. “This is… this is art.”

 

Lyra doesn’t say anything. She just watches her.

 

Ari walks a little farther in, still barefoot, still awe-struck. Her fingers skim the edge of the tub, the marble warm to the touch. A soft light pulses beneath the waterline.

 

She glances over her shoulder.

 

“You don’t have any paintings. But this whole place feels like someone designed it just to be… quietly admired.”

 

Lyra leans against the doorframe and smiles.

Ari smiles.

 

There’s a pause—warm, suspended.

 

“…Thank you for bringing me here,” she says at last, sincere and soft.

 

Lyra nods once. Then she walks forward, slowly, brushing her fingers lightly along Ari’s back as she passes.

 

“Come on,” she says. “Let 's sleep. You must be exhausted.”

 

Ari follows. But she looks back once more, at the moon, at the water, at the stars frozen overhead. She forgets to answer.

 

It still doesn’t feel real.

But it feels like she’s meant to remember it forever.

 

“Are we… sleeping in the same bed?” she asks, quietly.

 

Lyra stops mid-step and turns to her, eyes calm but direct. “Ari, we've had two dates now… also we just made love to the same woman. Of course you’re sleeping in my bed.”

 

Ari’s face flushes instantly. The way she said it—so matter-of-fact, so sure—was too much.

 

She opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a soft, stunned sound.

 

Lyra just smiles and reaches for her hand again.

 

She leads the way, her hand still gently wrapped around Ari’s fingers. Down the hall, past more subtle sculptures and soft pools of light, until they reach a large door that slides open without a sound.

 

Lyra’s bedroom is vast, serene—almost like a soundproof memory.

 

The bed dominates the space, king-sized and dressed in dark sheets, layered in deep tones of charcoal and midnight. The fabric catches just enough light to look soft, like something you'd sink into and never quite leave. Everything about it is deliberate. Heavy. Quiet.

 

To the right of the bed, an entire wall is a mirror—floor to ceiling, edge to edge—lit by a ribbon of indirect light that runs along the ceiling and baseboard. It casts a low, golden hue, soft enough not to glare, bright enough to make the mirror glow faintly like a window into another version of the room.

 

Ari steps inside slowly, her reflection coming into view as she passes the bed.

 

She looks small beside it, her oversized T-shirt swaying just above her knees, bare legs pale in the warm light. The mirror captures her from the side—her posture, the hesitant tilt of her head, the faint tension in her shoulders.

 

She stops when she feels Lyra’s hands on her.

 

Warm palms resting on her shoulders. A pause. A breath.

 

Then Lyra leans in, voice low and close to her ear.

 

“Let’s get you out of those clothes…”

 

Ari stiffens slightly—not in fear, but in awareness. In the mirror, she sees Lyra behind her now. Tall, composed, her gaze steady even in reflection. The room is so still that Ari swears she can hear her own heartbeat echo against the walls.

 

The way Lyra says it—soft, unhurried—makes something flutter low in her stomach.

 

She swallows, her voice caught somewhere behind her lips. Her hands clutch lightly at the hem of her shirt, but she doesn’t move yet.

 

Lyra doesn’t push.

 

She just waits—hands gentle, body warm behind her, reflected in full beside the bed where the mirror holds them both in quiet tension.

 

Ari nods.

 

Barely.

 

But it’s enough.

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The robe sways around Lyra’s legs as she moves. Black, silky, and loose at the collar, it clings just enough to hint at her shape beneath. The sash is tied in a clean knot at her waist, but the fabric shimmers softly with each step—luxury in motion, understated and exact.

Ari sits on the edge of the bed now, dressed in a cotton pajama set. Pale in color, soft to the touch, buttoned neatly down the front. It fits her perfectly—comforting and light, like something that was chosen not just for her size, but for her softness.

She runs her fingers over the buttons, then looks up at Lyra, who’s adjusting a pillow.

“…Thank you for this pajama, Lyra,” she says, quietly.

Lyra glances at her, then nods once.

“No problem.”

The pajama feels almost new, it fits. 

“Lyra, when did you buy this pajama? It doesn't seem like it'd fit you…”

“It came with the apartment.” She answers “I'm an alpha, I'm supposed to eventually live with an omega. So there's that pajama here for my omega…”

My omega… 

Ari lowers her eyes, brushing her fingertips along the edge of the sleeve. The fabric is warm from her skin, still carrying the scent of clean linen and something faintly floral.

Lyra stands beside the bed for a moment longer, then says, calmly:

“Taylor, lights off.”

The room responds without a sound. The indirect lighting along the mirror wall and ceiling begins to dim—slowly, like dusk falling inside. Shadows deepen, edges blur, and the glow softens into nothing.

 

Ari shifts beneath the sheets.

 

The fabric is smooth and dark around her, cool where it hasn’t touched her skin. She lies on her back, arms tucked close, the soft cotton of her pajama brushing lightly against her collarbone. Her gaze drifts upward, where the ceiling fades into shadow.

 

The bed is large enough that they don’t have to touch.

 

But Lyra is close.

Facing her.

 

“Lyra,” Ari whispers into the quiet, “what were those worst times you mentioned? The ones Camille helped you through? She told me you used to go to her room… and stuff…”

 

The question lands deeper than Lyra expected.

She pauses.

 

Her mind slips back to college—the sleepless nights, the gnawing restlessness.

The omegas.

They helped her burn through the ache in her chest, helped her shut down enough to sleep.

To forget.

 

Now, lying beside Ari, that past feels heavier.

Because she doesn’t want Ari to see her as broken.

Doesn’t want to lose whatever fragile thing is growing between them.

 

“Ari… I don’t know if I can—”

 

“If you tell me about it,” Ari says gently, cutting through the tension with soft resolve, “I’ll tell you about the moon. The one I scratched off my painting.”

 

Lyra’s eyes widen.

Ari is looking at her like she means it—no judgment, no pressure. Just a quiet offering.

 

“It was… college,” Lyra murmurs. “I was going through a lot, and I… I used things. People. To cope.”

She stops. The words taste too sharp, too real.

She wants to tell her—about the so-called “scholarship,” the violence buried under the name of a “military academy,” the way she survived by numbing herself. How the omegas meant nothing, even when she devoured them, filled them until there was no room left for anything else.

But she doesn’t.

She’s afraid the truth might drive her away.

Ari exhales, not looking away.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to push.”

She gives Lyra a small, almost shy smile.

“We can talk about our dark pasts tomorrow… or whenever you’re ready.”

 

Lyra exhales alleviated.

 

“Maybe you can tell me where you were yesterday?” Ari asks. “Camille said you were running an errand for the CEO.”

That somehow makes Lyra tense even more, her jaw tightening.

“You know what? Never mind…” Ari says quickly.

“No. Ari… I’ll tell you.” Lyra exhales. “I was at Suzie’s.”

“Suzie’s? Why?”

“She and I… we work directly for Aira. And Suzie wasn’t doing her job.”

“But… I’ve seen her work, at Morph C.O”

“No,” Lyra says, voice lower now. “I mean our second job.”

Ari blinks, curiosity stirring. “Second job?”

Lyra exhales. “Yeah… like the errands I run for Aira. That’s part of my second job. And Suzie… she’s many things for Aira, a geneticist, scientist… test subject”

Ari’s eyes widen. “That’s amazing! I mean… I knew she was smart, but… wow, test subject? Sound like one of those very committed scientists that help humanity move forward.”

“She was assigned to investigate something, but she secretly stopped. Aira’s furious, so she asked me to… remind Suzie how to do her job,” Lyra says with a pointed look.

Ari nods slowly, tucking that information away.

“Oh. Okay,” she says, gently.

That… sounded… not so great… buuut this is good for now, Ari thinks. I don’t want to push Lyra. This is progress. We’re getting to know each other better.

 

Lyra shifts a little, resting her head on one arm, eyes never leaving Ari’s.

There’s something in Ari’s voice, in the way she waits without pulling, that makes something inside Lyra soften.

 

She lets out a breath, quiet and unguarded.

 

“Yeah…” she says, her voice a whisper.

“I did promise I would answer your questions… I just thought you would ask easy stuff first”

 

“I thought I was asking easy stuff.” 

Ari smiles. Lyra does too, just a little—without even meaning to.

 

Some minutes pass. Lyra lays by Ari.

Watching the way her chest rises and falls. The curve of her jaw in the low light. The tiny crease between her brows, like her thoughts, haven't quite slowed yet.

 

Neither of them speaks.

 

And yet the quiet is full.

 

Ari senses her gaze and finally turns her head—slowly—to meet Lyra’s eyes in the dark.

 

Their faces are close now. Just far enough to feel the pull of space between them. Just close enough to feel the warmth of breath.

 

Ari opens her mouth, as if to say something—

 

But doesn’t.

 

Not yet.

 

And Lyra, still watching her, doesn’t ask.

 

They lie in the dark, the silence stretching between heartbeats.

 

Then, after a few seconds, Lyra’s voice breaks softly through it—low, close, and slightly unsteady:

 

“I’m sorry, Ari… but I can’t hold it in anymore.”

 

Before Ari can answer, she feels Lyra’s arms slip around her—firm, deliberate—pulling her in.

 

Their bodies meet under the dark sheets, warm and bare in the spaces where fabric doesn’t reach. Lyra presses herself against her, and then kisses her—deeply. There’s nothing hesitant about it. Her mouth claims Ari’s with slow intensity, like something she’s been holding back all night. Her hands are gentle, but they squeeze Ari’s waist, her back, her side—like trying to remind herself Ari is real.

 

Ari melts.

 

Any tension she didn’t realize she was carrying dissolves into the heat of that kiss. Her fingers find Lyra’s robe, gripping it like she needs something to ground her. Her breath catches as Lyra’s lips part from hers, just enough to move lower—cheek, jaw, then the hollow of her throat.

 

Then, close to her ear, Lyra whispers—barely a breath:

 

“I won’t make love to you now… you must be tired…”

 

A pause.

 

Then lower, slower, like a promise stitched into the dark—

 

“But on our next date… I’ll make your body know it is mine.” she exhales “ You’re mine…”

 

Ari shivers. Her whole body reacts—tense, flushed, and aching all at once. She buries her face against Lyra’s shoulder, not speaking, not trusting her voice.

 

Our next date… 

 

She doesn’t need to speak.

 

Lyra already knows.

 

“Lyra…” Ari murmurs, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Camille said you were this mysterious baddie in college… Honestly, you haven’t changed all that much.”

 

Lyra answers quickly “Oh I have changed. I promise.”

 

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Author's notes

Hi everyone! This chapter slows things down a bit after the steaminess of the last one—think of it as a soft landing. I hope it brings a little calm to your Monday. Sending hugs 💛

 

 

 

Chapter 19: Dating alphas, am I right? ☕

Summary:

Smutty chapter! Beware!

While Ari and Lyra grow closer through shared vulnerability and quiet affection, Nova and Hazel’s connection spirals deeper into something more primal—blurring the lines between consent, devotion, and pleasure. As one couple tiptoes around futures and family, the other crashes into boundaries long held sacred. By Monday morning, both omegas carry the weight of their choices—each smiling, each changed, in profoundly different ways.

I swear this seems non-con sometimes but it's not! Still I gotta warn you it might appear as non-con just in case anyone is sensitive to that.
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The morning is the best one Ari has ever had. Too good to be true, which makes her skeptical…

When is everything going to go to shit?

No, Ari, stop it… things can go your way! Why not?

She thinks as she walks through the hallway  into the kitchen, led by the smell of blueberry.

There she finds Lyra

The robe is gone. She’s wearing something more casual now: a fitted black tank, soft lounge pants that still somehow look tailored. Her hair is loosely tied back. A pan sizzles in front of her, a small stack of blueberry pancakes already forming on a ceramic plate.

“Good morning,” Lyra says smoothly, with the faintest smile. “My omega.”

The words are soft, but they land heavy.

Ari shivers.

My omega

She blinks, heart thudding, suddenly very awake.

“Good Morning…” she says, almost whispering.

Lyra sets down the spatula, turns fully, and leans her hip against the counter—watching her.

“Hungry?”

Ari nods, almost shyly. “…A little.”

Lyra raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “For pancakes?”

Ari flushes. She looks at the stack. Then at Lyra.

“…Yes.”

Lyra smiles.

Then she turns back to the stove—graceful, unhurried—and says without looking:

“Good. You’ll need your strength for later.”

Ari nearly forgets to breathe.

Ari sits on a sleek stool at the kitchen island, nursing a mug of tea while the last pancake sizzles on the stove. The sun filters in through hidden skylights, casting long, warm lines across the countertop. Everything feels calm—domestic, almost surreal.

Lyra sits beside her, both of them quietly enjoying their pancakes as the morning sun filters in. Their conversation drifts lazily, filled with small talk and memories of Camille.

Ari blushes mid-bite, and Lyra chuckles softly.

“It’s a shame we can’t… bring her in with us,” Lyra muses, almost too casually.

Ari pauses. “Wait… why can’t we?”

Lyra’s eyes widen—was she seriously suggesting it?

“We can’t because…” Lyra exhales. “Because we can’t give her what she deserves, Ari. We just want to tie her up to our bed.”

Ari nearly chokes. Lyra! You can’t just say things like that and expect me not to feel anything! She shovels another bite of pancake into her mouth, hiding her grin behind the fork.

Lyra smiles at her, clearly aware of what she’s feeling.

“I think Camille will go down the… you know, happy path,” she says gently. “She’ll find a partner—an omega or a beta… maybe even another alpha, though that’d be a shame. She’s always wanted kids.”

“Awww,” Ari murmurs.

“She’ll get married, have babies, move to an even fancier place,” Lyra adds with a soft sigh. “And I’ll be rooting for her.”

“Me too,” Ari says, nodding.

Ugh… that kinda sucks, she thinks. But… if Camille’s happy, then I’m happy too.

“Uhm… Lyra… do you…?” Ari starts, hesitating. “Do you want to have kids?”

Lyra downs the rest of her juice in one go.

“No.”

Ari feels like the floor drops out from under her. Why didn’t I ask this sooner?! Her expression falters, betraying the quiet panic rising inside her.

Lyra sees it—her eyes soften with concern.

“But… I mean… I could change my mind,” she says, voice uncertain.

Ari looks at her, clinging to that sliver of hope.

Lyra blinks—regret flickering in her gaze.

“I take it you want children?” Lyra asks gently.

Ari tries to sound casual, but her voice wavers. “Heh… I… I do.”

Lyra attempts a smile. “Oh. G–good to know.” She’s nervous.

Silence settles between them, heavier than before.

“Uhm… so…” Lyra shifts in her seat, trying to steer the mood. “I made reservations for our date today…”

Silence.

Then Lyra speaks again, more quietly. “Sorry, Ari… is this a dealbreaker? The kids? Because we could… I mean, we could talk about it. I’m not completely inflexible.”

Ari notices the subtle shift—Lyra’s usually composed eyes are wider, a hint of uncertainty in them. Her brow is gently furrowed, and there’s the faintest flush on her cheeks. Lyra is talking but Ari isn't listening.

Ah… Lyra looks so good when she pleads…

Ari lowers her gaze, cheeks pink. Her voice is barely a whisper. “You’d get to… cum inside me to make babies…”

Lyra shuts up and freezes.

Her eyes widen. Pupils dilate. A flush creeps across her cheeks as a wave of heat hits her—fast and hard.

Ari watches the shift in her expression and feels a thrill. Goddess of all alphas… I love seeing her unravel like that.

“Ari…” Lyra mutters.

In one smooth motion, Lyra stands, lifts Ari gently from her chair, and carries her to her room, to the bed. She pins her softly, hungrily, and kisses her like she’s been holding back for days.

“Mmm… Ari… mmm…” Lyra murmurs between kisses, already losing herself in the taste of her.

She leans in, lips brushing Ari’s ear. “Let’s make a thousand babies right now…” she whispers, then kisses her again, breathless. “Ten thousand…”

Ari giggles softly, her arms around Lyra’s neck. “Aww… Lyra… let’s have as many as you want… mmm…”

Goddess of all omegas… I was about to ruin the mood talking about babies… ah Lyraaaa!!!

A voice chimes in: “Your reservations begin in one hour.” It’s the house's AI.

Lyra pauses mid-kiss, forehead resting against Ari’s. “Oh… right. The reservations.”

Ari lets out an exaggerated pout. “Buuuuh…”

They both laugh, breathless and tangled, the moment still warm between them.

 

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Lyra drives—not her usual black Rivian, but a smaller, sleeker EV with just two seats. It’s black and glossy, almost like liquid obsidian.

"Is this a new car?" Ari asks smiling.

"Yes. A gift from Aira. She heard I have a girlfriend now and gave me this."

Ari looks online at the price of the car.

Goddess of all omegas... this is more than what I make in a year!

Lyra notices her expression. 'Ahm, shes part of the board of directors  she probably got this for free..." 

Ari is astounded. 

Ari sits beside her, heart fluttering, feeling like the star of a movie.

I know it’s stupid, but… I swear no one—NO ONE—is having a better time than me right now!

 

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Nova has lost control of her voice—reduced to gasps and soft, involuntary moans. The sound of herself makes her cheeks burn with embarrassment, which only makes Hazel’s command more unbearable.

“Say it, Nova… say it or I’ll stop pounding,” Hazel growls, her voice low and ragged, thick with dominance and desire.

Nova gasps, trembling beneath her. “Ah… I’m yours… I’m yours, Hazel…” she blurts out, the words rushed and desperate, like she needs Hazel to know—now.

“Say the whole thing, Nova,” Hazel breathes, voice thick with need.

“I’m yours, Hazel…” Nova repeats, barely holding herself together. And then, her voice breaking, trembling—“…fuck me.”

I can’t believe I just said that…

She’s never felt anything like this—so raw, so completely consumed.

“Good girl…” the alpha whispers. “You’ve earned this.” Her thrusts grow deeper, slower—deliberate. She strokes Nova’s hair gently.

Hazel’s room glows with soft ocean light filtering through the tall windows, casting shifting patterns across the sheets. The air is thick—warm, heavy with salt and sweat and the scent of Nova. 

The omega's fingers clutch the pillow, her back arched, mouth open in a silent moan. Her eyes are unfocused, lost in a blissful trance. She’s naked, except for her golden pendant, subtle, carrying the symbol of the moon, dangling back and forth. Her clothes lie on the floor of Hazel’s room.

Goddess of all omegas… her hips move like the ocean waves… wild waves that crash, are they moved by you, our Goddess?  Nova wonders.

Hazel is behind her, still wearing her top, just her top, fucking her hard—rhythmic, every movement precise and hungry, hands gripping her hips, eyes half-lidded but focused. Her body presses close, skin slick against Nova’s as she leans in, her breath hot at her ear.

“You’re so tight in here…,” Hazel whispers, voice rough and low. “Has anyone ever been here before? No?.” She smirks “Fuck… it’s so hot to know I'm first…”

Nova trembles beneath her, gasping, unable to form words—only breathy, helpless sounds that escape her lips when Hazel pounds her. She’s melting under Hazel’s grip, her body completely at her mercy.

Hazel’s hands slide and wrap firmly around her waist, claiming her. “All of you is mine. But this…” she thrusts deeper making Nova whimper “…right now—this is more mine. This is my focus today.”

Her cock is buried in Nova’s ass, moving in and out, sliding, pushing and pulling soft, warm skin. A bottle of lubricant lies on the floor, it's empty. A couple of small flasks lie on her nightstand, used poppers.

For Nova, this day is electric—new, forbidden, unforgettable. For Hazel, it means just as much, but she wears it like it’s just another Friday.

“Ah—” Nova lets out a soft, choked moan. Her legs shake. Her body pushes back into Hazel’s without thinking, instinctively, needing more.

Hazel’s lips brush her shoulder as she thrusts slower. “You like this a lot, don´t you? You like it when I fuck you in here?” She chuckles.

Nova is embarrassed—exposed—but utterly aroused. She whimpers, nodding, her voice barely a whisper.

“I… I like this…”

I love this…

Hazel groans softly, possessive and full of praise. “Sooo sweet… you feel so damn sweet. Ah… you’ll get used to my size… because we will be doing this often.”

Nova’s mind spins, her senses reduced to heat, rhythm, breath. Every word Hazel says sinks into her like fire, feeding the need in her belly, the ache that pulses with every movement.

Hazel leans in, her voice barely a whisper against Nova’s ear “I'm coming inside you…”

Nova’s eyes widen for a moment, lips parting in a silent gasp—but then they flutter half-closed, dazed and overwhelmed.

It shouldn’t be there… it can’t be— that’s not how children are made! Nova thinks

“I want this so much…” Hazel’s hands glide to Nova’s breasts.

“And I want you to feel it… and once I've done it… I want you to beg me to do it again… I know you will beg me… to do it again ” she whispers as she slides one hand to Nova’s neck and chokes her.

“Ah—!!!”

Outside, waves crash softly along the shore—but here, in this moment, there is only the sound of their bodies, their breath, and Hazel’s voice, low and reverent, whispering how much she loves wrecking her like this, groaning as she releases inside her. Nova feels like she can smell colors and see sound.

When it’s over—or rather, when Hazel’s finished—she lets out a long, satisfied exhale. She swings her legs off the bed and heads to the mini fridge nearby. The soft pop of the fridge door is the only sound in the room.

She grabs two sports drinks, cracks one open, and downs it in a few steady gulps. Then, without turning around, she extends the second bottle over her shoulder.

"You want some?" she asks, her voice casual, almost too casual.

Behind her, Nova doesn’t move.

She’s still sprawled across the bed, limbs weak, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She’s trembling. Her skin is flushed, her thighs sore. She came—twice, maybe more—and her mind hasn’t caught up with her body yet.

Hazel glances back, bottle still extended. “Hey, you want this?”

Still no response.

And then—quietly, unexpectedly—Nova sobs.

Hazel freezes mid-step.

“Huh?! What the hell are you crying for?”

Nova sniffles, her voice breaking into a whimper.

“I’m… I’m dirty…” she whispers.

Hazel turns, blinking, stunned.

“What? Why would you say that?!”

Nova wipes her face with the back of her hand, her fingers trembling. Her chest rises and falls unevenly as she tries to catch her breath, eyes glossy with the remnants of pleasure and guilt. She avoids Hazel’s gaze, staring down at the sheets instead, her voice barely steady.

“I… I enjoyed it… too much… and it’s… it’s wrong.” Her shoulders tense, like she’s bracing for something. “You shouldn’t have done that… in there…” she whispers, pressing her thighs together instinctively. “It’s wrong…”

Hazel places the bottle down on her nightstand with a soft clink , right beside the half-empty pack of poppers. Her jaw tightens as she hears Nova’s words, a flicker of something darker crossing her face.

“Wrong?” she echoes, her voice low.

She strides over to the bed—slow, deliberate—and looms above Nova, placing her hands firmly on either side of her trembling body. The muscles in her arms flex as she cages her in, eyes narrowing, her presence heavy and commanding. Nova flinches slightly, overwhelmed by the sheer heat of her.

“Why would it be wrong?” Hazel murmurs, her voice dipping into something sweet—too sweet. She leans in closer, her nose brushing Nova’s temple, her breath warm on her cheek. “I’m your girl,” she whispers, the edge in her voice softening, melting into something protective. “I liked it… you liked it…” She presses a gentle kiss to Nova’s hair. “You even begged for it…”

And now, instead of towering, she wraps her arms around Nova’s body—firm but careful—cradling her as if shielding her from her own guilt.

Nova’s eyes brim with guilt, but at least now—finally—she’s looking at Hazel.

“But… but I—”

Hazel doesn’t let her finish. She leans down, pressing her face into Nova’s hair, breathing in the soft, sweet scent still clinging to her skin. Nova shudders beneath her, her body tense and uncertain.

Hazel pulls back just enough to brush a kiss against her temple—then, with a teasing smile, playfully bites her cheek, Nova gasps.

“But nothing,” Hazel murmurs, her voice low and certain. “It was amazing.”

Nova sniffles, turning her face slightly away, cheeks flushed, again caught between shame and the lingering warmth of Hazel’s touch.

“It… it goes against my beliefs… an alpha shouldn’t waste her seed… ever…” she finally admits, voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t have done it… I shouldn't have allowed it…The Goddess of all omegas will punish me” Nova's voice cracks.

Hazel stares down at her, the tension in her jaw returning. Her breath stills.

Is this girl for real?

She hadn’t expected that.

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“Seligman! Of course.” Aira mutters, recognition flashing across her face as she studies an old article on her tablet.

The image is striking: a poised, regal blonde alpha in her fifties with piercing blue eyes, standing beside a slightly shorter woman with warm caramel-blonde hair and soft hazel eyes—pregnant, and gazing up at her partner like she hung the moon.

Regina Seligman and her omega, Portia Hoffer-Seligman. The headline reads:

"The Covenant of the Moonbind: Love, Legacy, and the New Devotion."

Aira scoffs.

“A cult,” she mutters. “And a very popular one.”

She leans back with a sigh, rubbing her temple.

“Hazel really knows how to pick them…”

Without looking up, she signals to one of the betas in the room. The woman nods, opens her laptop, and begins typing rapidly. Aira watches silently, fingers drumming the armrest.

When the email is finished, the beta turns the screen to her.

Aira skims it, nods once. “Send it.”

With a single keystroke, the message is on its way.

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“One of my moms is an omega,” Ari says softly, “and the other one… a beta.”

“No way,” Lyra blinks. “Wasn’t that against the—uhm—the Covenant’s rules?”

They’re seated at a rooftop restaurant—the kind with linen napkins, soft ambient lighting, and a flawless skyline view. Lyra hadn’t actually managed to get a reservation, but Aira had opened up a prime table for her and Ari anyway. Judging by the way the staff treated her, it seemed Aira either owned the place—or at least most of the reservations.

Around them, sleek couples and polished groups—mostly alphas—murmur over wine and artfully plated courses, the quiet hum of privilege filling the air.

“Yeah,” Ari nods. “But… love is love. So my beta mom did everything she could to pass as an alpha.”

“That must’ve been… really hard.”

“It was.” Ari glances down at her drink. “I got tired of it. I sort of… ran away.”

Lyra’s eyes widen. “What?! You sort of ran away? Or did you actually escape—like, full-on ran away? And to this place, of all places?”

This city is Goddessless.

Ari sighs, “I ran away… like… I left the cult in the middle of the night” then she shrugs and murmurs, “My moms are still in that cult.”

Lyra falls silent, stunned. She hadn’t expected Ari to carry something like that. Suddenly, everything makes more sense—the modest apartment, the isolation, the way Ari sometimes hesitates in unfamiliar spaces. A moonbeam from the Covenant of the Moonbind, brilliant and highly educated like all monbeams, yet completely disconnected in this secular, disbelieving country in which her religion practically doesn't exist, or at least it didn't until Regina Seligman started allowing her moonbeams to go live at the city.

Of course she got the job on her own. That religion turned to cult trains their people to be exceptional. Ari got the job at Morph CO. through pure skill.

“So I lied…” Ari says softly. “The moon in that painting—it wasn’t one moon, or an ex. There were two moons. My moms. But… I scratched them out because…”

Though she’s smiling, her voice carries a quiet sorrow. “...because it hurts to see them.”

Lyra watches her closely. She sees how Ari’s usually bright brown eyes have dimmed, how her smile trembles at the edges, how her breath comes just a little uneven.

Something in Lyra stirs. She reaches across the table and gently takes Ari’s hand.

“Hey,” Lyra says gently, searching Ari’s face as she lifts her chin with a soft touch. “Thank you for telling me.”

Ari gives her a tender, almost teary look.

“You’re very brave,” Lyra adds. “You left everything you knew… to live your truth.”

She pauses, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. She’s reflecting on her own life.

“It’s something most of us wouldn’t dare to do.”

Ari bites back her tears, her voice soft. “That’s nice to hear, Lyra.”

Just then, the waitress arrives. “Excuse me, ladies. Here’s your ceviche, and the schnitzel with extra sauce on the side. Enjoy.” She winks at Lyra.

Ari narrows her eyes. “I’m sorry, did you just wink at my girlfriend? Really?”

Lyra blinks, caught off guard by Ari’s tone.

The waitress stammers, smiling awkwardly. “Ah… no. I—I’ve got other tables to attend. Excuse me.” She hurries off.

Lyra watches Ari, holding back a grin. She loves jealous Ari. She stays quiet, savoring the moment, even if the mood took a sharp turn.

Then, gently, she tries to steer things back.
“So… should I call you Moonbeam ?” she teases, tilting her head. “You know… affectionately?”

Ari groans, hiding her face. “Oh, Goddess—no.”

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“My little Moonbeam…” Hazel murmurs, her voice rough and low as she pulls Nova’s hair back gently, holding her close. “Ah—my sweet… tight… little moonbeam…”

Hazel’s head rests just below Nova’s chin, nestled against the warm swell of her chest. Nova is seated in her lap, legs wrapped around Hazel’s waist, their bodies perfectly aligned in a pose meant to be sacred. Even though Hazel is taller, Nova’s straddling position places her slightly above—her arms looped around Hazel’s shoulders, her breath warm against her temple, her presence wrapping around Hazel like a shroud of light.

Hazel feels it—the safety of it, the way she’s enveloped, held—but she’ll never say it. Instead, her grip tightens possessively at Nova’s waist, her hips rolling up with deliberate force, cock buried deep inside her.

“Do you like that?” she rasps, nuzzling against Nova’s throat. “Do you like when I call you my Moonbeam and pull your hair?”

Nova had asked for this pose—one from the Covenant’s sacred manual. A reverent union, upright and meditative, meant to elevate energy, not lust. The alpha was to speak softly, tenderly. The omega was to open with trust, to move in slow, sacred circles.

But Hazel, of course, takes creative liberties.

“Fuck…” Hazel groans, voice thick with pleasure. “My cock is so deep. And you—aw, baby, you move so fucking well… This pose was a great idea.” She kisses Nova’s cheek, warm and claiming.

“Ah—! No harsh words… please,” Nova whimpers, trying to stay aligned with the ritual, rotating her hips in the way the manual instructed—graceful, offering, spiritual.

Hazel lets out a low laugh, breath hot against Nova’s skin. Her arms lock tighter around Nova’s back, her body thrusting up again—deep, precise. Every movement lifts Nova just slightly before pulling her back down, her whole body trembling as their rhythms collide. Hazel listens to her heartbeat—steady, until it skips when Hazel swears or thrusts harder. She lives for that reaction.

She kisses her neck, slow and reverent—despite herself—then leans in close, lips brushing Nova’s ear.

“But you love it,” she whispers. Not a question.

Nova gasps, her cheeks burning, her thighs tightening around Hazel. She does love it—loves the filth in Hazel’s voice, the contrast to the sacred tone she was taught to expect. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. But it undoes her.

Goddess, she makes it so hard to stay a good Moonbeam… Nova screams inwardly.

Hazel says nothing for a moment, just breathes, her body pressed into Nova’s, moving in rhythm that feels too honest. Not just carnal— personal . Hazel won’t admit it, won’t name the softness blooming quietly in her chest, but her arms never stop holding Nova, never let her go.

Then, her voice drops again, a quiet, dangerous purr:
“Don’t lie to me when I’m inside you,” she growls. “I can feel it… You love it when I say fuck .”

Nova’s breath hitches. Her hands clutch Hazel tighter. She’s trembling now, drenched in pleasure and guilt and something deeper she can’t name.

Hazel presses a slow kiss to her sternum. It’s soft—almost reverent. But her words, when they come, hit like thunder.

“You love it when I say I’m fucking you…”

Nova lets out a whimper, fingernails digging into Hazel’s shoulders. Hazel responds with a guttural sound of pleasure, raw and low, her thrusts deepening.

She leans in once more, her mouth grazing the shell of Nova’s ear. “I’m fucking you,” she breathes. “My darling. My Moonbeam .”

Nova gasps—sharp and broken. “Oh… Goddess…” she whispers, utterly undone.
Wrapped in her alpha’s arms, being fucked and held in one breath, she burns in the contradiction—and loves every second of it.

Goddess we're following the manual… Goddess forgive me…

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“And that… I think that was the lowest point in the whole… addict…era…,” Lyra says quietly. “I didn’t even remember her name… she was just an omega. And after that… I went back to Camille’s room. To rest in her arms.” she sighs, ashamed.

Silence falls, the weight of the memory settling heavy in the air.
Is Ari going to leave me now?
Is she disgusted?

But Ari doesn’t look scared, nor disgusted—just quietly, deeply astounded.

Oh my Goddess…she really was an addict…

“Wow… Camille is, like… such a good friend. And she had a massive crush on you,” Ari says softly.

Camille…
Missing you already , Ari thinks.

“Yeah,” Lyra murmurs. “I feel like I’m never going to be able to thank her—or apologize—enough.”

Ari finishes her drink. “Was college really that stressful?”

Lyra exhales. “It was the combo—college and work. I was already working back then…”

“Really? What kind of work?” Ari asks, curious.

Lyra hesitates, then answers, “Errands. For Aira.”

“Wow! So you’ve had that job for over a decade?”

“Yeah… on and off.”

Ari mentally puts a pin in it.

So many questions… so many…
But I won’t push you, Lyra. I just want you to stay close, she thinks, quietly. I'll respect your privacy… 

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“You said we’d have a date! You said you’d try to have sex with me the right way! ” Nova yells, clutching the sheets around her, eyes wide with frustration. Hazel stands naked by the bed, unbothered.

“Honey, you begged. You literally guided me to turn you around and—”

“ Don’t say it! ” Nova cuts her off, mortified.

Hazel rolls her eyes with a smirk. “Pff… Nova, there’s no right way to have sex, my moonbeam. There’s just good sex and bad sex—and we are definitely fucking like animals—”

“Uuugh!! Hazel! Please stop talking like that!” Nova groans, burying her face in the pillow.

But she’s smiling—softly, secretly—against the fabric.

She loves it. Loves when Hazel is rough and raw, when she pounds into her, grips her tight, leaves marks on her skin…

Oh Goddess, it’s me…hi … I’m the sinner. It’s me! Nova thinks, flushed and breathless.

She feels Hazel leaning over her, one arm on each side, caging her in. The warmth of Hazel’s body radiates down onto her, almost overwhelming.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it… Isn’t that a sin? To lie?” Hazel murmurs.

In one swift motion, she pulls the blankets away. Nova gasps—her backside is exposed again.

“I’m going to make you speak your truth,” Hazel whispers against her ear. “No… scream it.”

Nova shivers as Hazel’s hands take control of her body again—biting, gripping, claiming.

I’m a sinner, Nova thinks, smiling through the heat. Oh Goddess, forgive me!!!

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Lyra’s Rivian glides into the Morph C.O. parking lot. Another Monday. Another day.

She and Ari step out of the car—calm, but unmistakably happy. They exchange a quiet smile. Lyra holds a coffee, Ari sips from a matcha.

Moments later, Hazel’s sleek, flashy EV pulls in nearby. Out step Nova and Hazel, looking just as content—peaceful, even.

“Oh hey, Ari,” Nova calls out with a warm smile.

“Hey!” Ari replies, matching her tone. “Happy Monday.”

Nova grins. “Happy Monday to you too!”

“What did you do this weekend?” Ari asks.

“Oh… I had a date with Hazel,” Nova says, a little glow in her voice “I’m staying at her place now…”

Hazel, catching her name, chimes in, “Hey—what about me?”

“Nothing, baby!” Nova answers.

Ari is surprised at the nickname. Baby…? Hazel? Really?

Nova turns to Ari with a playful smile. “And you?”

Ari giggles. “Same. A date—with Lyra.” She smiles softly “Also staying at her place… it’s like… an alpha thing, right?”

Lyra, hearing her name, raises her cup. “Oh, hello.”

The two omegas exchange a look and smile, quietly glowing.

Aww, that’s nice, Ari thinks. Hazel actually seems… softer with Nova. She looks at Hazel with a humanizing gaze. I wonder if she's sweet after all, I wonder if they talked about their childhood and stuff like that and if Hazel is all lovey-dovey with her. Like, maybe in private, and to her omega, Hazel is not such a bitch!

Nova, on the other hand, eyes Ari with a knowing glint.
Ari, you little harlot… if Hazel is like this with me, I can’t even imagine what a beast like Lyra is doing to you. She looks at Lyra from head to toe. She’s taller, stronger, looks meaner than Hazel. I bet she’s wild… I bet she’s dark… I bet you two do stuff I can't even imagine… I still remember how she almost choked me… She blushes faintly.

Their smiles linger—warm, conspiratorial. They feel seen.

“Dating alphas… am I right?” Nova whispers.

Ari nods, grinning. “Yeah…”

They giggle, caught in what each of them thinks is a shared secret.

 

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Author's note:

I used to have some very religious "friends"—the kind who judged others with a smile, always convinced they were better than everyone else. Society praised them for it too. But in reality, they were deeply repressed, constantly hiding to “sin”, thinking that atheists such as myself just "sinned all day". A couple of them were secretly gay. One even tried to kiss me—ha, that motherfucker... I thought about them a lot while writing Nova. Some of them broke free of it, others married young and are getting divorced. You know, life.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sending hugs your way—hang in there, we’re halfway through the work week! 💪✨

 

Chapter 20: What We Choose to Become 🌒

Summary:

In a chapter charged with contrasts, Ari starts her day grounded—ready to face whatever comes. But in the world she’s entered, nothing stays simple for long. As her connection with Lyra deepens, questions about trust, power, and past loyalties rise to the surface. Meanwhile, a former friend seeks refuge, forcing another to confront the cost of transformation and what it truly means to choose your path. Amid hallway teasing, elevator tension, and private reckonings, choices are made that will reshape how they all see one another.

One alpha is becoming what society expects of her; the other is fighting to reclaim who she used to be.

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Ari’s dressed a little cuter than usual, a soft sweater tucked into a skirt, boots that click lightly with every step. She’s calm. She’s centered. Matcha in hand instead of coffee. Meditation complete. Journaled. Grounded. She is ready.

As they approach the elevator, Lyra’s phone buzzes. She pulls it out, reads a message, and exhales sharply—clearly annoyed.

“I’ve gotta go… run an errand,” she mutters.

Ari sees the tension in her face and doesn’t want to add to it. She replies gently, “Okay, baby.”

Baby? Lyra’s eyes flick up at her, surprised by the nickname.

“Uhm… wait for me to take you home, okay? If I’m not back by six-thirty, just take the car.”

“Okay, baby,” Ari repeats, trying to sound sweet—maybe too sweet.

Please, Ari… stop it with the 'baby', Lyra thinks, fighting the urge to smile.

“Uhm… bye.” She leans in, gives Ari a quick peck on the lips, hands her the car key, and exits through a back door.

“Awwww!” Nova squeals.

“Nova, don’t be weird…” Hazel mutters, glancing away with an awkward look.

“It’s just—so cute how you two act together,” Nova insists.

Ari smiles, a little self-conscious, but not unhappy.

The elevator doors slide open. Hazel and Nova step inside.

Ari hesitates—she realizes she’s about to be in a closed space with Hazel. She freezes.

Hazel notices and leans casually against the back wall, smirking.

“What is it, little Ari?” she purrs, just a touch menacing, just enough to tease.

Nova immediately turns to her. Hazel catches the look, flinches slightly, then softens her expression into something more neutral… almost friendly.

Ari exhales. I guess I’m safe… Nova’s here.

The elevator begins to rise, carrying all three to the first floor.

 

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Wait, did she say take the car?! Her car?!!

 

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Ari steps through the glass doors, exhaling slowly. Still a little bit nervous about the car thing, How am I going to drive that giant thing? Still, she’s feeling great. She is ready for whatever the day brings.

Or so she thinks.

Because the moment she enters the open workspace—

She sees Camille.

The tall, devastatingly composed alpha is casually holding court by the design tables, surrounded by a semi-circle of giggling, nervous omegas. They’re laughing at everything she says. One of them is offering her a homemade cookie. Camille is holding it between two fingers like a strange offering and inspecting it with faux seriousness.

Then her eyes flick up.

And find Ari.

“Hello, baby deer,” Camille calls, her voice teasing and warm.

Ari freezes.

Then—

“UUUUUAAAGHH!” she blurts, stomping forward in a dramatic little march.

Camille blinks. “Wha—?”

Ari crashes into her and wraps her arms tightly around Camille’s waist.

“I’m already missing you!” Ari exclaims, face pressed against her chest.

Camille bursts out laughing. “Hahaha! C’mon…”

This omega…

Ari groans. “Lyra’s being all mysterious and intense, and we had a date, and I missed you! And I had to ride the elevator with Hazel!”

She groans even louder, drawing confused stares from the nearby omegas. A few glance at each other uncertainly.

Ari blinks—realizing—she’s still hugging Camille.

Camille, completely unfazed, shrugs and says loud enough for the room to hear, “We’re not dating anymore.”

Ari pulls back, scandalized. “HUH?! How can you say that so casually?!”

The surrounding omegas all blush. One lets out a tiny squeak.

Camille grins down at her. “Well, I thought you’d want it public. It's not out in the social media thing…”

Ari groans again, covering her face with both hands.

Camille leans in with a smirk. “You’re cute when you spiral.”

“Stop being flirty!” Ari snaps, cheeks flushed red.

Camille laughs—just as Hazel walks in.

“Did I hear that right? You’re done?” Hazel asks, raising an eyebrow. “I saw her and Lyra pull up together, but… I figured Ari was, like, a shared thing or something.”

“I’m not a thing !” Ari huffs.

Cute, Camille thinks.

Nova follows behind, breezing past with a cheerful, “Morning!” as she walks to her workstation, casually greeting the still-fawning omegas along the way.

Camille shrugs. “Well, Suzie saw it coming. Maybe you did too.”

Ari turns to Hazel. “You did?”

Hazel blinks. “I… actually didn’t care. Still don’t. Maybe Suzie does…”

She glances at the group of omegas nearby. “Shoo-shoo.”

Some scatter immediately. Others slink back to their desks under her pointed glare.

“Hazel, don’t be mean,” Camille chides.

“Ugh, it’s not like I want omegas to hate me… I just can’t be around them right now. They smell too good…” Hazel mutters, looking vaguely tortured.

Camille gives her a disapproving glance, but then her expression shifts.

She notices something.
Lyra isn’t with Ari.

“Hey… where’s Lyra?” she asks.

Ari replies, “Oh, she got a text. She had to run an errand.”

Camille swallows hard.

“Oh, for my aunt?” Hazel adds, brows lifting.

“I should get back to work,” Camille says quickly, turning away. “See you later, girls.”

Ari watches her go, then turns to Hazel. “Is it always like that? Lyra doing errands for your aunt?”

Hazel nods. “Depends. It’s kind of… seasonal.”

Ari looks around.

Suzie’s not in the office either.

Is this about Suzie again? she wonders.

“Ari…” Hazel says.

“Yes?”

“Shoo”

 

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.´

“In the end, you’re just another whore for Aira,” Suzie says angrily, backing toward the kitchen, her voice tight but controlled. “When the fuck are you gonna fight to get your freedom back?!”

Lyra stands at the entrance, calm as ever, pulling on black surgical gloves. The apartment responds—lighting fades into colder hues of violet and blue, shadows flickering off mirrored panels across the walls.

“We can do this the easy way,” she says, her voice even, “or the hard way.”

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Suzie replies, moving deliberately toward the hallway. “I’m out.”

Lyra exhales. “If it were that simple…”

“It is. You just have to stop being her fucking instrument!”

“I still owe her—”

“You think she’s ever going to let you go? She built you to obey until it kills you. You think she paid for Harrowgate just to be nice?!”

Suzie reaches the threshold of the hallway and speaks sharply but low:

“Taylor, lock hallway access behind me. Delay fifteen seconds. Begin staggered barrier protocol.” she mutters.

A soft chime answers. The hallway lights pulse red. Suzie slips through just before the panel door seals shut with a clean hiss.

Lyra notices and sprints forward. She arrives a moment later, too late to catch her. She pauses—then pivots and moves through the alternate kitchen passage that leads into the corridor.

“You think this’ll stop me?” she calls, footsteps echoing.

“No,” Suzie answers from just ahead. “But it slows you down. And maybe it makes you think.”

Lyra says nothing.

Suzie reaches the mirrored console near her bedroom. She doesn’t look back.

“Taylor, prepare bedroom lockdown. Delay thirty seconds. Mute voice commands from non-resident profiles.”

“Confirmed,” the AI responds smoothly.

The bedroom door ahead slides open. Violet and pastel blue light spills into the hallway like fog. The air shifts—cooler, tense.

Suzie stops at the doorway, silhouetted by the soft shimmer.

“You’re not here because of debt,” she says. “You’re here because you’ve given up. Because it’s easier to obey.”

She steps inside.

“Go ahead. Force it. Just proves you’ve become exactly what Aira wanted.”

The words land. Lyra pauses—for just a second.

Then she moves.

Fast.

Suzie turns, instinctively trying to step back, but Lyra closes the distance in seconds. Her training takes over. She catches Suzie by the wrist, spins her, and pins her against the mirrored wall.

“Don’t,” Suzie hisses, twisting. “I said no!”

“I gave you time,” Lyra mutters. “I gave you a choice.”

Suzie fights back, sharp and sudden—an elbow to the ribs, a knee up. But Lyra is already adjusting, weight balanced, grip firm. From a pocket inside her coat, she draws a sleek injector—metallic and clinical.

“Taylor—” Suzie gasps. “defense mode!—”

“Taylor, override by order of Aira Ast—”

“Aaahhh!!” Suzie interrupts her by screaming.

But Lyra continues “Code ******* Lyra Veran,” Lyra cuts in.

A chime. “Override accepted.”

The injector clicks into place against Suzie’s neck. A sharp hiss—

The bots are delivered before she can flinch away.

Her breath catches. A single twitch runs through her muscles under Lyra’s grip.

Then stillness.

“This will calm you,” Lyra murmurs, slipping the injector back into her coat. “And this…” —she pulls out a second device— “this will get you back on track.”

Without hesitation, she presses it to Suzie’s abdomen and delivers the hormone shot.

Suzie doesn’t speak. Doesn’t cry.

Lyra steps back, releasing her.

“You don’t get to say this was my choice,” she says, quiet and furious. “Not when you took it from me.”

Lyra says nothing.

Suzie’s voice rips through the stillness. “What would Ari think if she knew you did this?!”

The room pulses gently around them, soft pastel hues crawling across mirrored walls, catching their reflections in angles neither of them wants to look at.

“Just keep documenting your progress,” Lyra says without turning. “Send the reports on time. You’ll be an alpha soon. You started this treatment wanting that, no?”

Suzie slams her fist into the wall. The mirror cracks with a sharp, splintering sound. She growls through her teeth.

“Just do it, Suzie. I don’t want to come back here.”

Lyra walks out.

From the hallway, her voice echoes—distant, clinical. “Taylor, open doors.”

A soft chime answers.

The locks disengage.
And Suzie is left alone in the flickering glow of her room, her fractured reflection staring back at her from every surface.

 

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Lyra exits the building and steps into the low golden haze of late afternoon. The sun is sinking, casting sharp angles on the pavement. She pulls up the rideshare app, selects Aira’s corporate account , and waits.

A dark car arrives within seconds.

Driver: Sorelle .
Omega.

She smells it the moment she opens the door—warm, floral, just faint enough to make her skin tighten. A wave of need pulses through her before she can stop it.

Lyra slides into the back seat, jaw already clenched.

“You headed to Morph C.O.?” the driver asks casually, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She’s young, dark skinned, pretty, with soft features and that unmistakable scent—an omega in full bloom.

“Yes,” Lyra says curtly.

Sorelle gives a small smile. “Rush hour’s hell today. Hope you're not late for something important.”

The scent clings to the car’s interior. Lyra shifts in her seat, resisting the instinct to lower the window. Her body hums—tense, sparking with a hunger she doesn’t allow anymore.

She stares out the window. “Just drive.”

Silence fills the car, but the ache doesn’t leave.

She remembers how easy it used to be. How she’d use girls like Sorelle to silence this exact kind of stress—turning need into dominance, tension into release. But not now.

Not anymore.

She’s with Ari.

When they reach the Morph C.O. building, Lyra gets out without a word. The car pulls away, Sorelle’s scent still faintly clinging to her clothes like static.

She stands outside for a second, catching her breath, staring up at the mirrored glass façade of the building. Then she walks in.

The lobby lights are bright and clinical. People are still at their desks, the steady rhythm of late workday energy buzzing around her. She moves through it like a ghost.

Camille sees her first.

From across the floor, she pauses mid-step. Her expression hardens slightly—not in anger, but in recognition. She knows that look. She’s seen it before.

College. After missions. After things Lyra rarely talked about, and if she did, she never gave much detail.

Ari notices next.

She rises from her workstation the moment she sees her, worry blooming across her face. She doesn’t hesitate. She walks to Lyra and wraps her arms around her waist, pulling her into a quiet, tender hug.

Lyra freezes for half a second.

Then her body begins to respond—just not the way she wants.

The hug is sweet. Comforting. Real.

And it makes something primal burn through her spine.

She wants Ari. Wants her completely. Wants to push her up against the wall, bury herself in that softness, that scent. She wants to forget everything.

But she doesn't.

She holds Ari back—gently. Her arms curl around her with care, like she’s afraid she’ll break her if she lets herself feel too much.

Ari leans her head against Lyra’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Lyra closes her eyes. Her voice comes out quiet, human.

“Yeah,” she says. “Now I am.”

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Ari feels quietly relieved that she didn’t have to drive the beast of a car back home. But the relief doesn’t last.

Lyra is tense—silent as they settle into the vehicle. Her jaw is tight. Her whole body reads like a coiled spring.

The doors close. The silence stretches.

Lyra exhales sharply, letting her head rest against the seat for a moment.

Ari reaches over and gently touches her hand.

Lyra flinches—barely—but Ari feels it.

“Lyra… what happened?” Ari asks softly. “You look like you… like you’re regretting something.”

Lyra sighs again, this time louder. “The errand got a little… heavy.”

Ari watches her carefully. She wants to ask more, but waits.

If we’re going to be serious about this… I need to know who I’m committing myself to.

“Lyra,” she says cautiously, “if you don’t mind me asking… what was that errand about?”

Lyra’s hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

She remembers the force she used. The crack of the mirror. Suzie’s eyes. The sharp click of the injector. The weight of it all—ugly, messy, but necessary.

“Ah,” she says after a pause. “It’s the Suzie thing.”

Ari tilts her head. “What, was she… hard to convince? Why doesn’t she want to do her job, anyway?”

Lyra glances at her.

Ari’s face is open. Curious. Trusting.

I don’t want to lie to her. Not one bit.

And then, without warning, Lyra catches her scent. That familiar warmth, soft and sweet. It hits her like a slow wave, curling under her skin. Her whole body responds, not from instinct alone—but from longing .

Goddess… she smells so sweet…

She says nothing.

But her silence stretches too long.

“Lyra?” Ari prompts, gently. It pulls her back to the moment.

Lyra breathes in. Prepares herself for honesty.

“I… Suzie’s been running an experiment,” she says quietly. “Since college.”

“Wow— that long?” Ari says, surprised.

“Didn’t I tell you that already?”

Ari shrugs. “Maybe not the details. You told me she’s a geneticist, a scientist, but not that she had been working on something since college”

“Anyway… the thing is, the experiment is on herself.”

Ari’s eyes widen. “Oh my Goddess…”

Right… she did mention Suzie was a test subject…

“She’s been part of a long-term hormone study,” Lyra explains, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “The thing is… it’ll change her forever. And she, suddenly, doesn't want to change.”

Ari takes a moment, the weight of that sentence settling in.

“Lyra… that’s huge. Why would she need to experiment on herself? Is someone forcing her?”

Lyra flashes back—Suzie pinned against the mirror, the injector in her hand, her silence, her eyes full of something unreadable.

“…No,” she says carefully. “She wanted it. She asked for it. Everything was going smoothly until… it wasn’t. She stopped. And she’s been off protocol for over a month. That’s enough to jeopardize the whole project. The data is corrupted. She’s about to throw away hundreds of thousands of credits in research.”

Ari blinks, stunned. The complexity of it all washes over her in a slow, heavy wave. She stares out the windshield, then back at Lyra, struggling to form any words.

It’s too big. Too intricate. Too far outside her world to pass judgment. So she just sits there, quietly trying to understand.

“I don’t want to burden you with my stuff,” Lyra says after a moment, her voice lower. “Don’t think too much about it, Ari. It’s my problem.”

“Okay…” Ari says softly. Then, after a breath: “Thanks for telling me, though.”

She remembers Lyra saying the same at the restaurant.

Turns to look at her. “Don’t… don’t keep that stuff in. You know?”

Lyra’s grip on the wheel loosens. She stays quiet for a moment, then glances sideways, her expression softer now—unguarded.

“I’m not used to that,” she admits. “...Sharing these stuff”

Ari watches her, heart tugging a little.

“Back in college I used to talk about this kind of stuff to Camille… but… it ended up in physical stuff…” she sighs “...and the actual sharing stopped there.”

Ah Camille… missing you always.

“Well,” Ari says gently, “you don’t have to say everything at once. Just… let me in a little, okay?”

Lyra exhales through her nose, a quiet laugh barely there. She nods once, eyes back on the road.

“Okay,” she says. “A little.”

I wonder if this is dangerous information… Ari thinks.

Am I in danger?

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Camille sits in the driver's seat, but she doesn’t touch the wheel—the AI handles everything. Her mind is elsewhere.

She keeps replaying that look on Lyra’s face. Those dark eyes. Hollow. Soulless. She’s seen that expression before—back in college.

Camille would have offered herself, just to be a warm body for Lyra to lie beside. But her thoughts drift to someone else.

Suzie.

She hadn’t shown up to work today. And Camille has a hunch.

She knows Suzie used to work for Aira. And now, she’s missing too.

Are they working together? she wonders.

Without thinking, Camille reaches for the wheel, overrides the AI, and changes course.

She’s heading to Suzie’s.

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Minutes pass.

Camille arrives.

The hallway is quiet, too quiet. Suzie’s door is ajar.

Camille frowns. Her heels slow as she steps closer.

“Suzie?” she calls, tapping lightly on the door. “Suzie!”

No answer.

She pushes the door open and steps inside—and freezes.

The apartment is in disarray. Glass shards catch the low ambient light. One of the mirrored panels is cracked. The synth hum of the domotics is gone. Dead silence.

“Suzie?” she says again, sharper now.

She finds her in the bedroom.

Suzie is sitting on the floor, slouched against the wall. Her hand is bleeding—thin red lines from where glass must’ve caught her. She’s holding an injector, and even in the low light, Camille can see how pale and shaken she is.

As soon as she spots Camille, Suzie lifts a hand and gestures quickly. “Shhh.”

Camille’s eyes widen. “Taylor, call an ambul—”

“I turned Taylor off,” Suzie mutters.

“What? Why?”

“Aira controls it.” Her voice is hoarse, cracked. “Can you get me out of here, please?”

Camille doesn’t hesitate.

She helps Suzie to her feet, careful of the cuts, wraps her jacket around her, and walks her out the door. No questions. Not yet.

They get into Camille’s car. The city passes in silence for several blocks.

Finally, Camille speaks, low and steady.

“Is Lyra involved in this?? Whatever this is…”

Suzie lets out a dry, bitter scoff. She leans her head back against the seat, eyes closed.

“Who else?” Suzie murmurs.

Camille’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Did she hurt you?”

Suzie sighs, closing her eyes. “She did what Aira told her to do…”

Camille slams her palm against the wheel.

The car’s AI chimes in, calmly taking over control.

“Hands off, Camille. Engaging auto-mode.”

Suzie glances at her. “Which assistants do you have at home?”

“Shiva and Taylor,” Camille mutters. “But I barely use them… mostly for maintenance.”

Suzie’s voice is thin. “Turn Taylor off. Just in case. Shiva should be safe.”

Camille nods.

 

—

 

They arrive at Camille’s apartment.

Taylor is disabled with a voice command at the door. The entry lights adjust softly as they step in.

Suzie says nothing. She looks exhausted—scratched, stained, and worn down in a way Camille hasn’t seen since college. No showy sarcasm. No fire. Just… empty.

They go straight to Camille’s bedroom.

Camille grabs her medkit from the bathroom, sets it on the dresser, and gently guides Suzie to sit on the edge of the bed. She kneels in front of her, tending to her wounds with quiet precision.

Neither of them speaks for a while.

But then Camille pauses.

She sniffs—once, subtly. Her brows furrow.

“Huh… Suzie… your scent. It’s like…”

Suzie lifts her eyes, tired but sharp. “Like an omega’s?”

Camille nods slowly. “Yeah.”

Suzie sighs. “Confession time…”

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“Since college?! And you want out now?!” Camille exclaims, her voice rising in disbelief.

Suzie sighs, tired. “Yeah…”

Camille paces a step, then turns back to her. “Suzie, why did you change your mind?!”

“I don’t know…” Suzie answers honestly, voice low. “I just don’t want to lose… myself now”

She looks down at her bandaged hand. “I’ve been having doubts for over a year now. I thought they’d pass. They didn’t. I know I asked for this but I don't want to be an alpha anymore. I want to try and be what I am… an omega”

Camille stares at her, the frustration in her chest slowly giving way to something else.

Without the makeup, the distraction, the attitude—Suzie looks different. Softer.

Her face has changed. Her features are sweeter, rounder. Her eyes look bigger. Gentler. Her skin, even under stress, has a kind of glow. And the scent in the room...

Camille swallows.

“No wonder you needed your dorm to be a lab,” Camille says quietly. “These kinds of treatments were still in their infancy back then, I guess you had to take a lot of bots and whatnot into your system to be able to remain an alpha.”

“You're right, not just hormones,” Suzie adds. “Bots for my genes. Illegal at the time”

Camille nods slowly. “Are you going full natural? Are your purple eyes going back to their original color?”

Suzie laughs. “No. I like my eyes purple.”

Camille studies her. “It’s only a few more months until this is over, right? Why not just finish and be an alpha?”

Suzie looks at her—dead serious now.

“It’s not like just changing my appearance, you know?” she says. “People treat me differently. And at first, that was great—no more harassment, no more being stepped on. I was heard. Respected.”

She pauses.

“There’s alpha as a biological category… and then there’s Alpha—the societal role. It’s about how people treat you. How they react to you. And through all these years, since I started altering my genes and hormones, I’ve met so many omegas who earned respect without changing who they were. Some wield a kind of power only omegas can wield. Their societal role isn't disempowering. I can work with that—I can live as a powerful omega. I didn’t know that before, but now I do. Also things are better now! Like... overall... in society”

Her voice softens. “I want to live that as an omega. I was afraid before. But now I’m not.”

She looks up at Camille. “Do you understand what I mean?”

Camille doesn’t interrupt. She listens. And what she sees is not just the punk, brash, artistic Suzie she’s always known—but a version of her that’s vulnerable. Brave in a different way.

Her features are softer now. Her voice more open. She looks… luminous.

Suzie notices the way Camille’s looking at her.

She blushes. “What are you staring at?”

Camille blinks, caught. Then smiles.

“I’m… sorry. It’s just that—yeah. What you’re saying makes a lot of sense. Seems like you had powerful reasons to change in the past... and powerful reasons to change again now. You're not just doing it on a whim. I mean, this is your identity we're talking about.”

And you look cute as heck.

A beat.

Suzie feels foolish after spilling out all those explanations. She does feel like it was stupid to take Aira's offer in the first place, but, how could she have known? Aira knew which buttons to push and Suzie was just a teen.

Ah… Camille… if only you knew what triggered my decision when I was fifteen. You might think twice about what you just said... aaahh anyway... I want back... I'm not fifteen anymore... and we have the tech to do it so...

Camille keeps staring.

Stop it Camille, please...!!

 

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Author’s Note:

When I wrote this chapter, I remembered being fourteen, traveling, getting my first boyfriend, and having my first situationship with a girl. When I came back to my country, the boys at school suddenly started treating me differently. Apparently, I had “developed.” I just thought I’d gotten fat. HAHA.
Anyway—none of them were Camille, so I didn’t like it.
Luckily, I graduated, got into college, and never saw most of them again.

You made it to Friday—treat yourself! Maybe with something indulgent… like reading a lot of smut. Bwahahaaha! 😈📚

Chapter 21: Let Me In, Just a Little 💓

Summary:

As feelings deepen and past wounds resurface, everyone is forced to navigate what remains unsaid. Ari and Lyra's tenderness is met with restraint, while Camille and Suzie confront truths that could alter their relationship—and identities—forever. In quiet rooms and shared silences, the lines between who they were and who they’re becoming begin to blur. And all the while, the question lingers: how much of yourself are you willing to show when love, loyalty, and survival are at stake?

An alpha and an omega thinking the same: Would you let me in just a little?
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“Should I be… still staying at your place?” Ari asks as they step inside. Lyra is already slipping off her shoes at the entrance.

 

“I got you slippers,” Lyra replies, glancing over her shoulder.

 

Ari smiles. “Is that a yes?”

 

—

 

Later, they’re in Lyra’s bedroom.

 

Lyra’s wearing her robe loosely draped over a soft summer top and drawstring pants. Ari is still in her outside clothes, standing near the edge of the bed—but not for long.

 

Lyra kisses her. Slowly at first. Then deeper.

 

She guides Ari back onto the bed, their bodies folding into the sheets. Her hands move with quiet certainty, finding curves and warm skin beneath fabric. Her mouth trails along Ari’s neck, jaw, and collarbone, her voice a hushed whisper between kisses.

 

“Ari… you don’t know how good you make me feel…”

 

Her lips brush Ari’s shoulder. Then her tongue. She kisses her again, slower this time—savoring.

 

“You don’t know… how delicious you are to me…”

 

Ari shivers, flushed and breathless.

Delicious? she thinks. Wow… Lyra.

She’s never been called that before.

And somehow, it makes her feel wanted in a way that’s new, intense, and almost too much to hold all at once.

Is this because she was… kinda… addicted to it…? No. I cant have that in my mind!

They’re lying together in bed, facing each other. Ari’s hand is resting on Lyra’s side, their legs gently tangled under the sheets. The room is quiet. Warm.

“Do you mind if I don’t make love to you tonight?” Lyra asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

They’re lying together in bed, facing each other. Ari’s hand is resting on Lyra’s side, their legs gently tangled under the sheets. The room is quiet. Warm.

Ari blinks.

 

What?!

 

“Uhm… you… you promised,” she says, a little breathless, her cheeks flushing.

 

Ugh, an addict has more restraint than me… ARI STOP IT!!! Ari thinks

 

Lyra reaches up and brushes Ari’s hair behind her ear, her touch tender.

 

“I know,” she says. “It’s just that… what happened with Suzie is still too fresh. My therapist used to tell me I need to feel things when they happen. Not push through them. And I don’t want to be thinking about it while I’m with you. That wouldn’t be fair. Do you understand?”

 

Ari searches her eyes.

 

“Wait—since when do you go to therapy?”

 

“I don’t. Not anymore.” Lyra’s lips twitch. “Back in college.”

 

Ari blinks again. Right, she’s been having difficult missions like this since college…

 

She sighs dramatically. “Aaaagh! I wanted to…” like a spoiled child.

Lyra chuckles softly, and their foreheads nearly touch.

“But… okay,” Ari adds, quieter now. “How about we cuddle?”

Lyra’s arms tighten around her, pulling her closer.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’d like that.”

They stay like that—warm, wrapped up in each other, hearts slowing down together in the quiet.

After a while, Lyra whispers, “Ari, if you’re staying… you should probably change into your pajamas and take a bath.”

Ari blinks. “Huh?! Do I smell bad?”

Lyra’s eyes widen. “No! Not at all. I just… I thought it was normal to bathe at night before bed.”

“I take my baths in the morning,” Ari says, pouting slightly.

A beat of silence passes.

Then Ari bolts upright. “You do think I stink!”

Lyra sits up, startled. “I didn’t say that!”

But Ari’s already heading toward the bathroom.

She steps inside and pauses. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was in here—minimalist and sleek, bathed in soft golden light, with a faint lavender scent lingering in the air. The kind of bathroom that makes you feel cleaner just by being in it.

And that moon…

Set into the wall like a glowing disc, it almost resembles one of the Covenant’s sacred altars. Stunning.

She turns on the water, rolling her eyes at herself—then smiling.

She senses a presence behind her.
It’s Lyra, slipping off her robe.

“I thought maybe you’d want to take this bath with me,” she murmurs. “I can show you the tricks the jacuzzi has.”

Ari turns around, grinning like a fool.

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The next day, Ari is at her workstation beside Gina, trying to focus—emphasis on trying .

Gina, on the other hand, is grinning like an idiot, giving her the most obvious knowing look in the history of knowing looks.

Ari feels the stare before she sees it. It makes her shiver.

“Gina… what is it…” she mutters without turning.

“You look good , Ari.”

Ari jerks her head around. “Gina! What the fu—!”

“I mean it,” Gina says, still beaming. “You’re glowing. Living with Lyra must be treating you.”

“Ah…” Ari trails off.

Her mind drifts to the moon bath, and then the morning.

Waking up to kisses and warm cuddles. Lyra’s arm around her waist, her lips soft and lazy. Then Lyra slipping out of bed for her morning workout while Ari buried herself deeper under the blankets.

Later, waking again to the sound of water, the scent of eucalyptus. Lyra stepping out of the bathroom—hair damp, skin glowing, sipping something green and healthy.

Taylor had already made breakfast. Pancakes. Matcha. Everything plated perfectly.

They’d eaten together. More kisses. A slow, quiet ride to work with music playing low.

Ari blushes slowly, her shoulders tensing and her eyes softening as the memories flood her. Her lips curve just slightly. She tries to hide it.

“Uaaagh!! I can see it on your face!” Gina exclaims. “You’re living the dream! I’m so jealous!”

Ari groans and hides her face behind her screen.

But the blush doesn’t go away.

“Gina… I can’t stand it …” Rainy groans, placing her hands firmly on Gina’s shoulders and spinning her around. “Nova is acting all alpha’d—I just can’t !”

Gina tilts her head toward Ari with a grin. “Rainy liked Nova…”

Rainy flushes instantly. “Stop saying that! It’s not true!”

They break into a half-hearted hand fight—more flailing than force—Gina still smiling the entire time.

Ari watches them with an amused smile, until—

“Hey, girls!”

Ari turns. “Hi!”

It’s Nova, standing a few feet away, looking casual—but there’s something in her expression that makes Rainy and Gina pause mid-scuffle. They wave back with soft, slightly awkward “hi”s.

Just then, Camille strolls by.

“Hey, design deers,” she says playfully, flashing a grin at the team.

A chorus of dreamy responses follows.

“Hey, Camille…”
“H-hi…”
“Hey, ah—”

“Design deers?!” Ari blurts. “I’m the only deer here!” She blushes immediately.

Did I really just yell that?!

Camille laughs. “Ari, c’mon—are you jealous?”

Ari frowns and folds her arms. “No.”

Camille smirks. “Alright. I’m just going to see your alpha back there.”

Ari flushes deeper, watching her head toward the back row of desks—mostly empty, except for one where Lyra sits, focused, not so distant from the cluster of designers.

“Hey, Lyra,” Camille says casually as she approaches.

“Hi—” Lyra begins, then pauses. Her nose twitches. She inhales again, slowly. Her eyes narrow.

“Camille… what is that scent?”

Camille hesitates. “Uh… nothing?”

Lyra gives her a look. “You’re covered in the scent of an omega.”

The entire design team freezes.

Camille shifts her weight, visibly uncomfortable. “Yeah… I had an omega over last night,” she says, trying to keep her voice low.

A wave of quiet disappointment rolls through the group. Shoulders slump. Eyes lower. A few sighs escape—barely audible, but unmistakable.

Camille notices.

“It’s nothing serious,” she adds quickly.

Like magic, the energy shifts. Heads lift. A few subtle smiles return. Hope flares.

Lyra leans back slightly. “Okay. Just… take better showers if you’re going to do that.”

Camille scoffs and waves her off.

Lyra, c'mon… there's a lot of smelly omegas here. Why bother so much with this one scent?

Back at her desk, Ari doesn’t say anything. She presses her lips together, staring at her screen, pretending to scroll.

It hasn’t even been that long since we stopped dating, she thinks, trying not to let the sting show. And she’s already sleeping with someone else? Ugh…

From a few rows back, Lyra’s voice cuts through the low office buzz.

“Have you seen Suzie?”

Ari looks up, ears perking.

Crap! Thinks Camille

“No,” Camille replies. “She’s not here, is she?”

Lyra shakes her head. “No. She’s not at her place either.”

Camille narrows her eyes slightly. “How do you know that?”

Lyra hesitates. “Ah—Aira told me. You know how she keeps track of which coworkers are at home…”

“Right…” Camille says, watching her.

Lyra… you're terrible at hiding your intentions. Camille thinks. I’m not going to let you find Suzie ever.

“Well,” Camille says more loudly, shifting the subject, “I’ve got those new HR forms that came in today. You just need to take a look.” She holds up her tablet.

“HR forms?!” Gina yells from the front row beside Ari, making her flinch. “You mean the ones for dating and stuff?!”

Ari covers her face with one hand.

“Ah… those are not the only HR forms that exist in this office… but yes,” Camille says with a light sigh.

“Let’s take this upstairs,” Lyra mutters.

She and Camille head to the second floor, entering one of the glass-walled offices. Camille closes the door behind them.

Within minutes, the company’s internal social feed lights up—new couple announcements already posted, sparking whispers and reactions across the design floor.

“Nova and Hazel… we knew ,” someone mutters from the second row. “Rainy and… Kate? Who’s Kate?”

Gina spins toward Rainy, eyes wide. “ Youuu?! ” She grabs her by the shoulders and starts shaking her. “Why didn’t you tell meee ?!”

“UA UA! We are not that close, Gina!”

“Is it an alpha?!”

“We have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy, Gina!!”

“NOBODY RESPECTS THAT POLICYYY, RAINY!”

“It’s a beta,” Ari says quietly, eyes still on her screen.

Gina recoils dramatically. “A beta ?! Boooring… ”

“Oh shut up, Gina,” Rainy snaps. “You know, according to The River’s last article on relationships, couples between betas are the most stable—and good for society.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” someone else adds. “There’s never any drama. Even their breakups are boring.”

The team breaks into laughter, and even Ari smiles faintly, though her eyes stay distant.

“Betas are people too!” Rainy yells.

“Boring people…” says Gina.

Laughter continues.

Ari’s mind is somewhere else.

I shouldn't be so possessive of Camille… ugh… I should be like Lyra and wish for Camille lo live her best life… Even if that means we'll never be together like we were before…

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“You know,” Camille says, watching the chaos unfold below the glass office, “it’s not a bad idea to let designers, or anyone, opt out of on-site work again… This place is starting to feel like a pub.”

If remote work becomes optional again, she thinks, I could do the same—stay home and take care of Suzie while we plan her escape…

Lyra leans back slightly, eyes following the laughter downstairs. “You have a point.”

If Ari can work remotely from my place, Lyra thinks, I could have her there all the time… she wouldn’t be exposed to dangerous people, like Hazel… Or any other danger… like any other alpha… ever…

She smiles to herself, the thought warm and slow.

Yeah. I really like that idea.

“I’ll send an email immediately and get that approved,” Lyra says, already tapping her screen.

“Good call, boss,” Camille replies, leaning one hip against the glass desk, arms folded. Her tone is casual, but her eyes are watching Lyra closely.

Lyra glances up at her, then pauses. “By the way… Ari said the cutest thing the other day. About you.”

Camille tilts her head slightly. “About me ?”

Lyra nods. “Yeah. She was wondering what would be so wrong—or so crazy—about us… me and her… having you as our partner.”

Camille freezes. Her eyes widen a fraction, and she straightens up from the desk like she just got hit with a sudden jolt of electricity.

“Huuuh?! Goddess of all alphas! ” she blurts, flushing. “That omega is… you know what, I'm not surprised anymore, is Ari being Ari.”

She's something dangerous that should be kept caged for my sanity!!!

Lyra smiles softly, eyes locked on Camille.

Camille shifts her weight, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. She crosses and uncrosses her arms.

“And you … you told her that…” she starts, then trails off.

Lyra, don’t look at me like that. Say something logical. Something sane. Be the voice of reason, she thinks, panicked.

Lyra’s gaze stays steady, almost unreadable. “I told her,” she says slowly, “that you’d probably find a good omega someday. Get married. Have kids…”

Camille swallows. Her hands curl into the edge of the desk.

Lyra’s voice lowers, almost like a secret. “And all we’d do with you is keep you tied up to the bed.”

Camille’s whole body tenses. Her blush creeps up her neck, visible even in the cool light of the office.

Uuuughhh Lyraaa!! C’mon!! she screams internally, biting the inside of her cheek.

Lyra blinks once, calmly. “We couldn’t rob you of your bright future because of our selfishness.”

Camille stares at her, trembling slightly. Her breath catches.

She forces out a shaky laugh. “Ha-ha…”

And she looks away—because if she doesn’t, she might actually say something stupid.

Lyra shifts back to a neutral tone. “Anyway. Please notify Suzie that she needs to come into the office. It’s urgent. Copy me and Aira on the email.”

Ugh! Classic Lyra switch! 

Camille tenses. “Oh. Okay. Will do.”

She starts heading toward the door, but pauses. “So… see you later, boss.”

Lyra looks up. “Wait. Are you going to see her soon? Suzie I mean.”

Camille freezes mid-step.

The question is simple. The tone, even. But Camille is still reeling from Lyra’s earlier words—the completely unintentional, deeply suggestive flirting.

She tries to keep her face neutral.

“Ahm… I… we haven’t talked or arranged to meet,” she manages.

Lyra observes and nods slowly. “Okay. If she gets in touch, let me know.”

“Yes. Will do,” Camille says quickly. She reaches for the door again. “So… see you later.”

“See you around, Camille.”

Camille steps out, her pulse still high.

Phew. That was close… she thinks, closing the door behind her and walking away as calmly as she can manage.

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Did she do that on purpose? Make me lose my cool with the flirtation to see if I knew anything about Suzie? Or am I being paranoid?  Camille thinks. After all, that's Lyra, and Lyra is that kind of agent when it comes to doing her job for Aira.

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“I brought those salty crackers you like,” Camille calls gently. “And some citrus soda.”

In the bedroom, Suzie stirs slightly. She’s curled on her side, blanket half-draped over her, her hand still lightly bandaged.

“You remembered…” Her voice is hoarse but steady.

Camille steps inside, hesitant, holding the snacks like a peace offering.

“I thought you might want something sharp and fizzy,” she says, setting the items on the nightstand. “For the stress. Not the hormones. I… don’t know much about that.”

Suzie blinks, eyes searching Camille’s face. “You think I’m a mess.”

Camille sits on the edge of the bed. “I think you’ve been through something that would break most people.”

Suzie scoffs quietly. “Camille the kind. Camille the understanding. As always.”

“No,” Camille says softly. “I’m kind to you. And Hazel… because you’ve always come as a package deal.”

Suzie looks at her for a long moment, the words hanging in the quiet.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she murmurs. “Not even Hazel. Not about the experiment. I didn’t want you to treat me… like an omega. I still don’t.”

Camille nods slowly. “I understand.”

A pause.

Then, gently: “So… what does that mean to you? Being treated ‘like an omega’?”

Suzie’s eyes flicker. She swallows hard.

“Like I’m weaker. Like I’m just a warm body for an alpha to use… a womb, art you can fuck” she says, her voice bitter, but low. “Like that’s all I’m made for.”

Camille’s gaze is steady. “You are an omega, yes. But you’re so much more than that. And I get why you wanted to be an alpha.”

Suzie turns her face to the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

“I must sound ridiculous,” she says with a dry laugh. “I’m already close to fully transitioned. Just missing the genitals. But there are alphas with wombs… sterile wombs… and no phallus, so maybe it’s fine. Maybe I should just go on.”

Camille watches her carefully. “Is that what you want?”

Suzie’s expression softens—guarded, but honest.

“Sadly… No. I want back. I feel like Aira fooled me and I'm angry at that.”

A silence settles between them again, deeper now.

“See how dumb I am?” Suzie laughs “Aira is all powerful, of course she fooled me when I was fifteen! And now I'm just as powerless against her but I want to go against her”

And Camille reaches out—just gently, without pressure—and places a hand over Suzie’s uninjured one.

“I don’t think that’s dumb, you realized what you wanted a little late, you might have been manipulated, but there's a way out, we just have to be strategic about it. It's not stupid” she says. “I think that’s human.”

Suzie doesn’t answer right away.

But she doesn’t pull away either.

“Camille… I’m scared,” Suzie says softly.

Camille’s heart skips a beat. The words hit harder than she expects.

Suzie—the sharp-tongued, fearless rebel who once strutted through college like she owned it—is sitting in front of her now, no makeup, no armor, no sarcasm. Just honesty. Just fear.

Camille can’t help but look at her with tenderness.

A trace of Suzie’s scent drifts between them—faint, warm, unmistakably omega. Camille breathes it in before she can stop herself, and though her pulse quickens, she keeps her face composed.

She doesn’t let it show just how much she enjoys it.

Camille reaches out and gently takes Suzie’s hand.

“Hey… it’s okay. I’ll protect you,” she says softly, searching her eyes. “We’ll find a way out.” She caresses her hand slowly without noticing "Besides, if anyone was going to go against the system, I always knew it would be you, you're like, best equipped for it." Camille chuckles softly.

Suzie blushes faintly, her fingers curling just slightly around Camille’s.

“We could tell Hazel,” Camille offers. “She has more influence over her aunt—”

But Suzie cuts her off, her voice tight. “No! Hazel would… she’d hate me. Or…”

She trails off, looking away.

Her mind flashes with memories—nights tangled up in bedsheets, laughter between kisses, Hazel’s trust… or lust. Suzie had explained she was one of those rare alphas born without a phallus, with a womb instead. Hazel hadn’t flinched. She’d accepted Suzie anyway—let herself be taken, allowed the illusion with help from top tech by Morph CO.

But this…

This would be different. Too different.

Too final.

“She’d never look at me the same,” Suzie finishes, voice barely above a whisper.

Camille doesn’t say anything.

She just stays with her—present, steady, warm.

“Ok. You’re going to have to tell her one day though. You can’t just ghost her, that would destroy her.” Camille says.

Suzie sighs “I know…”

Camille can’t help but stare.

Without makeup, Suzie’s eyes look softer—sweeter—but the fire behind them is still there. Her dark hair catches the light, luminous, falling around her face in a way that makes it hard to look away.

Suzie feels the weight of Camille’s gaze and meets it, her voice quiet but direct.

“You’re doing it,” she says.

Camille blinks, caught. “Doing what?”

“You’re seeing me… as an omega.”

Camille hesitates. She knows Suzie’s right. Her jaw tenses. Slowly, she stands and takes a few steps back, putting space between them.

“…Yeah,” she admits.

Suzie blushes—barely, but enough for Camille to notice.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not seeing you as you. As Suzie.”

Suzie’s eyes widen slightly. Camille holds her gaze for a beat longer, then turns to the closet, pulling out a fresh set of sheets and a spare pillow.

“I’ll sleep in the living room,” she says, voice even, not looking back.

Suzie blinks. A dozen things rise in her throat—That’s not necessary. I trust you. I might even want…

But what comes out instead is:

“Whatever.”

Camille smiles as she walks past. “Classic Suzie.”

She heads for the couch in the living room to begin setting up the bed—quietly, carefully, like she’s done before.

“Thanks.” Suzie says in a low voice, who knows if Camille heard it.

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Author’s Note:

Do you know that singer who’s also an incredible performer—the one who has that song with the line about being “art you can fuck”? I can’t remember her name, but she’s amazing. It hurts to hear those lyrics and watch her perform them… but it is art. I think one of her songs is called The doll people. 

Alsoo, hey, it's Monday! I had a random thought: I'm scared of Sam Altman, haha... I think inevitably, my fears enter my stories.

 

 

Chapter 22: Good Girl Rewards 💗

Summary:

Suzie's unexpected absence stirs worry among the team, tensions and questions begin to rise. Secrets deepen, emotions clash, and relationships shift under the weight of desire, guilt, and longing. One couple reaches a long-awaited turning point, while others are left chasing shadows and hints.
Should an omega be worried about her alpha liking another alpha?
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Two, three days pass. No sign of Suzie in the office.

 

“Camille, have you heard from Suzie? She’s not even reading my texts!” Hazel exclaims, her voice tight with worry. She looks at Camille like she’s pleading for answers.

 

Camille feels a pang of guilt. She hates lying to her.

 

“She hasn’t responded to me either,” Camille says quietly.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I hate lying to Hazel!

The truth is, Camille and Suzie have been sharing slow mornings and long, winding conversations about epistemic violence and semiotics—topics Suzie can discuss for hours, effortlessly. Most of it goes over Camille’s head, but she doesn’t mind. She loves watching Suzie's lips move, the way her purple eyes light up with passion. And honestly, she learns something new almost every time, which is a nice bonus.

 

Hazel’s eyes widen. The concern on her face deepens. Camille knows how much Suzie means to her—her best friend, maybe more—and she can only imagine what’s spiraling through Hazel’s mind.

 

Nova watches Hazel closely. Her eyes, usually sharp with confidence or mischief, now shimmer with unease. Her brows knit together, lips parted slightly—she looks... vulnerable.

 

And something about that shakes Nova.

 

She rises without thinking, crosses the room, and goes to her.

 

“I don’t understand… she has to come to work, right?...like… to get paid and stuff… She never ghosts me like this. What if she’s in danger?!” Hazel blurts out, clearly distraught.

 

Camille can’t stop feeling guilty. She hopes her face doesn’t show it.

 

“Hazel? What’s going on? You look…” Nova starts, watching her closely.

So beautiful like this. So vulnerable… so soft, she thinks.

“…stressed,” she finishes, gently.

 

Hazel steps forward and hugs her without warning. Nova melts into it. She can feel Hazel’s body trembling just slightly.

 

Oh my… Goddess, you’ve answered my prayer. The omega thinks.

 

“Suzie’s not answering my texts,” Hazel says, voice muffled against Nova’s shoulder. “Not mine, not Camille’s. That’s suspicious.”

 

You care a lot about Suzie, don´t you my Hazel? Should I be worried? Wonders Nova, quietly moved, but also, cautious.

 

Nova wraps her arms tighter around Hazel, rubbing slow, gentle circles on her back.

“I’m sure Morph C.O. will do something about it… or you could tell your aunt,” Nova suggests softly.

 

The moment the words leave her mouth, Camille flinches. Subtle, but noticeable.

No!

 

Hazel suddenly pulls back, hands gripping Nova’s arms with a jolt of energy. Her eyes light up, almost gleaming.

 

“Baby! That’s a great idea!” she exclaims, and before Nova can react, Hazel kisses her—quick, a little rough, overflowing with sudden hope.

 

Nova’s lips part in surprise, then curl into a shy smile as Hazel pulls away.

 

Camille watches them, caught off guard by how tender—how sweet—Hazel is with Nova.

 

“You’re coming with me,” Hazel says, already moving. “We’re going to tell my aunt.”

 

Nova hesitates, glancing back at her workstation. “Uhm… I—can I? I’ve got a lot of work…”

 

“Oh, right. How about you do it from my apartment?” Hazel offers casually.

 

Camille raises an eyebrow. “Hazel… why do you need to take Nova to see your aunt?”

 

“I need her, Camille. You know...” Hazel leans in closer and lowers her voice. “This is stressing me out… and I don't have Suzie…”

 

Camille crosses her arms, unimpressed. “You have no self-control.”

 

“It’s okay, Camille,” Nova says, cutting in unexpectedly. Her voice is soft but certain. “I’m an omega, and Hazel is my alpha. These things are… natural.”

She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, blushing faintly, a shy smile on her lips.

 

Hazel looks at her like she’s seeing stars. “Wow. I’ve hit the jackpot.”

 

Camille, however, doesn’t look amused. “Alright, Nova. If you’re fine being an outlet for stress, then I guess that’s your choice.”

 

“She’s more than an outlet for stress,” Hazel snaps, defensive. “She's not offended Camille, quit being the white knight to my omega! That’s just one tiny part of what she is to me. One. Little. Part.”

 

Without waiting, she scoops Nova up into her arms.

 

“Let’s go, baby.”

 

Nova gasps, clinging to her as she’s lifted.

 

Camille rolls her eyes. “Oh, for the love of—”

 

Ugh… Suzie… I’m glad you’re not here to witness this pathetic spectacle, Camille thinks, watching Hazel carry Nova out like some ridiculous fairytale.

 

Ari, who had been deeply focused on her work, can’t help but glance up—again. She catches sight of Hazel exiting the office with Nova in her arms.

 

Ughhh, fucking privileged nepo baby gets to come and go as she pleases…

 

Her eyes drift to Camille.

 

Uaaaghhh… the one that got away!

 

But then she thinks of Lyra—and just like that, a smile tugs at her lips.

 

Suddenly, a text lights up Ari’s screen. It’s from Lyra.

 

“Ari. I won’t be in the office today either. Take the car home. Don’t wait up. Running an errand. Love, Lyra.”

 

Love…

Ari melts for a second. Aww… she wrote love!

 

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Wait—what?! Again?!

 

Lyra had been missing work, coming home late, and always so tired. Ari had waited, patiently, hoping Lyra would finally follow through on her promises. But every night, it was the same, she came back late and tired and there would be no sex.

 

This can’t keep happening. It’s not how an alpha should act with her omega… I need to tell her. This isn’t okay!

 

Just then, Camille spots her and waves, smiling warmly.

 

Ari shifts in her seat, frustration tightening in her chest.

No Lyra. No touch. No sex. No anything.

She bites her lip, glancing at Camille.

If Camille were still with us… I wouldn’t feel this alone every night…

 

She waves back, hiding the longing.

 

But then she sees it—Camille’s smile falters the second she turns away. Her shoulders are tense, her steps a little too stiff.

 

Ari’s thoughts pause.

 

She’s not okay.

The fantasy fades. The ache is still there, but concern takes over.

 

Forget the sex. She’s worried about Suzie.

I wonder if I can help somehow…

 

Feeling restless, Ari opens Morph C.O.’s social media. No sign of Suzie—no updates for days. She switches to Bluesky, hoping for something.

 

Suzie’s feed is full of band photos—group shots, gig nights, behind-the-scenes chaos.

 

Ari scrolls, and there it is. A picture that pulls her back.

 

The concert night.

 

She remembers it well—sitting in the crowd beside Camille and Gina, watching Suzie on stage. Her voice, her energy, the confidence she radiated. It had been intense.

 

Ari scrolls further, curious, and pauses on an older picture.

 

Oh—this must be freshman Suzie.

 

She looks younger, yes. But not just that—cuter. Softer. Smaller. Not intimidating at all.

 

Weird , Ari thinks. She didn’t even feel like an alpha the first time I met her…

 

A chill runs through her.

 

Wait… is Suzie even an alpha? Or is she… a beta?

 

Ari had always assumed Suzie was an alpha. She was assertive, confident, intimidating… She hung out with Camille and Hazel, after all. It just made sense.

But now, looking at that old photo—she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Wait… I never actually asked her.

 

“Hey, Gina, look at this,” Ari says, tapping her friend’s shoulder.

 

Gina is sitting beside her, lost in work, huge headphones over her ears. She pulls them off, and a bit of music spills out—loud, gritty, familiar.

 

“Hey, is that Suzie’s music?” Ari asks.

 

“Yeah,” Gina nods. “I was checking her band’s website to see if she uploaded anything new. Thought maybe she dropped a cryptic song with a hidden message about where she is… that would be so Suzie.” She says it like she’s absolutely smitten.

 

Ari raises an eyebrow and points at her screen. “Look at this picture.”

 

It’s the one of freshman Suzie.

 

“Oh my Bot on a bot sandwich—is that Suzie?!” Gina gasps.

 

“Yep. Freshman at Harrowgate. And that’s Hazel. And Camille.” Ari points at each.

 

In the photo, Hazel and Camille both tower over Suzie, looking lean, sharp, unmistakably alpha. Suzie, on the other hand…

 

“Ari, this picture is blessed! She’s soooo cute!” Gina squeals.

 

“Yes… but don’t you think she’s unusually cute?” Ari asks, narrowing her eyes.

 

Gina turns slowly. “Wait… are you developing a crush on Suzie? Ari… don’t—”

 

“Haha, no! No no,” Ari laughs. “I’m just saying… I don’t think she’s an alpha.”

 

Gina blinks. “But… but she and Hazel— They’ve had alpha sex… right?” she whispers, blushing hard.

 

Ari nods slowly. “Oh, you’re right…” The memory makes her pause. “But still…”

 

She leans closer to the screen, studying the photo again.

 

This person right here…

This isn’t an alpha.

 

Ari scrolls again—then suddenly, the page refreshes.

 

The picture of Suzie is gone.

 

“Aahh!!” she gasps.

 

“What?!” Gina yanks off her headphones.

 

Ari leans in, whispering urgently, “Gina… the picture. It’s been erased.”

 

Gina’s eyes widen. “That means someone’s editing Suzie’s Bluesky!”

 

“Get on your laptop—now!” Ari says, already switching tabs. “Let’s screenshot as many pics as we can, starting from the oldest!”

 

Gina doesn’t hesitate. She grabs her laptop, opens the profile, and they start working in sync—screenshotting every post, every image.

 

But as fast as they scroll, the feed keeps refreshing, older photos disappearing one by one—especially the ones where Suzie looks very un-alpha.

 

“Oh my fucking bot,” Gina whispers, eyes glued to the screen. “This isn’t Suzie editing… someone’s trying to erase her.”

She looks both terrified and completely thrilled.

 

This is serious , Ari thinks, heart racing. And Lyra… Lyra is involved.

 

Her thoughts spin. She thinks of how distant Lyra has been lately—how it feels like she’s slipping away, little by little.

 

Lyra… please don’t do this to us.

You promised me honesty…

You have to tell me what’s going on.

 

Ari’s jaw tightens. She’s done being soft on Lyra.

 

No more waiting. No more silence.

 

Tonight, she’ll ask—about Suzie, about the so-called errands, about everything.

 

She deserves the truth. And this time, she won’t let it slide.

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Ari climbs into the black EV. The driver's seat is still adjusted for someone much taller, with longer limbs.

 

She settles in, inhales deeply. Her eyes soften.

 

Ahh… Lyra… I miss you… come back to me…

 

“Taylor, drive me home,” she says.

 

“Sure thing, Miss Ari Longsworth,” the AI responds politely.

 

Ari smiles faintly. Ah… I remember when Lyra used to call me by my full name. We’ve come a long way.

 

The car glides forward. Ari watches as the city lights flicker past, the sun dipping low. The neighborhoods slowly shift—glass and concrete giving way to luxury, opulence, design.

 

We’re getting close to home…

 

She glances at the dashboard. On the side, she notices icons—Wi-Fi, phone signal. Her brow rises.

 

“Taylor, are you connected to Lyra’s phone?”

 

“Yes, Miss Ari.”

 

Ari hesitates, then decides.

 

“Can you locate it?”

 

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The car changes direction. It’s no longer heading to Lyra’s apartment—it’s following her phone. Ari watches out the window as they head deeper into the elite part of the city. Upscale restaurants. Surreal homes. Bold, impossible architecture.

 

Wow… inequality in this city is bonkers.

 

Eventually, the car slows down in front of a strikingly minimalistic house—sleek, dark, and expensive.

 

Ari’s heart beats a little faster.

 

What is Lyra doing here?

 

Ari hesitates, hand on the door, but then steps out of the car.

 

“Taylor, wait for me here, okay?”

 

“Sure thing,” the AI replies.

 

She approaches the house and stands by the sleek main entrance. She lifts her hand to press the buzzer—

 

“Miss Ari Longsworth,” a voice says before she can touch it.

 

Ari blinks. “Taylor? How do you know—wait, this house uses Taylor too?”

 

“Yes,” the voice responds calmly.

 

Her eyes narrow. “Do all Taylor units know who I am?”

 

“No, Miss Ari. But this house is part of your AI network. Do you want to go in?”

 

Ari’s breath catches.

 

What? Part of my AI network?

 

She stares at the door.

 

Is this… another one of Lyra’s houses? Does she have many houses?!! Does she have another fucking family—oh Goddess Ari, calm down! 

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“Welcome to Suzanne’s home,” the AI announces.

 

Suzanne?

Ari freezes. Wait… does it mean Suzie? So it was short for something…

 

She steps inside—and immediately senses something’s wrong. The living room is a mess. A broken lamp lies on the floor, wires exposed. The soft, indirect lighting flickers, barely functional.

 

“Taylor… what happened here?” she asks, voice tight.

 

“That information is not available to you, Miss Ari,” the AI replies.

 

What?!

Ari’s heart begins to race.

 

She moves further in, cautious, alert. The kitchen is eerily quiet. She rounds the corner and reaches the main bedroom.

 

And there—hunched near the floor—is Lyra.

 

Her back is to Ari, muscles tense, her nose close to the ground as if trying to catch a scent. The wall behind her has a large, shattered glass panel—cracks spidering out from the impact point.

 

And… is that blood?

 

Ari’s breath catches in her throat.

 

Lyra… what are you doing here?

 

Lyra catches a faint whiff of a scent—her eyes widen. She stands abruptly, turning sharply.

 

“Ari?!” she exclaims, rushing toward her. “What are you doing here?”

 

Ari stiffens but holds her ground. “I could ask you the same.”

 

Lyra falters for a beat, then straightens. “It’s part of my job.”

 

Ari crosses her arms. “I’m going to need more than that.”

 

Lyra exhales slowly, her jaw tightening as she braces herself.

 

This is going to be hard to explain…

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The ride back home is quiet. Heavy with unspoken tension.

 

Once they arrive, Lyra finally speaks.

 

She tells Ari everything—like a confession. How she’s been chasing Suzie, but… all of it now. How she injected her with hormones. How she’s done worse things in the past… though she spares the details of those past errands. She just lets Ari know that she’s been violent…

 

Her voice is low, steady, but weighed down by guilt.

 

When she finishes, she falls silent.

 

She’s bracing for it—for judgment, for rejection… maybe even a breakup.

 

She sits quietly on the couch in the dimly lit living room, her shoulders tense, her hands clenched. She doesn’t look at Ari, who stands a few feet away, silent.

 

In her mind, she already hears it:

 

Lyra, how could you?!

You’re not human…

Don’t touch me again.

 

Each imagined word cuts deeper than the last. She stares at the floor, waiting for the blow.

 

But instead… she feels a gentle touch.

 

Ari kneels in front of her. Slowly, her small, warm hand slides across Lyra’s cheek and cups it with quiet tenderness.

 

Lyra flinches, stunned—not from pain, but from disbelief.

 

“That must have been hard for you,” Ari says softly.

 

Lyra’s breath hitches. Her eyes, wide and uncertain, finally meet Ari’s.

 

“I thought you’d hate me,” she whispers, voice raw “I forcefully injected who knows what coctel of hormones or DNA altering substances or bots to an omega just a few days ago and now she’s missing.”

 

Ah, so she’s an omega.

 

Ari shakes her head, then replies. “I don't like what you did… I don't understand why you do what you do… but I don’t hate you.”

 

I doubt anything you do can make me hate you. She thinks wholeheartedly.

 

“We can talk about how You feel with what you're doing, later.” Ari says 

 

Lyra’s throat tightens. She leans into Ari’s hand without realizing it, closing her eyes for just a second, like she’s letting herself breathe again for the first time in days.

 

“…I don’t deserve that,” Lyra murmurs.

 

“Don’t say that,” Ari replies gently, her thumb brushing Lyra’s cheek.

 

“Let me make you some tea and—”

Without warning, Lyra stands and lifts her effortlessly into her arms.

“Woah—!” Ari gasps, instinctively wrapping her arms around Lyra’s shoulders.

 

Lyra says nothing, just carries her through the hallway. As they enter the bedroom, the lights adjust automatically—soft, warm, comforting.

 

She places Ari carefully on the bed, her touch reverent.

 

“Lyra…” Ari whispers, searching her face.

 

Lyra meets her gaze, steady now. “I promised you…”

 

Ari’s eyes widen, her breath catching.

 

Ah… she remembered. 

 

Ari blushes, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lyra, don’t force yourself. If you… don’t feel like doing it now, I’ll understand.”

 

But Lyra’s gaze is steady, intense, filled with love.

“I do feel like it,” she says softly. “You deserve to feel amazing… I want to reward you. I need to. You’ve waited long enough, and so have I.”

 

Ari’s cheeks flush deeper, her breath catching.

 

Lyra lifts her chin gently, guiding her face upward. She kisses her—slowly at first, lips brushing, then deeper. She licks softly, then nips Ari’s lower lip, teasing just enough to make her shiver.

 

Ari’s reaction is instant—her body responds, a quiet gasp escaping her, the warmth rising.

 

Lyra watches her closely, eyes locked on hers as her hand glides up Ari’s thigh, slipping under the hem of her skirt. Her touch is slow, reverent, fingers brushing softly along the side of her underwear.

 

Ari trembles.

 

Lyra smiles gently.

“I’ve got you.”.

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I should stop you…

I should ask you why you do those errands for Aira if you hate it so much…

I had so many more questions for you!!

But I'm weak…

I'm so weak against you, Lyra!

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Lyra has slipped Ari’s underwear off with care, now nestled between her legs, hidden beneath the soft fabric of her skirt.

 

She kisses her slowly, deliberately—each touch tender, savoring her, focused entirely on Ari’s pleasure. Every movement is measured, intimate, like a silent promise. Her hands caress Ari’s hips beneath the skirt, fingers splayed, gliding slowly back and forth.

 

Ari gasps softly, her hands clutching at the sheets, hips rising instinctively.

 

Lyra’s senses are overwhelmed—the warmth of her, the way Ari responds, the scent… rich, intoxicating. It draws her deeper.

Ari… oh Ari… 

 

She lingers, worshipful, attentive, her lips and tongue moving in a rhythm that’s both delicate and consuming.

 

Ari’s breath quickens. Her body trembles. And Lyra doesn’t look away.

 

You deserve this… and so much more , Lyra thinks, lost in Ari’s scent, her warmth, the soft sounds spilling from her lips.

 

She remembers Ari’s face that one time—when she came with Camille. The way her whole body arched, the way her soul seemed to flicker through her eyes.

 

So much more…

 

Lyra’s hands tighten gently around Ari’s thighs, holding her in place, grounding her. She stimulates her clitoris with exquisite care, her mouth never leaving her, savoring every reaction.

 

Ari writhes beneath her, gasping.

“Ah—Lyra…”

 

Lyra’s hunger deepens, but so does her devotion. Every motion, every kiss, is filled with love.

 

She wants Ari to know—

This isn’t just desire.

 

“I want you to understand…” Lyra says, her voice low, steady, charged with meaning,

“…what you mean to me.”

 

She rises slowly, her eyes never leaving Ari’s. She slips off her blazer, unbuttons her blouse with effortless grace, then unzips her pants—every motion calm, sure, purposeful.

 

Ari watches, breathless, her heart pounding, arousal blooming deep inside her.

My Goddess… this is it, she thinks, trembling.
I’m hers… finally, truly hers.
And those rosy marks on her chest… I wonder what story they hold.

Ari had noticed back at her place, that night Camille left, that Lyra had scars.

But it’s her eyes—black, yet somehow glimmering red—that draw Ari’s attention the most.
Intense, focused, and fierce, yet softened by a tender expression. Her eyes show other types of scars.

“Take off your clothes,” Lyra whispers, voice low and commanding—but gentle.

 

Ari is melting under her gaze. She slowly peels off her knitted sweater, then unbuttons her blouse, fingers trembling. She shimmies out of her skirt, her breath catching as Lyra watches her, eyes darkened with desire.

 

Lyra gently lays her back on the bed, hovering over her. She kisses her—softly at first, then deeper—her hands caressing Ari’s thighs as she slowly spreads them, positioning herself between.

 

“You…” Lyra breathes against her ear, “you are my omega now.”

 

Ari’s breath hitches, her eyes fluttering half-closed, body already trembling with anticipation.

 

Then Lyra slides off her own underwear, and presses herself against Ari—letting her feel her fully.

 

Ari gasps, wide-eyed.

 

Oh my Goddess… it’s heavy…

She can feel the weight, the heat, the power of it.

 

Lyra doesn’t enter—

Not yet.

 

It rests just over her entrance.

 

Ari feels her, her thighs tightening around Lyra instinctively.

 

Heavy, warm, pulsing. She can feel every inch of it, teasing her skin, making her ache with anticipation.

 

Lyra leans in, her forehead against Ari’s, breath mingling.

 

“I want you to feel it,” she whispers. “All of it.” She pecks her cheek.

 

Ari’s hands grip Lyra’s arms, her body trembling beneath her.

 

She’s holding back… she’s giving me time… or is she torturing me???

 

Ari’s body is already pleading for more.

 

“You’re trembling… I love that,” Lyra whispers, her voice low and rough with want.

 

But Ari can’t take the teasing anymore. Her thighs move with purpose—she traps Lyra’s cock, and begins to rub it between her thighs. Pulling, guiding, pressing it against her warmth. Her face is flushed, her breath hot and uneven, lips parted in wordless desperation, her hands holding on to Lyra’s arms.

 

Lyra gasps—caught off guard.

 

“Ah—! Oh goddess… Ari…”

 

Ari locks eyes with her, voice shaking but certain.

“Lyra… I want you.”

 

Those words—bold, raw, filled with surrender—undo something in Lyra.

 

She leans in, spreading Ari’s legs with both hands, positioning herself carefully. Her tip presses against Ari’s entrance, warm and ready.

 

Then, slowly, she slides in.

 

“Lyra…!!” Ari whimpers and arches her back.

 

“Aahh… Ari…” Lyra groans, her head tipping backwards, then forward, face contorting with pleasure.

Her voice is ragged. “My omega…”

She leans in, inhaling Ari’s scent like it’s something sacred—something she needs but is barely holding herself back from devouring. Her pupils dilate, dark and hungry. Her hands, long-fingered and trembling with restraint, trail slowly along Ari’s sides, caressing with a gentleness that barely masks the tension coiled beneath her skin.

It’s been years since Lyra has been inside an omega. Even more years since she's been inside of an omega while clear headed.

 

Ari gasps softly—her whole body shivering under Lyra’s touch. Her hands, her breath so close…

She’s dreamt of this, ached for it in quiet moments, but nothing prepared her for the way Lyra says her name and calls her hers.

Lyra closes her eyes for a moment, steadying her breath, letting herself feel Ari—every inch, every pulse of heat between them. One hand glides slowly from her neck to her jaw, lingers at her cheek, then slips into her hair, combing through it with aching tenderness.

“Ari…” she breathes out, her voice reverent.

 

Ari welcomes her fully, her body opening instinctively. She lifts her legs around Lyra’s waist, holding her close, while her arms fall back onto the bed—fingers gripping the sheets like she might float away.

 

“Lyra… Lyra… Lyra…” she chants softly, breathless.

 

Lyra begins to move—slow, controlled, deep. Her eyes lock with Ari’s, tender and full of awe. She kisses her cheeks between thrusts, then leans down to taste her lips, licking softly.

 

“Ari…” she groans, her voice thick with longing, “you are delicious…”

 

Ari gasps, her whole body trembling.

She’s never felt so claimed… or so deeply cherished.

 

Lyra leans in close, her lips brushing Ari’s ear.

“You’re mine,” she whispers. “You’ve always been mine… this—”

 

She thrusts deeper, drawing a soft, helpless whimper from Ari.

 

“—is for you. You deserve it. You deserve all of it… all of me,” Lyra murmurs, her voice growing sweeter, more tender with each word.

 

Her rhythm is slow but purposeful—each movement deep, deliberate, as if she’s pouring everything into it: her desire, her reverence, her love. She wants Ari to feel it all—not just the pleasure, but the weight, the meaning.

“And you’re willing to take it… to take me —just as I am…” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. Then she lets out a soft, breathless laugh—intimate, almost disbelieving—and it sends a shiver through Ari’s whole body.

Overwhelmed. Surrendered. Completely hers.

She feels like she’s being completely owned by this shadowy, beautiful creature who loves her—who wants to consume her.

 

In her mind, she thanks the Goddess, her heart is full.

Thank you for this. If you really exist… Thank you for her.

 

Lyra’s hips move like a dark, motherless ocean—grieving, hungry, beautiful, powerful.

 

Ari feels impossibly small beneath her. Helpless. Blissfully helpless . Her body is no longer her own—every moan, every gasp escapes without permission, without control. Even her voice has surrendered.

 

And Lyra smiles, watching her unravel. She leans in, her breath warm against Ari’s cheek.

 

A soft laugh escapes her—low, intimate, reverent.

“I love that…” she whispers.

 

Lyra kisses her like she wants to devour her—deep, consuming, filled with hunger and love. Her hands cling tightly to Ari’s hips, grounding herself in the softness of her body.

 

Then she lets herself fall over her, chest pressed to chest, her weight comforting, claiming. Her head rests to one side, her lips brushing Ari’s ear with every breath.

Ari hugs her, feels her warm, strong back, the subtle sensation of a scar.

With each slow, powerful thrust, Lyra grunts softly, her voice fraying.

 

“Yeah…” she exhales, breathy and low.

 

“This is mine…” she whispers—so soft it’s almost a secret—thrusting again as if the words themselves anchor her to the moment. “It 's mine…”

It feels like Lyra is losing herself… and giving all of it to Ari.

 

Goddess… she moves like a powerful wave… stretching me, aching for me… this is amazing…

 

Ari’s face is the embodiment of pleasure and surrender—her lips parted, eyes heavy with bliss, brows gently drawn as if trying to hold onto the intensity of the moment. Every expression, every breath, speaks of how deeply she’s given herself over. There’s no hesitation left, only trust—raw, open, and unguarded.

I'm yours…

 

Ari lifts Lyra’s face with trembling hands and kisses her—desperate, devoted. Lyra returns it hungrily, like she’s starving for her.

 

“Ari… I’m not on contraceptives,” Lyra whispers against her lips, breath uneven.

 

Ari doesn’t flinch. Instead, a strange, euphoric calm washes over her.

 

“I don’t care,” she breathes. “I want you… please…”

 

Lyra… I want you, your babies… Everything… Reason has left the building.

 

Then, softer—right against Lyra’s ear—

“Please… come inside me. Fill me.”

 

Lyra shudders. “Ari…”

She pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at her.

 

What she sees undoes her—Ari, completely surrendered, flushed, breathless, eyes wide and full of trust. Undone. Hers. The way Ari is moved with each slow, fluid thrust makes Lyra acutely aware of how light she is—how small, how effortlessly her body responds beneath her.

 

And Lyra knows—if she didn’t force herself to go slow, she’d already be filling her. She’d already be claiming her fully. And for the love of all goddesses, she would love every second of it.

 

“Ari…” she whispers, kissing her deeply once more.

 

Then, gently but with urgency, she slips out of her and turns Ari over onto her belly, guiding her softly down onto the bed.

 

Her hands trail up Ari’s back. Her mouth follows.

She's not finished.

She’s going to make Ari feel everything.

 

“If you want it…” Lyra murmurs.

 

A soft click breaks the quiet, and Ari hears something open—then suddenly, she feels a cold, thick liquid trickling down a place she rarely feels touched.

 

“Lyra!” Ari gasps, startled, her body tensing. “What is that?!”

 

Lyra pauses, her voice calm, tender.

“It’s lubricant.”

 

Ari’s breath catches. The fear melts away, replaced by a rising wave of anticipation that sends a shiver down her spine.

 

Lyra leans in, her hand resting gently on Ari’s lower back.

 

“If you want it…” she whispers, voice low and reverent,

“…you can have it here. Is that okay with you?”

 

Ari is suddenly very very aware, she feels Lyra’s tip press against her “Ah!”

 

She nods.

 

“Say yes… say it.”

 

Why do I even hesitate?

 

“Yes.”

 

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Sweet mother of all the Goddesses…

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Ari’s eyes—those big, caramel eyes—are half-lidded, dazed with pleasure. Her mouth hangs open, soft pants slipping out between flushed cheeks. Sweat clings to her skin. Back and forth, back and forth—she moves because of Lyra, every motion fluid, every response instinctive. She’s in, not fully yet, but easing into it, carefully.

 

Lyra groans, deep and low.

“Uhhhnn… ahhn… Ari… you’re delicious…”

 

She’s counting each thrust in her head, savoring the way Ari yields beneath her.

“Ahh…” she breathes, voice trembling with restraint.

Her hands—long, feminine, graceful—press into Ari’s skin, fingers sinking into the softness. With each slow, deliberate push, she draws Ari closer, pulling her gently into every motion.

When she looks down, her breath catches. Ari, in that position, is almost too much—utterly beautiful, completely hers.

Lyra licks her own lips, eyes dark and hungry.

 

“Uuhn—!” she groans, thrusting deeper.

 

“Lyra—! I love you!” Ari whimpers, her voice breaking with raw emotion.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…”

As the words leave her lips, her strength gives out—her arms buckle, and her torso collapses onto the bed. But her hips remain lifted, held firmly in place by Lyra’s hands.

 

Lyra lets out a soft, breathless laugh.

“I can’t… believe… this is when you say it for the first time…” she says, caught between teasing and awe.

 

“I feel… yours…” Ari breathes, her voice muffled against the sheets.

This dark creature… this careful, restrained animal… she’s having her way with me… claiming me… making me hers… and even when she's being this carefull if feels so fucking intense…

 

“You’ve always been mine…” Lyra murmurs, her voice low and possessive.

“Do you feel it now?…”

 

Ari nods slowly.

 

“I had to snatch you from Camille… you understand it now, yes?” Lyra whispers breathy.

 

Ari nods again.

 

Everything you say is fact… Lyra… everything you want to do with me… do it… Ari thinks as her back arches more, opening herself to Lyra for deeper thrusts.

 

Lyra’s rhythm quickens, more urgent now.

“Uuhmm—! Ari…” she groans, her control slipping.

 

Ari pushes herself into Lyra with a breathless smile and moves her hips in a circular motion.

 

“Do it… Lyra, please…!”

 

Lyra’s lips curl into a grin, feral and tender all at once.

“Look at you… begging for me… Ari, you’re—ah…!”

 

Her breath catches as the wave overtakes her—deep, intense—and she spills into Ari with a trembling groan, her body pressed close, claiming her completely.

“You… ah… you're getting… what you begged for…” Lyra breathes out, voice trembling, hands clutching.

 

The ocean is inside her—dark, powerful, unstoppable—filling her completely.

Ari trembles. She can feel it—pleasure blooming like firecrackers across her body, some sudden and scattered, others deep and deliberate, more like bombs, pulsing from places that ache with need and satisfaction. Her voice pours out of her without control, raw and unfiltered.

“Lyra!! Oh Goddess! My Lyra!!”

 

Lyra’s eyes widen.

My Lyra.

 

That phrase hits her like a lightning strike.

Yours? Omegas never say that… it's usually the other way around… but… I like it, Ari…

 

Ari’s orgasm fades slowly, like a receding tide, leaving her breathless and glowing. She sinks into the bed, chest rising and falling, completely undone—yet more whole than she’s ever felt.

 

Lyra withdraws from her slowly, gently, then guides Ari onto her back. She hovers above her, breathing heavily, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her skin is flushed, damp with sweat, and her eyes—still dark, still hungry—drink Ari in like she’s not done yet.

 

Ari gazes up at her, awestruck, as if she’s looking at something sacred, something sublime.

 

“You’re amazing, Ari…” Lyra whispers, voice full of wonder.

 

“I could do this to you all night…” Lyra murmurs, her eyes roaming slowly over Ari’s body—so intently it’s as if her gaze alone is touching her, tracing every curve, every mark.

 

“But…” she adds with a playful grin, “I think this is enough for now.”

 

Ari wants to protest. She wants more—wants to be bitten, taken hard, tied up, held so tightly against Lyra until there’s no space left between them.

 

But her body won’t move. She’s melted into the bed, limbs heavy, breath shallow. All she can do is smile.

 

Lyra leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, then rises and stretches, her body glistening in the low light. She turns to glance back—and pauses.

Ari is still there, motionless..

 

“…Do you, um, need help?” Lyra asks, her voice a mix of amusement and concern. “Do you want to stay like that a little longer?”

 

Ari doesn’t answer. She can’t. Her body is heavy, her mind somewhere between bliss and dream.

 

So Lyra lies down beside her again, murmuring sweet things—quiet words Ari can barely hear, but she feels them all the same.

 

Her gaze lingers on those black eyes.

And slowly, gently, Ari drifts into sleep. She feels Lyra’s warm lips kiss her cheek, her hand brushing her hair…

Lyra…

 

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 Author’s note:

 

OMG Sorry for the late post. I had a crazy morning at work! 

Anyway

Is not that Lyra wanted out of the questions, she really wanted to reward Ari, and Lyra is domy.

Anyway. Happy Wednesday! It’s the middle of the week, yaaayy! Im so stressed…. yay

Chapter 23: Rough 👄🩸

Summary:

When trust is met with desire, lines blur between love and need. The aftermath of passion crashes into reality, and for some, it leaves them glowing. For others, it leaves them questioning everything. Especially themselves.
Nova questions her religion, her identity, and it drives her mad. Ari hides what she knows about Suzie, feeling guilt and worry.

Are sex and drugs always a sin for a moonbeam? Or does it depend on context....
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“And she…”
Loved me slowly… intensely…
Made me hers…
Inundated meeeee… with love…

“…made me feel very good,” Ari finally says aloud, her voice soft and dazed, eyes dreamy, lips curling into a blissed-out, goofy smile “Then she took a bath, but when I woke up she bathed me too and… so she bathed again…” She sighs “And we had pancakes after…”

The group of omegas is tucked into the corner booth at Cool Beans , with soft lo-fi music playing overhead and the scent of espresso lingering in the air. Ari’s half-curled against the window, cradling her oat milk latte like it’s a warm secret. Her legs sway under the table, her toes tapping idly, like her body’s still reliving it.

Gina, seated across from her, clutches her matcha. Her eyes go wide, and she shakes with barely contained excitement.

“Aaaahhh I’m so jealous!! Good for you, Ariii!” she squeals, grinning ear to ear. She kicks at the base of the booth and practically bounces in her seat. “You deserve that kind of night!”

“She does,” Nova says gently. “It’s… really something, isn’t it? The love of an alpha…” Her tone is casual, but there’s a glint in her eye—something soft and secretive.

Ugh… trying to steal the spotlight. Real subtle, Nova, Ari thinks.

Gina blinks. “Wait—you too?!”

“Well…” Nova starts, she puts A strand of her own hair behind her ear and blushes.

Rainy intersects “Nova… are you going to tell us about it… like now?”

“Okay, stop everything, we don't have much time” Gina says suddenly, slapping her palm on the table loud enough to make Rainy jump and a spoon clatter. “I have hot gossip and it’s Suzie-related.”

Nova’s mouth is still open mid-thought. Rainy blinks. “Wait, Suzie, the one who is missing?”

Ari tenses. Gina no! I forgot to tell her to shut up about it! I don't want this to be traced back to Lyra!

“You won’t believe what Ari and I—”

“Gina,” Ari says sharply, her voice slicing right through the table’s buzz.

Gina blinks, thrown off. “What?”

“You just completely cut Nova off.” Ari’s tone is polite, but firm. Her smile is thin. “You can’t just bulldoze into the conversation like that.”

Sorry Gina… but I have to protect Lyra

Nova freezes. Gina opens her mouth to protest, but Ari leans forward slightly, tone still even: “Seriously. Let her finish.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence. Gina leans back, arms crossed, annoyed. “Ugh, fine. Sorry.”

Nova looks between them, cautious now. “It’s okay,” she says, but her eyes flick to Ari with something like suspicion. “I… I wasn’t saying anything important.”

“Yes, you were,” Ari replies gently, holding her gaze. She puts her hand on her knee “Tell us about it, Nova.”

Nova is surprised, she blushes faintly and smiles, looking down.

“It’s… it’s no big deal…but…ok…”

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“Say it, Nova… you tight little pixie… say it.”

Nova’s wrists are tied to the headboard with soft silk straps—Hazel’s idea. The fabric doesn’t hurt, but it holds. Firm.

“I am… your omega… do whatever you want with me… f—fuck me…”

Nova has never felt happier saying such unholy words. Right now, with Hazel between her legs, kissing her ravenously, licking her fervently like she’s something delectable—like she’s more altar than body—Nova feels it.

It’s not just arousal. It’s not just joy.

It’s rapture.

“Oh yeah… I love it when  you say that…” Hazel whispers as she flickers her clitoris with her tongue.

“Hazel—!!!”

Her thighs tremble. Her fingers twist in the air. Hazel’s tongue moves like fire, with passion—circling, pressing, tasting her like an ecstatic prayer.

I can’t take it anymore… I need her inside me… but… it can't be me who asks… oh Goddess… not me again!

Nova moans. The sound escapes her like breath meeting air for the first time.

Hazel hums in response—soothing, greedy—and it sends vibrations up through Nova’s spine. Her chest rises, her breath hitches, and her vision blurs with tears she doesn’t understand.

She’s never felt this wanted. This worshipped.

Maybe… maybe Omegas are not just meant to have sex for reproduction… and… and… alphas.. they also regulate omegas with sex so…. so… even if we don´t have children, this is ok, right? Right Goddess? the Covenant can be wrong… oh Goddess… sooo wroongg!! Because Goddess knows this won't make a baby… But it feels so good!!

“Since you asked so nicely before…” Hazel hovers above her, eyes wild and gleaming. “I'm going to properly fuck you now.”

She holds her cock and positions it at Nova’s wet entrance.

“Ah—” she slides in with a guttural groan.

Nova whimpers and trembles beneath her.

“Yeah… fuck, yeah…” Hazel pants, voice hoarse. She wraps her arms around Nova, thrusting deep and slow—possessive. Intentional.

“You’re too good to be true…” Hazel breathes, licking her cheek—slow, tender, obscene. Her voice drops to a whisper, low against Nova’s ear.

“So fucking soft and tight… I’m going to stretch you… so much”

Nova writhes beneath her, the silk cloth pulling tight as her body begs for more. Every sound, every movement—Hazel owns it.

Oh Goddess stop me… I'm about to beg again…

“Please… come inside me… I beg of you…” Nova gasps.

“Oh no no no…” Hazel answers between pants. “I'm not using any contraception… aah—… but I can come inside you… through the back door… if you want.”

Nova’s eyes widen.

Yes.

Yes… oh Goddess!!!

But she shakes her head. It’s a no.

Hazel laughs softly. “Okay, little moonbeam.”

Little moonbeam. I love it when she calls me like that…

And then—.

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Gina stops her again “Hold on… you questioned your religious beliefs mid-fuck but it's no big deal???!!! Giirl this is huge deal!! Your thing is better than Ari’s ”

Ari suddenly feels attacked.

It's not a competition, Gina…Also, what Hazel did is eerily similar to what Lyra did… not that I spelled it out. Like—Nova, please, keep the details to yourself!

“Wait,” Rainy interrupts, frowning slightly. “Hazel gave you something, didn’t she? I saw it in your purse last week. Those little glass vials… and you told me about it before…”

Nova freezes for half a second. Then her voice lifts casually, almost sing-song. “Oh, that? That’s just poppers.”

Rainy blinks. “Poppers?”

“Yeah,” Nova shrugs, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. “It’s not like… drugs, drugs. It just relaxes you. People use it during, you know… stuff. It’s whatever.”

Ari stares at her, lips parting slightly.

Gina raises a brow. “So, it’s like… sex drugs? Like it makes you better at sex… or something?”

Nova laughs, too loud. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

Ari stares, so… Hazel gave drugs to a moonbeam… and this moonbeam just took them? That doesn't happen unless… unless the moonbeam thinks there's a greater cause… otherwise it's a sin…

“Continue with the story, dammit!!” Gina exclaims.

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“Please… come inside me… I beg of you…” Nova pleads.

“Oh no no no… “ Hazel answers between pants “I'm not using any contraception… aah—… I can come inside you… through the back door… if you want.” Hazel looks at her seductively while still thrusting.

Nova's eyes widen.

Yes .

She thinks.

Yes… oh Goddess!!!

But she shakes her head. It’s a no.

Hazel laughs softly “Ok, little moonbeam”

Little moonbeam

And then—

Little moonbeam

In the heat and rhythm, the helplessness and haze—something inside Nova cracks open.

 

“Hazel… do it…” she whispers, barely able to form the words. It's not a plea, it's an order.

 

Hazel slows her thrusts just enough to lean over her, lips brushing Nova’s flushed cheek, her breath warm and teasing. A soft, wicked smirk curls on her lips.

 

“What, baby?” she purrs, her voice laced with hunger. “Say it… louder…”

 

Nova moans, trembling, her voice caught somewhere between need and surrender. “Hazel…”

 

Hazel’s pupils are blown. “Yes?”

 

“Come inside me… in there…”

 

Hazel groans like the words strike her straight in the gut. “Fuck…”

 

She stops moving.

 

“Message received.”

 

With a slow breath, she unties Nova’s wrists and gently rolls her onto her belly. Nova exhales shakily, eyes half-lidded. She hears the delicate clink of glass. Then a soft pop.

 

Hazel cups the back of her head and brings something to her nose. Nova inhales.

 

“Good girl…” Hazel whispers, kissing the top of her spine.

 

The next vial pops.

 

Nova flinches slightly at the sudden cold—liquid sliding between her cheeks, smooth and slow. Hazel spreads it with two fingers, her touch deliberate, reverent. Nova moans softly, already trembling.

 

Then Hazel slicks herself, watching Nova’s body shift, loose and pliant now, hips tilting up in silent offering.

 

“You wanna know the truth?” Hazel breathes, voice rough, almost reverent. “Ever since I did this to you the first time… I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

 

Nova gasps, eyes fluttering open. Hazel sounds real. Vulnerable? Like she’s confessing? Nova doesn’t know what it is but it excites her.

 

“I love it,” Hazel murmurs. “And I know you love it too.”

 

Hazel moves into position, her hands firm on Nova’s hips.

 

“Hazel… I…” Nova tries to speak, but her voice breaks into a whimper.

 

Hazel presses her cock against Nova’s ass and slides in—slow, deep, deliberate. Her breath catches, then spills out in a trembling moan.

“Nova…”

 

Nova arches with a sharp gasp. Her body pulses, her thighs trembling, heart racing. Hazel grips her tighter, her hips beginning to roll, deep and grinding.

 

Hazel’s skin glows with sweat. Her abs flex with every thrust. Her mouth falls open, face twisted in bliss. She leans down, mouth grazing Nova’s neck, teeth threatening.

 

That’s when Nova sees it.

 

In the corner.

In the way the light flickers.

In the rhythm of Hazel’s hips.

 

The Goddess.

 

The Goddess of all Omegas.

 

Watching. Smiling.

 

Hello, little moonbeam.

 

Nova chokes on a gasp.

 

She’s here. She sees me. She smiles.

 

Her body clenches around Hazel, her fingers curling into the sheets as hot tears slip down her cheeks. The pleasure is overwhelming—but it’s also divine.

 

Hazel moans above her, still thrusting, her breath ragged. She bites down on a groan, pressing her chest to Nova’s back, one arm wrapping around her tightly.

 

She leans in, voice wrecked and true against Nova’s ear:

 

“I have no doubt…”

She thrusts harder, slower, more possessive now.

“…this was made for me. This. Specific. Part of you… is mine… only mine… and I'm going to fill it… now…”

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“Again. You saw the Goddess?! The Goddess of all omegas?!” Gina shrieks, eyes wide. “And you’re saying it’s no big deal?!”

“Uhm…” Rainy says cautiously, “maybe it was the drugs? I mean… that might explain it?”

Ari is silent.

Nova shakes her head, voice rising. “No! It wasn’t the drugs. I felt her. I think the Goddess was trying to tell me something—like she forgave me. For… for letting an alpha spill her sacred seed… like, maybe there’s a reason…”

Gina blinks. “Wow. I mean, I don’t believe in goddesses, but—”

“No.” Ari snaps.

Everyone freezes. Gina’s mouth stays open.

Ari stands and grabs Nova by the shoulders—hard. Not cruel, but rough. Commanding.

Nova gasps—just slightly. The grip. The heat. The way Ari’s eyes burn into hers.

“Listen to me,” Ari says, her voice sharp. “The goddesses don’t exist!”

Nova's breath hitches. Her heart thuds—not just from the words, but from the contact. She stares up at Ari, wide-eyed, still.

“You don’t need divine forgiveness to enjoy sex with Hazel. You don’t need to spiritualize it. You’re not dirty. You’re not cursed. You wanted it. That’s all!”

Ari lets go.

Nova doesn’t speak. Her body still tingles where Ari touched her. Her thoughts stumble— What was that? Why did that… feel like that?

She lowers her gaze quickly, trying to appear unmoved. But her skin feels warmer. Her thighs press together, almost instinctively.

Ari…? she thinks, confused. No, not Ari. It’s just adrenaline. Just shock…

Ari sits again, tense, fuming.

The others stay quiet.

Awkward… they think.

And Nova doesn’t say a word.

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Back in the office, the mood has shifted.

The group of omegas are scattered across their workstations, eyes on screens, fingers moving, posture composed—but everything feels too quiet. No one mentions what happened at Cool Beans. No one dares to bring up the sudden outburst so uncharacteristic for Ari.

Nova types steadily, her back straight, her face carefully neutral. But every so often, she pauses—just a second too long. As if her body remembers something her mind isn’t ready to face. Her lips part once. She exhales. Then keeps typing.

Rainy has her earbuds in. But the music isn’t playing.

Gina hums a little, just under her breath, like she’s trying to build some kind of normalcy out of noise. She doesn’t look at anyone.

“Camiiiileee!”

The melodic voice rings out from across the office, desperate but friendly. Camille is at Lyra’s computer near the design team, discreetly sending herself a file.

She looks up, startled. “Whoa! Haze!”

Hazel bounds over and throws her arms around her in a tight hug.

“Camille, tell me you have news about Suzie!”

Ugh, Hazel… I’m so sorry… I'm going to lie to you again 

Camille offers a small, awkward smile. “Sorry. No updates.”

Just another long conversation in which I finally understood what semiotics is… at least in one context. Camille thinks to herself.

Gina turns to Ari with wide eyes, lips parting like she’s about to say something.

“They’re talking about Suzie… we should say something” she murmurs.

Ari gently places a hand on her arm and shushes her softly. “We better not… I’ll explain later ” she says, voice calm but focused.

“Fuck!” Hazel growls, letting her go.

Then she pauses—sniffs.

Her eyes narrow.

“Camille… you smell like… omega.”

Camille stiffens.

Seriously? Still? I took a bath!

“Uh… yeah. I was with one.” Camille says.

Her voice is too casual. Not quiet enough. 

The nearby designers all turn their heads. Most of them near heartbreak,

“Nothing serious,” Camille adds quickly, waving a dismissive hand.

Too late. A few murmurs ripple through the room.

“Camille? With another omega?”

“Player behavior…”

Camille can feel it—the looks, the judgment. She exhales sharply through her nose.

Great. Now I'm a player… Suzie, you owe me… Hazel, you owe me even more!

The truth was, Suzie was becoming more like an omega with each passing day—and she was leaving her scent everywhere in Camille’s home, her so-called temporary hideout.

She was even sleeping in the same bed now. After that night when Camille had taken the couch, Suzie had felt guilty, one morning she insisted that she use the bed instead. And Camille… how could she say no to a girl that cute, with a scent that sweet?

“Hey… your eyes,” Hazel says, narrowing hers. “You’re wearing makeup. Around your eyes. You never do that.”

“Uhm… I…” Camille falters.

Hazel squints. “Wait—are you covering up eye bags? Camille, did you not sleep?!”

Camille doesn’t have time to answer before she feels it—the shift in the room. The design team glances up, murmurs ripple quietly.

You're tearing me apart, Hazel!!

Their opinion of her dips another notch. She feels it in the air.

“I just had one bad night,” Camille says flatly.

Truth is, she’d had several bad nights. Sleeping beside Suzie had been… difficult, to say the least.

Hazel narrows her eyes at Camille, her tone low and probing.

“Camille… I’ve sensed this scent on you before. Are you seeing the same girl? Like… are you dating her or something?”

The entire design team goes silent. Heads lift. Ears perk.

Camille exhales sharply through her nose. “Okay, Hazel. You got me.”

She forces a smile. “I am seeing an omega. Because… She's my friend.”

Hazel gives her a long, suspicious look. “Friend… right.”

Without another word, Camille grabs Hazel by the wrist and leads her out—straight toward the executive bathroom.

As soon as they disappear, the design team comes alive.

Whispers. Sighs. Snide remarks.

Some sulk.

Some roll their eyes.

Others mutter under their breath, their voices dripping with resentment.

“Of course she gets to hook up with whoever she wants… I mean, look at her…”

“I never had a chance, I guess.”

“Bet she doesn’t even like omegas. Just playing.”

Camille can’t hear it. But she’ll feel it later.

Ari glances around the room, unimpressed.

Pff… stupid pack of horny omegas. None of you know Camille at all, she thinks, lips pressed into a thin line.

She sighs quietly.

If she’s dating an omega… I hope it goes great, she tells herself, completely forcing it.

Even if her chest tightens just a little as she thinks it.

Then—

The elevator dings, and Lyra enters the office.

 

She looks intense. Almost angry. Her jaw is tight, her gaze sharp as it cuts across the room. Without a word, she strides directly to her workstation.

Ari sees her.

Her breath catches.

Ahh… Lyra…

Her beautiful, intense creature of love.

She sighs and smiles like a fool, watching her.

I completely forgot to ask her to stop doing violent errands after she made love to me… I forgot about everything…

Lyra stares at her screen, clicking through files with mechanical precision. Her brow furrows. Her fingers tense on the mouse. Then, without a word, she turns and heads upstairs—toward the second floor.

Just then, the bathroom door opens. Camille steps out, adjusting her blazer.

Lyra spots her instantly. “Camille!”

Camille freezes. “Hey! I—uh—I have to run an errand,” she blurts out, already turning toward the elevators.

Lyra frowns. “Camille, wait—”

But Camille bolts, practically sprinting.

Everyone watches.

The elevator doors begin to close.
Lyra rushes down the stairs, trying to catch her.
“Camille!”

Too late.
The doors slide shut—clean, final.

Lyra stands there, breathless. Alone.
And the entire office is watching.

She turns sharply and strides to Hazel.
Hazel flinches. “Lyra?”

Without hesitation, Lyra grabs her by the arms.
“Hazel. Did Camille smell like an omega today?”

Hazel hesitates—then pulls a face.
“Uhm… no.”

Silence.
Everyone hears it.
Everyone knows she’s lying.
But no one says a word.

Nova’s mouth opens, confused. “But… but Ha—”
Ari quickly wraps her arms around Nova from behind, covering her mouth.

Nova freezes—caught entirely off guard.

Ari’s arms wrap around her from behind, one hand covering her mouth, holding her in place. It’s not violent… but it’s strong. Desperate. Rough.

Too rough for someone like Ari.

Nova’s breath catches. Her body stiffens in shock. Her eyes dart sideways—Ari’s cheek is close to hers, warm, flushed.

“Ari…?” she tries to mumble beneath the hand, but it comes out as a muffled noise.

Ari doesn’t say anything at first. She’s tense. Her whole body is tight with emotion—like she didn’t think this through, just reacted. Her heartbeat races against Nova’s back.

“Don't say anything,” Ari finally whispers, her voice trembling just a little. “I'll explain later.”

Nova’s chest rises and falls—slow, shaky.

She nods.

Ari hesitates. Then, slowly, she pulls her hand away. But her arm lingers around Nova’s waist for a moment longer—like she’s making sure she’s okay. Like she’s protecting her.

Nova doesn’t move. She can’t. Her body is flooded with heat.

Not embarrassment exactly. Not fear.

Just… heat.

Her heart pounds. Her face is flushed. And her thoughts won’t settle.

An omega has never touched her like that before.

She sits back down in silence, trying to pretend nothing happened. But her body is humming. Her lips are parted. Her mind is spinning.

And deep down, she’s thinking:

Two times… two times already…

Why did I like that so much?

This is wrong.

Her eyes drift to Hazel across the room—talking with Lyra now, her shoulders tense, posture stiff. Not her usual bold self. No cocky grin. No swagger.

Just uncertainty.

Still, Nova remembers.

The silk restraints. The way Hazel moaned into her ear. The force of her body. The way it made her feel wanted and owned, like something sacred and sinful all at once. She had been rough… made her love the bruteness… made her react to it…

It’s your fault… it has to be… You didn´t even ask your aunt anything, you forgot, because you were lost in… in lust! You lustful, chaotic animal! 

A flicker of anger stirs in her chest—mixed with heat, confusion, and something unspoken. Her breath shortens. Her fingers curl in her lap.

It flickers across her face—just for a second.

A flash of frustration. A trace of arousal.

But luckily, no one sees.

Everyone’s looking at Hazel.

Not her.

And Nova…

Nova stares at the table and tries to breathe evenly.

Tries to pretend she isn’t coming undone.

The Goddess wasn't praising me… she was warning me. I’m sinning… and my sin is taking me deeper into degeneracy!  

She remembers the moment Hazel came inside her—hot, sudden, overwhelming.

.

.

"Aaah! My moonbeam!" Hazel had moaned, her voice cracked and wild. "You’re my plaything now… mine!"

Her eyes were feral—lit up with something primal. Her teeth, sharp and bared, didn’t hesitate.

She bit her.

Nova had gasped, her back arching, eyes brimming with tears. “Hazel!!”

But Hazel didn’t stop.

“Seriously? You're crying?” she muttered, breathless, grinning like a wolf. “I didn’t even bite you that hard…”

She leaned in, lips grazing the mark.

“I wanted to,” she whispered. “But I didn’t.”

Then she licked the red spot—slow, possessive, like she was sealing it. Claiming it. Blood was drawn.

Nova remembers the sting. The tears. The heat flooding her body.

She loved it… the pain… the ferocity of it all. But now, it seems to her that it was in that moment that she started liking the roughness, it was in that moment she started liking to sin.

And now, across the office, she stares at Hazel—so different now, so human—talking nervously to Lyra, not looking like the monster she became that night.

You did this to me… Nova thinks, her chest tight.

You made me like this. The Goddess knows!

Anger curls low in her belly. So does something else.

Something that shames her.

She presses her thighs together and exhales slowly.

She doesn’t look up.

She can’t.

I have to get away from you…

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Author's note:

Another smutty one! It's Friday yaay! And I'm probably working late.

 

Chapter 24: Please, love me 🤍

Summary:

A sudden emotional spiral leads to something raw and consuming. In the aftermath, questions rise. Boundaries blur. But tenderness lingers. And in a quiet morning light, the truth begins to settle.
Would you have a baby with a baddy who's messed up in the head?
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Ari stands barefoot in the middle of her now half-empty apartment in Pomona, watching as two utility bots move around her with smooth efficiency—packing boxes, scanning labels, loading them into the back of the sleek moving truck outside.

 

She doesn’t have many things. A shelf of well-loved books. A few art prints, a few originals. Mugs with chipped handles. Her sketchpads. All of the art supplies Lyra bought for her. It all fits neatly into six crates.

 

Lyra is leaning against the wall near the window, arms folded, watching the process in silence. Her presence fills the room even though she hasn’t said a word in minutes.

 

Ari glances over at her.

 

Lyra’s expression is unreadable—but her jaw is tight. She hasn't fully relaxed since they got here.

 

Ari chews the inside of her cheek, then looks down at her hands. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her shirt.

 

She takes a breath.

 

Now or never.

 

“Hey… once we’re back at your place,” she says gently, “can we talk about the errands?”

 

Lyra turns her head slowly.

 

Ari meets her eyes. “The ones for Aira,” she adds. “I… I think it’s time you stop doing them.”

 

A pause stretches between them.

 

Outside, the bots click softly as they secure the final box.

 

Lyra doesn’t reply right away. Her gaze lingers on Ari’s face—softening just a little, but not relaxing.

 

Ari steps closer. “I know you think you owe her. But if we’re going to build something real… I need to know you’re not still answering to someone who makes you do dangerous and regrettable things.”

 

Lyra blinks, just once. Something flickers behind her eyes.

 

“Let’s talk about it at home… our home.” She remarks.

 

Ari’s eyes wide.

 

Our home.

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The drive back to Lyra’s house is silent.

 

Ari sits with her hands folded in her lap, watching the city shift past the windows. Lyra doesn’t speak, and neither does she. It’s not awkward—just full of things unsaid.

 

When they arrive, the garage lights flicker on automatically, but Lyra reaches over and disables the AI system with a quick voice command.

 

“Taylor, disengage.”

 

A soft chime replies, and the dashboard dims.

 

Ari blinks, eyebrows rising slightly. Okay…

 

But she still doesn’t ask.

 

Inside the house, it happens again.

 

As they cross the threshold, the soft voice of Taylor begins to greet them—but Lyra cuts it off immediately.

 

“Taylor, shut down. Full home disengage.”

 

Ari’s brows curve in concern. “Why did you turn off Taylor?”

 

Lyra exhales. “I don’t want this to be heard by… anyone,” she says quietly.

 

To Ari, the shift feels somber. Heavy.

 

“Lyra… this is dangerous. What you do for Aira—what you go through…”

 

Lyra finally meets her gaze. Her expression is steady, unreadable—but not cold.

 

“Yes. It is,” she says. “But I’m almost done. I just need to pay her back. Every mission I take for her is well-compensated. A portion goes to me. The rest… chips away at the debt.”

 

Ari’s brow knits. “So it’s just credits? Not loyalty?”

 

Lyra’s lips twitch—half amusement, half something wearier. “Not just credits.”

 

Ari exhales sharply, visibly frustrated. “Why would you even need to borrow from her?”

 

Lyra chuckles softly. Not mocking—more like someone laughing at a memory that still hurts. “Ari… I wasn’t born in this city. I didn’t grow up with these walls, these smooth surfaces, these soft blankets.”

 

She leans back against the couch, her hand resting loosely in her lap. Her voice lowers.

 

“I come from one of the so-called ‘tribes’—beyond the cities. Where the data grids don’t reach.”

 

Ari blinks, taken aback. Her fingers twitch slightly.

 

“I used to have a mom,” Lyra says, quieter now. “Just one. An omega. Alone with a child.”

 

Ari’s expression softens. Her chest rises slowly with a breath. She leans in without realizing.

 

“You can’t imagine how hard it was out there,” Lyra continues. “No running water half the time. Power outages. Mold. Days we drank boiled roots just to sleep through hunger.”

 

Ari nods faintly. She can imagine it. She remembers. As a Moonbeam, she had gone to places like that—brought food, medicine, comfort. But she’d never lived it. Not like Lyra had.

 

Lyra watches the recognition flicker across her face. She nods once, like acknowledging something unspoken between them.

 

“Aira found me when I was a teenager,” Lyra says. “Why me? I still don’t know. I think she saw something she could shape. Train. Use.”

 

She pauses.

 

“But most importantly… she took care of my mom. Paid for her hospital bed. Brought her to the city. Let her die in peace.”

 

Her voice almost breaks at the end, but doesn’t.

 

“I’ll always be grateful for that.”

 

There’s a long silence.

 

Then Ari reaches out.

 

Her hand finds Lyra’s—slowly, gently—curling around them.

 

Lyra blinks, startled, but doesn’t move.

 

Ari’s voice is quiet. “I didn’t know.”

 

“You weren’t supposed to,” Lyra says, barely above a whisper.

 

The tea still steams on the table—untouched, forgotten.

 

“What do you mean?” Ari asks, her voice rising. “You thought you’d just hide that from me forever?”

 

Lyra looks over, startled.

 

“Lyra…” Ari’s voice trembles now, almost pleading. “Don’t think like that. Don’t think I’d be okay with that!”

 

She throws herself at her—half a cry, half a demand—and wraps her arms tightly around Lyra’s neck. Her eyes shine, her breath shaky.

 

“Stop hiding stuff! I’m your omega! We’re going to share a life together! I love you!” she chokes out. “You don’t just bury your whole past from someone you love!”

 

Lyra catches her, arms wrapping instinctively around Ari’s waist. She blinks, stunned.

 

“I thought you had said that in the heat of the moment,” she murmurs, “not really meaning—”

 

“I did mean it, you moron!” Ari snaps, cutting her off.

 

Lyra flinches—just a bit—but then, something in her breaks open. She’s still holding Ari, arms trembling now.

 

“Ari…” she whispers.

 

She lifts one hand to her mouth, trying to hide the sudden shake in her lips. Her eyes gloss over, and she turns her head slightly—facing away.

 

Ari sees it. Sees the motion. Sees her reflection in the dark glass nearby—Lyra, proud and sharp, turning her face not to push Ari away, but to shield her tears.

 

“Why do you turn away?” Ari asks, her voice soft but desperate. “Why can’t you let me see you?”

 

She reaches out and places a hand gently on Lyra’s shoulder.

 

Lyra doesn’t move.

 

Ari leans closer, her voice quieter now. Steadier. Fierce and loving all at once.

 

“Lyra… I love you.”

 

A long silence follows.

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Of course, they end up in Lyra’s bed.

Of course, Lyra is moving inside her—deep, intense, desperate—each motion drawing soft gasps from Ari’s lips, stealing her breath, unraveling her in waves. Stretching her… so sweetly.

“Lyra… I love you…—!!!”

And Ari… she’s entranced. Gasping between kisses, trembling under the weight of all that Lyra is.

I’m so yours… no one has ever made love to me like this… as if you were hungry… starving for me…

You own me… Lyra …You own me…

This time, Lyra’s hands are firm on Ari’s hips—on her soft curves, her thighs, her bottom. She grips her like she needs to feel everything, fingers sinking into warm skin as her hips roll with practiced rhythm, her cock pumping over and over again.

Not slow. Not rushed.

Deliberate.

Each thrust pushes Ari deeper into the sheets, and each whisper—I love you… I love you…—spills against her ear like silk, like sparks across her nerves.

Lyra’s voice is low, ragged, worshipful. And Ari trembles beneath her, completely open, completely hers. Those whispered moans are touches. They dance down her spine, curl under her ribs, flood her chest with heat.

Lyra’s mouth brushes against her skin, her voice breaking into soft, breathless whispers.

“I love you, Ari,” she says. Again. And again. A mantra, a promise, a need.

“I love you… I love you…” As she thrusts. 

Ari surrenders to her—utterly.

To the dark, wounded beast who only knows how to love this way.

Fierce.

Unrelenting.

Beautiful.

Sorrowful.

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After a tiresome and sublime session, they lie in bed, bodies warm and breath still catching. Lyra cradles Ari in her arms, holding her close, her gaze fixed on the woman curled against her. There’s something stunned in her expression—like she still can’t believe Ari is real, or hers.

Ari, nestled quietly against her, isn’t looking at her face. Her eyes are drawn lower—to the faint red marks scattered across Lyra’s chest. She stares at them, thoughtful, fingertips just barely grazing one.

“You cover them with makeup don't you?”

Lyra answers “Yes.”

“Do they hurt?” Ari asks softly, barely more than breath. Her fingers ghost over one of the red marks.

Lyra exhales, slow. She’s quieter than usual, her guard melted by the sex, by Ari. “Not really,” she murmurs. “Not those.”

Ari shifts, enough to look at her, then runs her hand down, around Lyra’s side—her touch unhurried until she reaches the middle of her back, two fingers to the right, where her thumb finds the dip of the old scar.

“This one,” she whispers, “feels different.”

Lyra hums low in her throat. “Yeah… that one didn’t heal right.”

Ari goes still.

“It was deep,” Lyra adds, her voice quieter now. “Hit close to something important. It aches sometimes. Might always.”

Ari’s brows knit, worry blooming across her face. “You should stop doing dangerous things, Lyra… please.”

Lyra sees it—the way Ari’s expression tightens, how her eyes shine with concern. It hits her harder than she expects. She cups Ari’s face gently and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Hey,” she murmurs, “don’t worry. I’m almost done with that. Those were rare cases… old jobs.”

But Ari doesn’t ease. Her lower lip trembles slightly. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Ever!”

She says it with the earnestness of someone who hasn’t accepted how the world works—like a sad, spoiled child who still believes love should be enough to keep danger away. And something about it—about her—moves Lyra to her core.

She pulls Ari closer, forehead resting against hers, voice soft. “I know. I don’t want to hurt anymore either.”

Lyra cradles Ari in her arms, the omega curled tightly against her chest. She trembles—barely, but enough for Lyra to feel it. She isn’t sure if Ari’s crying. She doesn’t ask.

Something clenches in her chest. She holds her tighter, as if her embrace could shield Ari from the world, from pain, from everything that ever left a mark.

Ari presses in closer, breath warm against Lyra’s skin.

Eventually, the trembling slows. Their bodies soften into each other, and wrapped in that quiet, aching closeness, they fall asleep.

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Ari blinks awake, groggy and warm, the morning light slipping gently through the curtains.

Lyra is watching her.

Still. Quiet. Eyes fixed on her face like she’s afraid to blink.

“…Lyra?” Ari murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” Lyra says softly.

Ari yawns. “Good… morning…”

Before she can sit up, Lyra wraps her arms around her—pulling her close, burying her face against Ari’s neck.

“Woah—” Ari breathes, surprised.

Lyra holds her tightly. Her voice is low, trembling with something raw. “Ari… don’t go to work today. Stay here. In fact… don’t ever go back to work. Stay here with me.”

Ari stiffens slightly, blinking.

“I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. I’ll make love to you every night, kiss you and hug you every day… just… don’t leave. Never leave.”

Ari’s breath catches.

What was that?

The words hit like a wave—sweet, intense, possessive in the softest, most vulnerable way.

Lyra is trembling.

Her grip isn’t forceful, but it’s full of need. Her voice cracks around the edges like something barely holding together.

Ari can feel her own eyes beginning to sting, her chest swelling with something too big to name.

She’d never been held like this before.

Never had she heard anything so desperate… or so sincere.

“Lyra… what happe—mmmf!”

Lyra kisses her—fiercely, suddenly—and before Ari can catch her breath, she’s inside her again.

Ari gasps, back arching. “Oh Goddess… have mercy!”

Lyra’s movements are wild with need—desperate, but not reckless. She pulls Ari toward the edge of the bed, gripping her waist with trembling hands as she begins to move—deep, rhythmic, consuming.

“Never leave me…” Lyra moans, her voice breaking between thrusts. “Never…”

Ari’s head tilts back, eyes dazed. She watches her—this creature of love and sorrow—moving with force and fear and longing all braided into one. Beautiful. Powerful.

But something in her face—something flickering in her eyes—terrifies Ari.

Lyra… what happened? What is happening inside of you?!

Before she can ask, Lyra turns her gently but firmly, guiding her onto her hands and knees. Her chest presses to Ari’s back, her arms wrapping around her waist like a promise.

She keeps going—pumping in and out, her breath ragged against Ari’s ear, her hands holding her tight like she’s afraid she might disappear if she lets go.

Ari can feel it now.

This isn’t just desire.

It’s a plea. Lyra seems scared.

Ari has completely surrendered.

She tries—just for a moment—to keep her head clear, to soothe Lyra, to pull her back into calmness with gentle words and grounding touch…

But she’s long gone.

Her body answers Lyra’s without hesitation, her breath catching, her skin burning. And in that heat, that closeness, she gives herself fully.

She turns her head, her voice a breathy whisper laced with devotion and desire.

“Lyra… I’m never leaving you. Ever.”

Lyra’s rhythm falters for half a second.

“You own me,” Ari breathes.

Lyra shudders behind her. “I… own you?”

“Yes… ah!” Ari gasps as Lyra thrusts deep again. “I’m yours… all yours…”

Her words come in fragments, spoken through Lyra’s thrusts—desperate, raw, real.

Lyra groans, low and guttural. Her hands tighten around Ari’s waist, pulling her impossibly close.

“Uuhnn… ahh— I own you…” she moans, each thrust deeper, more intense.

Lyra flips her again, moving with a fluid, urgent strength. Her body glows in the low light—toned, powerful, commanding. Her muscles flex with every motion, arms steady as she lifts Ari’s legs over her shoulders, pressing her down into the mattress.

“Aah! Lyra!” Ari cries, her voice cracked and open, as Lyra thrusts deep into her.

Her legs fold toward her chest, thighs trembling. In this position, Lyra can enter all the way—fully, completely—and Ari feels every inch of her. The stretch, the pressure, the rhythm. It’s everything.

Lyra’s cock is thick, firm, relentless—and it drives Ari wild.

Lyra leans over her, bracing herself with one hand, the other gripping Ari’s leg, her abdomen tightening with every thrust. She groans low in her throat, her voice laced with something primal and raw.

“You’re mine…” she growls, like the words anchor her, like they’re the only thing keeping her from unraveling.

“Mine… mine… mine… mine…”

Each thrust hits deep, claiming Ari again and again.

Ari sobs and moans beneath her, fully surrendered. Her fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. Her mind is hazy, her body wide open.

Lyra watches her through wild eyes—desperate, afraid, needing to feel that this is real. Her chest heaves, her arms flex around Ari’s thighs, holding her like she might vanish.

“I need you… I need you…” she gasps, slamming into her harder, almost trembling.

Her whole body is a blend of sleek muscle and frantic heat—raw, beautiful, alive with the ache to keep Ari forever.

And Ari takes it all.

With a sudden surge of strength, Lyra grips Ari by the thighs and lifts her off the bed—effortless, primal. Ari gasps, arms instinctively wrapping around her neck, legs trembling around Lyra’s waist.

She’s still inside her.

Still buried deep.

Lyra presses her back against the nearest wall, her toned body taut with effort, her breath ragged.

Then—

Thrust.

“Ah!” … she’s rough… rough…
She’s strong— Oh Goddess…

Ari feels the shift—the way Lyra moves, the sudden grip, the pressure.

It startles her. A flicker of fear.

But the pleasure crashes over it, louder, hotter.

Stronger.

And she doesn’t want it to stop.

“Ngghh—!” Lyra grunts, her voice low and raw with exertion as she begins to move again—driving into Ari harder, faster, pinning her to the wall like she belongs there.

“Lyra! Lyra!” Ari cries, overwhelmed, her voice breaking as she clings to her. Her head tilts back against the wall, her eyes wide, her body trembling. She’s being carried—fucked—held and consumed all at once.

Lyra’s hands tighten on her thighs. Her body is slick with sweat, muscles flexing beneath flushed skin.

“My omega…” she breathes. “My omega… my omega…”

Her words spiral, broken and desperate, repeating like a prayer.

Then her body shudders—her hips snap forward with one final thrust as she groans deeply, voice muffled as her face presses into Ari’s neck. Her cock pulses inside her as she spills everything—hard, hot, claiming.

Ari gasps.

And then she breaks.

Her body arches, seizes, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as a violent orgasm tears through her. Her fingers dig into Lyra’s shoulders, her eyes fluttering, lips trembling.

Her mind blanks. Everything goes white.

And then stillness.

They sink slowly to the floor, Lyra guiding her down carefully—her back against the wall, Ari in her lap, both of them drenched in sweat, chests heaving, skin flushed and glowing.

Ari’s body still trembles, her arms wrapped weakly around Lyra’s neck, her forehead resting against hers.

Lyra holds her tightly, protectively, as though letting go isn’t even an option anymore.

Her voice is a whisper, hoarse but full of feeling.

“Never leave me… never.”

Ari doesn’t answer—she doesn’t need to.

Her fingers curl softly into Lyra’s hair.

And they stay like that.

Wrapped in each other, breath by breath.

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The pancakes are warm. The tea is steeping. The morning light spills gently across the kitchen table.

Ari sits gingerly, wrapped in one of Lyra’s robes, her hair still damp from the bath. Her body aches—sweet, sore, and thoroughly undone. But her mind is sharper now, and full of questions.

Across from her, Lyra is dressed in clean loungewear, silent as she cuts into her pancakes. There’s tension in her shoulders, like she’s bracing for something.

Ari exhales slowly and forces a smile.

“Lyra… what was that?”

Lyra pauses mid-cut. Her eyes don’t lift.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

Ari’s brows rise. “Oh no! I’m not complaining—I mean—”

But Lyra cuts her off, her voice flat. “If you want to leave… I understand.”

“Stop it! Oh my Goddess,” Ari says, sitting up straighter despite the soreness. “I just want to know what that was.”

Finally, Lyra looks up. Her eyes are apologetic, guarded.

She stares at the steam curling from her teacup for a long moment, then says softly:

“I think I had a panic attack.”

Ari’s eyes widen. Her mouth opens, stunned.

“A panic attack ?! That was a panic attack?! ”

Her voice echoes a little in the quiet kitchen.

I highly doubt it, but… I'm no expert… so…

Lyra presses her lips together and nods once.

Ari leans back in her chair, speechless. Not from judgment—just sheer disbelief.

She glances down at her sore thighs, then back at Lyra.

“…Damn.”

Lyra spends a few quiet seconds staring into her tea cup, watching the steam rise like it’s the only thing in the world.

Then, softly—almost to herself—she murmurs, “But I do love you…”

Ari hears it. Her chest warms instantly. She smiles, wide and aching, and wishes she could stand up, throw her arms around Lyra, bury her face in her neck. But her body… is not ready for movement like that.

So she stays seated. Glowing.

Lyra’s voice cuts through the silence again.

“Did you… hate it?”

Ari shakes her head quickly, her voice rushing out. “No! No, no, no—I loved it. I love you !”

Lyra smiles—just a little. Still looking down at her tea. Her cheeks flush, soft and pink.

Ari stares.

Are you blushing? she thinks, incredulous.

How dare you blush like a delicate little damsel after fucking me like that?!

She doesn’t say it.

“So… is this like… a step back?” Ari asks carefully, her voice soft.

Lyra looks up at her, startled. Her eyes go wide—almost adorably wide.

“A step back?”

Ari nods slightly. “Yeah… like… because of how you were back in college.”

Lyra shakes her head right away. “Oh—no. That was different.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Silence falls again. Neither of them touches their pancakes. Neither of them seems to know what to say next.

A few seconds pass.

“You should skip work today,” Lyra says suddenly.

“Huh? You still think I—?”

“Oh no, no—” Lyra waves her hands, flustered. “I mean… just if you’re feeling sore.”

A faint blush creeps up her cheeks.

“All that stuff I said before—about quitting work, staying here forever, never leaving… that was just…” she trails off, eyes darting away. “I was spiraling. I’d never actually ask you to give up your job. Or your life. That would be… weird. Controlling. That’s not me.”

Ari stares at her for a few seconds, quiet.

“I understand,” she says gently.

Another pause.

“But I am going to work. I’d already planned to take Friday as a home office day, so… I’ll rest then.”

Lyra nods, still not meeting her eyes.

The tea between them steams quietly.

Ari smiles faintly, despite herself.

Goddess, she’s such a mess… If we go see a scary movie I wonder if she’d fuck me right in the movie theater if she got scared… haha…

She blinks.

Wow. I’m a horrible person… and that's probably not how panic attacks work… I can hear Suzie's voice telling me how stupid I am...

“Do you think I'm messed up?” Lyra asks.

Ari curates her answer “You’re human. And you've been trough stuff…”

Lyra looks pleading.

“And I love you, Lyra.”

Lyra smiles.

Goddess, how can she be so adorable after having been such a beast! Anyway… I got my answers… she swears she’s almost done with those “errands”... so… this is progress, isn't it?

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Wait, was she on contraceptives?! I better run to the pharmacy!!!

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Author's notes:

Angst angst fluff fluff... Happy Monday!

Chapter 25: 🔥Fight for your right to catch the feels 🫀

Summary:

Suzie’s caffeine-fueled mission throws Camille into a world of underground tech, worn-down neighborhoods, and quiet emotional truths. Meanwhile, secrets stir beneath soft pajamas and sharper glances.
Does Camille have a type?
Is Hazel more than just Suzie's casual hookup and friend?
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“I got it!” Suzie suddenly exclaims, jolting in the dark.

Camille stirs with a soft groan. She was half-asleep, curled around Suzie under the silk blanket, her cheek nestled loosely against Suzie’s upper back. The warmth, the closeness—it registers a moment too late.

“Ugh… what? Wha—” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep. Then her eyes crack open, and she freezes as she realizes just how intimately they’re lying—her arm draped over Suzie’s stomach, their bodies pressed close. “Uh…”

Suzie blushes hard as the awareness hits her too. Without saying a word, she slips out from under the covers, sitting up and scrambling off the bed, the fabric of her deep purple pajamas swishing softly as she moves.

Suzie freezes for half a second, her cheeks warming. Then she quickly slips out of Camille’s arms, the silky fabric of her deep purple pajama set rustling as she slides off the bed.

Camille’s room is dim, lit faintly by the city lights outside. She shifts slightly under the blanket, the sheen of her sleeveless satin top catching the glow as she props herself up on one elbow.

“So,” Suzie begins, standing barefoot on the rug, her voice now steady with purpose. “Aira’s power is basically the fact that she’s everywhere. She’s on the boards of every major company—AI, social media, tech mod, all of it.”

Camille rubs her eyes, still adjusting. “Uhm… yeah,” she murmurs, hair tousled and falling over one eye.

“We have to attack the beast one part at a time,” Suzie continues, pacing lightly, the cuff of her pajama pants brushing her ankles. Her bandaged hand gestures toward nothing in particular, but her mind is racing.

Camille squints. “What beast?”

“She’s committed crimes,” Suzie snaps her head toward her, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. “We know of at least one—tech mod experiments on a minor.” She lifts her hand slightly, her voice hardening. “ Me. ”

Camille’s eyes widen, her posture suddenly more alert. “You’re right.”

“If she gets prosecuted and found guilty of any major crime, she will be immediately expelled from every seat of every table she has.” Suzie says grinning.

 

“She has to have done more. I just need access to the lab’s intranet. My old credentials probably don’t work, but I know the system. If I get the right hardware and an untraceable setup, I can crack into it.”

Camille nods slowly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “That sounds great. Order anything you want from my Shopper’s account.”

Suzie frowns. “I can’t use your account—it’ll be suspicious. We should go to the store, or create a fake one and send everything to a throwaway address.”

Camille slumps back on the pillow, yawning. “Let’s go tomorrow. Just—come back to bed, please. I need to sleep.”

“I’ll make the list now! You can sleep without me, right?” Suzie says with a playful lilt. But as soon as the words leave her mouth, she cringes inwardly. Ugh, that sounded so flirty.

Camille smirks, not opening her eyes. “Maybe I can’t.”

Suzie turns scarlet, frozen at the edge of the bed.
Uaagh! Camille, not now! I’m all hormonal! Stop being hot in silk!

“We’ll do this better in the morning,” Camille murmurs, turning over. “You have to sleep right to think right.”

Suzie sighs. “Ugh, okay moooom …”

Camille chuckles under her breath, eyes still closed. “Did you just call me mommy ?” she whispers, teasing, warm.

Suzie gasps, scandalized. “Agh! Shut up!”

She flops back into bed, face buried in her pillow. Camille grins and slides closer under the covers, her voice a sleepy murmur.

“Night, Suzie.”

“Night…” Suzie answers.

 

Camille did sleep, Suzie didn´t.

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“This is the list of what I need!” Suzie exclaims, sitting right on the kitchen table—legs spread carelessly, one foot resting on a chair, the other swinging in the air. Her deep purple silk pajamas are rumpled, her hair sticking out in chaotic angles. She extends her bandaged arm toward Camille, waving a wrinkled piece of paper filled with shaky, over-caffeinated handwriting.

Camille enters, barefoot and composed in her sleeveless pearly top and matching pajama pants, her expression instantly shifting to concern.

“Suzie… you look like you didn’t sleep,” Camille says, frowning as she takes in the bouncing leg, the slightly twitching eye, and the oversized coffee mug in Suzie’s lap.

“Don’t worry about it!” Suzie says brightly—too brightly. “It’s just the hormones and whatnot. But nothing that coffee can’t fix!” She slams back another gulp of what must be her fourth—or eighth—cup, and gives a jittery little grin.

Camille walks closer, eyeing the list. “How much coffee have you had?”

“Uhh… I stopped counting after cup five. But look!” Suzie thrusts the list toward her again, practically vibrating. “This is everything I need to break into Aira’s lab network. It’s gonna be great. My brain is on fire. In a good way!”

Camille slowly takes the paper, eyes scanning the chaotic scrawl—but her attention keeps drifting back to Suzie. Her shoulders twitch with nervous energy, her pajama top slipping slightly off one side. She’s jittery, eyes glassy with adrenaline and caffeine, holding herself together with sheer force of will.

“Suzie,” Camille says gently, “maybe you should stay here while I go buy this stuff—”

“No!” Suzie interrupts, too fast, too loud. “I need to go out. Plus— you don’t know about this kind of gear. They’ll totally scam you if I’m not there.”

Camille raises a brow. “Scam me? At a Shoppers ?”

Suzie grins, teeth flashing in a way that’s almost unhinged. “Oh, we’re not going to Shoppers…”

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They don’t take Camille’s car. Instead, they ride in a solar-powered community vehicle borrowed from a different neighborhood. It hums quietly as they pass through familiar streets, gliding past nice homes and cafés, then slowly transitioning into older, rougher blocks.

“Hey! That’s Ari’s apartment,” Camille says, pointing out the window.

Suzie, behind the wheel, squints from behind oversized sunglasses. Her hair is tucked messily inside the hood of a large gray hoodie, the strings pulled tight around her face. A black cap shades her eyes further, and a surgical mask hides her expression.

“Really? Geez… that girl is pooooor .”

Camille chuckles softly, shifting in her seat. She’s dressed casually—an old, loose Harrowgate t-shirt from her alma mater, faded jeans, and scuffed sneakers. Her hair is swept up into a relaxed bun, a few strands falling around her temples.

“Yeah. But her place is cozy. She makes it work.”

Suzie glances at her, lips curling into a crooked smirk. “Ugh… you two fucked.”

It slips out before she even realizes, and her eyes widen slightly behind the glasses.

Camille blushes faintly and looks away. “We… made love,” she says quietly. “With Lyra too, to be honest…”

Suzie stiffens, fingers tightening around the wheel. She keeps driving, posture suddenly more rigid. Neither of them looks at the other. The car hums on, filling the silence.

“Oh…” Suzie finally says, voice more neutral now. “Are you three, like… a thing?”

“No,” Camille replies, exhaling slowly. “I already told you—Lyra and Ari are a couple. And me…” She pauses, then adds with a soft bitterness, “They said it’s better if I’m not their plaything. Because I’m such a good person.”

Their plaything… that’s lowkey kinda hot, Suzie thinks, cheeks heating beneath the mask.

She snorts. “Ha! They’re right though. They’re fucked up in the head.”

Camille gives a lopsided smile. “Yeah… haha.”

They fall into another stretch of silence as the city turns grittier around them—graffiti-tagged walls, shuttered shops, stray cables hanging between cracked buildings.

“So… you dating anyone?” Suzie asks, casual, her eyes on the road.

Camille leans her head against the window. “Have you seen me with anyone? You live with me now.”

Suzie laughs under her breath. “Ha ha… yeah. True.”

Silence again…

They enter a neighborhood Camille had never seen before.

The neighborhood pulses with chaotic color and barely-contained tension, like neon graffiti spilled over rusted metal and concrete. Cramped storefronts crowd the narrow street, each one patched together with warped panels, mismatched signs, and flickering holoscreens that buzz and stutter with broken advertisements. Some promise tech mods, others offer massages with a wink, or questionable “nutrient bowls” that smell like old oil and pepper paste.

Graffiti covers every wall—layered tags, scrawled warnings, animated characters that glitch mid-wink. Some murals are beautiful; others look like screams frozen in paint. Above it all, tangled wires droop between buildings like spiderwebs strung with dead drones and strips of drying laundry.

Omega sex workers lounge in doorways and on cracked steps, dressed in glittered mesh or oversized coats tossed over lingerie. Some lean into the street, their eyes sharp, seductive, or just tired. A few blow smoke through painted lips. They watch everything.

Alphas prowl past in fitted jackets, armored vests, or nothing but low-slung pants and confidence. Some wear gleaming implants, others flash teeth or scars. They move like they own the pavement. Betas drift more quietly—watchful, efficient, slipping between shadows, running errands that don’t get receipts.

Food vendors hiss and shout over steaming carts. Spices hang in the air, thick and aggressive. One corner grill smells heavenly, but the cook wipes their hands on something disturbingly red. At the back of a cluttered alley, a flickering sign marks a noodle bar where twitchy regulars slurp under green-blue lights, avoiding eye contact.

Music thuds from somewhere below street level—low, dirty bass. It vibrates through the ground like the neighborhood has a heartbeat of its own.

This place doesn’t pretend. It’s not safe, not polished. But it breathes. It survives.

Then—“Oh look, here we are!”

The store Suzie points to looks awful. A squat, half-abandoned building with peeling paint, metal grates half torn off, a flickering holo-sign that doesn’t quite spell anything, and a broken surveillance drone tangled in a dead vine above the door.

Camille swallows. Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. “Uhm… do you come here often?”

Suzie chuckles, already hopping out of the vehicle. “Ha! No—never. I have a contact who buys here sometimes, but it’s not safe to call anyone who actually knows me.”

Camille hesitates, looking out at the cracked pavement, the shady figures eyeing them from across the street. When she finally parks, a few people glance their way. Some stare too long.

As soon as they step out, Camille feels it—the stares cling to her like static. She’s tall, clean, glowing in the soft daylight, her Harrowgate t-shirt and relaxed bun making her stand out more than she expected. She had picked this outfit on purpose—casual, unfussy, something she thought would help her blend in. But now, under the eyes of strangers, she realizes the truth: even in worn sneakers and a loose shirt, everything about her—her posture, her skin, her confidence—broadcasts status. Whether she wants it to or not. And who the fuck in that whole neighborhood can actually go to Harrowgate?!

I’m an idiot! Thinks Camille.

“C’mon, let’s go inside, quick,” Suzie mutters, tugging at her arm and pulling her toward the door.

Inside, the lighting is dim and tinted blue from one flickering panel overhead. The air smells like metal, old wires, dust, and synthetic oil. Rows of shelves are cluttered with used and new hardware—memory cores, prosthetic casings, patched processors, tangled cords bundled in plastic bins.

Suzie dives into the chaos with practiced hands, already flipping tags and scanning serials like a crow sorting through treasure. Camille, meanwhile, wanders slowly through the aisles, eyes adjusting.

She notices the owner—an omega, probably in her fifties. The woman sits behind a glass counter filled with salvaged port converters. Her hair is matted, graying. Her face is drawn and weathered, skin dry and dull. She looks like someone who’s been doing this far too long, like the shelves around her are just another weight on her shoulders.

Camille wonders— does she have an alpha? Or is she alone, surviving in a place like this, clinging to whatever scraps she can manage?

Further down, there’s another omega. She’s younger—Camille’s age, maybe a bit younger—with two children. One baby sleeps against her chest in a sling, while the other, a little girl, runs loose, giggling and grabbing at glowing tools like toys. The young mother watches nervously but doesn’t intervene. Her hair is unkempt, her eyes ringed with exhaustion. Still, she wears a soft smile—tired but trying.

Camille’s heart tugs unexpectedly.

Something bumps against her shin.

She looks down and finds the little girl staring up at her with huge, curious eyes.

Camille smiles, warm and gentle.

The child gasps, delighted. “Ah! You’re pretty!” she squeals, pointing at her like she’s a fairy from a storybook.

Camille laughs softly. “You’re pretty too.”

“Anne! Come here—don’t bother the lady!” her mother calls, startled.

Camille looks up at the omega mother and smiles tenderly. “She’s not bothering. She’s lovely.”

The omega’s eyes widen. Her cheeks flush pink and she trembles slightly, unsure how to respond. Her lips part like she wants to speak but can’t find the words.

Camille’s smile doesn’t falter—gentle, effortless, kind.

The young mother swallows, suddenly shy under the attention. She looks down quickly, but the tremble in her hands betrays her fluster.

Camille glances back at the little girl. “Anne, huh?” she says softly.

The girl beams, wide-eyed and delighted.

Suddenly, Suzie appears beside her and grabs her arm. “Camille! Don’t bother the customers!” she hisses, pulling her away by the elbow before Camille can respond.

The omega mother flinches, left standing alone with her baby and her silence. Whatever warmth had briefly filled the air dissipates, and she returns quietly to her corner of the store—her tired smile already fading.

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They’re back in the car. The backseat is piled with hardware—spools of cable, mod kits, solder tools, and a thick screen unit that Camille assumes is the untraceable computer Suzie needed.

Camille buckles her seatbelt, still glancing at the device. “How did you pay for all this? I didn’t see you bring your cards.”

Suzie, already revving the silent solar engine, grins. “I paid with my softwallet.”

Camille blinks. “You have one of those? Softcoin is used by criminals.”

Suzie laughs as she turns onto the main road. “That’s just what the alphas in power want you to think. Softcoin’s 100% traceable. Built on an open chain. They just hate that it’s not theirs .”

Camille stares at her for a moment, letting the thought sink in.

Suzie drums her fingers on the steering wheel, casual but sharp. “You’d be surprised how much actual freedom pisses them off.”

Camille nods slowly, still watching her profile as they drive.
Suzie knows a lot about things I’ve never even thought to question…

She glances down at her own hands resting in her lap.
I’m kind of useless as her alpha, she thinks—unfiltered, surprising herself.
Huh? Why did I think that?!

“Hey, Camille… are you here?” Suzie’s voice pulls her back.

“Yeah! I’m just…” Camille pauses.

“Thinking about the helpless omega in the store?” Suzie asks.

Camille blinks. “The owner?”

“I meant the mom,” Suzie says, eyes still on the road. “She looked like one of those typical abandoned omegas… so sad.”

Camille shifts in her seat. “I wasn’t really thinking about her, but… yeah. Happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Suzie murmurs, softer now.

The car hums as they continue driving through the city’s decaying edges, toward something more familiar.

After a moment, Suzie speaks again, quieter, uncertain. “So… you like that kind of omega… d-don’t you? The sad… helpless ones… like Ari…”

Camille turns to look at her, surprised. “I… I don’t think I have a type , honestly. I wasn’t feeling attracted, I just… felt sad for her. That’s all.” she then ads “And Ari is not helpless… in fact you’d be surprised.”

Suzie nods but doesn’t respond. Silence settles in again, thick and loaded, as the city moves past the windows.

Ah… even as an omega I’m just not her type…

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Back at Camille’s apartment, they get to work assembling the equipment. Suzie gives directions with brisk confidence, pointing things out and handing over tools, but it’s Camille who does most of the hands-on setup—careful, focused, following instructions like a pro.

After nearly an hour, the living room has completely transformed. Cables snake across the hardwood floor, the thick screen hums faintly on the coffee table, and spare components are scattered across a couch that once held throw pillows and tea trays. It looks less like a living space now and more like a tech workshop ripped from a gritty cyberpunk novel—raw, functional, chaotic. The new aesthetic clashes hard with the clean, curated calm of the rest of Camille’s apartment.

Suzie, now changed into her own oversized Harrowgate t-shirt and pajama pants, stands back and grins at the sight.

“I guess you can’t bring any of your dates home now, huh?” she jokes.

Camille, crouched near the screen, glances up at her with a slow smile. “Yeah? And why do you sound so happy about that?” she teases, her voice just a little too flirty.

Suzie stiffens, her cheeks warming.
Aghhh!! Camille, stop doing that!

She averts her eyes quickly, flicking the power button on the system. “Whatever…” she mutters, barely audible.

The screen comes to life with a soft glow.

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Hours pass.

Camille sits cross-legged on the bed, her laptop balanced on her knees. She’s focused, jaw slightly tense as she navigates Morph’s internal dashboard. She’s done with her tasks for the day. With a few clicks, she updates her work status from on-site to remote . 

“Thanks, Lyra,” she mutters under her breath, the corners of her mouth tugging into a dry half-smile.

She opens the social feed out of habit. A few posts from betas prepping for some party. Ari and her friends sharing pics from the office, talking about new campaigns. Camille scrolls.

“Huh… Hazel posted something…”

A single sad face. The text reads:
Where r u Suzie? R U mad at me?

Camille's fingers pause on the trackpad. Her chest tightens slightly.

Poor Hazel.
She clearly has no idea what's going on. Camille sighs . It’s not safe for her to know. It’s not safe for anyone… ah but I wish I could tell her…

“Hey! Camille! Look—” Suzie’s voice cuts through from the living room.

Camille sets the laptop aside and walks over.

Suzie sits on the floor surrounded by wires, her glasses slightly askew, hair in a low bun now, fingers flying over the makeshift setup. “I got access to a profile—beta named Kate. She used to work with me in the lab. Bit older. Her user’s still active.”

“Wow, Suzie—great job!” Camille beams, genuinely impressed. “What’s the next step?”

“I need to log in only during work hours, keep the activity within expected windows or it’ll flag.” She taps a chunky piece of hardware beside her. It looks like a thick metallic tube lined with soft lights. “This is the biggest external drive I could find. And the fastest. I’ll download anything suspicious I spot.”

Camille, without hesitation, slides down next to her. She wraps one arm around Suzie’s shoulders and, with the other, places her hand firmly on Suzie’s far shoulder, giving her a warm squeeze and a little shake.

“You’re amazing,” Camille says, her voice bright and proud. It’s affectionate—meant to be friendly and playful, maybe a little rough.

But to Suzie, the contact floods her senses. Warmth spreads through her chest and lower, sparking something she immediately tries to smother.

She hides it with a small nod. “Thanks…” she mumbles, eyes fixed on the screen, pretending to focus. Her ears burn, but she keeps her expression neutral.

Camille watches her for a moment, amused. “What other amazing things can you do with this monster of a computer?”

Suzie perks up again, slipping back into her element. “Oh! I can access Morph C.O.’s internal social network anonymously—through Kate’s profile. She works there now.”

With a smug grin, Suzie taps into the platform and begins scrolling. Her confidence fades the moment she sees Hazel’s post.

The sad face. The message.
“Where r u Suzie? R U mad at me?”

Her grin drops.

“Ah… fuck…” she mutters. “Hazel…”

The guilt hits her fast, sharp and uncomfortable. She stares at the screen, visibly shaken.

Camille turns her head slightly, watching her profile. She sees the tension in Suzie’s face, the way her shoulders stiffen, her mouth tightens.

She’s hurting, Camille realizes.

And then, quietly:
I wonder if it was just sex…

“Suzie… how about we tell her?” Camille says gently, her voice low.

“No!” Suzie snaps, too fast. “I already said… no.”

Camille studies her. Suzie isn’t masking as well as usual—her defenses worn thin by exhaustion, hormones, and maybe the warmth of Camille’s presence. Her eyes are wide, her breathing just a touch shallow. Fear lingers there, just beneath the surface.

“Suzie…” Camille softens her voice even more. “Are you… scared of Hazel?”

That lands.

Suzie freezes. For a second, she looks away, visibly caught off guard by how seen she feels. Her instinct is to deflect—to scoff, roll her eyes, crack a joke—but it never makes it past her lips.

She sighs. And then, with a quiet voice that feels almost too bare:

“Yes.”

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Chapter 26: The call

Summary:

As tensions rise across the city and within their hearts, each woman navigates the weight of loyalty, secrecy, and desire. Ari struggles to balance honesty with protection, Camille offers refuge while guarding fragile truths, and Suzie finds unexpected comfort in the quiet domesticity of her new life. Meanwhile, trust is tested, alliances shift, and a single phone call threatens to unravel the fragile peace they’ve built. Amid soft pajamas, rain-soaked windows, and stolen glances, one thing becomes clear—time is running out.
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Suzie didn’t want to explain why, and Camille didn’t press her for an explanation.

If she doesn’t want to tell me, I have no right to demand an explanation , Camille thinks, watching her sleep.

She exhales softly, brushing a strand of hair from Suzie’s face.

Maybe… I’ll ask when all this is over.

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On the other hand, Ari does owe some explanations.

“Okay, Gina… I owe you an explanation.”

“Like, several ,” Gina replies, raising an eyebrow.

They’re tucked once again into one of the corner booths at Cool Beans, the lo-fi playlist humming overhead, the soft scent of espresso and almond pastries wrapping around them like a blanket. Outside, the rain taps gently against the fogged-up windows, casting soft shadows through the glass.

Ari’s hands cradle her decaf white flat like it might give her courage. Gina, across from her, holds a plain black coffee, fingers curled tightly around the warm ceramic, her posture just a little too still—like she’s bracing for something.

Ari glances down, then looks up again, hesitant.

“The Suzie thing… I think we should keep it to ourselves because…”
I hope this doesn’t count as betraying Lyra’s trust.

“…Lyra’s involved. And I don’t want to expose her.”

Gina’s expression shifts—first surprise, then a slow, dawning understanding. She blinks, sits back slightly, and sips her coffee in silence before nodding once and swallowing.

“I kinda figured,” she says softly. “I had my suspicions.”

“You did?!” Ari asks, eyes widening.

Gina leans in a little, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. “Like, you noticed, right? That day Camille bolted—ran like she’d seen a ghost. She’d been going through Lyra’s files. I think she’s involved… like… she knows where Suzie is… could even be hiding her. And you noticed it too.”

Ari nods slowly, her eyes narrowing with realization. “I was about to tell you, but… yeah. You beat me to it.”

“And you stopped Nova from saying something,” Gina adds, eyes locked onto Ari’s. “Because Hazel was lying. That whole thing about the omega scent? Completely related to Suzie, I know. And now probably Hazel knows too”

“Exactly! It was so obvious,” Ari exclaims, sitting forward, her fingers tightening around her cup. “And Camille—she dragged Hazel into the executive bathroom right after. She must’ve told her something!”

Gina nods quickly. “Yeah! The real question is—what did she tell her?”

Ari’s gaze drifts momentarily to the raindrops trailing down the window, her mind spinning. “And why did Suzie disappear?"

They fall silent for a moment, the soft lo-fi music filling the space between them.

Ari sighs. “I know why… but I can’t tell you.”

“Ughhh! Aghhh!” Gina groans, throwing her hands up. “Fine! I’ll figure it out myself…”

“What I don´t know is if Camille is actually hiding Suzie and what did she tell Hazel,”

Then, without a word, they both lean in at the same time—eyes sharp, faces set with shared resolve.

“We’re going to find out,” Ari says firmly.

Gina grins, tapping her fingers along the rim of her mug. “Damn right we are.”

Ari hesitates, then adds quietly, “Gina… I wish I could tell you everything I know.”

Gina shakes her head with a small, wry smile. “It’s okay, Ari. Honestly, I wish you could too—the curiosity is killing me. But… I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. And that’s enough. For now.”

She pauses, eyes flicking from her cup to Ari’s face. “Buuuut… as soon as we find out if Camille is hiding Suzie, you gotta tell me why —!”

“All right, all right!” Ari groans. “Once we confirm that, I’ll tell you… but nothing related to Lyra, okay?”

“Got it! Deal!” Gina exclaims, leaning forward, her voice softening. “Let’s focus on Camille.”

Ari exhales, shoulders easing. Then she nods. “Okay. Camille it is.”

Their eyes meet again—determined, united—and the café hums quietly around them, as if giving its silent approval.

Gina’s eyes widen, as if a dramatic movie just started playing in her head. “What if Camille is hiding Suzie, and now they’re in love, and—and they’re going to run away together like some kind of fugitive couple !?”

Ari gives her a flat look. “Gina… Suzie and Camille? In love? Seriously?”

“No, yeah, you’re right. They like… don´t have any chemistry…”

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They return to the office with a plan.

Ari and Gina will stay close to Camille all day—chat about harmless things, act casual, and gently probe for information. If it comes to it, Ari will ask her directly. Everything’s set.

But—

“Camille’s working remotely,” Lyra says when Ari asks.

“What?!” Ari blinks. “She can do that?!”

Her heart sinks. There goes the entire plan.

Lyra tilts her head. “Why do you look so disappointed?”

“Oh… nothing,” Ari says quickly, glancing away. “I just needed to ask her something…”

“We can ask her to call,” Lyra offers, stepping closer. “You could video chat with her.”

“It’s… it’s fine. I’ll just text or whatever,” Ari mumbles, turning toward the door. But before she can open it, Lyra moves—quiet and sudden.

She closes the door in front of her, trapping her between the door and her body.

Ari stiffens.

Lyra gently turns her around by the shoulders, her hands sliding down to clasp Ari’s arms, then her fingers. Her gaze pins Ari in place.

“Ari,” she says softly, “do you miss her that much? Do you want her in our lives?”

Ari blinks.
Oh no… Lyra...

“It’s not about that,” she says, flushing.

Lyra squeezes her hands—warm, steady. “You can tell me anything,” she says, voice low. “If you want her… we can figure it out. I’m willing.”

Ari’s cheeks go crimson. Her mind floods with half-thoughts, buried fantasies.

No no no—Ari! Get it together!

“No, Lyra,” she says quickly. “It’s nothing like that. I’m okay with her moving on, having the life she wants. I just… needed to ask her something. Work stuff.”

Lyra holds her gaze for a moment longer, searching her expression. Ari’s eyes begin to soften—too much.

Ahh… why is she always so irresistible when she’s like this…

Finally, Lyra nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

She releases Ari’s hands slowly—deliberately—then leans in and kisses her cheek. “She won’t mind if you call,” she adds, voice calm. “In fact, I’m sure she’ll like it.”

With that, she turns and walks back to her desk, composed as ever.

Ari stands there, flustered, heart thudding.

Ughhh, Lyraaaa!!

“Ok… I guess I’ll go back to work…”

She turns around and exits the glass office.

Lyra!! Do you enjoy making me wet in the middle of my shift! Uaauughh! You’ll pay at home…

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Camille is draped in soft white loungewear—silken, sleeveless, with a long, low neckline that catches the morning light. A pearly robe slips off one shoulder, the matching loose pants whispering as she moves. Her hair is tied up in a lazy bun, a few strands falling artfully around her face.

Across the kitchen island, Suzie sits in her usual black-purple pajamas—the silky, tailored set with the sharp lapels and cropped pants. The morning sun glints off the deep hues as she stares at her barely touched plate.

They share a cup of coffee between them, along with a small spread: homemade bread, eggs, and salad. Camille assembles a sandwich, slow and unhurried, sipping her coffee with the faintest smile.

Meanwhile, Suzie speaks quickly, passionately—gesturing with her hands, her eyes lit up.

“...Do you get what I mean? The aesthetic was so post-war , so… constructivist—but we can’t even use those terms properly because we know so little about the actual time men existed! This film could be historical , Camille. It’s massive. It might be the first clear depiction of what men looked like!”

Camille sips her coffee again, still watching her. Still smiling.

Suzie flushes. She groans dramatically, slouching in her chair, half annoyed, half flustered.

Uuugh! Camille!! This—this is why I changed to alpha! You’re impossible! And yet… if it’s you looking at me like that… I can’t even be mad…

“You’re not even paying attention!” Suzie snaps, grabbing a piece of bread, biting into it fiercely, and downing the entire coffee cup in one exaggerated gulp. She munches loudly, cartoonishly.

Camille chuckles softly. “I am. It really would be amazing if that film included actual men. And yes, I read the article in Harrowgate Review. There’s a symposium next week—experts will be speaking, and they’ll screen part of the restoration.”

Suzie blinks. “Wait—you were listening?”

Camille nods, her smile deepening. “Yes. I was listening,” she says, setting her mug down gently. “But I was also… admiring.”

Suzie’s jaw tenses slightly. Her ears turn red.

“Camille…” she mutters, looking away—just for a second. Then she glances back.

Camille meets her eyes with calm warmth, her voice low and honest.

“I like when you talk about things you care about. You light up.”

Suzie exhales and rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch—almost a smile.
“Whatever. You’re annoying.”

Camille just smirks, sipping her coffee with maddening calm.

And Suzie, despite herself, is glowing.

“You used to be really intimidating to omegas back at Harrowgate,” Camille says, almost casually.

Suzie lifts a brow. “Yeah… intimidating like any alpha would be.”

But Camille shakes her head. “No. Not like that. You weren’t physically intimidating—you were the smartest person in any room. Most omegas we knew went for Lyra…”

“Or you,” Suzie adds, without missing a beat.

Camille chuckles. “Or me… sure. But you had a loyal fanbase, Suzie. A fanbase of smart omegas and some betas even.”

“Whatever,” Suzie mutters, reaching for the eggs and sliding them between two slices of bread. She tries to look unfazed, but her ears are pink.

“I admire you too,” Camille says softly, still sipping her coffee. “I never really understood why you were sleeping with Hazel, though. She’s like… your opposite.” And apparently, she scares you… so…

Camille looks annoyed, but she forcefully softens her expression.

Suzie freezes mid-bite, eyes widening slightly. “I—It started with that fight, you know? The one that got us horny? Remember? Then… we just kind of got used to each other.”

Plus… she made me feel so alpha. Uuugh. Dominating her like that made me feel… accomplished. That’s so embarrassing! I will never… ever… let anyone know!!

Her expression shifts—annoyed, fond, wistful—all at once.

That subby slut, she thinks, with more tenderness than she’s ready to admit, she messed me up a bit…

“We kinda… needed each other…maybe?” Suzie mutters, then with a cleared voice “You’re friends with her too, Camille.”

“Yeah,” Camille says with a small shrug. “But you’re kind of our bridge. I don’t even know what we’d talk about without you.”

She pauses, then smirks. “Oh wait—I do. We talk about you .”

Suzie chokes slightly on her bite. “You talked to Hazel about me ?!”

Camille finishes her sandwich, completely unbothered. “Yeah.”
She sips her coffee, eyes twinkling. “More than once.”

“You told her?! I told you not to!!”

“No! No, no, relax,” Camille says quickly, holding up a hand. “Although… I don´t know why it scares you so much…”

Suzie narrows her eyes.

Camille sighs, her tone softening. “I just… I feel sorry for her. She’s kind of lost without you, but I wouldn´t tell her, since it’s so important to you…”

Hazel matters to you—whether you’re afraid of her or not, she’s on your mind. That much, I know.

There’s a flicker of sadness in her eyes—quiet, but unmistakable.

Suzie catches it, and it unsettles her more than she wants to admit.

Camille… Why are you sad? Do you pity Hazel? Or is it something else?

“Whatever,” Suzie says, tossing her hair back. “Of course she misses me.”

Camille doesn’t laugh. Her voice is quieter now. “No… it’s more than that.”

Suzie’s brows furrow. There’s something in Camille’s face she can’t quite read.

“What is it?” Camille asks, noticing her expression.

Suzie hesitates, then blurts it out. “Do you… feel bad for her?”

“A little bit…” Camille admits. But I also wonder... Do you two love each other? she thinks. You’ve had sex, you’re friends... It 's possible. It’s even possible that they even love each other and don`t know it… ughhh

Suzie frowns, lips parting like she might say something else—but then she hears herself murmur, almost under her breath, “Camille… always so compassionate… always so…”

She only realizes she said it aloud when Camille’s eyes soften even more.

Suzie looks away quickly, cheeks warm, picking at the edge of her napkin as if it might undo what she just said.
Camille just smiles—gentle, quiet, and knowing.

There’s a beat of silence before Suzie leans back in her chair, arms crossing loosely over her chest.

“Anyway… you… taking the day off?” she asks, tone forced-light. “I thought we could go into Kate’s account, start at nine with a blind download of anything that we can get—”

“Oh…” Camille lifts her brows slightly. “I’m already 100% remote now… there’s that option now. I kinda gave the idea to Lyra so that I could stay here with you”

Suzie blinks and faintly blushes “Oh… that’s great… for our plans.”

And I get to see you more… Suzie thinks.

“Yes.” Camille says smiling

And I get to be with you all day— Camille thinks.

Suzie sips her coffee, pretends to be too busy eating to continue the conversation.

I feel good living with Camille…

Not just good—great. Like… weirdly calm. And I’m supposed to be a hormonal disaster right now. My DNA-altering bots are dying off, my system’s resetting… I should be a mess.

Ugh, whatever. I’ll just brainstorm alone for a second…

“I’ll go get changed… to wake up you know? And I’ll start with the data extraction.”

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She fell asleep in Camille’s bed. Something about Camille’s scent is so calming, it lulls her to sleep without effort. From the doorway, Camille watches her quietly, a soft smile on her lips. She doesn’t wake her—just lets her rest. She knows Suzie needs it.

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Lyra and Ari get home after work—Lyra’s apartment, now their home.

Ari finishes unpacking the last of her things. She gently props up the painting she brought with her—the one with the dark ocean and the scrapped moons. Opening her portable canvas holder, she places it there and steps back to look at it.

She tilts her head.

“Hmm… it’s not a bad painting…”

She leans on the wall of the empty room—the one Lyra said she could use as her studio. A small smile tugs at her lips.

Can’t believe she gave me this space. She’s amazing…

Ari counts months silently, touching her fingers.

Hm… maybe Fridays. Yes. Fridays for painting. Just a few hours…

“Ari.”

She hears Lyra’s voice from the hallway—low, smooth, and calm.

“Yes, love?” Ari sings back, warmth in her tone.

Lyra appears in the doorway. Her black hair falls straight past her shoulders, silky and loose, catching the light like a midnight waterfall. Ari’s eyes are drawn to it instantly as she looks back— she loves Lyra’s hair. She always has. It’s so effortlessly beautiful, so soft-looking that Ari finds herself wanting to touch it every time.

Lyra’s wearing her usual pajamas: a sleeveless black top that hugs her torso, silky and soft against her skin, and wide-leg palazzo pants that whisper around her ankles. Over it all, she wears a black robe, also silky, also flowing. Even her slippers match—black, padded, elegant.

She looks like she just stepped out of a luxury ad without even trying.

“I think Camille is hiding Suzie,” Lyra says calmly.

Ari freezes.

Damn it. I think the same.

“What do you think?” Lyra asks, stepping closer.

Before Ari answers, Lyra comes up behind her and places a warm hand on her shoulder. She lets it slide down her arm slowly, almost like a caress. Ari wears her new pajamas—pearly white, silky, long-sleeved and buttoned, with loose shorts that brush the middle of her thighs. Her slippers are cream-colored and padded, soft and cozy.

Lyra’s touch makes her melt a little. She loves when Lyra does that—quiet, affectionate touches that sneak up on her heart.

“I… I think so too,” Ari says softly.

Lyra gives her arm a light squeeze, then steps around and gently turns her to face her.

“I knew you would tell me,” she says, a warm smile spreading across her lips “I knew you wouldn’t hide your suspicions from me…”

Ari looks up at her, eyes full of worry.

“But Lyra… I don’t want you to go get her. I think it’s wrong…” she pleads.

Lyra’s smile fades a little. The sight of Ari looking like that—sad, pleading—tugs at her. She reaches out and rubs both of Ari’s arms slowly, up and down, in a way that’s calming and intimate. Her robe shifts with the movement, the silky fabric catching the light.

“I… could wait a few days before I go,” she says, voice low and thoughtful. “Or maybe just let Aira know what I suspect.”

Ari bites her lip. “Maybe we could talk to Suzie… get her to finish the treatment. Maybe… I could go alone.”

Lyra’s hands still.

“So you want to go to Camille’s. Alone.”

She doesn’t accuse—just observes. But hearing it out loud, Ari realizes how it sounds.

“I don’t want her to be our third! If that’s… what you were thinking…”

Lyra tilts her head slightly, her black hair sliding across her shoulder. She studies Ari for a long moment, then sighs and smiles faintly.

“I trust you, Ari. If you wanted it, you would’ve just asked. I know you.”

Ari’s heart squeezes. She smiles, relieved.

Like… my body wants it, but my heart wants Camille to be a mom like she dreams…

“I was planning on going today,” Lyra says, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. The strands fall right back into place, glossy and soft.

“Nooo!” Ari blurts out, grabbing her hands quickly.

Lyra laughs quietly, stepping closer again. Her robe shifts as she leans in, and the smooth scent of her skin surrounds them.

“But,” she says, voice softer now, almost shy, “if you ask me out on a date… I might make that my priority. And leave the errand for another day.”

A faint pink blooms across her cheeks.

Ari’s heart skips.

Wuaaa! Lyraaaa!

“Do you want to go out?” she asks quickly, voice a little high and rushed.

Lyra smiles—deep, warm. “Yes.”

Ari lights up like a spark, her whole face glowing.

Uiuiuiuiuiu!

Lyra leans in and presses a soft kiss to Ari’s cheek. Her silky black hair brushes against Ari’s skin—smooth, featherlight, intoxicating.

“Then go put on something pretty,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing, and warm. She adds a small wink before pulling back.

Ari squeaks, blushing to her ears.

I will go on dates. So many dates. And Lyra will never, ever have one second free to go to Camille’s!!  She vows internally, racing toward the bedroom, determination in every step.

But halfway there, her pace slows.

And… I won’t have time to go see Camille either…

Her smile falters just slightly, the glow dimming a little.

Ha ha… Lyra got me to stay away from Camille just like that…

 

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In the quiet living room, Lyra steps across the polished floor. Her robe sways with her as she speaks softly:

“Taylor, shut down.”

The AI softly powers down, the room falling into silence. Lyra picks up her phone and makes the call.

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Meanwhile, Camille’s phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. She glances at the screen.

“It’s Lyra,” she says aloud.

Suzie flinches. “That motherfucker.”

“Shh,” Camille soothes her gently, brushing her fingers over Suzie’s wrist before answering and putting it on speaker. “Hey! Late-night call—this about Ari and what she said before?”

Lyra wasn’t expecting that. She blushes faintly. “Ah… no.”

“Oh,” Camille says, amused. “Too bad.”

Lyra’s blush deepens.

Throwing her off from the start. Smart, Camille, Suzie thinks, folding her arms as she watches the call unfold like a chess match.

“I was calling to let you know,” Lyra says calmly, “that I know you have Suzie over there.”

Both Camille and Suzie freeze.

A direct hit. As expected from Lyra Veran, they both think in sync.

“Uhm… no I don’t,” Camille replies smoothly.

That actually sounded believable, Suzie notes, her heart pounding.

Lyra’s voice remains even, but sharp. “Camille, the omega you’re housing—that scent must be hers. It’s stronger now, isn't it? Probably because years of gene manipulation and hormone suppression were just cut off.”

Suzie’s blood runs cold.

Oh my bot… direct hit after direct hit!

Camille clears her throat. “Lyra, I know you’ve been doing something for Aira… related to Suzie. And that’s obviously on your mind. Maybe you’re mixing things.”

Ugh, I hate lying to Lyra, I hate lying… I hate this! Camille thinks, jaw tense.

Lyra chuckles softly on the other end. “You’re such a good friend. Always ready to take the fall for someone. Always ready to protect an omega in need…”

A silence stretches.

Then Lyra’s voice drops, all warmth gone:

“You have a week to hand her over. Or things will get worse for her. It’s not my call, you know that.”

And with that, she hangs up and goes down the corridor to her room, where Ari is, getting ready for their date.

The line goes dead.

Camille stares at the phone. Suzie doesn’t speak.

They both know— Lyra meant it.

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Chapter 27: It's like... the ultimate sin...

Summary:

Warning:
This chapter mentions Grape.
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The temple gardens are awash in warm light, the filtered sun scattering through layered leaves. The pools ripple gently beneath canopies of green, their surfaces broken by the soft movements of bodies—omegas and alphas bathing in pairs, laughing quietly, tending to each other like vines to trellises.

 

The air is sweet with jasmine and fruit tea. Bells chime in the distance. Peace.

 

Nova doesn't move.

 

She stands just at the edge of the bath steps, shawl hanging loose around her arms, her long skirt brushing the dry stone. Others wade into the water with grace, some stripped to skin, others robed in translucent linens—but Nova stays still. Upright. Wrapped. Cold.

 

She watches them.

 

A group of omegas chat softly in the shallow end, while their alphas lean back, bare-chested and proud. One alpha presses a kiss to a round belly; another massages scented oil into her mate’s back. It all seems natural. Sacred.

 

Nova feels like a fraud.

 

She dares not touch the water.

 

Behind her, the sound of soft footsteps.

 

Her mother approaches—elegant and slow, a living sculpture in white.

 

The High Matriarch’s gown trails like mist behind her, its sheer sleeves catching every whisper of wind. Her silver-blonde hair is coiled and crowned with woven vines and blossoms, her gaze cool and serene.

 

She stops beside Nova.

 

“You haven’t bathed,” she says, not as a question, but a quiet observation.

 

Nova lowers her eyes. “Not yet.”

 

“Why?”

 

Nova hesitates. “I don’t feel… ready.”

 

Her mother’s gaze sharpens, though her tone remains serene.

Her mother doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walks a slow circle around her, examining her—not unkindly, but with the eyes of someone who knows the shape of devotion.

 

Then:

“You met her.”

 

Nova nods. Her hands clutch at the fabric near her waist. “Yes.”

 

“Strong?” her mother asks, voice low. “Of noble blood?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wealthy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Beautiful?”

 

Nova hesitates. 

She remembers her defined abs, her cocky smile, her eyes when she looks at her while fucking her hard.

Her throat tightens. “Too much.”

 

Her mother smiles.

 

“And you let her seed you?” she asks, voice calm, ceremonial.

 

Nova nods, barely.

Her mother studies her. “And?”

Her eyes linger—on Nova’s face, on her stillness, on her scent.

There’s more here.

“You’re shaken,” she says. “Was she rough?”

Was she …rough?

Nova nearly laughs—bitter, breathless, silent. The answer screams inside her:

Yes, Mother. Yes.

I have a wound on my neck and shoulder.
My wrists are still pink from silk ties that were supposed to be gentle.
My legs ache in strange, scattered places.
My waist is bruised from her grip—her bare hands pressing down like she meant to mold me.

Not that you’d know.

Not with all these shawls and bracelets. Not with how carefully I’m wrapped.
How well I’ve hidden the evidence.

Shouldn’t the Goddess whisper the truth in your ear?

Nova says none of this.

She just nods—once, small. The safest shape this truth can take.

“She bites,” she adds softly. “She doesn’t ask. She just… takes.”

And it feels too good.

“And she gave me… drugs…”

 

The matriarch tilts her head, faint interest in her expression. “And you let her?”

 

A long pause.

 

Nova nods again.

 

Her mother steps closer, reaching out—fingers brushing beneath her chin, lifting her gaze gently but firmly.

 

“You know, child, this is for the good of the Covenant. So it’s not a sin for you to have accepted those drugs.” she pauses “But, I sense there is more,” she murmurs. “Something unsaid.”

 

Nova freezes.

 

The memory flashes too vividly. Hazel groaning above her. The visions of colors. The bite. The stretch. The unbearable pleasure. The guilt.

“You’re my plaything now.”

 

Oh Goddess… I'm her plaything… my mom sees it! The Goddess has whispered in her ear!

 

She can’t say it. Not the truth. Not that it was ‘through the back door’ she quotes Hazel’s words in her mind. Not that she liked it… loved it even. Not that she felt holy and broken all at once.

 

And certainly not about Ari. Not that another omega's scent lingers on her skin like sunlight through stained glass and she’s curious about how it would feel if an omega was rough with her like Hazel was.

 

That's so sinful!

 

Nova blinks quickly, hiding the tears before they surface.

 

Her mother exhales, reading the silence but misreading the source. “She hasn't marked you fully, has she? Or she’s too wild still. Some alphas are fire before they’re stone, child.”

 

Nova nods weakly. Let her believe that, Goddess. Please let that be enough.

 

The High Matriarch draws back, voice calm but firm. “You’ll return to her. You’ll tame her. That is the omega’s sacred work. You don’t run from roughness. You refine it.”

 

Nova’s throat tightens.

Mom… I’m failing.

I’m not refining her.

She’s roughening me.

 

Her mother turns her gaze to the water. “When you’re ready, step in. Let the Goddess restore you. She sees your obedience.”

 

Then, more quietly: “And your restraint.”

 

She walks away without another word, her gown trailing like mist, her presence still lingering.

 

Nova doesn’t move.

She stares at the pool.

 

She thinks of Hazel’s teeth.

She thinks of Ari’s arms around her.

She thinks of what she can’t say. Of what she can’t undo.

 

And still, she cannot touch the water.

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“Baby… why did you leave in the morning? I missed you…” Hazel’s voice breaks the low hum of the office.

She’s standing beside Nova’s desk, green eyes fixed on her.

Nova doesn’t answer. She stays focused on her screen, fingers tapping steadily on the flat keyboard.

Hazel leans in a little, searching her face. “Are you mad at me?”

Still nothing.

With a small flick of her wrist, Nova adjusts the opacity on the desk screen—bringing it down just enough for their eyes to meet.

Nova’s icy blue gaze flashes through the glass. Her expression is unreadable. Startled. Hurt. And something else—fleeting, but there.

Hazel holds her breath.

Then Nova raises the opacity back to 100%.

Wall up. Conversation over.

Hazel’s heart sinks. “Is this about the bite?”

Nova’s typing slows.

Then stops.

Her brow furrows—tight, tense.

But she doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t dare.

Only a soft, deliberate exhale escapes her.

Hazel takes a half step back, her chest heavy.

She remembers breakfast at Café de Lune—the sunlight too bright, the air too cold, and her aunt far too loud.

“Ahahaha! She left you!” Aira slapped her back a little too hard. “She’s a Moonbeam, Hazel. She wanted your DNA. So she got it—and left.”

Hazel flinched, her sunglasses hiding the way her eyes darted down. She took a long swig of her coffee and bit into her padova sandwich with unnecessary force.

“No,” she muttered, voice low. “She’s not like that. And… I’m on contraceptives. Always. So… shut up.”

“Ahahaha!” Aira cackled, ignoring her. “Oh, Hazel… Let this be a lesson. Us Astorès? Omegas want two things from us—our money, or our DNA so they can get our money through the kid. Or…” she shrugged with exaggerated flair, “I don’t know. Fucking in expensive places maybe.”

Hazel narrowed her eyes. “You said two things. That’s three.”

“Whatever.”

“Are you drunk? It 's 8 a.m.”

Aira waved a hand, as if brushing off a mosquito, then knocked back her Irish coffee like it was water.

Hazel stared at her. The warmth of the café meant nothing. Her fingers were cold.

.

“You said you…” Hazel mutters, voice low, trembling with something raw.
She was about to remind Nova of what she'd once said—that she wasn't in Hazel’s bed for her money.
But the words won’t come out.
Not when part of her is starting to wonder if it was only about the DNA after all.

The thought cuts deep.
Hazel’s expression falters—just for a second. Hurt.
Then it shifts. Anger rises fast, like a fire catching air.

She slams her palm down on the desk—hard.
The screen in front of Nova topples and crashes to the floor, shattering.

Nova gasps, flinching.
She looks up—startled, wide-eyed.
Hazel’s eyes blaze. She doesn’t say a word.
She turns sharply and storms off, her boots echoing across the floor.

Nova stays frozen. Her hands tremble slightly above the broken glass.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Still afraid.

Across the room, Gina, Ari, and Rainy have seen everything.

“Fucking Hazel…” Rainy mutters under her breath.

Lyra saw everything.
From the slammed desk to the shards on the floor to the way Nova shrank into herself.

She stands slowly.

“Hazel,” she says, voice firm but even.
Not angry. Not scolding.
But not optional either.
“Walk with me.”

Hazel stops mid-stride.

Her fists are clenched, shoulders tight. Her jaw works once, twice—like she’s biting back a response.
But then she turns. Slowly. Eyes still hot, but her expression guarded now. She nods once, sharp.

Lyra waits.

When Hazel reaches her, Lyra doesn’t touch her—just turns and starts walking. Hazel follows, silent.

They cross the office floor like a ripple cutting through tension. People watch but pretend not to.
Nova’s eyes follow them until they disappear past the elevators.

Neither of them speaks until the second floor—where the private rooms and unmonitored lounges are.
Once inside, Lyra closes the glass door softly behind them.

Hazel stays standing, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

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“Are you okay?” Ari asks, gently patting her back.

Nova’s face is hidden behind her hands. Her shoulders are hunched, almost curled into herself. They’re seated in one of the private booths at Cool Beans, tucked away from the rest of the café. The drinks on the table—half-sipped lattes and untouched teas—are forgotten.

Nova sobs quietly, her fingers trembling against her cheeks.

Ari stays close, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles.

Rainy watches her with a pained expression. She doesn’t speak at first, just rests her arms on the table and leans in a little, her eyes soft.

“You didn’t deserve that,” she says quietly, grounded. “No one does.”

Gina sits beside them, unusually quiet. Her usual edge is gone. She looks at Nova with solemn eyes, lips pressed together.

“Oh, Nova…” Ari murmurs again, pressing her cheek lightly to Nova’s shoulder. “We’re here, okay? You’re not alone.”

Nova sniffles, but doesn’t look up. She nods once, barely.

Rainy reaches across the table and gently places a hand near Nova’s. “Take your time.”

And they all sit there, close—not trying to fix anything. Just being there, holding space while Nova breaks a little.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ari asks softly, leaning closer to whisper near her ear.

Nova flinches at the sound. Her shoulders stiffen—then slowly relax. Her eyes peek out from beneath her hands, red and glassy.

“I’m a sinner…” Nova says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hazel made me a sinner…”

Ari’s brows knit together. Her body goes still, a faint tension creeping into her shoulders. “What?” she asks softly. “Why do you say that?”

Rainy’s eyes widen—just a little—but the shift is sharp. A quiet dread enters her expression, subtle but unmistakable. For a moment, she fears the worst. That Hazel may have crossed a line no one can ever walk back from.

Nova sniffles, voice shaking. “I… she’s changing who I am. I feel it. I need to leave her.”

“How?” Ari asks, almost instinctively.

Rainy turns to her sharply, whispering, “Ari, don’t push her—”

But Nova is already moving.

“I…” she murmurs, fingers fumbling at the collar of her blouse. She pulls the fabric aside, revealing a bite mark—deep, red, unmistakably intimate—etched into the soft skin of her shoulder.

Ari’s breath catches. Her face drains of color. The air seems to vanish from the booth.

No.
No, no, no.
She didn’t—

Rainy lets out a quiet gasp, one hand rising to her mouth. Her other hand reaches out, resting gently on Nova’s knee, as if to anchor her—or maybe herself.

The silence is crushing.

Ari’s mind spirals.
Rape. That horrible beast—
She raped her. Oh, Goddess…

But then—Nova speaks again, her voice wobbling through the stillness.

“She didn’t force me,” she says, almost inaudibly. “I let her. I even… I liked it” she sniffs “I liked it too much… I don´t know who I am!” she sobs.

Rainy exhales sharply—relief and heartbreak tangled in the same breath. Her hand squeezes Nova’s knee just once, steady, grounding.

“Oh my bot, woman!” Gina finally blurts out, breaking the silence. “I thought she’d… you know… I thought she’d hurt you. I’m so relieved she didn’t.” She looks at the bite mark “I mean she definitively hurt you, like… that looks nasty, but, you know what I'm saying?”

Ari exhales slowly, her shoulders easing just slightly. She had feared something far worse. The tension drains from her body—not from lack of concern, but from quiet relief that Nova isn’t harmed in the way she thought.

She leans in closer, her voice trembling. “Nova… it’s not a sin to want. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nova shakes her head, eyes still red. “Not in your world. You’re an apostate…” she whispers. “I’m the daughter of Regina Seligman…”

She sniffles again, then buries her face in her hands, her voice muffled and trembling with sobs.
“I’m supposed to have babies and help the Covenant grow, but I can’t get Hazel to stop f-fucking me everywhere except where she should be fucking me to have babies and make a family!!”

A beat of silence.

The tension breaks—just enough.

Gina’s mouth drops open in shock. Rainy blinks rapidly and looks down, clearly flustered. Even Ari blushes and lets out a soft, awkward breath.

“…There, there,” Ari mumbles, still patting her back. “That… sounds really frustrating.”

Nova groans quietly into her palms. The weight isn’t gone, but something about the honesty—raw, ridiculous, a little tragic—lets a tiny crack of light in.

“And she’s soooo good at it…” Nova mutters, voice thick and trembling.

Rainy’s eyes widen. She shifts slightly in her seat and reaches for her untouched drink, lifting it just for something to hold onto. Gina winces and looks away, scratching the back of her neck.

“Ahm…” Gina hums, her voice pitched slightly higher, as if trying to distract herself from the mental images now wedged uncomfortably in her brain.

But Nova doesn’t stop. She’s cracked open now, and the confessions are spilling like water from a burst pipe.

“And she’s… wild. Like, completely… unhinged.” Nova laughs—just a little, but it’s a shaky sound. “And the drugs… the drugs she gives me…” Her eyes grow dreamy, dazed. “I like them. I think they get me closer to the Goddesses…”

Ari blinks.

Rainy looks alarmed.

Gina slowly lowers her cup back to the table without taking a sip, staring at Nova like she’s unsure whether to hug her or stage an intervention.

The silence is thick—uncertain, gently horrified.

Ari clears her throat delicately. “Oookay… so. That’s… um. A lot. ”

Rainy places a hand carefully on the table and says, very softly, “Nova… that doesn’t sound like closeness to divinity. That sounds like—Hazel might be messing with your head.”

Nova lifts her head just a little, her eyes glassy. “I know she is,” she says, half-laughing, half-crying. “That’s the worst part.”

No one says anything for a long moment.

Then Gina sighs and mutters under her breath, “…I miss when this was just about sin.”

Nova exhales shakily, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. “Thank you for not judging me…”

A beat of silence follows.

Everyone is, in fact, absolutely judging—but they’re doing their best to be there .

“Yeah… no problem,” Ari says, with the kind of smile that’s trying very hard to stay neutral.

Rainy nods a little too quickly. “We? Judge? Never.”

Gina raises her cup. “What are friends for—if not to listen while you confess your spiritual meltdown and sexcapades in one go?”

Nova sniffles—and then lets out a small laugh. Just a little breath of something lighter. It sounds more like her.

“Thank you… really,” she says, glancing at each of them.

Ari leans in a bit. “Are you feeling better? Do you want to stay here for a while?”

Nova nods faintly. “Ahm… you girls can go back to the office if you want.”

She doesn’t need to say it twice. Rainy and Gina exchange a quick glance, grateful for the out. They rise quietly and make their way toward the door, Rainy giving Nova a soft, parting look.

Ari stands too—but just as she turns, Nova’s hand reaches out, gently catching her wrist.

“Actually… could you stay a little longer?” Nova asks, her voice suddenly smaller.

Ari pauses, surprised by the touch, by the vulnerability in her voice.

Then she smiles and sits back down beside her. “Of course.”

Ari gently wraps an arm around Nova, the other resting on her shoulder. She gives her a small shake—just enough to loosen the tension in Nova’s body, and maybe, quietly, her own.

Then she lets go, exhaling softly.

“I just want to say I’m relieved… What you’re going through is actually really normal. In fact, there’s a cou—”

Nova kisses her.

Ari freezes.

Huh?!
Huh?! HUH?!?!!!

Her brain can’t process fast enough.

Nova pulls back just slightly—her expression vulnerable, searching—but before Ari can say anything, she leans in again.

This time, Ari reacts. Her hands come up, grabbing Nova by the shoulders as she breaks the kiss, pushing her back firmly.

“Nova—what the fuck ?!” she says, eyes wide, breath caught halfway between shock and confusion.

“Did you… like it?” Nova asks shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ari blinks, still stunned. “ Huuuuh?! Nova—I’m with Lyra!”

She gestures, as if the sheer obviousness of that should end the conversation. “Besides… we’re both omegas!”

Nova sighs, looking away. “I know right? It's like... the ultimate sin...But… you’re an apostate. You don’t care about going to hell. And after all I did with Hazel, I'm definitively going to hell, so... nothing matters-”

Ari stiffens.

There it is again—that subtle dig disguised as faith. Ari’s jaw tightens.

“Nova,” she says, her voice sharp but low, “just because I don’t follow your religion doesn’t mean I don’t care about things. Or people.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated. “Like… you don’t need hell as a reason not to cheat! You know?!”

Nova pouts, eyes dropping to the floor.

Ari keeps going, the frustration bubbling up. “And yeah, two omegas could love each other—but what if they want kids? Making a baby in a lab costs a fortune . So no, it’s not your Moonbeam beliefs that stop me, it’s—”

Nova kisses her again.

“ Stop it! ” Ari snaps, pulling back hard this time.

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Lyra’s eyes are wide, pupils dilated. The plate of food in front of her is completely untouched, pushed to the side—forgotten.

“What did you say?” she asks quietly. “ Nova? Hazel’s omega?”

Ari nods, then frowns. “Wait… you don’t look mad. Why don’t you look mad?!”

Lyra blinks. “I… I don’t— I mean… she’s an omega.”

Ari gapes. “ Lyra! What happened to your sexy possessiveness?! You know—like yesterday?! All that ‘mine…’ and ‘never leave me…’?” She throws her hands in the air. “ Where’s all that now?! ”

Lyra opens her mouth, searching for words. “Yeah, but… she’s an omega…”

Ari groans and rubs her entire face with both hands. “Uuuughhh! ”

She peeks at Lyra through her fingers. “Are you seriously saying you don’t feel threatened just because she’s an omega?!”

Lyra gives a helpless shrug.

“Uuuaaaghh!! Lyra!” Ari throws her hands up again.

Lyra hesitates, then asks softly, “But… would you?”

Ari blinks. “Would I what? Be upset if an omega kissed you? Of course!”

“No. Be with an omega…” Lyra’s voice drops, and she flushes as she says it.

Ari narrows her eyes. “Wait— wait. You like this?!”

Lyra flinches like she’s been slapped, visibly tensing. “It-It’s not like I'm telling you to do it!”

“ Lyra, you’re shameless!! ” Ari gasps, scandalized, pointing at her with full dramatic flair.

Lyra covers her face with both hands. “I didn’t say anything! I'm trying to be understanding!”

Ari frowns, pouts and crosses her arms.

Lyra looks at her—her omega, cute and flustered and full of fire. She sighs, her voice gentler now.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” she says. “Make sure she understands you’re taken and that she shouldn’t do that. Alright? ”

Ari exhales, her arms still crossed—but she nods. “Alright.”

And just like that, the storm settles, giving way to something cuter.

“I love you Ari…”

“I wov u…” mumbles Ari, still upset.

Lyra chuckles softly.

“Also we're going on another date tonight so you can't go to Camille's!!” Ari exclaims "I already made the reservations!"

Lyra giggles “Yes, my love.”

I wasn't going to anyways… but you're so adorable when you think you're saving the ones you care for. Sadly, I'm going to have to say no your dates eventually. In five days exactly...

Oh, Ari... you're so cute.

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Author's note:

I feel like this chapter could be a derailing... but I'm trying so hard not to derail the story... anyway... I posted it so thats that, no turning back on it.

 

If next chapter takes longer is because I have a medical thing. I'll try not to take longer though.

 

See youu soon

Chapter 28: Opacity 100% 🔒

Summary:

When the glass turns opaque, it’s not just the walls that hide what happens inside. Secrets blur, lines vanish, and control becomes a game only one knows how to play.
Is Lyra a manipulation mastermind?
Is Hazel about to blow things up?
Is it really a good idea to have a gym in the office??
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“Nova, a word.”
Lyra’s message flashes across the chat, short and sharp.

Nova’s pulse stutters. She smooths her skirt, takes a steadying breath, and starts up the staircase. Her short heels tap softly against the polished floor, each click echoing in her ears louder than it should. The city hums faintly beyond the glass walls—a low, constant thrum of aerial traffic and neon life—but here, it feels muffled, as though this second floor belongs to another world entirely.

When she reaches the landing, her eyes catch on the structure ahead: the circular glass chamber. Impossible to miss, impossible to ignore. It rises like a jewel in the center of the open space, crystalline and commanding. Transparent, yet unapproachable. New. It had been Aira’s idea, Nova remembers hearing about it once at Hazel’s —and of course Lyra would make it hers effortlessly.

Inside, Lyra waits. Her silhouette is framed by the glowing skyline beyond, shoulders straight, presence sharp yet calm, a gravity all its own. She doesn’t need to speak to command a room. She simply is .

Nova opens the glass door. It glides silently on its track, a whisper of motion that feels ceremonial.

“Sit, please,” Lyra says, her voice soft, almost gentle—but there’s no question it’s an order.

Nova obeys. She lowers herself into one of the pristine white chairs around the oval table, her movements careful, deliberate, like any sudden motion might shatter the perfection of this place. Her hands fold in her lap to hide the tremor in her fingers.

She tries to breathe, to ground herself in the details—the deep green carpet underfoot, the smooth surface of the table, the vertical garden climbing one wall in precise, lush rows. The greenery is impossibly vibrant, like it was plucked from a forest and trained into order. It smells faintly of earth and rain, a small mercy in this glass-and-steel kingdom.

But then Nova looks up.

And Lyra’s eyes are on her. Fixed. Steady.
Not just looking— assessing.

“Nova,” she begins, voice calm, low, like the prelude to a verdict. “Ari has filed a complaint…”

Nova’s stomach plunges. Oh no…

“...about an unwanted kiss you gave her.”

The words hit like a blow. Nova feels her breath stutter, then vanish altogether. Is Lyra going to kill me?

“It happened outside the workplace,” Lyra continues, tone measured, “but it’s still a valid complaint, and it’s my duty to let you know that—”

A sharp sound cuts her sentence in half. A sob.

Nova’s sob.

Lyra blinks. Flinches.
“What—what… what’s with you?”

“I’m sorry, Lyra.” The words break out of Nova in fragments, shaking. Her hands grip her knees hard enough to hurt. “I’m just… confused… Please don’t kill me, just fire me.”

Lyra stares, utterly thrown. “Do I… give that impression?”

Nova nods, quick and small, like a guilty child.

Lyra exhales hard and pinches the bridge of her nose, a low groan rumbling in her throat. Goddess, give me patience.

“Look,” she says at last, her voice firm again, like steel smoothed over velvet. “This is not going in your record, because it happened outside the workplace. But…” her eyes flick back to Nova, sharp, “your seat at the designers’ workstation will be moved. Far from Ari. It’s no big deal in that aspect…”

A pause. Then, slower, heavier:

“On the other hand—Ari is mine. Touch her again, even look at her the wrong way, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Understand?”

Lyra doesn't feel like she has to say that, it comes out unnatural. She's an omega for Goddess sake! 

Nova freezes, her tears slowing. She looks up, eyes wide—less afraid now, more… curious. Something flickers behind the fear.

Lyra catches it immediately. Her brows draw together. “What… what is it?”

Nova tilts her head slightly, voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re blushing.”

The words land like a spark in dry air.

Lyra freezes for a heartbeat. Damn it. Even after threatening her, she is blushing. The image had slipped in uninvited—Nova kissing Ari softly, sweetly, two omegas tangled up in tenderness, no roughness anywhere. Just… softness. Cute. Fragile.

Fuck.

Lyra’s jaw tightens. No way in hell is she letting Nova see more than that flicker.
“You know what, Nova?” Her voice drops, crisp and cutting.

She lifts her tablet, the screen glowing as her fingers swipe, tap, write with brisk precision.
“I’ve decided you’ll need… therapy.” Another tap. “Exactly thirty hours.” Her tone leaves no room for negotiation.

“They’ll be provided by Morph C.O. You can schedule them here, after work hours.”

The sentence lands like a verdict. Cold. Final.

“Understood,” Nova whispers.

Lyra doesn’t answer. Just lowers the tablet, gaze like stone.

A silent dismissal.

Nova stands, legs unsteady, and slips out of the glass chamber. The door glides shut behind her with a sound too soft for how heavy this feels.

She moves down the stairs, each step echoing louder than the last. The hum of the city outside does nothing to drown out the pounding in her ears.

As she reaches the design floor, her eyes—traitorous, desperate—flick to the workstation she won’t be near much longer. Ari sits there, posture tense, pretending to be absorbed in her screen.

Nova lets herself steal a glance.
Ari… doesn’t look back. Not fully. Just the faintest twitch in her cheek, the tiniest shift in her shoulders. Enough to sting.

“Awkward…” Gina mutters under her breath from the next chair over, loud enough for Ari to hear, eyes darting between them like she’s watching a bad holodrama.

Before Ari can respond, her tablet vibrates. One message. Two words.

“Come up.”
Signed: Lyra.

Ari swallows hard. Stands without a word.

Gina raises both brows, smirking. “Ooooh. Boss time.”

Ari ignores her and heads for the stairs.

When she steps into the circular office, the glass door sliding shut behind her, her breath catches.
“Woah!” she blurts, eyes wide. “Nice office!”

The door slides shut behind Ari with a soft hiss.

“Taylor,” Lyra says, voice smooth as steel. “Opacity—one hundred percent.”

“Confirmed,” the AI responds, and the glass walls blur instantly, shifting from transparent to opaque until the world outside ceases to exist. No eyes. No interruptions. Just them.

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A sharp cry cuts the silence. But the office is soundproof.

“Ah—ah—ah—!”

Ari is sprawled across the pristine white table, her soft belly pressed to its cool surface, legs nearly dangling off the edge. Papers, a sleek tablet—forgotten casualties scattered around her as Lyra claims every inch of her focus.

“You’re mine…” Lyra’s voice is a low growl against Ari’s ear, thick with possession. Her breath is hot, her words molten steel. “I can take you whenever I want. Wherever I want…”

She punctuates the sentence with a slow, devastating thrust. Power and precision. Every movement deliberate, dragging pleasure out like a confession. She can’t stop the image from blooming in her mind—Ari lying with another omega, any omega, her gentle hands tracing soft curves, her voice low and tender. No rush, no roughness. Just Ari being Ari—careful, sweet, endlessly kind. The thought alone coils heat deep in her core, sharp and undeniable.

Ari gasps, shuddering, the shock of it rippling through her even as happiness swells—surprised, breathless, but alight with something fierce. Her fingers clutch the edge of the table, knuckles whitening as her back arches, presenting herself instinctively, helplessly.

Lyra grips her waist with bruising firmness, anchoring her in place. Her hips press forward in deep, relentless rhythm, every thrust sealing her claim. Sweat beads along Lyra’s temple, trailing down the curve of her jaw. Her grunts are low, primal, vibrating against Ari’s skin as she whispers it again and again—like a vow, like a brand:

“My omega is so soft...”
“My omega, ah— so kind.

My omega… the sweetest… she’s so sweet, she could make another omega come, just by being the way she is… oh my bot… what am I thinking?! And why is this so arousing?!!

Ari whimpers, face flushed, lips parted in breathless surrender. Her body moves with Lyra’s, hips rolling back in perfect offering, as if carved for this moment—built to take everything Lyra gives and beg for more.

Wow… is she doing this because… because of Nova? The thought flickers through Ari’s haze of pleasure like lightning across a storm. Is she finally… being possessive of me, even from another omega?... or…

The idea burns and sweetens her all at once—just as Lyra drives her deeper into that spiral, pulling her apart with every deliberate thrust.

“Lyra—!!” Ari cries out, the sound breaking as her body shatters. Release tears through her, fierce and unrelenting, and she spills over, drenching the pristine office floor beneath the table.

Lyra notices. Feels it. Her chest rumbles with a dark, pleased chuckle, and she surges forward, hips pressing flush to Ari’s body. Staying deep. Staying inside. Claim sealed in the most primal way possible.

She leans down, lips brushing Ari’s damp cheek, voice breaking into something raw and molten.
“I love you…” A kiss. Soft, trembling.
Another. Closer to her ear.
“I love you.”

Ari melts beneath the words, trembling, her body weak with pleasure and her heart burning with something even stronger.

"You're so cute and kind. You... ah... my omega."

Lyra drives in deep one final time, a guttural grunt ripping from her throat as release tears through her. Her body shudders, trembling so hard she nearly collapses onto Ari, catching herself with one arm braced against the table. Her eyes glaze, pupils blown wide, breath breaking in harsh bursts.

Ari feels everything—the heat, the weight, the claim—and a blissful smile curves her lips. She presses her hips back, grinding softly against Lyra, her voice a shaky whisper.
“Ah… Lyra… I love you…”

 

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After long minutes of quiet aftercare—soft kisses, gentle touches, Lyra murmuring words only Ari could ever hear—Lyra finally exhales, standing slowly. She slides her arms under Ari and lifts her with ease, holding her close against her chest. Ari’s head rests against her shoulder, hair damp with sweat, skin glowing.

Lyra looks down at her, locking eyes. There’s a flicker of amusement, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her usual steel composure.
“Ah… I didn’t think this through,” she murmurs.

Ari lets out a weak chuckle, still breathless. “I… I wasn’t expecting this either…”

Lyra smiles, that rare, disarming curve of lips that makes Ari’s heart flutter. She leans down and kisses her softly—slow, lingering, like a promise.

“I guess…” Lyra whispers against her lips, “…we can take a bath in the gym upstairs.” Her voice dips lower, teasing. “Do you want to go first, baby?”

Ari shakes her head, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “I literally can’t move. You go first… let me just… sleep here.”

“Alone?” Lyra frowns, brows knitting. The thought sits wrong with her. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see.

She shifts Ari gently onto a plush futon near the panoramic window—the city glowing beyond like a thousand neon stars—and pulls out her tablet. Fingers fly. One quick broadcast message:

“Don’t come into my office for the next hour. Will be focused on work.”

Satisfied, she turns back to Ari. The omega is curled on her side, framed by the glow of the skyline, her lashes lowering as sleep tugs at her.

“Done,” Lyra says softly, brushing a damp strand from Ari’s cheek. Her voice melts into something tender. “Stay here, baby. Don’t move. I’ll be back soon.”

Ari hums a quiet, content sound, eyes fluttering shut as Lyra presses one last kiss to her temple before heading out.

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Nova reads the text.

“Don’t come into my office for the next hour. Will be focused on work.”

Ok, but where’s Ari? Ari was up there with you… Lyra… is she not coming down to leave you work in peace? Focused as you say?... or is she still in there?

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Lyra climbs the spiral staircase to the third floor, muscles humming with the aftermath of what just happened in her office. She steps into the gym entrance, a warm, modern space with curved lines and natural tones. The architecture flows, soft edges wrapping around sleek metal and polished wood. Overhead, an open circular cut in the ceiling pours in muted daylight, and a tree stretches upward, leaves rustling faintly in the conditioned air.

She strides through the lobby, her heels whispering against the wood before stopping at the lockers—sleek, matte, a wall of muted gray-green doors crowned by lush hanging plants. The air smells faintly of eucalyptus and clean sweat.

Lyra slips out of her rumpled office attire, the black silk blouse clinging damply to her skin, and stuffs it into the locker with practiced efficiency. She peels off the rest, her body humming from exertion that had nothing to do with work. The shower is a quick mercy—hot water scalding away the scent of Ari that clings to her like sin and heaven both.

When she emerges, her hair damp and loose, she’s traded her stained authority for sharp athletic ease: black leggings hugging her long legs, a slate-gray sports bra under a loose tank, everything fresh, pristine. Composure restored. At least on the surface.

Lyra steps into the gym, damp hair brushing her shoulders, her stride steady and precise. The air smells faintly of eucalyptus and iron, machines humming in the background.

Her eyes land on Hazel almost immediately. The alpha is on the bench, hips driving a heavy barbell upward with effortless strength. Movements clean, powerful—like always. But Lyra sees beyond the strength. She notices the silence in Hazel’s rhythm, the absence of that usual spark in her gaze.

Her eyes aren’t fierce today. They’re… tired. Sad.

It’s subtle, something anyone else would miss. Lyra doesn’t miss much. And in the quiet space between one breath and the next, she feels it—that rare tug of sympathy for Hazel. A woman who usually wears confidence like armor now looks, for a heartbeat, unguarded.

Hazel finishes the set with a hard exhale, racking the barbell with a sharp metallic clank . She sits forward, elbows on her knees, sweat glistening along her collarbone. Then, like a switch flipping, she grabs her water bottle and tips her head back, drinking deep. When she lowers it, she spots Lyra across the gym.

Their eyes meet. Hazel freezes for a fraction of a second—then pastes on a grin, sharp and bright like polished steel.
“I’ll be back at my workstation soon, boss!” she calls out, her voice carrying with easy confidence. Almost too easy.

Ugh. I’m pitying Hazel. Lyra’s jaw tightens at the thought as she gives a small nod and turns to leave.

But just before the corridor ends, something makes her pause. She lingers near the door, arms folded loosely, her expression unreadable.

Minutes later, Hazel steps out, earbuds hanging around her neck, towel slung over one shoulder. She’s still scrolling through her phone when Lyra steps into her path like a wall.

“Huh? What do you want?” Hazel blurts without thinking. The words tumble out sharp, defensive.

Then reality hits, and she scrambles to patch the crack. “Uh—I mean… is there anything you need, boss?”

Lyra’s gaze locks on hers—cool, unwavering. Hazel can’t tell if it’s menacing, curious, or something worse.

“Do you want to talk a bit?” Lyra asks, her tone deceptively calm.

Hazel blinks, thrown completely off balance.
Huuuuh?! Talk?! With Lyra?!
“Ah…”

Lyra doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just drops the next line with surgical precision.
“You and Nova broke up, right?”

Hazel flinches so hard it feels like a physical hit.
Huuh?! Why the hell is she asking me that? You motherfu—

“And with Camille fully remote,” Lyra continues, voice low and measured, “and Suzie gone… I thought you could use someone to talk to.”

Hazel stares at her, jaw tight, pulse ticking in her throat. Slowly—almost reluctantly—her posture shifts. The defensive wall starts to crumble, brick by brick.

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The gym’s cafeteria sits tucked into the far corner, a bold slash of neon and steel against the earthy tones of the workout floor. Black walls, graffiti-style graphics in acid yellow, and heavy industrial lines scream strength and excess energy. The Morph C.O. logos dominate every surface—painted on the walls, printed on the shaker bottles lined up behind the counter, even embossed into the steel countertop itself. Motivational quotes shout from every angle, signed “A.Astoré” or “Morph C.O’s staff”.

Behind the counter, a young attendant in a striped shirt preps protein shakes with military precision, blenders humming over the low thrum of gym music. The air smells of fruit, vanilla whey, and disinfectant.

They claim a table near the corner, high metal stools that squeak softly as they settle in. The sharp contrast of their presence—two alphas radiating raw power in a room buzzing with fitness zeal—is enough to turn heads, though neither seems to care.

Hazel is the first to break the silence. She leans her elbows on the table, water bottle dangling from her fingers, a crooked smile tugging at her mouth.
“Well,” she drawls, green eyes flicking to Lyra’s face, “didn’t expect to see you here. You usually come here early.”

Lyra arches one brow, resting an arm on the tabletop. Her voice is smooth, even, but her gaze doesn’t waver.
“Needed a shower. And some air.”

“Ah. Okay.” Hazel grabs the shake she pre-ordered on her phone, sliding the straw between her lips. A slow sip.

This is awkward. Why did I agree to this?

Lyra breaks the silence first. “So. I just sent Nova to therapy.”

Hazel almost chokes on her shake. “What?! Why?”

Lyra’s expression doesn’t flicker. “She needs it. Let's just leave it at that."

Hazel slurps noisily, eyes narrowing.

Did I messed her up too much?

“Maybe you could benefit from it too…” Lyra adds.

“What?! Nuuu! I don’t wanna—”

Lyra cuts her off with a look. Sharp.
“I understand it can be bothersome… but have you never been to therapy before?”

Hazel shrugs and takes another sip, casual as ever. “Nope. Camille’s our therapist. For me and… Suzie.”

The name drops like a stone. Hazel tries to play it off, but Lyra sees it—sees the sting that flickers across her face like a crack in polished glass.

“Oh. Camille…” Lyra murmurs, leaning back. Figures. Camille… everyone’s comfort blanket.

“Have you seen Camille lately?” she asks, voice measured.

Hazel shakes her head, jaw tightening. “No. She’s been… distant too.”
Damn. I think she doesn’t even like me that much anymore… The thought hits harder than Hazel wants to admit, and it shows, just for a second.

Lyra notices. Stores it away.

“I was thinking about visiting her,” Lyra says after a beat, her tone deliberately light. “But Ari doesn’t like the idea.”

Hazel looks up, brows lifting slightly.
Huh. She listens to her omega. Obeys her.

“But she can’t stop you,” Hazel says, a faint challenge curling at the edge of her words.

Lyra smiles—small, soft, with that edge of quiet danger.
“I don’t want to make her feel bad by not listening to her.”

Hazel just… stares. Something flickers in her eyes—a ripple of confusion, curiosity, and the faintest spark of envy.

Fuck. Even a killer like Lyra has a healthy relationship… Wait. Do I even want a relationship?! Am I being brainwashed?! I’m single now! I can fuck whoever I want. There’s a damn army of omegas downstairs throwing pheromones like confetti. And what am I doing? Sulking at the gym?!

Lyra watches Hazel carefully, trying to read her. Nothing. Hazel’s mind is too chaotic.

“Lucky you,” Lyra says at last, voice even. “You can still visit Camille.” She pauses, lips curling into a smile that looks almost wistful. “I’m envious—”

Hazel’s head snaps up.
Lyra… envious of me?!

“Ah… you’re right,” Hazel says slowly, like the thought’s only now forming. “I hadn’t thought of visiting.”

“If I could, I’d go,” Lyra replies simply. Then, softer: “I bet she feels lonely without Suzie.”

Hazel freezes mid-sip. Her brain ignites.
Oh my goddess… Camille could maybe use a fuck buddy like me! She must be lonely too...
Goddess!!

Lyra watches her, unblinking. Can’t quite read her—but knows that look. Hazel’s about to make a move.

“Lyra,” Hazel says lightly, setting the cup down with a soft thud. “I think I’ll go visit her… you know, to talk about therapy. Maybe she can give me some perspective on that. Like… I’ll think about it, you know?”

Lyra smiles—smooth, controlled.
“Sounds good. Send her a hug from me.”

Inside, Lyra’s thoughts curl like smoke.
Done. She’s going. If Suzie’s there, then there’s definitely going to be chaos. I don’t even have to start the fire—I’ll just show up later to pick up Suzie as she begs to be turned into an alpha again.

She drains the last of her shake and glances at the clock. Still thirty full minutes before her next meeting. Thirty minutes to have Ari in her office again—maybe even coax her into that warm shower upstairs.

“I’m glad we had this talk, Hazel.” Lyra says.

Hazel smiles.

Lyra is kinda… ok. For an ex-addict henchwoman... yeah. She’s alright.

Lyra rises, her movement fluid, tossing the empty cup into the bin. Her voice is calm, almost casual, as she says,
“See you back on the floor, Hazel.”

Then she walks out, a flicker of quiet triumph tugging at the corner of her lips.

She feels like a mastermind pulling every string, and the sense of control fills her with quiet, electric joy.

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Now, on the second floor, the hum of the city beyond the glass corridors feels distant—muted by anticipation. Her office stands ahead, its curved walls still cloaked in opacity. Private. Hiding the prize inside.

Lyra slows her stride, a smile curling as her pulse thrums low. Ari’s in there. Waiting. All soft and pliant from earlier, glowing under the city lights. Lyra can almost feel the heat of her skin, the way her body had clung and yielded. Does she have the energy for another round? The thought sparks a hunger she doesn’t bother to hide.

She presses her hand to the sensor. The glass door slides open with a whisper—

And Lyra freezes.

Her breath stills. Her entire body goes taut.

Her breath catches.

“Nova?”

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Author’s Note:

I figured out a way to keep this from turning into a derailment! Hahaha aah... the story of my life.

Yesterday I was sooo sick. I still have a swollen eye, I don't know why. It's called orzuelo and looks nasty. My vanity is taking hit after hit. So I didn't have time to review this or wrote another chapter. Next chapter might come a little late.

Chapter 29: Live, from Lyra's office 📹

Summary:

Suzie plays spy and hacks Lyra's Taylor AI and stumble onto a storm of passion and betrayal.
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“What do you think Lyra’s doing right now?” Suzie asks, still downloading files from the lab, sipping coffee like it’s the highlight of her day.

Camille smirks without looking up. “Ari.”

Suzie freezes mid-sip. “Ew! Oh my bot…”

Camille chuckles, fingers flying across the keyboard. “What? You asked.”

Suzie sighs, clicking through endless download prompts. This is boring.
“Hey… does the office use Taylor?” she asks suddenly.

“Yeah.”

“I could hack it,” Suzie says casually.

Camille blinks, finally glancing at her. “Really?! Would that even help? You know… help you?”

“Nah.” Suzie shrugs. “I’m just bored. And this is gonna take forever.”

“Bored?” Camille repeats, incredulous.
I guess I could keep her entertained somehow… Oh my bot, that sounded bad… but I didn't say it… phew.

“Isn’t it risky?” she asks aloud.

“Nope. I’ll use Kate’s profile.” Suzie grins mischievously—already typing.

Camille moves closer, settling beside her. The warmth of her presence makes Suzie’s pulse spike. She hides the blush, fingers flying over the keys.

Click, click, click. Tap.

“And… I’m in.” Suzie smirks.

“Look—the design team!” Camille leans in, eyes lighting up.

Suzie side-eyes her. “Seriously?”

“Come on, let’s find something juicier…” Suzie mutters, switching feeds.
Click, click, click. Accountants. HR. Reception.

“Oh, Hazel’s not at reception,” Suzie murmurs under her breath.

Camille notices. It grates—just a little.

“Forget reception. Check this—new office on the second floor.” Camille clicks into the feed.

What appears makes them both lean in closer… and neither looks away.

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Lyra slams Nova against the wall so hard the glass panel behind her vibrates. One hand clamps around Nova’s throat, firm and unyielding, cutting off air in cruel increments. Lyra’s eyes blaze—golden fury tempered by the need to keep quiet.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?!” she growls, low and lethal, every word a blade honed to silence.

Across the room, Ari sleeps on the futon, curled in a half-moon, her bare skin shielded only by a messy tangle of clothes. Oblivious. Innocent.

It would have been different had she been awake. Awake, she could consent, asleep she could not, and Lyra can`t forgive that.

Nova’s lungs burn. She claws weakly at Lyra’s wrist, her small fingers pathetic against the iron band of that grip. She can’t break free. She can barely think—except for the molten chaos spiraling through her veins.

Goddess… she’s choking me. This brute. This beast. This—
Hot. Strong. Angry woman…

Her thighs tremble. Shame pools low in her belly, slick and damning.
Why do I feel like this?! Is this how I die? Choked and… aroused?
Goddess, please… don’t send me to hell… have mercy…

A soft drip. Another. Then another.
It hits the pristine white floor—a small, glistening betrayal.

Lyra notices. Her gaze drops for the briefest instant, and the fire in her eyes sharpens into something darker.

“You’re beyond therapy,” she whispers, voice like shattered glass. “You’re deranged.”

Her free hand curls slowly, deliberately, into a fist.
“You need a lesson…”

Ari’s voice stops whatever she was going to do.

“Lyra… don’t hurt her.”

Ari’s voice, soft and shaky, cuts through the storm. She’s propped on an elbow on the futon, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, still draped in little more than her underwear. Her eyes plead even as her voice trembles.
“I know I shouldn’t have, but… it was just cuddling. I felt sorry for her.”

Lyra freezes, rage coiling tighter in her chest. Then, with a sharp, controlled motion, she releases Nova and throws her down. The omega crumples onto the pristine floor, coughing hard, the sound ragged as she drags in breath after breath. Her own slick shame pools beneath her.

Lyra’s voice drops to a low, lethal growl.
“Ari… cuddling in your underwear? That’s not just cuddling.” Her jaw tightens, words clipped and furious. “You could’ve asked me. I would have allowed it. But doing it behind my back?!”

Lyra can't process it. Ari was cheating?! She can't understand why.

Nova struggles upright, coughing between words.
“No, Lyra…” cough “…It’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh, really?” Lyra’s tone drips with venom as her gaze cuts from Nova on the floor to the damning stain beside her.
“That?” She points, voice razor-sharp. “That doesn’t scream innocent to me.”

Nova swallows, guilt washing her pale as she rasps,
“That… that’s actually because of you… choking me.”

For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—Lyra blushes. Faint. Controlled, but there.

Ari flinches, voice rising in protest.
“Hey!”

Nova lowers her eyes, shame heating her cheeks. Her voice cracks.
“I’m sorry, Ari… I guess I do need therapy after all. Not just the hugging, but full on therapy.” A bitter laugh dies in her throat. “Thanks for trying to help me, though.”

Ari exhales, long and tired, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Lyra’s head snaps toward her, voice a dark rumble.
“You’d better explain… before I rip her head off.”

The room vibrates with tension

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“What the…” Both Suzie and Camille freeze, eyes wide, mouths hanging open.

“Ari is two-timing Lyra with… Nova?!” Suzie blurts out.

“No way!” Camille snaps back. “Rewind that! Taylor records stuff, right?”

“Giiirl, you think way too highly of Ari.” Suzie smirks, like it’s obvious Ari cheated.

“What?! No! She’s a good girl. Just rewind it and you’ll see.” Camille insists, leaning closer.

Suzie scoffs. “See how Ari was lying there, half-naked with that girl? She didn´t expect Lyra back for a while. Ari freaking played them both!”

“We don’t know that. Taylor doesn’t even record sound! She might have given a goid explanation… Just rewind it!” Camille urges, practically on edge.

With an exaggerated sigh, Suzie scrubs back through the footage… then stops dead.

“OH. MY. BOT—!!”

On screen, Lyra is slamming Ari hard against her office desk.

“I never realized how… tall Lyra is compared to Ari,” Suzie mutters, eyes glued to the screen.

“Suzie! Stop that!” Camille blurts, half-covering her face as a blush creeps up her cheeks.

“What? You’re the one who wanted to rewind and prove Ari’s a saint ,” Suzie shoots back with a smirk.

Camille huffs, grabs the mouse, and skips ahead in the feed. “Enough. We’re fast-forwarding.”

Click. Click. Until—

“There. Right there.” Camille hits play as Nova steps into the frame.

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A few minutes after Lyra left, Ari laid sprawled on the futon, staring at the inverted cityscape through the panoramic window. Neon lights glittered upside down, like a constellation meant only for her. She smiled faintly, wondering if it was okay—sleeping here, in Lyra’s office, wrapped in the faint scent of her alpha.

The soft hum of the building lulled her toward drowsiness—until the glass door slid open without warning.

“Oh my Goddess!”

Ari shot up halfway, nearly tangling herself in her clothes.
“Ah! Nova?! What are you doing here?!”

Nova slapped both hands over her eyes like a child.
“I’m sorry! I just— I just came here to say I’m sorry!” She peeks through her fingers, clearly not sorry enough.

“You’re a pervert!” Ari yelps, cheeks blazing.

“No, I’m not!” Nova fires back, voice cracking.

Ari collapses back against the futon with a groan, dragging a hand over her face. “Ugh, okay, I accept your apology, alright? Can you please just… go?”

Nova doesn’t move. She just… stares.

Ari sits up, irritation spiking. “I’m not going to cheat on Lyra! Ever! So go!”

Nova blinks, startled.
“No, it’s not that! I was just thinking…” She hesitates, then blurts, “I’m not even attracted to you right now.”

Ari freezes. For some reason, that stings.
“Huh?! Okay?!”

Nova exhales sharply, words tumbling out. “I think I’m messed up. I think I… like being treated roughly now. But it wasn’t like that before! I think Hazel messed me up for good.” Her voice softens, breaking on the edges. Her eyes—sad, lost—turn down to the floor.

Me, me me! Ari thinks, This girl is all in her head! …ugh… but I know why.

Ari swallows hard. She knows those eyes. Knows what it feels like to grow up believing the Covenant's perfect script for omegas—soft, pure, obedient. To love the Goddesses and fear their wrath sometimes. To feel safe in a path carved in stone… and crushed when you realize you don’t fit neatly in the mold.

Ari sighs, already regretting what she’s about to do.
“Nova… that’s just… temporary. It’ll pass. You just need to get used to normal touch again.”

Nova lifts her gaze, fragile, searching.
“Don´t say that so lightly… How do you know that?”

Ari points weakly toward the sleek laptop on Lyra’s desk.
“It’s in the courses. The… um… company wellness modules.”

“The mandatory ones?” Nova asks, incredulous.

“No. The extra ones.” Ari shrugs, cheeks warming. “I watched them all. They’re really informative.”

And I didn’t want to be called stupid by Suzie…

Nova stares for a long beat, then exhales in defeat.
“Geez… you’re a better Moonbeam than I am.”

Ari groans, rolling her eyes. Half-annoyed, half… soft.
“Ugh, stop doing that!”

“What?”

“Comparing. Us. Everyone!” Ari struggles to sit up a little, glaring through messy strands of hair. “You don’t even notice, do you? Being a ‘perfect Moonbeam’—it turns you into a freaking comparison machine. Haven’t you noticed that?”

Nova opens her mouth to argue—then hesitates.
“That’s not—” She falters. Starts thinking.

“Ahhh, you’re noticing.” Ari smirks faintly, lips curving.

Nova sighs, voice dropping into something almost admiring.
“Ari… you’re so wise. Like an elder…”

“Alright, stop it. Come here,” Ari says suddenly, arms opening.

Nova blinks. “Whoa, I thought you—”

“I’m not cheating! I’m helping you. Now come here.”

Nova hesitates a second longer… then gives in. She moves closer. They settle on the futon, Ari wrapping her arms around her. Nova curls against her chest like something small and breakable. Ari’s warmth seeps through, and slowly, the pounding in Nova’s heart begins to ease. Her breath steadies. The flush fades from her cheeks.

It takes a while, but not that long. Nova isn't aroused, or nervous, she's ok.

“See?” Ari murmurs against her hair, voice soft. “You’re not attracted to me… you said it yourself. And without rough contact, you’re not aroused.”

Nova nods slowly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Now… if you find a girlfriend or a friend… someone to do this with… you’ll be back to your normal self in a few months.”

Huh… this… this is actually something I can see myself doing. Nova’s thoughts unfurl quietly, almost fragile. So there is a way back…

“Thanks, Ari,” she whispers.

No answer. Ari’s already asleep, breathing slow and even, lips parted faintly in the hush of the office.

Time drips by. Nova’s body melts into the embrace, her mind softening, too. For the first time in weeks, she feels almost normal. Almost safe. Never back to her old self, but she's ok.

Until the glass door slides open with a whisper.

Nova blinks awake. Her blood runs cold.

And there, framed in the doorway, is Lyra.

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“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Ari,” Lyra says slowly, her tone even but icy, “but… ugh…Taylor, play the last thirty minutes inside this office.”

“Affirmative,” the AI responds.

A chime sounds, and then the soft hum of a recording fills the silence. Voices. Their voices. The projection hovers above the desk—grainy but clear enough to show Ari and Nova exactly as they were: talking, hugging, Ari drifting into sleep while Nova stayed still.

The footage ends.

“Seriously?” Ari snaps, sitting up straighter on the futon, her hair mussed from sleep. “Lyra… I cannot believe you don’t trust me.”

Lyra exhales through her nose, sharp and steady.
“I trust you,” she says, each word clipped. “But you were asleep for a while… Who knows what this little degenerate could’ve done while you were unconscious?”

“I’m not—” Nova’s voice cracks as a sob escapes, cutting her defense in half. Her small frame trembles, knees pulled tight to her chest.

Oh my Goddess. Sobbing again. Lyra grits her teeth, the spike of irritation twisting.

“Lyra.” Ari’s voice is soft now, steady. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s… recovering. From… Hazel.”

Lyra stills, guilt flickering in her chest like an unwelcome spark. Her anger begins to ebb, leaving confusion in its wake.

“Ugh… you’re… you’re right.” Her shoulders drop slightly as she looks down at Nova, pitiful and small on the pristine floor, tear-streaked and blotchy.

Lyra clears her throat. Her voice softens by degrees.
“I apologize… for calling you a degenerate.”

Nova sniffles, blinking through wet lashes.

“But you have to understand,” Lyra continues, low and controlled, “my reaction. Walking in and seeing you two like that. I thought you were doing things to my omega…”

Her anger is not completely gone, but it’s slowly fading.

“I’m sorry too, Lyra,” Ari says finally, voice soft but laced with steel. “It was a bad idea to do this in your office… right after… you know.”

Nova hears those words and trembles.

Goddess, Ari… right after what?! You don’t know what that does to me!! Shut up!

Nova breathes deep, trying very hard to not get more aroused.

Lyra tilts her head, wary, but Ari doesn’t stop. Her tone sharpens, slicing through the room like glass.
“I just thought you wouldn’t react like that—since you obviously didn’t see her as a threat and I wasn’t counting on falling asleep… And considering…” Ari’s gaze pins her, unwavering. “You only needed one meeting with her to get aroused and call me to fuck in your office.”

Lyra flinches. Hard. The hit lands clean.

Ari… it’s terrifying how much you’re starting to know me.

Lyra swallows, voice low and raw.
“Okay, Ari. Yes.” She exhales like it costs her. “The idea of you and another omega is… arousing for me.”

Nova’s eyes go wide. A flush blooms across her cheeks.

“But—” Lyra continues, gaze locked on Ari. She doesn´t know what to say, there’s really not much more to say if she can´t even make sense of what’s happening inside of her “I… I love you.”

“UUUGHHH!” Ari groans, throwing her hands up. “Get out!”

The command cracks like a whip.

Lyra blinks, stunned.
“What—?”

“OUT! Both of you!”

In a scramble, Nova stammers, “I’m sorry, Lyra—so sorry!” before bolting for the bathroom, tears trailing like broken pearls.

Lyra stands there, frozen for half a beat—expelled. From her own office.

The door hisses shut behind her, and the hallway feels colder than it should. Her pulse thrums, her thoughts a mess of Ari’s voice, Nova’s shame, and her own damn confession echoing in her skull.

She exhales, leaning against the glass wall, staring at the blur of neon city lights outside.
If Camille were here…

Lyra imagines it so vividly she almost hears her voice:
“Hey, big boss. Having deer problems?”

A huff of laughter slips past her lips, dry and humorless. Yeah… if Camille was here, they’d grab a table at Cool Beans, sip overpriced coffee, and untangle this chaos until everything made sense again.

But Camille isn’t here.

And suddenly, Lyra misses her more than she’s willing to admit.

Ah… Camille.

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Suzie and Camille stare at the screen, eyes wide.

“How is Ari the one in the office while Lyra and Nova got kicked out?” Camille mutters, baffled.

Suzie leans back, gears turning. She’s seen most of the company’s training modules—knows exactly how omegas can be… pliable. She knows what Ari is doing and can guess why.
Ah… Hazel really messed Nova up.

Her gaze drops to the frozen image of Ari on the screen.
Ari’s actually a good girl. Dumb, but good.

“Okay. Ari’s a good girl,” Suzie says out loud.

“Hey! Stop that,” Camille snaps.

“No, I mean it. What she did for Nova? That was actually… great. Just terrible timing, and should be done by a specialist.”

“Huh?!” Camille looks at her like she’s speaking in code.

“I’ll explain later.” Suzie’s voice dips, almost secretive.

Suddenly— beep. A red alert flashes across the screen.

“What?! Blocked?!” Camille exclaims.

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Ari takes a cab back to Lyra’s place.
Lyra arrives later, guilt coiling in her chest, confusion threading through every thought.
How did I go from being the one upset… to being the one who feels guilty?

She pushes the bedroom door open. Ari is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the wall mirror, slowly combing her hair. The room glows in muted amber, city lights bleeding through the curtains.

“Ari…” Lyra says, voice soft, almost fragile.

The comb stills. Ari sighs, shoulders tense.

“Ari… don’t hate me,” Lyra whispers.

Ari turns slowly. Her eyes shimmer—watery, raw.

Lyra’s breath hitches. Her eyes widen, and then she moves—fast. Crossing the room, sweeping Ari into her arms, sweetly pressing her against her chest.
“Ari! Don’t cry because of me… I’m sorry!”

Ari gives her a weak punch, voice breaking with frustration.
“Ugh! I can’t even stay mad at you!”

Lyra falls backward onto the bed, pulling Ari with her, holding her close like something precious and breakable. Ari curls into her side, clinging as if to anchor herself.

“Ari…” Lyra murmurs, lips brushing her temple, “are you mad because you feel like I want another omega?”

Ari sniffs. “A little…”

Lyra hugs her tighter, voice fierce, desperate.

“That’s not it… not it at all! I don´t want any other than you!...” she pauses, then continues “I didn’t get upset when you wanted to be with Camille.”

“But you wanted her too!” Ari fires back, heat creeping into her tone. “And besides… if you don’t want to be with another omega… then why do you like the idea of me with one? How does that even work?”

Lyra freezes. She doesn’t understand it fully. She just knows the picture in her mind—soft lips, delicate hands, two omegas tangled in sweetness and tenderness. No edge. No roughness. Just Ari being Ari—gentle, careful, endlessly kind.
The thought burns through her, and her body betrays her, her cock starts getting hard.

“Lyra!” Ari jerks, eyes wide as she feels it. “You’re shameless!”

“I’m sorry!” Lyra blurts, clutching her tighter, voice cracking with helpless honesty. “I don’t understand it! It’s just that—it’s so sweet and pure when it’s two omegas! When I imagine it I'm not even there…”

She buries her face against Ari’s neck like a sinner seeking absolution, her words muffled, trembling.
“Don’t leave me…”

Ari groans, wrapping her arms around her back.
“Ugh! That again! I’m not going to leave you, Lyra!”

They hold each other in silence for a beat, breathing in sync, hearts still pounding.

Then Ari mutters against her hair, exasperated, “Can you think of anything else so that your cock stops growing?!”

Lyra winces, voice small.
“Ari… I’m sorry… please… I just like the sweetness… it’s what I love the most about you…”

“Fine,” Ari huffs. “Then imagine me leaving!”

“Nooo!” Lyra yelps instantly, clutching her tighter.

And just like that, the tension in Lyra’s body deflates—literally.

Ari blinks. “Oh. It worked.”

Lyra only clings harder, her voice breaking softly.
“Don’t ever leave me…”

Ari sighs, her annoyance melting as she strokes Lyra’s black hair. Her tone is soft now, soothing like warm water.
“I won’t… ever.”

They stay like that, wrapped in each other.

Goddesses… I can´t be mad at her… that might be a problem!

“Lyra… how about we go to therapy?” Ari says softly, searching her eyes.

Lyra nods without hesitation, voice low and raw.

“Whatever you want… just stay with me. I love you… only you.”

The words hit Ari like a love arrow straight to the heart—sharp, overwhelming, leaving her breathless with tenderness.

Ah… Lyra… so big and dark… but also so small and… cute… Ari thinks as she pets her slowly.

“Lyra… you’re so cute sometimes…” Ari breathes out.

Lyra nuzzles into her, Ari’s heart melts even more.

Aaaaugh! Lyra, you're squeezing my heart!

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Of course, they make love again—slowly this time, sweet and unhurried. It’s Lyra’s way of apologizing, of pouring wordless promises into every touch.

As their bodies move in sync, Ari realizes something: making love is Lyra’s language. It’s how she speaks—desire, remorse, devotion—all through her hands and lips.

Oh how convenient…

“We’re still going to therapy,” Ari breathes against her shoulder.

“Yes, baby…” Lyra murmurs, voice low and tender.

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Chapter 30: This is not a chapter, it's a note

Summary:

NOT A CHAPTER
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Hello everyone!

I’m taking a week off to rest and recover from a mysterious bug that left me feeling pretty wiped out.

I’ll be back soon!

Sending hugs from these temporarily weak arms 🛌

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Chapter 31: When a door closes...

Summary:

Suzie spirals during a tense hacking session, while Camille keeps her grounded. Emotional sparks and strategic shifts simmer beneath the surface.
Hazel becomes a stalker and everyone’s suddenly very interested in mental health... but are all motives pure?
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“Blocked?! FUCK!” Suzie’s voice echoes through the open space, sharp enough to cut glass. She’s on the floor, legs folded awkwardly, hunched over the low table in the center of Camille’s living room. Her laptop screen floods her face with cold, sterile light. Empty coffee mugs clutter the table—a graveyard of caffeine desperation.

“Calm down,” Camille says from the breakfast bar, perched on one of the tall stools like a queen trying to keep her crown straight. The kitchen behind her glows softly under warm pendant lights, a stark contrast to Suzie’s digital chaos. “We can… ah… use my ghost account. You can make more, right?”

Suzie doesn’t even glance up, her fingers hammering the keys with surgical aggression. “They’ll nuke them in seconds. We’d need an army of hackers for this shit!” Her breath is shallow, her knee bouncing like a live wire.

Camille slides off the stool, barefoot against the cool wood floor, crossing into the living room with measured steps. Her shadow stretches long across the rug. “Then we work with what we’ve got. Search for something—anything.”

Suzie gives a short, manic laugh that sounds like defeat dressed as humor. “Already did. Shiva’s classifying everything.”

Camille freezes mid-stride. “What? Shiva… my Shiva?”

“Yeah.” Suzie’s tone is casual, but her shoulders are tense, rigid. “I’m using your personal assistant. It’s not tied to Aira and runs offline, so…” She gestures vaguely without looking up, the blue light painting sharp edges on her face.

Camille’s jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, but she swallows the sharp reply sitting on her tongue. Her voice comes out even, clipped.
“Fine. I’ll start reviewing what Shiva found, then…”

She turns on her heel, padding back toward her laptop on the breakfast table, the soft click of her nails against the keys soon filling the space.

Suzie catches the shift from the corner of her eye—the subtle stiff line of Camille’s shoulders, the way she doesn’t look back. Yeah… she’s annoyed. Of course she is. But Suzie keeps her gaze glued to the code flying across her screen, pretending not to notice, pretending everything’s fine.

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Night falls too quickly. Suzie feels like she’s achieved nothing, while Camille seems actually satisfied.

“Even if the files have distracting names, we’ve got plenty tied to crimes. Now we just need the best way to use them in our favor,” Camille says confidently.

Suzie exhales, long and heavy. “We have something… but we need something bigger. She’ll walk away from all this.”

Camille blinks, startled. Not good. “What?! There’s a ton of illegal gene manipulation in here!”

“Yeah—on criminals over twenty-five. She’ll spin that and get off clean,” Suzie replies flatly.

Camille presses on, her tone sharpening. “She kidnapped children from southern communities using non-profits—”

“Those kids are integrated into the cities now,” Suzie cuts in. “They’re practically like Lyra. None of them will testify, and she’ll just pin it on some innocent non-profit heads.”

Camille feels frustration creep in, like every effort she made is being torn down brick by brick.
“She stole tech from Materia, the creators of Shiva and—”

Suzie freezes, eyes widening as if a fuse just lit.

“That’s it… that… that’s a start!”

Camille blinks, utterly confused. Of all the monstrous crimes on the list, this one feels like the least severe—yet somehow, it’s the key.

“We could leverage that,” Suzie says, voice sharp with sudden clarity. “An alliance with Materia. They’d never go public, but they might back us in the shadows. We act as their ghosts—hit Aira hard without it tracing back to them. And that hit? It scares her enough to cut me loose.”

Suzie’s smile is back.

Camille is glad about it, but also has an unsettling feeling in her chest.

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They lie in bed, but sleep doesn’t come easy. Neither of them has their eyes closed. The light is off, the room quiet—but still, no rest.

“Suzie.”

Suzie’s eyes widen. She likes the way Camille says her name. “Yes?” her voice soft.

“I think you should stop drinking coffee… at least for a while.”

Suzie’s face twists in mild annoyance, but somehow, coming from Camille, it doesn’t grate the way it does from anyone else.

“Uhm. Whatever,” Suzie mutters.

“You’re brilliant,” Camille says softly, “but you don’t take very good care of yourself. Of your body.”

Suzie snorts faintly. “What’s this now?” she asks, like she’s mocking—but only lightly.

“I was just thinking…” Camille shifts closer, close enough that Suzie feels the warmth of her breath. Their eyes meet in the dim light. “...I don’t help much with strategy, or finding Aira’s weak spots.”

Suzie’s expression softens, eyes suddenly pliant.

“But I can help you stay healthy.” Camille smiles, gentle and warm.

Suzie feels a sting behind her eyes. Ah, Camille… this is too much… you’re so caring… I want to jump your bones so much…

“Camille…” Suzie breathes.

“Yes?”

“Can you… hold me? I… I can’t sleep.”

What the fuck am I doing?... ah… I’m such an omega right now…

Camille’s heart skips, a quick flutter in her chest. She smiles—wide, faintly blushing.
“Of course.”

She pulls Suzie into her arms, wrapping her close, fingers threading gently through her hair. Camille exhales, slow and tender, as if grounding both of them.

“Those hormones… all the changes… they must make it hard to rest,” she whispers.

Suzie nods, nuzzling into her shoulder, cheeks burning.

Camille smiles softly, stroking her hair. The quiet stretches warm and steady—until Suzie speaks again, voice muffled against her.

“Camille…”

“Hm?”

“Without you… I’d be dead.”

Camille freezes, heart clenching. “Oh, Suzie… don’t—don’t say that. Please.”

Suzie just nods, silent, pressing closer.

“Sorry… I just want you to know… that…” Suzie pauses, her voice a fragile thread. “I’m so thankful for… you.”

Camille’s arms tighten before she even thinks about it, as if she could shield Suzie from everything—past, present, future.

Her death… I’d almost forgotten that’s a real possibility, Camille realizes, a chill slicing through the warmth of the moment. The thought is unbearable.

She pulls Suzie closer, holding on like letting go would mean losing her forever. Words fail; gratitude can wait. All she can do is press a lingering kiss to Suzie’s hair, bury her fear, and hold her tighter.

Like that, wrapped in desperate silence, they drift into sleep.

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Without you… I’d be dead.

Those words hit Camille harder than Suzie realizes.

Camille doesn’t sleep—she dreams. And those dreams are anything but kind.

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One more day passes.

At Morph C.O’s offices, Rainy looks deflated, shoulders slumped over her desk. Nova notices from the corner of her eye, hesitating before speaking.

“Hey, Rainy… you okay?”

Rainy exhales, long and heavy. “I’m… fine. It’s just—Kate is probably getting fired.”

Nova blinks, her pen freezing mid-note.
Kate? Who’s Kate…?

“If she doesn’t work here anymore, I… I won’t get to see her as much,” Rainy murmurs, voice tinged with something fragile.

Nova feels a prickle of shame—she should know who Kate is. Shouldn’t she? Her lips curve into a small, awkward smile. “Oh. Why is she at risk of getting fired? She’s… a good coworker, right?” The question slips out, careful, fishing for a clue.

Rainy’s sigh is sharper this time. “Cybersecurity says she hacked the cameras.”

Nova’s eyes widen. “Oh my!” Her voice carries more shock than she intends.

“She doesn’t even know how to do that!” Rainy protests, anxiety clear in every syllable. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding, but they’re grilling her right now…”

Nova’s heart skips as yesterday flashes back—Lyra’s office, the muted glow of the screen, Lyra’s hand scrolling back through a recording of what happened inside.
Her breath catches.
Her eyes widen.

“Uhm… Rainy, when did that happen?” Nova asks, trying to sound casual, though her voice dips at the edges.

“Yesterday…” Rainy says softly.

Nova’s pulse stutters. Yesterday. Her stomach twists into a knot.

Someone out there has a recording—of her on that couch, cuddling with a half-dressed omega… of Lyra’s hand clamped around her throat… of her own humiliating, dripping reaction.

Heat floods her cheeks, even now. Goddess… if that footage exists—if it’s seen—

If my mom sees it…

Nova swallows hard, schooling her features into calm while panic thrums beneath her skin.
“Rainy… you’ve never introduced me to Kate, have you?” Her tone is careful, almost light.

Rainy blinks at the question, surprised. “Eh… no. I thought… well, we’ve only been dating for less than a month, so…”

Oh. She’s dating her. Relief washes through Nova, now she can pretend she knew all along. At least Kate isn’t just… some mysterious name tied to something worse.

Nova offers a quick smile. “We should grab a coffee sometime—the three of us. You know, like… be friends and stuff.”

Rainy’s eyes soften, a flicker of warmth breaking through her worried expression. She hadn’t expected that. Nova had always been… distant, in her own orbit. Sure, they’d shared small talk—day-to-day things, polite exchanges—but real closeness? Never. With Nova, conversations always drifted back to Nova herself… or Hazel.

But now, for the first time, it feels like Nova’s reaching out. And that… means something.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” she smiles.

 

Nova smiles faintly, a plan forming—she’ll get those recordings and make sure Kate, or whoever’s behind the hack, is silenced somehow.

 

Gina spots them talking. Nova now sits at the far end of the room, away from Ari and Gina. Rainy has planted herself beside Nova, which means less gossip fuel for Gina—and she’s clearly suffering for it.

 

“Buh… this is boring,” Gina groans dramatically. “No Camille to spy on. No Rainy to pick on. No Nova…” She pauses, smirking. “Well, that one’s actually fine—she can be a bit much sometimes.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Ari replies without thinking.

 

Gina chuckles, eyes narrowing playfully. “Wow. That sounded like it came straight from your soul.”

 

Ari waves her hands quickly. “It’s not that I dislike her. I actually… get her. But she… like…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “…tried to kiss me.”

 

Gina freezes, then lights up like a kid at a candy store. “Whaaat?!” she squeals in a hushed tone.

 

Ari instantly regrets opening her mouth.

 

“Okay, hold on. Emergency gossip session at Cool Beans. Right now.” Gina grabs Ari’s wrist and yanks her out of her chair.

 

“Whoa—wait!” Ari stumbles after her.

 

“This tea is way too hot to sit on!” Gina declares, weaving through the hallway like a woman on a mission.

 

But she doesn’t see the figure rounding the corner.

 

Thud.

 

“Oh!”

 

“Ugh—ouch!” Gina winces.

 

“Sorry—uhm—” The voice is smooth, warm.

 

“It’s fine,” Gina starts—then looks up and forgets how to speak. Her jaw slackens.

 

Before her stands a woman so stunning it feels almost unfair: tall, statuesque, with deep brown skin, sharp crimson eyes, and long, wavy, dark hair cascading over a crimson outfit that looks like sin tailored to perfection. A beauty easily on par with Lyra or Camille—and Gina can feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

 

“Red… is my favorite color…” Gina blurts before she can stop herself.

 

The woman smiles faintly, her voice velvet. “Nice to know.”

 

Gina flushes bright pink, practically short-circuiting.

 

Beside her, Ari instinctively straightens her posture, eyes darting over the stranger’s silhouette before she bows so deeply it looks like a mistake. “H–h–h–hello! Welcome!”

 

From the mezzanine above, Lyra watches. Her omega’s wide-eyed, blushing face aimed at another alpha sends a hot, sharp spike of rage down her spine.

 

“You’re Ari, right?” the woman asks, her voice smooth as silk.

 

Gina’s head snaps toward Ari, eyes narrowing with sudden jealousy. Ari freezes, blindsided. How does she know my name?

 

“Y–Yes! I’m Ari… Longsworth…” she stammers, then internally winces. Why did I say my last name?!

 

The woman smiles, serene and devastatingly confident. “I’m Noura Al-Masri. I believe you’re on my patients list.”

 

Ari blinks, processing. “…Patients?”

 

“I’m Morph C.O.’s therapist,” Noura explains, her tone warm and reassuring—yet something about it feels commanding, impossible to ignore.

 

From above, Lyra catches every word. Her jaw tightens, eyes darkening.

She doesn’t like that, not one bit.

 

Gina forgot about the hot gossip, and Ari was fine with that.

 

Morph C.O.’s employees can now book therapy sessions through the intranet. Ari scrolls through the announcement, eyebrows lifting when she sees the note: Limited slots available.

 

She checks the schedule—every slot is already gone. What the…? Ari blinks. She, Lyra, Nova, and Hazel have pre-booked sessions, for Hazel and Nova, they are mandatory, but apparently, the entire office suddenly discovered a burning need for mental health care and decided to book sessions even when they are not required to.

 

“Gina? You too?” Ari asks, incredulous.

 

Gina just smirks. “She’s hot, Ari. Suzie will forgive me if she comes back.”

 

Ari forces an awkward smile.

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Hours pass, though a few still remain in the workday. Hazel is already heading toward the elevator, bag slung over her shoulder, clearly ready to call it a day.

“Leaving early?” Lyra asks, voice casual.

Hazel flinches slightly. “Ah…”

Lyra softens. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

Hazel offers a nervous smile. “Yeah… I, uh, need therapy.”

Lyra lifts an eyebrow. “Oh! Outside? Another therapist?”

“I mean—I'm going to see Camille,” Hazel adds quickly.

A small smile plays at Lyra’s lips, but she hides it. “Ah. Got it. Well… send her my love.”

Hazel laughs awkwardly. “Whoa, Lyra, I don’t think my relationship with Camille is like that, hahaha…”

Lyra blinks—eyes wide. Silent.

The moment hangs.

“…Right. See you later, Hazel.”

Lyra turns and walks away, heels echoing down the hallway.

Hazel stands there a beat longer, watching her go.

There’s not one ounce of humor in that woman’s body. I wonder why Camille ever had a crush on that.

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Hazel speeds through the quiet streets, weaving through lights and empty lanes until Camille’s sleek, gated home rises into view. As she pulls up, the household AI greets her before she’s even fully stopped.

“Hey, Hazel. Long time no see,” Shiva chirps.

“Yeah, yeah. Is Camille home?” Hazel replies, eyes still scanning the house.

“She is. But… you didn’t call ahead.”

“I don’t have to—we’re buddies,” Hazel says, waving a hand dismissively.

The gate stays closed.

Hazel leans forward, frowning. “Uhm. Shiva? You gonna let me in?”

Shiva lets out a synthetic hum. “Camille is currently occupied. I’m sorry you came all this way and didn´t get to see her. If you’d like, I can sync with your vehicle and drive you back to your residence or another location of choice—”

“Access denied, bitch. Let me see my friend.” Hazel answers.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Hazel grips the wheel tighter. “Override. Code ******** A. Astorè.”

“That code only works with a different brand of assistant.”

Hazel’s jaw tightens. Her temple ticks. What the hell is going on?

Why is Camille hiding from me in her own house?

She yanks the wheel and speeds off, only to park a few blocks away at a nearby café. Through the window, coffee growing cold in her hands, she can still see Camille’s gate from a distance.

Is she with that omega she told me to keep secret from Lyra…? And why would she even do that?

Hazel scrolls through Morph C.O.’s social feed, catching a post about Nova’s first therapy session. She gestures subtly, barely acknowledging it, then glances now and then in the direction of Camille’s place.

A car pulls up.

Hazel narrows her eyes. The driver is a woman with white hair tied into a neat bun. In the backseat—stacks of equipment. Bot farms.

It’s a Materia model—one of the latest. But this isn’t a Materia neighborhood. This is Astorè territory…

She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes still on the car.

“Hmm… bot farms,” she mutters.

“Yeah… strange, right?” a voice replies casually beside her.

Hazel jumps, nearly spilling her drink. “Gina?! What are you doing here?!”

Gina just smirks, already sipping her own drink like she’s been there the whole time.

“I’m stalking… just like you,” Gina says with a smirk.

“I’m not stalking!”

“Hazel, what you’re doing is stalking,” Gina replies, adopting an exaggeratedly serious expression. “The real question is… why?”

Hazel scowls but sighs, needing to get it off her chest.

“Ugh, fine. I wanted to visit Camille, but her damn bot won’t let me in. She’s using Shiva, so I can’t override it. It’s not a Morph C.O. product…”

Gina blinks. “Wait—so you can override any AI assistant made by Morph C.O.?”

Hazel immediately regrets saying that. “Uagh… you cannot tell anyone!”

Gina lifts her hand with mock solemnity. “My lips are sealed.”

Hazel eyes her skeptically. She doesn’t trust that promise one bit.

“I just want to see my friend, that’s all,” Hazel mutters, averting her gaze.

Gina studies her closely.

She really doesn’t suspect anything? No mention of Suzie… interesting, Gina thinks.

“Gina, why are you stalking her?” Hazel asks, catching the car finally pulling into the driveway. “Do you like Camille or something?”

“I don’t like Camille,” Gina replies flatly. “ Suzie , on the other hand…”

“You like Suzie?” Hazel raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Yeah…” Gina admits, flushing faintly.

“Ha!” Hazel lets out a short laugh.

“Yeah, yeah… whatever,” Gina mumbles, taking a long sip of her drink.

“So… why are you here?” Hazel asks.

Oh my bot, this girl is so dense! Gina thinks. How the hell did she stay friends with Suzie for that long?

“I’m here… for Suzie,” she finally says, still studying Hazel carefully.

Hazel scoffs. “Suzie doesn’t live here.” Answers like an airhead.

“Oh. My. Bot! ” Gina exclaims, exasperated. “Suzie is obviously hiding in Camille’s house!”

Several people glance over. Hazel panics and slaps a hand over Gina’s mouth.

“Shhh! Why are you always so loud?” she hisses.

They both turn back to stare at the gate, tension hanging in the silence.

“Why do you think she’s hiding her?” Hazel asks, removing her hand.

Gina exhales and answers quietly, “Because that’s what you do when someone’s in trouble… and you care for that someone, you help them.”

“Is Suzie in trouble?” Hazel asks, her pupils widening, her expression becoming that of worry.

“Well, duh… why else would she be missing?” Gina says “I thought you knew…”

Hazel’s eyes are now fixed on the gate.

“We have to get in there.” Hazel says. Her gaze is that of a predator.

Gina watches Hazel and gulps “Ok. Yeah…”

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Author’s Note:

I’m back!

So… my doctor (who’s younger than me, by the way) has now been to my house and probably read this fic. While taking my blood samples—me, barely conscious and clinging to life—she started asking me questions about my house and interior design like we were having a chill coffee chat. I was too weak to lie or filter myself, so I just blurted out that the healthcare system doesn’t value her enough and that she should quit and become a developer instead. Super direct. No chill. I’m officially mortified and will never call her again, haha.

Anyway, I’m okay now—everything’s good. I was actually planning to delete the previous chapter, but I got such lovely messages that I might just keep it after all. Hihi.

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Chapter 32: Heat 🐱

Summary:

A moment of honesty: Camille never understood Suzie’s choices, but now she sees the cracks behind the mask.
A pillow flies. A truth lands. Camille realizes her careless past words shaped the girl in front of her more than she ever knew.
One day till Lyra comes to rip everyone's head off.
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They have everything in place—the bot farms from Materia, the contingency agreement for shelter if things go south. But the agreement only covers Suzie. Camille wasn’t part of the deal.

If the worst happens, Suzie will have to flee, leaving Camille behind. And who knows how long until they see each other again… if ever.

She powers up the bots. They whir to life, ready to work through the night—hacking, extracting, getting banned, hacking again, and tirelessly classifying every piece of intel they uncover.

Camille is already sleeping, Suzie watches her and lays beside her. Somehow she does sleep.

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The morning comes. Suzie watches Camille as she sleeps, sunlight soft on the bedspread. Her gaze lingers—on the curve of her cheek, her lips, the slope of her collarbone. The rest of Camille’s body is under the blanket they share, warm and close, almost heartbreakingly so.

 

Last day.

 

Tomorrow, everything changes. Someone knocks. Someone comes. Someone takes her away. Materia or Lyra.

 

And Camille… she’ll be left behind.

 

Suzie presses her forehead lightly to Camille’s shoulder, drinking in her scent. The hormone suppression is long gone. Her body’s full omega now—raw, vulnerable, electric. She can’t keep pretending she doesn’t want this.

 

“You didn’t want me when I was an alpha,” she whispers, barely audible. “And you still haven’t touched me now that I’m an omega.”

 

She curls closer, chasing warmth, grounding herself.

 

“And I’m a hypocrite. I get mad at the way you look at me, but I never stopped looking at you.”

 

Camille stirs. A soft breath, a shifting of limbs. “Hmm… did you say something?”

 

Suzie shuts her eyes, pretending to sleep.

 

Camille keeps her eyes closed, drifting between sleep and awake, she smiles faintly, minutes pass, her eyes open slowly.

 

“Fuck… only one day left.”

 

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They don’t talk much over breakfast. Just coffee, some toast, and mutual dread as the machines hum in the living room.

 

Afterward, Camille taps something on her phone.

 

“I’m not working,” she says. “No work today. No meetings. We use this day to prepare for what comes.”

 

Suzie blinks. “You mean…”

 

“We review what we have, we think about next steps.” Camille exhales “Suzie, this has to work, let’s help the bots.”

 

Suzie sets her mug down. “Okay. Good.”

 

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By midmorning, Camille’s apartment is quiet except for the hum of their machines— especially the thick, untraceable computer Suzie had rigged earlier that week. The screen glows on the coffee table, connected to Camille’s laptop monitor and a tangle of modified hardware.

 

Suzie sits cross-legged on the rug in her usual silky purple pajamas, hair tied up, fingers tapping through folders with a practiced rhythm. She’s fully focused, but tension lingers in her shoulders.

 

Camille, nearby, has changed into her elegant pearly loungewear—sleeves rolled, hair up in a neat twist. She sits on the couch, watching the files scroll by, a physical notepad on her lap to jot down anything important. Her expression is focused, but every so often, her eyes wander toward Suzie.

 

They work quietly for hours—cross-checking logs, opening reports, pausing when something looks off.

 

“Look at this,” Suzie murmurs, opening a folder nested under three layers of dummy project names.

 

Camille leans in. “What is it?”

 

“Human hormone trials… listed as emotional stability calibrations. It’s code for mood suppression. Likely omega-targeted… let’s hope for underaged omegas…”

 

Wow… that sounded bad… thinks Suzie.

 

Camille’s face hardens. “We need to cross-reference that with your file. Find proof you were part of it.”

 

Suzie nods. “It’s in there. I saw the tag two days ago. Just didn’t want to open it again.”

 

Camille’s hand brushes her wrist gently. “We don’t have to do that part right now then.”

 

A pause. Then Suzie nods.

 

They continue—side by side, skimming logs, renaming folders, building an encrypted archive of evidence. Aira’s crimes aren’t just unethical—they’re systemic. Coordinated. Covered in marketing language and plausible deniability.

 

Hours pass.

 

Eventually, Camille rises and heads to the kitchen. She returns with tea and places a cup by Suzie’s hand. Their fingers touch, briefly.

 

“Thanks…” Suzie murmurs, not looking up.

 

“You’ve barely blinked,” Camille says gently.

 

“Trying to finish before I lose you,” Suzie replies, too fast, too honest.

 

Camille stiffens. “Hey… that’s not—”

 

Suzie cuts in, soft and exhausted. “Tomorrow’s the last day, Camille. You said it yourself. I can feel it too. Even if we run, it’s already the end of this.”

 

Camille swallows. Her throat is tight.

 

Suzie continues, eyes still on the screen. “You never said it. But I know. You’re scared.”

 

“I am,” Camille admits.

I’m scared to lose you…

 

Suzie finally looks at her.

 

“I’ve spent the last few days pretending we had more time,” Suzie says. “Pretending this was temporary. That I’d walk out of here whole. But I’m not sure I will.”

 

She closes the last folder. The screen dims to standby.

 

Camille watches her. The silence stretches between them—loaded, soft, full of everything neither of them dares to say aloud.

 

“Can we… take a break?” Suzie asks quietly. “Just for a bit. No files. No war. Let’s let the bots work.”

 

Camille nods. “Come here.” she says instinctively.

 

Suzie crosses the space slowly.

 

She sits beside Camille—not too close, not too far. Her hands fidget in her lap, her eyes darting between the floor and Camille’s face.

 

What is this? What are we doing? What am I doing?! Suzie thinks.

 

Then, suddenly, she lifts her hand and knocks herself lightly on the forehead—just hard enough to make Camille flinch.

 

“Hey!” Camille catches her wrist, startled. “Stop that!”

 

“I’m so stupid!” Suzie blurts, yanking her hand away. “I gave Aira everything—my records, my DNA, my body—and now I think I can just take it all back?! Like that?!”

 

Her voice cracks at the end. She folds over her knees, breath sharp.

 

Camille watches her carefully. Quietly.

 

“Is that how it felt?” she asks, her voice steady but gentle. “Like you were for sale?”

 

Suzie shrugs, the motion tight. Her voice is quieter now. “Not at first. Back then… It felt like I was special. Handpicked. Like I was about to change the world.”

 

She remembers it vividly—how surreal it felt to be treated like a prodigy. A girl with impossible dreams finally being told yes. Being told she could be whoever she wanted to be.

Her thumb brushes over the edge of the bandage on her wrist. “But it wasn’t about me changing the world. It was about me becoming more useful to her.”

 

Camille leans in slightly, her voice gentle. “But… you wanted it, didn’t you? The experiment. The change. So why say she bought you?”

 

Suzie doesn’t answer right away. She exhales, gaze drifting to the slats of sunlight cutting across the floor.

 

Just one day until Lyra and perhaps others start hunting me down. One day with Camille… gotta make the most of it…

 

“I did want it. Desperately. I wanted to be strong. Untouchable. I thought if I could change myself—reshape how the world saw me—I could outrun everything I hated about being… me.”

She hesitates, then looks back at Camille.

 

…no time to be shy… 

 

“But I was still figuring myself out, I was young and Aira took advantage of it. And the truth is… the reason I made that choice? It wasn’t just about strength or status. It was something stupid.”

 

Her fingers twist at a loose thread on her pajama sleeve.

 

No time to waste!

 

Camille tilts her head. “What was it? I mean, everything you just said—wanting respect, control—that’s not stupid. That’s survival.”

 

Suzie blushes faintly and looks away. “There was this alpha…”

 

“Ohh,” Camille says, a little teasing.

 

Suzie sighs. “And she said…” She stops, wincing.

 

Camille raises a brow, waiting. “She said what?”

 

Suzie mumbles something unintelligible.

 

“What?”

 

Again, a mumble.

 

“Suzie,” Camille says, half-laughing now, “come on.”

 

“Fine!” Suzie blurts. “I overheard this alpha I had a crush on say she didn’t date omegas.”

 

Camille freezes.

 

Suzie presses on, voice bitter. “She said omegas were too sensitive, too soft… all the clichés. Everything I already hated about being one.”

 

Camille swallows hard. The words ring uncomfortably familiar.

Suzie looks up at her—pointedly, side-eyeing from beneath her lashes.

 

“Ugh! Camille—get the hint!” Suzie snaps.

 

Camille blinks, the pieces clicking into place. She remembers that conversation in the parking lot with Ari—how it started off casual, and suddenly wasn’t. This feels the same. Familiar in the worst way.

 

“Wait…” she says slowly. “Was it me?”

Suzie grabs a throw pillow and hurls it at her. Camille ducks, barely dodging.

 

“Yes! Alright? It was you!”

They both go still. The air hangs between them, taut and wordless.

 

“You didn’t know what your words did to me,” Suzie says, voice lower now, but no less pointed. “You didn’t even know me back then. I was fifteen—youngest in class. You were seventeen. You sat three rows ahead of me in history. I bet you don’t even remember.”

 

Camille swallows hard. “Well… we met later.”

 

“Yeah. Ugh. And I’m not blaming you for everything,” Suzie adds quickly. “Hearing you say that—about omegas—that was just one more thing on the pile. One more reason I wanted to change.”

She exhales, a little more tired now than angry.

Finally … I finally said it…

 

Camille’s guilt shows in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I—”

 

“No, Suzie,” Camille cuts in gently. “Yes, I was young, and stupid, and way too sure of things I didn’t understand. But ignorance isn’t an excuse. I shouldn’t have said that. We never know who’s listening… or what they’re already carrying.”

 

Suzie looks at her, expression softening despite herself.

 

Ah, fucking Camille… she thinks. You were stupid at seventeen. Or at least had stupid opinions. But now… now you’re careful. You’re thoughtful. You’re amazing. You were always amazing… and even in your stupid years you wanted to be like this… thoughtful, careful, mature…

Her chest tightens.

 

That’s why I had— she catches herself— have… this massive crush on you.

 

The hormonal chaos rushing through Suzie makes it impossible to hide how deeply Camille’s words are affecting her. Her expression, her scent—everything is raw, exposed, too honest. And for once, Camille doesn’t look away.

 

“Suzie…” Camille says softly, almost a warning. “Your scent… it’s getting a little strong.”

 

Suzie freezes for half a second—then bolts up from the couch and pounces on her.

 

There’s still an alpha in me, she thinks wildly, I only have one day left, and I’m going to make the most of it.

 

“Hey—hey hey—!”

Before Camille can finish, she’s being pushed back against the couch, lips caught in a hungry kiss, arms wrapped tight around her. Suzie’s body presses flush against hers, heat and urgency radiating from her.

 

Camille grabs her by the arms and pulls her back, breathless.

“Suzie—hey!”

 

Suzie’s pupils are blown wide. Her breathing is shallow, erratic. There’s something almost feral in her eyes.

 

Camille stares at her, heart pounding. She can’t deny it—she has been attracted to Suzie. She’s felt it growing. Sharing a bed. Breathing in her scent. Seeing her without makeup, softer, real.

 

But this?

 

This is fast. And dangerous.

 

“Suzie… What about Hazel?”

 

Suzie rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Pff. What about Hazel? We were just fucking. Like alphas. Like you and Lyra.”

 

Camille exhales sharply. “No, Suzie. I had an actual crush on Lyra.”

 

She looks away, jaw tight.

 

Suzie watches her, gaze flicking across Camille’s downturned face.

 

“Oh…” she murmurs. “Do you… still?”

 

“No.” Camille meets her eyes again. “Ari helped a lot with that.”

 

A brief silence stretches between them.

Camille swallows. “But you, Suzie… do you have any feelings for Hazel?”

 

“Fuck no,” Suzie answers without hesitation—and kisses her again.

 

Camille startles, her hands flying instinctively to Suzie’s shoulders. She breaks the kiss with a firm but gentle push.

 

“Whoa—Suzie, hold on.”

 

She exhales slowly, trying to steady both their breaths, trying not to get pulled in by the heat.

 

“We only have one day left!” Suzie blurts out, voice cracking. Her eyes brim with tears. “I can’t— I can’t hold it anymore!”

 

She pulls back just enough to scold herself, hands flying to her temples.

 

“Ugh! Great! Just great!” she snaps. “I’m completely useless now!”

 

Camille reaches up, soft but steady, cupping Suzie’s face in both hands. Her thumbs gently catch the tears before they fall.

 

“Please don’t say that,” she murmurs. “You’re not useless. You’re the smartest person I know… and you’re beautiful. And adorable. And brave.”

 

Suzie blinks, overwhelmed—her thoughts a scrambled mess, her body buzzing with heat and need and panic. She trembles slightly, breath shallow.

 

And then—she lunges again, desperate for a kiss.

Camille catches her with a half-laugh, half-sigh, arms wrapping around her mid-motion.

 

“Suzie… oh my bot…” she mutters, pulling her back gently but firmly. “You’ve spent way too much time with Hazel…”

 

Then, she looks at her—really looks at her—the way an alpha looks at an omega. Suzie feels it in her spine, her limbs, her breath. Her body shifts almost involuntarily, suddenly more open, more receptive.

 

Camille leans in slowly and kisses her —but this time it’s soft. Tender. Measured. A balm rather than a fire.

 

Suzie melts.

 

Her muscles slowly unwind. Her breathing evens out. The sharpness in her expression softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. She folds into Camille’s arms, letting herself be held—letting herself be seen.

 

They stay like that for a while, just breathing in sync.

 

Then Camille leans back slightly, her hand still resting warmly on Suzie’s back.

“Ah… Suzie,” she says gently. “How do you feel?”

 

Suzie looks calmer. She’s blushing a little, but fine—until a wave of embarrassment creeps over her features.

 

“Oh my bot…” she mutters, looking down. “I acted like a Hazel.”

 

Camille chuckles softly and pulls her in again, cradling her against her chest.

“Maybe,” she says, stroking Suzie’s hair. “But your hormones are all bamboozled, so I’d say you get a pass.”

 

Suzie groans into the crook of her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. The petting, the gentle embrace—it’s mortifying and… oddly nice.

 

She wasn’t used to this. Not for years.

She’d always rejected anything that made her feel omega-like. She’d built her identity around control, around being the one in charge. Around not needing this.

 

With Hazel, she had been the alpha. Hazel was the one cradled, petted, soothed. And Suzie had liked it—being the strong one, the guide.

 

But this…

 

This was different.

 

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to simply rest in someone else’s arms.

 

“Ah… this is dangerous…” The words escape her like a breath.

 

“Dangerous?” Camille asks, glancing down at the omega curled against her. Her voice is softer than usual—teasing, warm. “Why dangerous, little kitten? I mean this whole situation is indeed dangerous…”

 

Suzie blushes instantly—deep and uncontrollable.

“Fuck! You and your cute nicknames,” she groans, burying her face in Camille’s shoulder.

 

“You don’t like it?” Camille asks, clearly enjoying herself.

 

“It messes me up inside,” Suzie mumbles, voice muffled.

 

Camille smiles, soft and a little smug. She’s really starting to love this version of Suzie—unguarded, honest, and completely hers to hold.

 

“I like this Suzie,” she says quietly.

Suzie peeks up at her, wary.

“I like that you’re finally saying what you feel,” Camille continues.

 

Suzie keeps looking at her. At her calm, slight smile. At her deep blue eyes. At her blonde hair tied back with effortless precision. It’s too much.

 

“Ugh! Camille! So unfair! I’m not stable, I’m not even myself—and now you like me?! Now that we have a day to enjoy until Lyra rips my head off?!” Suzie groans, swatting at her chest with a weak, desperate hit.

 

Camille laughs, catching her wrist gently. She shifts her weight on the couch, anchoring them both a little more securely. “I always liked you—as a friend. I admired you. You were younger than me, but already in the same classes. Taking the advanced ones even. Challenging the teachers. A rebel genius in eyeliner.”

She pauses, her hand still holding Suzie’s wrist loosely, thumb brushing over her knuckles.

 

“…I never really understood why you were fucking Hazel.”

 

This again? Suzie thinks

 

Suzie sighs, relaxing slightly in her arms, her cheek brushing Camille’s collarbone. “She’s not… evil, you know? She’s just really insecure. And she actually likes being told what to do. It’s like… a fetish or something. I don’t know.”

 

Camille makes a face—her whole posture stiffens slightly.

 

Suzie notices instantly. “What?!”

 

Camille stammers, then exhales through her nose. “It was really hard to even think of you as someone I could date. With Hazel in the picture, it just… never felt like a real possibility.”

 

Suzie pulls back a little in Camille’s lap, sitting up just enough to look at her. “Wait—what? Really? That mattered that much to you?”

 

She flops her head back against Camille’s chest with a dramatic groan. “Ugh! Fuck!”

 

Camille laughs again—full-bodied, head tilted back slightly. She brings one hand to Suzie’s hair and smooths it back with fond amusement.

 

“So…” she says with a sleepy grin, “in the middle of planning an escape… with a short deadline after we have to either run away or part ways… we decide to start dating.”

 

Camille exhales a soft laugh, her arms wrapping a little tighter around her.

“Ah… yeah. There’s that one small problem…” Camille says with a wry smile, glancing again at the machines working.

 

Suzie smiles into her, eyes fluttering closed as the tension finally drains from her body.

 

“On the other hand, if it wasn't for Lyra… I probably wouldn't have told you…” Suzie mutters.

 

Camille strokes her head gently, fingers running slowly from crown to nape, over and over in soft, soothing passes.

“Well… thanks Lyra, I guess”

 

They stay like that for a few quiet seconds.

“But don’t think we’re having sex right away,” Suzie says, her tone almost flirtatious.

“Me? I was about to say the same,” Camille replies, meeting her energy with a smirk. “Even with Lyra breathing down our necks, we can’t be one of those couples who just… fuck, you know?”

Suzie flushes.

 

“Nu-uh, that's not us.”

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 Author's notes:

It's sarcasm.

Chapter 33: Heat- The Vow.🔥

Summary:

Smut!
Camille shows Suzie a different kind of love.
Suzie gets to experience what it's like to be an omega.
She is like a modern Tiresias.
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The bots work in the living room, the kitchen is empty, the home is silent.

.

.

 

In her room, Camille leaves her robe draped over the chair, then slowly slips out of her top and pants. Suzie, already on the bed, watches her in awe. She gulps softly.

 

Camille catches the look in her eyes—and notices Suzie’s top half-undone, no pants, cheeks flushed. She looks so sweet. Adorable. Delicious.

 

But then… tears again.

 

Camille hurries to the bed, gathering Suzie gently in her arms. Suzie buries her face in Camille’s collarbone, trying to hide.

 

“Suzie…” Camille whispers, petting her head, her eyes glancing over the curve of Suzie’s back. “Do you want to leave this for another day?”

 

“Another day? No!… it’s just—” Suzie’s voice breaks. “It’s so unfair. We could’ve been doing this every day… if I had just…leaving this for another day is what we’ve been doing for years!”

 

Camille hushes her gently, brushing a finger over her lips. “No use thinking about that now.” She presses a warm kiss to Suzie’s forehead. “You’re here. With me. Today is the day.”

 

Suzie holds on tighter. “And tomorrow?”

 

“You’re here now,” Camille whispers. She leans in and kisses her—slow, deep—making Suzie melt into her arms.

 

“Your lips are so sweet, Suzie.”

 

Suzie can´t move, her breath catching. She’s not used to being on the receiving end—the one being pampered, drenched in sweetness.

 

Camille doesn’t look away as she begins unbuttoning her top, her eyes locked on Suzie’s. “These days you’ve been with me… I’ve been holding back so hard. You’re one of my best friends… and I didn’t want to mess that up.”

 

She finishes undoing the last button, then slowly slides a hand inside, cupping Suzie’s breast.

 

“Ah—!” Suzie flinches, her body arching involuntarily.

 

She feels Camille’s hungry hand, warm and sure. When she looks up, Camille’s blue eyes are soft… almost reverent.

 

“Suzie…” Camille breathes, “you’re so soft…”

 

Suzie’s eyes flutter close.

 

Camille… touching me… her hand feels big, warm… steady… grounding… calming me in a way… that's difficult to understand…

 

“Suzie… I want to change positions. There's something I want to try with you.”

 

Suzie doesn’t protest, she doesn't even realize when Camille draws her into her lap. Her body just goes, folding against the heat and strength of Camille’s frame. Her legs drape off to one side of Camille’s thighs, delicate and soft over the edge of the bed.

 

Camille exhales slowly, burying her face in Suzie’s hair for the briefest second—like she’s breathing her in, grounding herself. Then her arms shift into place:

Her left arm wraps snugly around Suzie’s back, holding her tight against her chest, a steady anchor that won’t let go. Her right hand moves slowly along Suzie’s front, fingertips grazing the curve of her waist.

 

Suzie’s hands flutter uncertainly before resting against Camille’s chest—one near her collarbone, the other just below, as if drawn to the beat of her heart.

 

Camille’s right hand glides upward, brushing along Suzie’s ribs, tracing every soft line like a secret she’s learning by touch. It lingers beneath the swell of her breast, hesitating—then finally cups it, warm and sure.

 

Suzie gasps, her fingers gripping harder at Camille’s arm and collarbone. Her breath trembles as her head tips forward, cheek brushing against Camille’s neck.

 

“C-Camille…” It’s barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of want.

 

Camille’s left arm tightens, holding her closer, her lips grazing Suzie’s temple. “There,” she murmurs, the sound rough with restraint. “Just… let me.”

 

Her hand keeps moving, slow strokes from waist to breast and back again, tender and unhurried, like she wants to memorize her.

 

Suzie melts with every sweep, heat flooding her in waves. She hides her face deeper against Camille’s skin, lashes damp.

 

“You feel incredible,” Camille breathes into her hair. “So soft… so perfect.”

 

Suzie trembles, her teeth catching on her lip. She wants to say something—anything—but the words die in her throat.

 

Ah… I'm so pathetic… all useless in her arms…

 

Then Camille’s touch changes. Her right hand slides higher, over Suzie’s collarbone, and finds her jaw. She tilts Suzie’s chin up gently, her thumb brushing away a tear clinging to her lashes.

 

“Have you ever been with an alpha, baby kitten?… has an alpha…or anyone…  ever… been inside of you?” Camille’s voice is low, coaxing, her blue eyes locking onto Suzie’s with a warmth that burns. 

 

Please, don´t say Hazel… Camille begs in her mind.

 

Suzie shakes her head slowly.

“Don't you dare tell anyone at the office…”

 

Camille smiles.

I knew it. She’s beaming.

 

Her arm around Suzie’s back presses her tighter, a silent promise: You’re mine. You’re safe.

 

Suzie’s breath hitches, chest rising against Camille’s. Before she can answer, Camille leans in and kisses her—slow and deep, lips molding against hers with aching tenderness.

 

Suzie gives in, her right hand slides into Camille’s hair, fingers trembling as if afraid this is a dream. The kiss tastes like heat and salt, like everything they’ve been holding back spilling at once.

 

Camille kisses her like she owns her, like she’ll never let her go.

 

“Then… what I have in mind is perfect for you…” Camille whispers in her ear.

 

Suzie’s breath is still shaky when their kiss finally breaks, her lips red and damp. Camille doesn’t move far—just enough to brush a stray tear from Suzie’s cheek with her thumb, her other arm firm around her back, holding her like something precious.

Suzie stares at her for a long moment. Her voice comes out as a whisper, almost shy:
“Camille… take this off… please… I feel exposed compared to you…”

Her trembling fingers brush the edge of Camille’s bra, hesitant, tracing the soft curve where fabric meets skin.

Camille’s heart stutters at the words. Her lips curve slowly—soft, indulgent—before she murmurs near Suzie’s ear:
“Yes, kitty.”

She loosens her hold just enough to lean back slightly, keeping Suzie anchored on her lap. Then, with unhurried grace, Camille reaches behind her back. A faint click, a slow slide—and the straps give way. The bra slips down her arms and falls between them, leaving Camille bare and radiant in the dim light, her golden hair spilling loose around her shoulders as her chest rises with a steady, unspoken thrill.

Suzie inhales sharply. For a moment, all she can do is look—at the strong lines of Camille’s shoulders, the soft swell of her chest, the way her skin glows. Her hands wander without thinking, brushing over Camille’s collarbone and sliding down...

 

It's like she's a supernatural creature… glowing in the dark…

 

Camille kisses her softly again, deep and lingering, before whispering against her lips:

“Your turn, kitty.”

 

Her right hand drifts lower, grazing Suzie’s thigh, then tracing the delicate edge of lace at her hip. Camille’s touch is slow, almost teasing, as her fingers slip beneath the waistband.

 

Suzie gasps, hips shifting instinctively. Her voice is a breathy plea:

“Please… take them off.”

 

Camille hums low in her throat “Lift for me.”

 

Suzie obeys, lifting her hips slightly against Camille’s lap. In that sliver of space, Camille hooks her fingers into the panties and glides them down—inch by inch—brushing along the smooth curves of Suzie’s thighs. The fabric slides over her knees and falls away, leaving her bare and trembling in Camille’s arms.

 

Camille’s hand doesn’t leave her; it caresses as it moves, fingers trailing down the inside of Suzie’s leg before stroking back up slowly, deliberately, until they settle warm against her skin.

 

Camille’s lips curve into a faint, tender smile. She leans in to kiss her—slow, melting—before her hand slides down again, over Suzie’s bare thigh. This time, it doesn’t stop. Her fingertips wander between Suzie’s legs, grazing the soft heat there.

 

Suzie jerks lightly at the first touch, a broken gasp slipping out. Camille hushes her with a kiss to her temple.

 

“Easy, baby… let me feel you,” she murmurs, voice low and coaxing. Her fingers stroke gently over slick skin, testing, teasing, until her touch glides with no resistance.

 

When Camille feels the wetness pooling there, something inside her melts. She presses her forehead to Suzie’s, whispering with quiet awe:

“Perfect. Suzie… you're wet…”

 

Suzie blushes more. “Ah… I don't know why this feels embarrassing.”

 

Camille chuckles “It’s not… it's… so not…”

 

Camille draws back just enough to meet her eyes—those blue eyes locking onto violet, full of heat but more than that: care. Reverence. She kisses Suzie once more, slow and lingering, as her fingers ease to the right angle.

 

“I’ll go slow,” Camille whispers. “I want you to feel good. Only good.”

 

Suzie nods shakily, her nails grazing Camille’s skin as her whole body tenses in anticipation.

 

Then Camille moves—delicate and unhurried. Her first finger slips inside with a smooth, careful push. Suzie gasps, clinging to Camille’s arm, her lips parting around a shaky moan.

 

“Breathe, baby…” Camille soothes, kissing the corner of her mouth. Her other arm holds Suzie tight, grounding her.

 

When she feels Suzie relax, Camille eases in her second finger—slow, precise, watching every flicker of expression. Her eyes never leave Suzie’s face.

 

“Look at me,” she whispers, and Suzie does—wide-eyed, trembling, vulnerable and open in a way that makes Camille’s heart ache.

 

Camille curls her fingers slightly, just enough to make Suzie’s breath catch, then strokes tenderly inside her, finding that sweet rhythm that says I know you, I’ll take care of you.

 

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Camille breathes against her lips. “Suzie… you feel incredible.”

 

Suzie can’t speak. All she can do is cling to Camille, her moans soft and shaky, her body yielding completely under those loving fingers.

 

Oh my goddess… Camille… are you really holding me like this—like I’m fragile—and fingering me this sweetly? The thought shatters into another gasp. Oh… oh Goddess… Camiiilleee!

 

Her face says what her lips can’t: lips parted, flushed cheeks, violet eyes half-lidded and glassy with need. Her breath comes uneven, catching every time Camille’s fingers curl just right.

 

Camille is flushed too, heat rising in her chest as she drinks Suzie in—the sight, the sounds, every quiver of her body.

 

Only I get to see this, Camille thinks fiercely, her blue eyes dark with desire. The rebellious, sharp, untouchable Suzie… melting in my arms. Begging with her eyes.

 

Suzie’s hand drifts shakily to Camille’s stomach, fingers splaying against firm abs, while her other hand grips Camille’s back as if she’ll fall apart without her. She doesn’t stop looking right into her eyes.

 

“Ah—Camiiille—ahh…” The broken sound of her voice makes Camille’s breath stutter, her pulse spiking hard.

 

She feels herself stiffen against Suzie, her own body betraying how much this is arousing her. Her fingers move deeper, slower, with expert precision, coaxing more of those desperate sounds from Suzie’s lips.

 

“Good kitty,” Camille whispers against her temple, her voice husky. “Let go for me… I’ve got you.”

 

“Ahh—!!” Suzie’s cry breaks from her throat as the climax crashes through her. Her whole body trembles, melting against Camille, and slick heat spills over Camille’s fingers, warm and undeniable.

 

Camille doesn’t look away. She watches every flicker of Suzie’s face—every shiver, every gasp—with eyes dark and tender, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. A quiet chuckle escapes her, low and affectionate, as her fingers slow but don’t fully leave her yet.

 

Suzie hides her face for a moment, burning with a blush that spreads from her cheeks to her ears. Her breath is shaky, uneven, her heart thundering. A storm of feelings floods her—bliss, surrender, something deeper, something like… love?

 

Oh Goddess… I came so fast… The thought makes her chest flutter and ache at the same time, a mix of pleasure and embarrassment curling together.

 

Camille tilts Suzie’s chin up, gentle but firm, until those violet eyes meet hers again. “Don’t hide,” she whispers, her voice like silk wrapping around warmth. “You’re beautiful, Suzie… absolutely perfect.”

 

Suzie breaks. Her breath hitches, and suddenly she’s sobbing—soft, messy tears spilling as her body trembles in Camille’s arms.

 

Camille doesn’t flinch. She understands. She gathers Suzie closer and kisses her slowly, deeply, like every tear deserves an answer.

 

“Don’t you dare tell anyone at work!” Suzie blurts in between sobs, her voice cracking as she pulls Camille back into another kiss.

 

Camille smiles against her lips and kisses her again—slow, reassuring, indulgent.

 

“I came so fast…” Suzie whispers when their mouths part for air, her tone caught between wonder and embarrassment.

 

Camille’s eyes darken, but her voice stays velvet-soft as her fingers begin to move again—deeper this time, still careful but with a newfound purpose. The sudden stretch makes Suzie gasp sharply, her face contorting with a fresh wave of sensation.

 

It hits her so fast she squirts—just a little—and whimpers against Camille’s lips, overwhelmed.

 

“Yes, kitty,” Camille murmurs, her mouth brushing Suzie’s ear now, a teasing purr in her tone. “As expected… and that’s good.”

 

Suzie trembles, every nerve alight, feeling raw, exposed, and utterly cherished all at once. Her voice is lost to broken moans as Camille’s hand moves with unerring skill, coaxing more pleasure while holding her together at the same time.

Suzie feels it—the hard, insistent press of Camille’s cock against her thigh, hot and unyielding. Her breath catches, her voice breaking into a plea:

 

“Ah—Camille… aaah… don’t you want to… come inside me? Like… not with your hand?”

 

Camille’s answer is a low, husky laugh against her skin as her lips trail along Suzie’s neck. She nips softly, then soothes the bite with a slow lick, her left arm holding Suzie firmly in case her trembling turns to collapse.

 

“Oh, kitten…” Camille’s voice is molten, her breath hot against Suzie’s ear. “I’m getting you ready for it…”

 

Her right hand moves with devastating precision, sliding deeper, stretching her with three fingers now—slow, deliberate, the pressure exquisite. Suzie gasps, her back arching as Camille curls her fingers just right.

 

“Ah—! Oh my Goddess… Camille!” Suzie squirms helplessly in her lap, nails digging into Camille’s skin, her body a mess of shivers and desperate moans.

 

Camille holds her steady, her mouth never leaving her neck as she whispers between kisses:

“Good girl… take me in… just like that…”

 

Suzie whines, half-tears, half-pleasure, hips rolling involuntarily into Camille’s hand. Her mind is spinning, drowning in sensation, every nerve raw and electric under Camille’s touch.

 

Who would’ve thought you’d be crying this soon? Camille thinks, her gaze fixed on Suzie’s trembling face. It’s okay, kitty… cry all you need. Nobody else will ever know. This—every sound, every tear—is just for me.

 

Her fingers keep working inside Suzie with unrelenting tenderness, stroking deep and slow as she studies every reaction like art. Suzie’s flushed cheeks, her parted lips, those tear-bright violet eyes—each one makes Camille’s chest ache and her body burn.

 

Camille licks her lips unconsciously, savoring the sight of Suzie unraveling in her arms—flushed, trembling, eyes glassy with need. Her own expression is soft but ravenous, like she’s drinking in every ounce of this moment.

 

“Okay, kitty…” Camille’s voice is low, rich with heat as her thumb brushes Suzie’s damp cheek. “That face of yours is begging for it…”

 

She slowly slips her fingers out, coaxing another shaky gasp from Suzie, and then eases her down onto the mattress with care. Camille parts Suzie’s legs gently, spreading her open.

 

Then, with a calm, deliberate motion, she rises just enough to push her own pants down. When Camille frees herself, Suzie’s breath catches—eyes widening, lips parting in stunned silence.

 

It’s thick. Thicker than Hazel’s. Longer too, and the shape curves slightly upward, smooth and powerful, gleaming under the dim light. The sight alone makes heat flood her cheeks. Hazel’s was the only one she’d ever seen before—and even that had felt overwhelming. Compared to Hazel’s… Camille’s looks big.

 

Camille curls her fingers around herself, around her cock, stroking once with lazy confidence as her gaze locks on Suzie’s. “I hope you enjoy it,” she murmurs, voice dark velvet over steel.

 

Suzie exhales sharply at the words, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Heat pools low in her belly, her thighs trembling without control.

 

“So fucking hot…” The words slip out of her like a breath, unguarded.

 

Camille’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “Hot? Me?” Her tone drips with teasing warmth.

 

Suzie shivers, her cheeks flushing deeper as her gaze falters, dropping away like she can hide from the intensity in Camille’s eyes.

 

But Camille won’t let her. She tilts Suzie’s chin up gently, her voice sweet yet firm, a velvet command:

“Don’t look away. Look at me.”

 

Suzie swallows hard and obeys, lifting her eyes to meet that searing blue—and in that moment, she feels completely bare, completely claimed.

 

“I feel like… like I’m being penetrated by you and you’re not even touching me,” she whispers, awe and vulnerability tangled in her voice.

It’s amazing how she makes me feel… Safe. Even with that… huge thing pointing at me… I feel so safe I can say anything, anything I feel. Because she’s Camille—my Camille. My best friend. My gossip partner. The one I’ve always trusted more than anyone. Camille.

Suzie’s eyes soften. Camille’s lips curve in a tender smile. “Suzie…”

“Also… your cock is a bit intimidating.” Suzie whispers.

 

Camille lets out a soft laugh, low and warm. “Oh, my Goddess… Suzie. It’s amazing how you…”

 

But Suzie talks over her “Also… I… I feel so naked.” she blurts out.

 

“Suzie, you are naked.”

 

“Yeah, but… this is a different kind of naked…” she murmurs, cheeks flushing deeper.

 

Camille chuckles softly, then moves—hovering over her, body radiating heat as she reaches down and guides herself to Suzie’s entrance. The blunt head of her cock presses lightly against soft, slick folds. Suzie flinches, her whole body shivering at the first touch.

 

“Suzie,” Camille whispers, voice like velvet and smoke. Suzie looks up instantly, eyes wide, trusting.

 

“I’m going in… If anything feels wrong, if you need me to stop, just tell me. Or… pat my back… or bite my lip if I’m not listening.” Her tone drops lower with each word, dripping with both care and restrained hunger.

 

Then Camille begins to press forward—slow, controlled, every muscle taut with restraint.

 

Suzie trembles, her body tensing instinctively.

 

“Ah, kitty…” Camille murmurs, one hand sliding up to hold her thigh while the other braces her weight on the mattress. Her lips graze Suzie’s temple as she soothes, “Breathe for me… soft, kitty…”

 

Suzie exhales shakily, trying to relax as Camille inches deeper—slow, steady, patient.

 

Then it happens—Camille slides in a little, stretching her.

 

Suzie shivers violently, her voice breaking on a gasp. “Ahhh… Oh Goddess, Camille!”

 

Camille freezes, her own breath coming ragged now. Her pupils dilated with raw hunger, her face flushed, every line of her body screaming with arousal.

 

She’s taking me… Camille thinks, pulse pounding in her ears. My beautiful Suzie’s letting me in…

 

Suzie feels it in every nerve—the ache, the stretch, the desperate need. Some wild part of her wants Camille to pound her hard and deep, to claim her completely. But she knows better. She knows her body isn’t ready yet, not for all of Camille. Still, the hunger in her eyes gives her away.

 

“C–Camille… please…” Her voice trembles, raw and needy. “Go deeper.”

 

Camille groans, the sound low and rough, vibrating against Suzie’s skin. “Ah… Suzie… be careful,” she murmurs, her jaw tight with restraint. “I’m holding back a lot.”

 

Suzie moves before she can stop herself—arching her hips, pushing closer, taking more of Camille inside. A sharp gasp rips from her lips. “Ahhh… Camille…”

 

Camille curses softly, her breath shuddering as she grips Suzie’s thigh tighter. “Baby kitten… ah…”

 

She starts to move—slow, careful thrusts that rock deep enough to make Suzie’s breath hitch with every push. Camille’s voice comes out strained, almost breaking.

“Goddess… Suzie… you feel so good I can barely stand it. You’re gonna make me lose control…”

 

Don´t say that, Camille!

Suzie squeezes around her, her whole body melting and burning at once. She feels so full, so overwhelmed she could come right then and there—just from the slow drag of Camille inside her, but she’s trying hard not to.

 

Camille presses forward slowly, inch by inch, her breath shaky as she feels Suzie stretching around her. Her free hand slides from Suzie’s thigh to her waist, then higher, gliding over her trembling stomach to the soft rise of her breast. Her palm cups gently, thumb brushing over the peak with deliberate tenderness.

 

Suzie whimpers, arching into the touch as if craving more of her everywhere. “Camille…” Her voice is a whisper of devotion, so raw it makes Camille’s chest ache.

 

“Talk to me, baby,” Camille murmurs, leaning down to kiss the corner of her lips, her jaw, her throat. “You okay?”

 

Suzie nods quickly, eyes hazy but locked on Camille’s with something deeper than lust—something that feels warmer, blooming in the heat of their bodies.

 

“Then I'll go deeper,” Camille whispers, and pushes deeper. Carefully. Slowly.

 

Suzie gasps, her arms winding tight around Camille’s shoulders like she wants to pull her inside her soul. She presses her chest against Camille’s, burying her face in her neck as if to fuse them together. Her legs tense, then relax, and she tilts her hips—offering herself completely, urging Camille closer.

 

“Oh Goddess—Suzie…” Camille groans, feeling that silent plea in every movement of Suzie’s body. Her hand cups Suzie’s face now, thumb brushing away tears as her other hand kneads her breast, fingers teasing just enough to make her moan softly into Camille’s skin.

 

Suzie’s body trembles, her hips rolling in tiny circles to take Camille deeper. It’s shy at first, then bolder, her way of saying without words : I care for you. I want all of you.

 

Camille feels it—feels her kitten surrendering so beautifully, so fully—and something inside her melts and burns at once. She kisses Suzie hard, deep, swallowing every sound as her hips begin to move again in slow, careful thrusts, all while her hand slides lower… lower… finding that sweet, sensitive spot between their joined bodies, her fingers find Suzie’s clit—hot, swollen, waiting.

 

“Ah—Camille…!” Suzie cries out, her voice breaking with pleasure and something tender, her nails digging into Camille’s back as if she can’t bear to let her go.

 

Camille groans low, kissing her jaw, her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. “Ah, baby… I’ve got you. You’re doing so well… so soft, so good.”

 

The praise makes Suzie shiver, her hands clutching at Camille’s shoulders like she can’t survive without her. She tilts her hips, wordlessly begging for more.

 

Camille chuckles softly against her lips, her breath hot and ragged. “Look at you… my fierce Suzie… melting in my hands. Who do you belong to, hm?”

 

Camille… how dare you?! Thinks Suzie 

 

“Who owns you…” Camille softly says.

 

Who would have thought… you… Camille… would be the type to say these sorts of things in bed!

 

Suzie’s voice is a broken gasp. “You… Camille… only you.”

 

Camille loves seeing Suzie like that. Loves hearing her break like that.

 

“Good girl.” Camille’s eyes darken with pride and hunger as she pushes deeper—careful, but enough to make Suzie’s head fall back with a sharp cry. “Feel that? That’s me inside you… filling you… all yours.”

 

Her thumb moves faster now, teasing that sensitive spot as her hips roll in perfect rhythm. The combination tears Suzie apart—every nerve sparking like fire.

 

“Ohhh—Camille!” Her cry is high, desperate, her body bowing off the bed as the climax hits—violent and sweet, crashing through her in waves. Heat spills, her thighs trembling, her walls clamping down so hard Camille groans against her lips.

 

“Ngh! That’s it, baby kitten… let it all out. Every moan. Give it to me…” Camille whispers, her voice a low purr as she kisses Suzie deeply, swallowing every broken whimper. Her fingers keep moving in slow, teasing circles, dragging the pleasure out until Suzie is trembling, sobbing softly into her mouth.

 

Camille wraps her up completely, holding her as if she could shield her from the world, murmuring between lingering kisses:

"You're so sweet. So cute and soft. My perfect little Suzie… I want you—omega, alpha, or whatever you choose to be.”

 

Suzie clings tighter, arms wound around Camille. Her voice breaks against Camille’s lips, trembling and raw:

“Camille… have mercy…”

 

“Mercy?... Suzie… I'm being so careful…”

 

Suzie says “I… mean…”

What if we fall in love, Camille? I have to flee, would you flee with me? I’d be devastated if you leave me now! How dare you make me feel like this and leave me the next day!

But she doesn't dare say it.

 

Camille smiles.

“You mean mercy with your heart?”

 

Suzie shivers.

Aaahhhgg Camille!!!

 

Camille feels like she’s on fire. Every breath is heat, every nerve screams for more as she looks down at Suzie—her proud, stubborn Suzie—now trembling, soft, pleading under her. The sight makes something deep in her chest ache and burn all at once.

 

She lowers her forehead to Suzie’s, kisses her lips slow and claiming, and murmurs against her mouth:

“Look at you… my fierce little girl, all melted for me. Do you even know how beautiful you are right now? How much I’ve wanted this? Do you know what you do to my heart ?”

 

Suzie shivers under the weight of that voice, eyes hazy, lips trembling. “Camille… please…”

 

Camille pulls back just enough to pin her with that blazing blue stare, her voice velvet-wrapped steel.

“Please what, kitten? Say it. Use that pretty mouth.”

 

Suzie swallows, breath breaking. “Please… go deeper.”

 

Camille smiles, slow and dangerous, like a goddess savoring worship. “Deeper…” she repeats, kissing her nose, her lips, then gripping Suzie’s wrists and slamming them above her head, threading their fingers tight. 

 

Deeper? Suzie… have mercy…

 

Her hips press forward—slow, merciless—sinking deeper until Suzie gasps, her back arching, legs tightening around Camille’s waist. Camille groans low in her throat, lips brushing Suzie’s ear as she whispers, breath hot and trembling:

“Goddess… you feel like heaven. Like you were made to envelop my cock so perfectly.”

 

Camille… those words… coming from youuu….!!!

Suzie had never heard Camille be this raw.

 

Camille starts to move—long, dragging thrusts that grind against every nerve inside Suzie, making the bed creak softly with each push. Her abs flex, her jaw clenches, and her voice spills in broken, hungry murmurs:

“Hold on to me, baby kitten. That’s it—take me deep. Every inch… that’s my good girl.”

 

Suzie moans helplessly, fingers curling as her hips roll up to meet her.

 

“Ahhh—Camille—”

 

Camille bites her earlobe gently, soothing it with her tongue before growling, raw and low:

Suzie, I'm at my limit and now… I need to own you… now”

 

Suzie feels herself reaching her limit just from hearing Camille be that possessive.

 

“Say it, kitten. Say who owns this body.”

 

Suzie can't say it. She fears she might explode.

 

“Who owns—” she thrusts “this…” thrusts “body…” thrusts.

 

Suzie drools, shivers, pants and feels like never before.

“You—Camille—I’m yours!”

 

“That’s right,” Camille hisses against her lips, her hips snapping harder now, pounding into her with rhythm and force that makes the headboard slam the wall. “Mine… nobody else's… it's mine."

 

Not Hazel’s… not anyone’s but mine… my Suzie…

 

Her hand slides down, gripping Suzie’s thigh so hard it leaves marks, shoving her open wider as Camille drives in deep, again and again, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Her body is a storm now—hips grinding, rolling, snapping—her breath ragged against Suzie’s cheek as she pours her heart out in filthy, tender words:

“You feel so fucking good, baby… so perfect. You’re gonna feel me for days. Every time you move tomorrow—you’ll remember this. You’ll remember me. Because I don’t share. I don’t let go. You’re mine, Suzie. Mine forever.”

 

Suzie’s cries melt into sobs as her body flutters tight around her, and Camille feels it—the sweet, pulsing grip that breaks her in half.

 

“Oh fuck—Suzie—” Her voice rips apart as her climax hits, savage and sweet, hips slamming deep as she empties inside her with raw, desperate groans. She grinds against her, hips jerking with each hot pulse as she kisses her like she owns her soul—tongue claiming, lips bruising, her words spilling in a hoarse, shaking rasp:

“Mine—mine—mine—I love… ah—I love this so much, baby—fuck—you’re everything—”

 

She doesn’t stop moving, hips still rocking in slow, messy thrusts as if she can fuse them together forever. She kisses Suzie everywhere—her lips, her wet cheeks, her jaw—murmuring against her skin, voice trembling with love and feral need:

“My perfect kitten… my fierce girl… soft just for me. You gave me everything tonight. And I swear to you—Goddess help me—I’ll never stop wanting you. I'll go where you go.”

 

“You… you’ll come with me? Run away with me if I have to?” Suzie’s voice trembles, almost breaking.

“Yes.” Camille’s whisper brushes her lips before sealing the promise with a kiss. “I can’t be apart from you now.”

“Camille… Please don’t regret this tomorrow. Please…” Suzie chokes on a sob, the words raw and pleading.

If she changes her mind, I’ll die. I swear I will.

Camille pulls her close, her arms a quiet fortress. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, Suzie. I won’t change my mind.”

“Swear it… over the moons,” Suzie whispers, desperate.

Camille smiles softly, a sound like a warm tide in the silence. “I swear.”

Fear still gnaws at Suzie, sharper than ever, but in Camille’s embrace, it begins to dissolve. She clings tighter, seeking that familiar calm, and Camille gives it—wrapping her in strength and quiet devotion, like she’s always known how.

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The passion ebbs slowly, leaving only warmth in its wake as they lie entwined.
Outside, the evening deepens, colors fading into a hushed blue.

Camille’s skin glows faintly, kissed by the dim light seeping through the blackout blinds. Suzie nestles in her arms—small, warm, safe.
Safe, even with Lyra hunting them.
Safe, even with Aira’s shadow looming like a storm.

Here, in Camille’s embrace, the world cannot touch her.
Suzie drifts, certain and serene.
Camille is her refuge. Her quiet island of care, guarded by the silent watch of the moon.

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Author's note:

It happened yaaay! I know this chapter was looong, but Camille is like that, she goes slow, in crescendo. I couldn´t edit anything out. Anyway, hope you like it! We're close to finishing season 2!

Chapter 34: Heat - Possessive rage 💥

Summary:

All it takes is one scent—undeniable, intoxicating—for everything to fall apart. Camille defends what’s hers, Hazel goes into full heat, and Lyra barely holds herself together. As secrets unravel and bodies collide, Suzie’s long-hidden truth detonates into the open, changing everything. Even Aira didn’t anticipate what happens but she's sure enjoying it!
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The light in the room is warm and low, spilling through the tall glass windows in soft, golden sheets. Outside, the city glows gently beneath a sky tinged with fading blue and honeyed rose. Inside, the bedroom feels still—bathed in a calm, amber hush. The shadows stretch long, the air quiet and thick with the comfort of winding down.

Aira pauses the video on her screen and smiles to herself. She’s tucked into bed, propped up by pillows, her laptop resting on the low table across her lap. The screen dims, reflecting the soft contours of her face. She wears a loose t-shirt and has her hair tied up in a bun, exuding a calm, relaxed vibe.

Next to her, an omega sleeps soundly—tanned skin glowing in the light, black hair streaked with pink falling messily over her shoulder. Her breath is slow, deep, unbothered.

Aira reaches out and gently shakes her. “Sorelle.”

The woman stirs, eyelids fluttering. “Ah!—Ah… Miss Astorè?” she mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Sorelle,” Aira says again, calm but firmer. “Wake up. Go pick up Hazel from her job. If Lyra is there, pick her up too.”

Sorelle slowly pushes herself up, the blanket sliding from her bare body. She rubs her eyes, hair tousled and catching the golden light as it spills across the bed. The room holds its hush, thick and soft, like the pause before evening fully arrives.

Sorelle rises and walks away, silent as she crosses the room to get dressed.

Aira waits until she’s out of sight, then rewinds the video and watches with attentive eyes.

The screen flickers to life—glowing in shades of yellow, orange, and deep red. At first glance, it resembles thermal imaging: two bodies in motion, one tall and broad, the other smaller, quicker. The setting is unmistakable—Camille’s apartment.

They speak, their outlines shifting gently, brushing close.

Then, the smaller figure lunges—no hesitation, no restraint. Contact. Movement. Intensity.

And then something changes.

The colors swell unnaturally. Orange blossoms into gold, red pulses outward like waves. The screen grows unstable—blurred by radiant bursts that distort the scene. The signal strains to process it, overwhelmed not by heat, but by something else entirely.

Aira’s smile deepens.

“Oh, Suzie… Suzie, Suzie, Suzie,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on the screen. “You’ve just become very important to this research.”

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At Morph C.O., Lyra knows today is the day.

Unfortunately, it’s also Ari’s day to stay an extra hour after work for a therapy session—with the new, ridiculously attractive therapist.

Fuck… I don’t want to leave Ari alone with her, Lyra thinks, arms crossed, watching from the second-floor railing. Below, the therapist gently sees off another flushed-looking omega from her freshly furnished office—located right where Lyra’s old office used to be.

Her jaw clenches.

She scans the lobby—and spots Hazel and Gina whispering behind the reception desk.

Huh?... What an odd pair.

“So, this is the plan,” Hazel says, gripping Gina by the shoulders with way too much energy. “You distract Shiva with your crappy car. She’s a materia, right? So she’s gonna try to connect with it. You let her—and then… you hack her!”

“I hack her? How?” Gina asks, baffled.

“How? How?!” Hazel throws her hands up. “Damn! I was thinking about Suzie! She can hack anything. I miss her so much!”

Gina just stares at her, stunned.

Hazel is so incredibly dumb , she thinks, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“Look, we could do that,” Gina says, trying to follow Hazel’s chaotic logic, “we just need someone to hack—”

But a voice cuts her off.

“Miss Hazel Astorè,” the voice says, clear and calm. “Miss Aira Astorè sent me to pick you up. We’re going to Camille’s house.”

They both turn.

Sorelle stands by the lobby entrance, striking in her tailored black uniform. Her high-waisted slacks hug her frame flawlessly, flaring at the ankles over polished boots. A crisp white shirt peeks from beneath a sharply cut blazer, the tie pinned in place with a silver brooch. The dark corset detail cinches her waist tightly, giving her an elegant, almost theatrical edge. The emblem of the Astorè crest gleams on her lapel.

Hazel blinks. “Wait—what?”

Sorelle’s expression doesn’t waver. “The car is ready.”

Hazel grins at Gina, eyes gleaming. “Sorry, baby. I don’t need you anymore.”

Gina frowns, utterly lost. “What?!”

Across the railing, Lyra watches the exchange silently—until her gaze drifts to Sorelle.

She knows that face.

Sorelle stands poised in her sleek driver’s uniform, expression neutral but not blank. Slowly, she lifts her head and meets Lyra’s stare.

Lyra doesn’t flinch.

There’s something about her. Something familiar.

Then Sorelle turns back to Hazel. “Oh, by the way—Lyra should come too.”

Hazel doesn’t even pause to question it. She’s already buzzing at the idea of going to Camille’s. Probably to see Suzie too.

“Okay!” she beams, then waves up at Lyra, calling her with exaggerated, excited gestures.

Lyra hesitates—then starts down the stairs, puzzled.

And then it clicks.

That girl… she was my driver once, that day at Suzie’s place.

Lyra is brought up to speed quickly. Aira’s orders. They’re going to Camille’s.

She has no choice but to go.

But her eyes flick toward the hallway where Ari disappeared moments ago.

“Can I take Ari?” she asks.

Sorelle shakes her head politely. “I don’t think she can come.”

That hits harder than Lyra expects.

Fuck! She will be alone with that alpha!

Her jaw tightens, her breath shifts—visible, controlled frustration.

“Is this a problem?” Sorelle asks, her voice even.

Lyra doesn’t answer. She just pulls out her phone.

“Baby, Aira calls. Have a nice first therapy session. You’re mine. Remember that. I love you.”

No emojis. No punctuation beyond what’s necessary.

Ari reads the message from her seat in the waiting room, lit by soft, indirect lighting.

First, she melts. Her lips part. Her whole chest warms.

But then her eyes widen— wait.

She was supposed to keep Lyra here . She was supposed to distract her with another date.

“Oh no!” Ari blurts out, springing to her feet.

She hurries to reception, but she’s too late—Lyra is gone.

Only Gina remains, arms crossed, wearing a sour expression.

“Ginaaa, where’s Lyra?” Ari asks, breathless as she approaches.

“Oh. She left in a car with Hazel. Headed to Camille’s,” Gina replies, voice dripping with resentment. “And I wasn’t invited.”

“What?! Noooo! ” Ari cries, practically stomping in place.

“Miss Longsworth?” a calm voice calls out.

Ari turns.

“It’s time for your therapy session,” says Noura, standing in the hallway, impossibly poised.

“If you don’t want your slot, I do! ” a random omega yells from the design workspace.

Ari lets out a whimper of frustration. “Ughhh…”

How could Lyra do this to me??

“Come on, Ari. It’s just the first session—just to get to know each other,” Noura says with a warm, encouraging smile.

Ari sulks, arms hanging at her sides. “Ok… yeah…”

She trails after Noura like a child being led into detention. Noura chuckles softly, glancing back.

“You’re the first one to look this sour about it,” she teases.

“Ah! No… It’s not that, I just—ugh— Lyra …”

“Oh, couple drama,” Noura says lightly. “We can talk about that in therapy.”

Ari groans under her breath as she steps into the room. “Great…”

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“How are you even getting in, Sorelle?” Hazel asks gleefully from the back seat as they drive “Did she invite you in?”

Sorelle smiles faintly, eyes on the road. “I have my ways.”

In the passenger seat, Lyra stays silent—tense, arms crossed, watching everything with quiet suspicion.

They arrive at Camille’s gate. The sleek security system activates, scanning the vehicle. Sorelle leans toward the console and murmurs something low—too soft to make out.

Hazel, curious, leans forward to listen—just in time to catch a fragment of the whisper.

“What was that—?”

But Sorelle pushes her gently back into her seat with one hand, eyes never leaving the display.

The gate clicks open.

Hazel gapes. “ How?! ”

Sorelle lets a hint of mischief touch her voice. “With a little help from a friend… of Aira’s.”

Lyra steps out of the car, but her mind is elsewhere—Ari. Thoughts of her cloud everything, leaving her slightly unfocused.

Then it hits them.

“Oh my Goddess…” Hazel is the first to react, eyes wide. “Do you smell that?”

Lyra stiffens. Her pupils dilate.

Sorelle looks around, calm as ever. “I don’t smell anything.”

“That’s because it’s not meant for you,” Lyra says quietly. She takes a slow breath. “It’s a potent omega scent.”

The kind that’s not accidental.

Hazel blinks, stunned. “That’s... strong.”

Without another word, Lyra storms in—and kicks Camille’s door open with a loud, splintering crack .

“Whoa! Okay—why the violence?” Hazel says, trailing behind with a grin. She’s just excited to see Camille, regardless of the drama.

Sorelle steps in after them, calm but alert. From under her blazer, she pulls out a sleek, matte-black stun gun.

“Whoa... Sorelle?” Hazel eyes it warily.

“Hazel, stand back,” Lyra orders, voice low and commanding.

Hazel steps aside, lips parted in anticipation.

The air inside the house is heavy—sweet, thick, and unmistakably charged.

Hazel inhales deeply, and it hits her like a wave.

“Oh… my—this is top tier omega scent,” she breathes, voice thick with hunger. Her pupils blow wide, her skin flushes, and a shiver runs through her entire body. “Whoever this chick is... I want her. Now. ”

Lyra immediately covers her mouth and nose with her hand, speaking through her palm. “Sorelle, didn’t Aira give you a mask for me or something?”

Sorelle gives her a small, unbothered smile and shrugs. “Sorry.”

Lyra’s eyes narrow, furious.

Of course. Aira doesn’t do anything without a reason.

Did she want me to lose control here? Fucking Aira…

“I can’t work like this,” Lyra mutters, voice strained, and pushes her way back out the front door.

“Huh? Wait, Lyra!” Sorelle calls after her, tense now. If she ends up facing Camille or Suzie in there, she’s not sure she can handle either on her own.

Lyra slams the damaged door shut behind her, gulps fresh air, and leans against the frame.

Don’t try to mess with me, Aira.

Inside, Hazel is drowning in it.

The scent floods her senses—thick, heady, almost intoxicating. Her legs tremble, her breath shortens, and something primal takes hold.

“Sorelle…” she warns, her voice gone dark, sultry, feral. “Stand back… or I’ll jump you. ”

Sorelle goes pale and instinctively steps away, keeping her stun gun in view—but not raised.

Hazel doesn’t wait.

She bolts forward, following the scent trail like a predator, heart pounding with urgency.

It’s coming from Camille’s room.

And Hazel is no longer thinking.

She’s hunting .

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Still lounging in her room, now with an alpha resting beside her, Aira stares intently at the glowing screen in front of her. The feed shows Camille’s house—three bodies marked on the display in the living room. One of them moves toward the exit.

She smirks softly. “Tch… Lyra… come on,” she murmurs.

The screen pulses with a thick cloud of color—Suzie’s scent flooding the space, nearly overwhelming the signal. But the movement remains visible: Sorelle backing off cautiously, Hazel advancing fast, like something unchained.

Aira’s eyes narrow with interest. Her smile sharpens.

“Hazel… finally ,” she says, low and pleased.

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Inside Camille’s bedroom, the air is syrupy—thick with scent and heat.

Camille holds Suzie tightly, her skin flushed, breath still uneven. Suzie lies half-melted in her arms, dazed but alert beneath the haze.

“Camille…” she whispers, voice soft but tense. “I sense something…”

Camille does too. The atmosphere shifts.

Another presence.

The scent creeping closer is different—sharp, dominant, unrestrained. Alpha. Aggressive.

Camille’s body reacts before her mind catches up. Her pupils narrow into slits. Her muscles tense and swell, instincts sharpening.

“Suzie,” she says, voice low and clipped, “hide.”

She gently lowers her onto the bed and bolts for the door, her bare feet silent against the floor. As soon as she’s out, she orders sharply, “Shiva, lock the room.”

The door seals behind her.

She doesn’t have to search.

Hazel is already there—at the end of the hallway. Her body heaves with heat, sweat glistening on her skin. She’s swollen, flushed, barely herself. Her eyes gleam red, jaw slack, lips parted. She’s drooling.

“Haaah… Camille…” Hazel growls, voice husky, broken. “You were hiding this delicious omega from me… weren’t you?” She licks her lips, her tone dropping darker. “You have to share now.”

“NO,” Camille snaps, voice like a whip.

Talking is useless.

They’ve changed.

The scent has done something to them—something primal and apparently irreversible at  teh moment.

Words no longer matter.

Only instincts remain.

They lunge at each other, feral and fast. Punches land—solid, brutal—but neither alpha seems to feel a thing. Their bodies are past pain. Their adrenaline is a storm.

Far away, in the soft luxury of her bed, Aira watches the feed unfold on her screen. She laughs, sharp and delighted, stirring the alpha curled beside her. Yes, another woman.

“They won’t feel the pain until it’s too late,” she says, eyes gleaming. “They’ll be at their peak… Ah yes. This is the true potential of an alpha.”

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Back at Camille’s house, in the hallway, the fight rages.

Camille slams Hazel against the wall with one arm, powerful enough to dent the surface. Hazel sinks slightly into the plaster, but her grin only widens.

“She’s mine! ” Camille snarls. “She’s always been mine! Don’t you get it, you stupid cunt?!”

Hazel blinks—just a flicker of hurt. But her heat is stronger. It blinds her to pride, to reason.

She rears back and lands a vicious kick to Camille’s groin.

“ Ugh! ” Camille crumples, falling to her knees with a gasp.

Hazel stands tall over her. “If I’m so stupid… why are you losing? ” she growls, then turns and charges toward Suzie’s door.

She slams her fist against it. “Open up, omega!”

Inside, Suzie hears her voice—and freezes.

Then, without a word, she scrambles to the bathroom, locks the door, and throws herself into the shower. Cold water hits her skin as she curls beneath it, desperately hoping to drown out her own scent.

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Camille rises, fury twisting her expression.

“ Fucker! ” she spits, grabbing Hazel by the nape with raw force and yanking her away from the door. She throws her backward like a ragdoll.

“Don’t you dare touch my omega ever again!”

Hazel crashes onto the living room floor, coughing, breath catching.

She blinks up at Camille, dazed. “ Again…? ” she repeats, something dangerous flickering in her eyes.

Camille doesn’t wait.

She charges—slamming into Hazel again, this time driving her deeper into the living room. She’s pure muscle, heat, and fury—unstoppable.

Hazel staggers to her feet, breathing hard. “What do you mean again ?”

Camille doesn’t answer. Her chest rises and falls, nostrils flaring.

The air has shifted—lighter now. Less saturated. Suzie’s pheromones are retreating.

Camille’s eyes flick toward the front door—where Sorelle stands, tense, watching everything unfold.

Camille narrows her eyes at Hazel. “Don’t come any closer. Let’s take this outside. We finish this out there. ”

Hazel, still feral, snarls. “Don’t try to fool me. What do you mean by again? ”

But Camille doesn’t respond.

She runs —and this time, she tackles Hazel full-force.

Sorelle shrieks as the two alphas crash into the front door. Wood splinters. The lock bursts. Camille’s momentum carries them both through it—breaking the door clean off its frame.

They land in a heap on the front yard grass, tangled, bruised, and wild-eyed.

Camille rolls to her feet first, hair wild, teeth bared.

Hazel spits grass, panting. “Why are you so greedy?” she growls.

Camille raises her fists. “Hazel, you moron! Fucking breathe and let’s ta—”

A sharp crack of electricity cuts her off.

“ Uuugh! ”

Camille seizes and collapses, muscles locking as a stun charge hits her from behind.

Sorelle stands a few steps away, arm extended, her hand clenched around the trigger of her stun gun—still crackling faintly as Camille hits the ground.

Sorelle’s breath trembles, but she exhales with visible relief, eyes wide, her stance still defensive.

Hazel smirks, watching Camille twitch on the grass.

“Well done…” she says, rising to her feet and brushing off her pants. Her smile turns feral again. “Once I’m finished with that omega... you’re next. ”

Sorelle flinches.

Hazel steps through the splintered remains of the front door, her pace slow but charged. Each step pulls her deeper into Camille’s home, her eyes wild, locked on the path ahead.

Sorelle stands frozen in the living room, gripping the stun gun with trembling hands. From where she is, she can hear Camille’s bedroom door groaning under Hazel’s fists.

From her plush bed, watching through her screen, Aira claps her hands once in delight. “Yes… yes…” she whispers, grinning.

But in the living room, Sorelle’s heart pounds with dread.

 

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The door breaks open.

 

Inside the room, Hazel breathes in deep—and nearly collapses.

“Oh my fucking Goddess! ” she groans, reeling. Her pupils dilate, her heat reignites like fire catching dry kindling. “Whoever you are… you’re done. ”

She hears the shower running.

“Oh ho ho…you wanna get fucked in the shower?” she purrs darkly.

 

In the bathroom, Suzie frantically scrubs her body—soap, shampoo, cold water— anything to drown the scent radiating off her skin. But nothing helps.

It’s not working. It’s not fucking working!!

Is this really happening? Am I really going to—

CRACK.

The door flies open under Hazel’s kick.

Hazel storms in and yanks the shower curtain aside.

“Trying to wash away that fucking addictive scent?” she growls.

And then—she sees her.

Suzie.

Slightly softer, slightly cuter. Her eyes larger. Still same height. Still undeniably her. But omega. Radiating heat. Frightened. Dripping.

Hazel’s face contorts into a feral smile—but then her expression falters.

“Wait… what?”

Suzie freezes, wide-eyed, paralyzed.

Hazel blinks. Her voice trembles. “Suzie?”

Suzie nods slowly, lips quivering.

Hazel stops cold. Instinct and emotion clash violently inside her.

Her body screams to take, to mount, to claim.

But her heart?

Her heart wants to wrap her in a towel, hold her close, bury her face in her neck, and whisper, I missed you. I need you. I would never hurt you.

She doesn’t move. She just stands there, breathing hard, shaking.

Suzie is frozen too—but not by instinct. By fear.

She forces her voice to work, digging deep past the terror in her throat.

“Hazel…” she whispers. “Please… don’t hurt me.”

Something inside Hazel shatters.

Of course she would never hurt her. Not Suzie. Her best friend. Her gossip partner. Her… whatever-they-were… Fuck buddy , sure—but never without some sort of warmth. Never without consent.

To hurt Suzie would be to hurt herself.

Hazel’s legs buckle. She lowers herself slowly to the floor.

She kneels.

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“What the—?!” Aira shouts, sitting up abruptly.

“Mrmr…” grumbles the short haired alpha beside her, barely awake.

Aira slaps her across the head.

“Ow! What the hell—?”

“ Shut the fuck up! ” Aira snaps, eyes locked on the screen. “Look at this… My niece is about to disappoint me. Live. ”

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In Camille’s bathroom, Suzie stands dripping, shaking.

“Hazel, it’s me… I’ve always been an omega,” she says quickly, like the words might disappear if she hesitates. “Nobody knew. Only your aunt—because she basically did this to me. I’m sorry I hid it from you.”

I missed you.

Hazel stares at the floor, fists clenched at her sides. She doesn’t dare look at Suzie—because if she does , she might lose control.

“Hazel…” Suzie whispers.

But Hazel moves suddenly—stands, turns, runs.

She bolts out of the room, down the hall, past Sorelle, past the wrecked door. 

With her heat-heightened strength, she jumps the gate in one leap, landing hard on the other side and not stopping.

Out into the street.

Lyra, still outside, leaning against the perimeter wall, watches her land and sprint off.

“Whoa! Hazel?” she calls, startled.

Hazel doesn’t even look back.

Lyra straightens. “What the…?” She immediately calls Sorelle. “Sorelle, open the gate!”

 

Sorelle, halfway down the hallway, picks up the call.

“Oh. You’re still here,” she says absently, and taps her phone. The gate clicks open.

She keeps moving—reaching Camille’s room. The shower turns off.

Tightening her grip on the stun gun, she steps into the bathroom, eyes scanning. She yanks the curtain open—

Empty.

She freezes.

Too late.

From behind, Suzie pounces—her arms wrapping around Sorelle’s neck in a precise chokehold. With one sharp kick to the back of her knee, Sorelle stumbles, losing balance. Suzie adjusts her grip, tightens—

Sorelle goes limp.

 

Suzie exhales, breath shaking. “Phew…”

She stares down at her, soaked, heart pounding. But free.

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Outside, Lyra rushes through the open gate—and freezes.

Camille lies sprawled on the torn-up lawn, motionless.

Lyra’s stomach twists.

“What the hell ?!” she gasps, sprinting toward her.

She drops to her knees, checks for vitals— alive.

With care, she turns Camille onto her back.

Blood.

There’s bruising across her jaw, a cut on her temple, her lip bloody. Her breathing is shallow, but steady.

Lyra’s hands ball into fists. Rage coils in her gut.

This wasn’t Sorelle. That much is obvious. The girl was armed, yes, but too small—too precise.

This? This was raw, brutal.

Was it Hazel?

Lyra looks up at the broken front door, heart pounding.

And she stands.

Ari’s words echo in her mind—about leaving Aira, about never running her "errands" again.

“Fuck…” Lyra mutters.

A sudden sense of danger prickles at her skin. She turns—and freezes.

At the doorway stands Suzie, holding Sorelle’s stun gun, aimed directly at her.

“Lyra, step back!” Suzie orders, voice trembling but firm.

Lyra stares at her. Suzie looks different—softer, cuter… flushed. And that scent. Sweet. Wet. Overwhelming.

Lyra instinctively covers her nose and mouth.

“Back off!” Suzie repeats, eyes locked and unyielding.

A click… she pulls the trigger—

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Chapter 35: Between Two Omegas 🌙🤍

Summary:

In this chapter, Noura’s evening takes an unexpected turn as she becomes the steady point between two emotionally charged omegas. From tense conversations to quiet moments in unfamiliar territory, she works to keep tempers calm and nerves steady. But as the night wears on and questions go unanswered, the weight of another alpha’s unseen presence begins to press in, leaving Noura wondering what she’s really stepped into.

Is any of you a psychologist?
What would you do?
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“Lyra, step back!” Suzie orders, her voice trembling but firm.

Lyra freezes. Suzie looks different—softer, flushed, almost glowing. And that scent… sweet, wet, overwhelming. It hits her like a wave.

Instinctively, Lyra covers her nose and mouth.

“I said back off!” Suzie repeats, eyes locked, hands steady.

A sharp click. She pulls the trigger—

Lyra surges forward, lightning-fast—but the stun gun catches her mid-step. Electricity courses through her, her body jolting violently. As she seizes, she purposefully inhales Suzie’s scent, she intuitively knows it can save her somehow.

Oh wow… this is amazing… the thought stabs through her as her nerves ignite. Even through the pain, the scent feels stimulating , almost euphoric. Her face contorts—caught between agony and something dangerously close to pleasure, her resistance is greater, she feels invigorated enough to not collapse from the pain.

Suzie’s expression twists in horror. She's startled, disturbed. Did Lyra just sniff her scent on purpose?

“Su…zie…” Lyra gasps, voice straining, “stop…”

Suzie hesitates, then lifts her finger from the trigger. The current stops. Lyra collapses to her knees, panting, eyes wide.

“You’re a monster…” Suzie whispers, stunned.

Lyra flinches. “I—I didn’t do this!” she shouts, not daring to meet her eyes.

Suzie keeps her distance, gaze sharp but unsure. She watches Lyra carefully, trying to decide if she’s lying.

“I… I think it was Hazel,” Lyra says, her voice breaking.

Then she slumps fully to the ground, breath shallow. “I just want to see Ari… please… bring Ari to me.”

Suzie’s grip tightens on the stun gun, but she studies Lyra's face. There’s something raw there. Desperate. She 's not lying.

“I would never hurt Camille,” Lyra whispers, audible enough fir Suzie to hear it. “She’s… I don’t know what she is to me. But I care about her. A lot.”

Suzie doesn’t lower the weapon yet. But her stance softens. She thinks of Hazel.

I don’t know what she is to me. But I care about her. A lot. Those words resonate with her.

“Ok.” Suzie lowers the gun “Why are you here then? Weren´t you supposed to kidnap me?”

Lyra answers with effort “Yes… or so I thought… but… something tells me Aira had other plans and forgot to tell me”

Suzie huffs. “I can´t fully trust you, Lyra…” she enters Camille’s home and then exits with a syringe “But I think you can be of use to us for now.” She injects Lyra with something making her fall asleep.

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A couple of days back…

 

“So I… I… don’t really like that and… and…” Nova stammers.

Noura observes her quietly, her short blonde hair, her cute face, blue eyes flickering away and back again, as if torn between avoiding and holding the moment. She nods, doing everything in her power to make Nova feel safe, she even changed the color of her eyes from red to green using expensive body modtech to change her eyes’ color whenever she wants.

“You say you didn’t like it, but you kept going to her house. Why do you think that is?” she asks gently.

Nova looks down. The guilt is there, plain as day. Noura catches it instantly.

“I’m not blaming you for anything,” she says softly. “You’re not at fault here. There can be many reasons why…”

“Ok. I might have lied… or… I don’t know,” Nova mutters.

Noura tilts her head, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh? How so?”

“I… I liked the… act… but… I don’t like what it does to me. Does that make sense?” Nova searches for her eyes, wanting—needing—approval.

Noura understands. A small smile touches her lips.
“So you enjoyed having what you call ‘rough sex’ with your girlfriend, Hazel… but you don’t like who you feel you’re becoming because of it. Did I get that right?”

Hearing it spoken aloud by Noura hits Nova in an unexpected way—lightening her, somehow.
“Yes… that’s it.”

“What is it you don’t like about who you’re becoming?” Noura’s voice holds no judgment.

Nova exhales, a little more at ease. “Like… I’m…” She flushes. “I’m horny all the time.”

Noura makes a quick note on her tablet.

“Oh my Goddess, don’t write that!” Nova blurts.

Noura chuckles, covering her mouth before speaking calmly. “It’s alright, Nova. Nobody can read my notes. I only write down the key points so I can remember them later. I’m not judging you.” She closes the tablet. “In fact, this is very common. You’re perfectly normal.”

The reassurance loosens something in Nova’s chest.

The conversation flows on—about Nova’s mothers, especially Regina, about the Moonbound Covenant and her role as a Moonbeam. Then it shifts to friends… and the air thickens again when Nova mentions Ari.

“And she… she let me lie in her arms,” Nova says quietly.

Noura’s gaze sharpens with interest. “And how did that make you feel?”

Nova hesitates, then: “Like I was myself again. Like I was… okay.”

But then Lyra…
She remembers how being choked had sent a jolt of arousal so sharp she’d lost control, the memory of release flooding back. She shoves it down, smothering it beneath the weight of her own shame.

Another note is scribbled down.

“Nova, it seems our time is up, but this has been very productive. I’m glad we got to know each other.” She rises and steps closer, resting a reassuring hand on Nova’s arm. “You’re alright, Nova.”

And somehow, Nova believes her.

When she leaves Noura’s office, she feels lighter. The therapist hadn’t given her instructions or advice, hadn’t told her what to do—but simply talking had untangled something inside her. She walks away relieved, more at ease with herself than she had been in a long time.

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The next day, Nova wishes she could stay for another session, but it’s Ari’s turn—and she’s curious about that too. She plans to ask her about it later.

It’s fine. I’m better. Ari probably needs it more than me… she tells herself.

Then she sees it—Gina, approaching Hazel at reception. They start talking.

Huh… Gina… and Hazel?

They keep talking. And talking.

Why are they talking so much? What could they possibly be talking about?

Suddenly, Hazel grabs Gina by the arms and shakes her lightly.

She’s touching her. She’s… touching Gina.

Nova’s mind starts to spin out of control, obsessing. When the hell did they get this close? Since when is Gina okay with Hazel touching her? And what the fuck? What the actual fuck?

Suddenly a stunning omega enters the office, striking in her tailored black uniform. Her high-waisted slacks hug her frame flawlessly, flaring at the ankles over polished boots. A crisp white shirt peeks from beneath a sharply cut blazer, the tie pinned in place with a silver brooch. The dark corset detail cinches her waist tightly, giving her an elegant, almost theatrical edge. The emblem of the Astorè crest gleams on her lapel.

She’s talking to Hazel.

What? Another omega talking to her?! Who is she?!

And she’s pretty. Prettier than Nova?

Nova’s heart pounds and sinks all at once.

Then she spots Lyra coming down from the second floor. Hazel, the pretty omega, and Lyra all head for the exit together.

Gina turns around—her face tight, pissed.

Oh my Goddess… Hazel’s with that omega now… and she probably just dumped Gina… Oh my Goddess…

Nova wants to cry.

I wonder if Ari would let me take her spot with Noura today if I ask nicely…

But it’s too late, Ari is being led by Noura to her first therapy session.

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“So you’re the famous Ari,” Noura says, her eyes now a warm brown.

“Famous?” Ari’s cheeks warm as she lets out a soft chuckle. “What am I famous for?”

Noura’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “I don't know, you tell me”

Ari flushes deeper. “Oh. Is it because the Lyra… Camille thing?”

Noura got what she was looking for.

“That’s one reason probably.”

Ari flushes and looks down.

Noura nods slowly, registering Ari’s response, her gaze steady. “But besides that… tell me, Ari Longsworth—who are you?”

Ari thinks for a moment.
“I’m… a designer, I guess. I’m Ari, a senior designer… I’m… a nice person… uhm… I’m Lyra’s partner. Uhm… I’m… maybe an artist?”

Noura starts writing.

Ari narrows her eyes at her playfully. “Writing already?!”

Noura’s smile softens. “Just your name. For the log.”

“Oh.” Ari exhales.

“You were complaining about Lyra a few minutes ago… remember? Outside my office” Noura says.

“Oh! Yeah… But… Lyra is great. Lyra is… well…”

Well, I’ve had to keep taking her out on dates so she doesn’t run off and kidnap Suzie… but that’s temporary… other than that… great… if it wasn´t for the fact that she might be doing dangerous things for a while… and… I think she doesn´t want kids… and she’s definitively keeping secrets…

“Ari, you’re making a long pause there,” Noura points out gently.

“Ah! Yeah, I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“About Lyra.”

“What about Lyra?”

Ari hesitates again. “I love Lyra, you know? I was complaining before because she just left the office without telling me where she was going and… I wanted to go on a date with her.”

Noura studies her, sensing the currents beneath the surface. There’s more here—more than Ari is saying.

“Does she do these kinds of things often?” Noura asks. Her tone is casual, but the question is intentionally vague. She isn’t just asking if Lyra disappears without saying where—she’s leaving the door open, knowing Ari will inevitably think about all the nuances of whatever is really going on. The answer will be revealing.

Ari thinks.
Does she disappear often? No… Does she run dangerous errands for Aira? Yes… yes, she does… Would I like it if she had fewer of those? Like… none at all? Absolutely!

“Are you having an inner monologue, Ari?” Noura asks kindly.

Ari startles, blushing when she realizes she’s been silent for minutes. “Oh bot! I’m sorry…”

“No worries,” Noura says with an easy smile. “You’re creative. You work in silence for hours. I imagine you have a vivid imagination… and interesting inner monologues—or dialogues.”

Ari blinks. Noura is very perceptive.

“How about we do an exercise,” Noura suggests. “Whenever you think of something, I want you to try and say it.”

“I can do that, yeah. No problem,” Ari says.

“Alright.” Noura smiles. “You dated Camille for a while too, right? You mentioned her…”

Ari blushes. “Ahm… yeah.”

“How was that?”

“Uhm… Camille is amazing. I actually liked her first but… but Lyra and I are just more compatible.”

Noura meets her gaze. Ari feels the weight of it.

“That’s impressive—managing to get the attention of the two most desirable alphas in the office. What do you think about that?”

Ari’s blush deepens. “I… I guess they saw something in me?”

“And… do you feel like you saw something in them?”

Ari’s mind starts to race.
Yeah… they’re hot. HOT! Two hot women… and Camille was mean… just a little… and then Lyra… oh my Goddess… she’s mean in a whole different way… Ugh, but I can’t say that—I’d sound so shallow and stupid! …But isn’t that how most relationships start? You fawn over someone, then you get to know them, and you fall in love for deeper reasons? So… yeah, that’s what happened. Lyra and I dated and…

The memories come, unbidden—

Lyra kicking the window open, threatening her life before throwing her onto a cushion on the floor, in that booth, and kissing her.

Lyra grabbing her in the office, whispering dark, sensual words against her ear.

Lyra pinning her wrists on her old couch, revealing she knew Ari meant to ask Camille out—and how she stole the invitation without a second thought.

Lyra fucking Camille in front of her, her strained expression, her raw words.

Lyra making love to her intensely, murmuring that Ari had always belonged to her, that it was perfect she’d taken her from Camille.

Lyra fucking her hard against the wall, calling her her omega . 

And Ari herself, bent over and completely undone, telling Lyra she owned her…

Ari flushes so deeply it’s almost dizzying. Noura notices—of course she does. She notices everything.

“Ari? What’s on your mind?”

Ari snaps out of the rush of heated memories.
“Oh. I… I guess I felt physical attraction…”

Noura nods.
“And I suppose you found other things that drew your attention—that’s why you decided to stay with Lyra,” she says, her tone balanced between question and statement.

“I… I guess…”

“You guess?”

“I mean, Lyra is more like me. We… like similar things, have similar ways of communicating. People say we’re alike in a way.”

She remembers Camille telling her she reminded her of Lyra—that that was why they couldn’t have sex that night.

“Camille and I… we eventually found we were less compatible.”

She remembers the sting of disappointment when Camille admitted she hadn’t actually beaten up Hazel.
The weight of rejecting her.
Crying at home, unable to go to work—until Camille showed up.
The kiss.
And that one slow roll of her hips…

“Oh, Goddess…” Ari exhales, almost to herself.

Noura listens, silent.

“Did you say anything?”

Ari blinks. “Huh?” Then she catches herself. “Oh! I… I mean, Camille is amazing. She took it really well.”

“So you were thinking about Camille,” Noura says—half question, half statement.

“Yeah… weren’t we talking about her?” Ari chuckles nervously. “Anyway, yes—Camille. She took it really well when I told her I was going to be Lyra’s girlfriend.”

Noura makes a note on her pad.
“I’ve heard many positive things about her. I hope to meet her someday.”

Ari nods.
“Yes, she’s amazing. I think she’s the most mature person in the entire office,” she says with a small smile.

Noura notices the warmth in her voice—and files it away.

The next few minutes drift into lighter topics—work, friends, that odd episode with Nova. Ari doesn’t seem to give it much weight. Still, Lyra surfaces again and again in the conversation: how she might not want children, how deeply Ari loves her, how much she worries for her, how she adores her house.

“And… our time is up,” Noura says with a small smile. “But I have to tell you, Ari—you’ve shared a lot with me in such a short time. I’m sure we’ll see real progress very soon.”

Ari smiles back and nods.

Once she’s out of the office Ari starts thinking.

Progress? What does she mean by progress…? Progress toward what, exactly?

Oh my fucking bot—I need to find Lyra!

Ari yanks out her smartphone, powers it on, and dials. The call barely rings before cutting off. Taylor’s voice informs her that Lyra’s phone is turned off.

What?!

Her expression tightens, worry edging into fear.

Fuck.

Noura steps out just as Ari turns around, and they collide.

“Ouch!”
“Ah!”

Noura’s pad slips from her hand and clatters to the floor.

“Sorry!” Ari blurts, crouching to grab it. Noura bends down too, but Ari’s faster—already scooping it up. She straightens so quickly she bumps her head right into Noura’s.

“Ah!”
“Yeouch!”

Both of them stumble back and end up on the floor.

“Oh bot! I’m a disaster,” Ari groans.

Noura pauses, then lets out a laugh.
“Hahaha! Ah… it’s fine. Just give me the pad.”

Ari hands it over, and they both get to their feet.

“I’m really, really sorry,” Ari says, bowing slightly as if paying penance.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry,” Noura assures her with a smile.

“Are you o—?” She stops mid-question. Ari’s eyes are brimming, tears already sliding down her cheeks.

Noura steps closer, gently holding Ari’s arms. “Hey… what’s happening?”

“Lyra turned off her phone and…”

Noura’s gaze softens.
This girl… is she really that dependent on her alpha?

“It’s alright. Maybe her battery died. You two live together, right? Go home—she’ll be there.”

Ari sniffles. “But… she… I know she’s doing something dangerous and I can’t stop her…”

Noura fights the urge to jot that down immediately. “How do you know?”

“She left with Hazel and… her new omega,” a voice says from behind.

Noura turns. It’s Nova.

“Nova? What are you doing here? It’s late,” Noura points out.

“I couldn’t leave… I… I thought Hazel might be back.” Nova’s voice wavers, her eyes glassy.

Noura feels a flicker of panic but keeps her expression calm. “W–Well… she might be home…”

Nova sniffs.

Oh my bot… how many co-dependant couples are in this office?!

“Why don’t I take you both home?” Noura suggests. “Ari, you’re clearly too upset to drive. And Nova…” She glances at her—Nova looks fine enough, but her posture is quietly asking for attention.

“Nova, you can tag along. I’ll drop Ari off first, then take you home. We can talk, calm down… maybe even figure out a plan.”

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She isn’t quite sure how it happened, but Noura now has two vulnerable omegas in her Lexura RX—spacious enough that even four people could fit in the back. Ari has plenty of room to cry, while Nova sits a bit apart, watching from a distance.

I’m glad it’s me in this situation… omegas can be complicated when they’re dysregulated, Noura thinks.

They pull up to Lyra’s place—Ari’s home now, too. The sight catches Noura off guard; the luxury is undeniable, though she doesn’t show it. Nova, however, lets her admiration show.

“I’m sure Lyra’s inside. And if she’s not, she’s bound to come back soon, right? It’s her house…” Noura says, keeping her voice relaxed.

Ari looks up, toward her, red-eyed and tear-streaked. “You think so?”

The image hits Noura harder than she expects.
“Yes! Has she ever just disappeared for days before?”

Ari shakes her head.

“Then why would she start now?”

Ari doesn’t answer right away. This is the exact moment, unbeknownst to them, that Lyra is being electrocuted.

“Yeah… she wouldn’t,” Ari finally says. “I just… I don’t know, I have this feeling.”

Noura offers a small smile and a sigh. “Understandable… but what are the odds? She’ll be back soon—you’ll see.”

Ari sniffles, nods, and forces a smile.

That tugs at something in Noura.
Oh no, Ari… don’t force a smile. This omega’s so agreeable—she wants me to feel good even when she’s feeling awful. Don’t do that, Ari! …I wonder if you do this with Lyra too…

“What if I stay with you, Ari? Like a pajama party!” Nova chimes in suddenly.

The comment lands awkwardly.

“No!” Ari says, crossing her arms.

“Eh?? Why not?”

“You’re gonna try to kiss me!” Ari points at her accusingly.

Noura blinks in surprise.

“I won’t! I swear! I don’t even like you like that—you know that!” Nova protests.

“Well, yeah, but… I don’t know! You’re unpredictable sometimes!”

Nova fidgets. “Well, alright… it’s just that I don’t want to go back to my place with my mom and everyone else. Not now…”

“You live with your mom?” Ari says, almost mockingly. “What are you, seventeen?”

“No! You dummy! I’m the most important Moonbeam—daughter of Regina Seligman! Of course I live with her! I live in a castle with the most privileged Moonbeams you’ll never meet!”

“ Oh, right… I remember now,” Ari mutters, unimpressed.

Noura watches the exchange, wishing she could be taking notes.

“What? Is a castle not impressive enough for you? You think you’re all that just because you live with Lyra now?” Nova shoots back.

“Lyra…” Ari says softly, sniffing.

Noura steps in before the mood shifts further.
“Alright—how about this? We stay at Ari’s place only if Lyra isn’t there, and we wait for her.”

It’s late—Lyra has to be there… right? And if she’s not, she can’t be out all night. She’s got work tomorrow… Noura thinks. I know this is risky, but it’s going to be fine.

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Lyra wasn’t home.

Okay… don’t panic, Noura tells herself. We’ll just wait… she has to come back. Right? She wouldn't leave her omega alone for a whole night, without explanation, right?

“Do you… want some water? Or some sticky cookies? I didn’t plan on having visitors, so I don’t have much to offer, sorry,” Ari says, almost shyly.

Noura feels a small pang of guilt for her. “Don’t worry, Ari. I bet we won’t be here for long.”

It’s not your job to make us feel good, Ari.

“I’ll have a sticky cookie!” Nova chimes in without hesitation.

Noura shoots her a brief look — spoiled child… — but stops herself from lingering on the thought.

“I’ll get the water myself, Ari. Just sit down and relax.”

In the kitchen, she spots the box of sticky cookies, opens a cupboard for glasses, and pours two servings of water. Lyra’s scent clings to the air — sharp, heavy, dominant.

Lyra Veran… are you really the kind of alpha who leaves her omega behind like this?

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Author’s Note:

What would you do in Noura’s place?
And tell me—does Nova like Ari or not? 👀

Happy Monday! Whatever you’ve got planned for today, you’ve got this. Yeah! Go out there and fight for your dreamsss! ✨💪

Chapter 36: 🧘 Keeping It Professional

Summary:

Noura facilitates a “comfort exercise” between Ari and Nova while Aira and others witness history in the making. The event in Camille's house opens up dangerous and historical possibilities. Is power about to change hands? Is Ari about to be taken from Lyra?
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Hands tighten around her waist—hungry, possessive. A breath brushes against her neck. Another alpha, dark skin, red eyes: Noura.

She’s gripping Ari, holding her hungrily, kissing her like she owns her.

“No…” Lyra whispers, barely able to move. She’s on the floor, watching helplessly. The room ripples around her, distorted like heatwaves over asphalt.

“Ari!!” she cries out, voice raw.

Noura turns her head and looks directly at her, a cruel, knowing smile curving on her lips.

“Let her go, you fucking—!” Lyra chokes on the words. The floor beneath her begins to dissolve, turning viscous, pulling her down.

“No—No, no, NO!!” she screams as she sinks into the dark.

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She jolts awake with a gasp, heart hammering.

“Ari!” she yells.

But the dream melts away, and a different scene takes its place.

She’s lying on Camille’s bed. A syringe is embedded in her arm, slowly draining her blood. Her limbs won’t move—tied down, immobilized. Beside her, Camille lies still, a second syringe feeding Lyra’s blood into her veins.

Lyra’s breath catches. “Huh…?”

A soft beeping hums in the background.

Suzie stands a few feet away, her back turned, working over a compact medical station lit with pale blue lights. Vials, tubing, and sleek instruments blink with quiet efficiency.

Then she turns.

“Oh! You’re awake,” Suzie says, her smile just a little too bright. She’s in clean, dark-purple pajamas. “You really are something else, Lyra… you actually fucking sniffed me just so you wouldn’t faint.”

Lyra blinks, disoriented, eyes scanning the room. The medical equipment. The bloodlines. Camille, pale but breathing beside her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, voice low.

Suzie turns back to her instruments. “Camille was losing a lot of blood, and apparently collapsed from the sheer physical strain. But thanks to you… she’s going to be okay.”

Lyra glances down at her arm—still hooked up, blood slowly draining. She swallows.

“Uhm… Suzie,” she starts carefully, “I know I, uh, may have threatened to kidnap you once… but that wasn’t personal. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I know you felt that way,” Suzie replies with a casual smile, not looking up.

Lyra’s voice tightens. “You’re not going to… kill me or something, are you?”

Suzie chuckles softly and walks past her, calm and precise. “Of course not.”

She pauses near the bed, her tone softening. “You mean a lot to Camille… and I—” she exhales, glancing down at the unconscious woman. “I love her.”

Lyra’s eyes widen. The room suddenly feels different—charged, uncertain.

Suzie continues, her voice light, almost casual. “I’m just… you know, I have this scientific mind. And something weird happened here. My scent spiked, and then Hazel and Camille changed— you changed, too. So I thought, why not kill two bots with one bug? Study your blood and help Camille recover at the same time.”

She says it with a slight smile, the tone a touch too clinical, too insensitive.

Lyra swallows hard. She’s just relieved to be alive.

But then her mind catches up—Ari.

“S-Suzie,” Lyra says, trying to steady her voice. “This might sound stupid, but… I need to check on Ari. Please.”

Suzie raises an eyebrow, glancing at her phone. “You’re suddenly so polite…” She scrolls through some readings. “Makes sense, though. Your cortisol levels finally dropped, adrenaline’s back to normal… hmm… potassium’s still high.”

Lyra frowns. “Wait—did you inject bots into my body? Are you monitoring my blood live?"

“Just in case there’s something dangerous in your blood,” Suzie replies, eyes still on her screen. “I wouldn’t want my baby contaminated with anything questionable.”

Lyra’s breath catches. “Did… did you put bots in her body too?”

“I did.”

“Wow. That’s just…”

“I love her, Lyra.” Suzie finally looks up, her voice calm but firm. “So what if I’m a little controlling? You, of all people, should understand that.”

She turns her attention back to the screen, switching to Camille’s vitals. “Hm… she needs more.”

Lyra watches her, suddenly aware of the weight in her own body—limbs heavy, chest tight.
She feels weak, and not just from the blood loss.

Fuck… whatever… I just want to see Ari. Bot damn it… I need to get to her before that alpha does. Panic presses against her ribs. What time is it?

“Suzie… I’m sorry,” she says, her voice low, almost pleading.

“Aha…” Suzie murmurs without looking up, eyes still on her phone as she calmly monitors the blood levels of both alphas, like they’re nothing more than numbers on a screen.

“What time is it?” Lyra asks.

“It’s time to…” Suzie turns around, holding another syringe.

“No, Suzie—”

“Sleep.” She injects Lyra before she can move.

Lyra’s vision blurs. The weight in her body doubles, swallowing her whole, and she slips under again.

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Noura looks at her phone, nervously. It's been almost an hour and Lyra is still not there.

Ari tried calling her and her phone was tuned off.

 

Noura, being empathetic, can feel Ari's slowly growing fear. It's affecting her.

 

Nova, without hesitation, darts toward Lyra and Ari’s bedroom as if she’d been invited in. She glances around with open admiration. “Wow! This place is amazing! It's not a palace but, whatevs...”

“Don’t go in there!” Ari rushes after her.

Nova doesn’t listen.

A prickle runs down Noura’s spine—she suddenly feels like she’s in dangerous territory.

She picks up Lyra’s scent and glances around.

Lyra Veran…

Her mind flickers to the photo in her files—the serious expression, the dark eyes.

The Lyra Veran.

As she takes in more of the space, every detail speaks of power, luxury… and just a touch of darkness. She swallows.

Her scent is everywhere in this house… and you know what they say about alphas with strong scents, Noura thinks.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes closed for a moment—then, suddenly, laughter and muffled sounds filter through from Lyra’s room.

“Huh?”

She follows the sound, crossing to the bedroom. The door yields, and the scene hits her like a challenge: Nova straddling Ari on the bed, fingers digging in playfully. Ari’s laughter spills out between gasps, Nova laughing with her and teasing—

“Don’t you feel better now that you’re laughing?”

Noura’s pulse ticks up. The danger in the room feels… off the charts.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

“I have an idea!” Noura almost shouts.

Nova pauses, eyes settling on her. “Miss Noura, you look tense.”

“I… am a bit tense, yes,” she admits. “But that’s not important. I think you and Ari could do an exercise now—something that would help you both relax, find a little peace.”

And I would too…

Ari, who is still worried about Lyra, sniffles but nods, she’s willing to try anything.

Nova shrugs her shoulders “Ok.” she says.

“Alright,” Noura says softly, “I’m going to guide you through a comfort exercise. It’s simple, it’s safe, and it’s about grounding each other. You can stop at any moment if you feel uncomfortable.”

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Ari and Nova sit side by side on the bed. Ari is in her own pajamas, while Nova wears a borrowed set from Taylor—slightly too big on her, but the only ones available. Noura has pulled a chair into Lyra’s room and sits beside the bed, her posture composed as she watches them.

“The goal isn’t to fix what’s bothering you right now. It’s to give your nervous systems a break from stress. We’re going to use platonic touch to create a feeling of safety. Agreed?”

Ari hesitates, but nods. Nova smiles faintly.

“Good. Now, turn toward each other. Keep your eyes soft—don’t stare each other down, this isn’t a challenge.”

They shuffle closer, knees brushing.

“Ari, place your hand gently on Nova’s forearm. Nova, you do the same. Just feel the other person’s warmth for a few seconds. Breathe slowly.”

The room quiets, except for the sound of two steadying breaths.

I'll imagine she's someone else… Ari thinks.

“Now, Ari, if you’re okay with it, open your arms. Nova, lean in slowly until your cheek rests against Ari’s shoulder. Don’t force it—just let your bodies find a comfortable position.”

Nova moves in carefully, her head fitting against Ari’s shoulder. Ari exhales through her nose, a little tension melting from her shoulders.

Ah… everything smells like Lyra… even Ari… Nova thinks.

“That’s it,” Noura says, her voice almost a whisper. “Notice your breathing syncing. No talking for now. Just… being.”

For a minute, neither moves. Ari’s hand rests lightly against Nova’s back; Nova’s fingers curl loosely into Ari’s sleeve.

“Good,” Noura murmurs. “If you feel safe enough, you can add a gentle rocking motion. It can be calming.”

Ari shifts slightly, the motion subtle but there. Nova’s eyes close.

“Alright,” Noura says after a few moments. “When you’re ready, you can slowly release. No rush.”

Nova leans back first, but her hand lingers on Ari’s for a moment longer before pulling away. Ari clears her throat.

“See?” Noura says, smiling just enough. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Ari rolls her eyes, but a faint flush colors her cheeks. Nova just smirks.

Ah… this is actually calming… Ari thinks.

Don’t have horny thoughts, don’t have horny thoughts… Nova chants silently to herself.

“Nova, you’re looking a bit tense. Just relax… breathe,” Noura says softly from where she sits at the edge of the bed.

Nova exhales — shaky at first, then steadier. Okay… just relax. It’s fine. The sheets smell like her… like Lyra… it's fine.

Ari shifts slightly on the mattress, letting Nova settle more fully against her. She’s actually staying still… and she’s warm… This feels… safer than I expected.

“That’s better,” Noura murmurs. “Now, both of you… close your eyes for a moment. Focus on the warmth you’re sharing. Feel the weight of each other’s presence. Safe, steady.”

Ari leans back against the pillows, her arm curling instinctively around Nova’s shoulders. She’s lighter than I thought…

Nova releases her grip on Ari’s sleeve, her body sinking deeper into the mattress and into Ari’s side. Don’t think about kissing her… don’t think about being choked… just stay here.

“That’s it,” Noura continues, her voice low, almost lulling. “No need to talk. Just listen to your breathing. In… and out… in… and out… slower now… let your shoulders drop.”

The room is warm, the lighting low. The duvet shifts slightly as their breathing starts to match. Nova’s eyelids feel heavier with each breath. I could sleep like this… I want to sleep like this.

Ari closes her eyes too, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Nova’s chest against her. She’s calm now… I can feel it. And… I think I am too. Lyra will be home… I think she’ll like this 

“You can stay just like this,” Noura says, almost to herself. “No rush, no demands… just let yourselves drift.”

Minutes pass in silence. Nova’s breathing takes on the slow rhythm of someone on the edge of sleep. Ari’s hand stays resting against her back.

Noura watches quietly, keeping her own breath slow so she doesn’t disturb them.

Within minutes, Nova’s breathing deepens, her body relaxing in a full surrender to the mattress and to Ari’s hold. Ari’s hand stays against her back, her thumb making a small, unconscious motion once before going still.

Nova shifts slightly in her sleep, her forehead brushing Ari’s collarbone. Ari’s head tilts the smallest bit toward her, not enough to wake her, but enough to keep her close.

The duvet settles. The room falls into the steady rhythm of their breathing — soft, synchronized, peaceful.

Noura leans back in the chair by the bed, her pad forgotten. Good… If they sleep, they’ll wake up calmer. And calmer means fewer impulsive mistakes… for everyone.

She glances at them one more time — Ari’s arm loosely draped, Nova curled in without tension — before turning her gaze away, letting the quiet wrap around the room.

Noura lets out a slow breath when she’s certain — both of them are asleep. Nova’s face is slack with the heaviness of real rest, Ari’s arm still resting protectively across her without a hint of tension.

Good… finally.

She rises quietly, careful not to make the mattress shift, and crosses the room. With a gentle flick, she turns off the lights in Lyra’s bedroom, letting the dim glow from the hallway spill in for just a moment before she steps out. The door closes with a muted click.

In the living room, she sinks onto a futon, the cushions firm beneath her. The faint scent of Lyra lingers here — clean, sharp, edged with something darker, like a shadow that doesn’t fully fade. Noura exhales slowly, her eyes drifting toward the closed bedroom door.

Alright… they’re calm now… I’m… not calm though…

Noura stays still on the futon, hands clasped loosely in her lap, the quiet pressing in around her. The scent of Lyra in the room feels heavier now, as if the air itself is reminding her whose territory this is.

She’s possessive… I can feel it without even meeting her in person. And she’s not going to like walking in and finding another alpha in her home — especially one who’s been in her bedroom, right next to her omega.

Her jaw tightens. Alright, when she gets here, I need to make it clear this wasn’t a choice — it was circumstance. I’ll keep my body language calm, open… non-threatening. No standing too close to Ari, no lingering touches, no casual familiarity.

She exhales slowly through her nose. And I have to be ready for that alpha energy. If she pushes, I can’t push back — that would just make her double down. Redirect. Keep my voice even. Give her credit for how well Ari’s been taken care of, make it clear my presence was for Ari’s benefit, not competition.

The bedroom door stays shut, the two omegas silent inside. Noura’s eyes flick toward it. If Lyra sees them asleep together, she might still bristle — but I can frame it as comfort, as emotional regulation. Just keep it clinical, professional…

Her fingers tap once against her knee. And maybe don’t forget to breathe.

She leans back against the futon, but the muscles in her shoulders stay tense. Waiting.

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“Bravo! Hahaha! Bravo!” Aira exclaims, clapping like a delighted child curled up in bed.

The alpha beside her—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, visibly annoyed—says nothing.

“Look!” Aira grabs her arm and pulls her closer, forcing her to face the laptop. “Gala. Look at this… this amazing moment in history! My niece just ran away but, she did ok.”

The woman rubs her eyes. Her short black hair is tousled from sleep, her blue eyes sharp despite her weariness. She’s built like a weapon—muscle-bound, lethal, the kind of person who could kill Aira with a single hand. That she doesn’t, speaks volumes about who truly holds the power here.

Reluctantly, she focuses on the screen.

It shows glowing silhouettes—heat-scan footage. Aira rewinds a little and hits play.

Hazel bursts across the screen, her body emanating intense “heat.” Her physique is visibly swollen, her movements powerful. Compared to her earlier form, she’s transformed—primal, fast, almost inhuman.

“Amazing…” Aira breathes. “I’m calling this phenomenon the Heat. ”

“‘Heat’? Like… because it’s a thermal signal or something?” Gala mutters, unimpressed.

“No, Gala,” Aira says, eyes gleaming. “Because she’s like an animal in heat . Hazel has reached her full potential. She doesn’t know it yet, but she might be one of the first alphas in history to do it.”

Gala raises an eyebrow, mildly curious but mostly indifferent. Aira notices.

“Ugh, whatever. Go away if you don’t get it,” Aira snaps, waving her off. “I’ll wait for Sorelle… she’s at least smart enough to pretend to care.”

Gala stands wordlessly and walks out, not even sparing Aira a glance.

Aira doesn't watch her leave. She’s already rewinding the footage again, her eyes glittering with obsession.

“The Heat… yeah.” she mutters. “Taylor, call Miss Varma.” she says louder.

 

“Calling” the AI answers.

 

The sound of the call being connected echoes in the room. It's answered.

 

“Aira, I told you to not call me after 7 p.m–” answers a voice which is velvety, low, and commanding—an elegant blend of authority and allure.

 

Aira shivers, she loves that voice.

 

“Babyyy…” Aira sings, her voice dripping with mock affection.

“Don’t call me that,” comes the curt reply—calm, clipped, and unmistakably Devika Varma.

“I know you’re in the middle of one of your weird Moonbound… sexy rituals or whatever,” Aira whispers hurriedly, glancing toward the door to check if anyone is listening. “But this is an emergency.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you checked your bugs in Camille’s computer?”

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Bathed in the amber hush of dusk, a city rises like a dream carved in stone—its temples crowned with spires that shimmer gold beneath the last kiss of sunlight. A labyrinth of sacred geometry sprawls along the river’s mirrored edge, where domes and shrines blossom like lotus petals over water. Each structure hums with ancient grace, their carvings whispering stories older than empires, etched by hands that worshipped both god and sky. In the distance, the horizon melts into a silver-blue haze, cradling this celestial haven in a gentle breath of eternity. Here, divinity and civilization breathe in unison—silent, luminous, and impossibly alive.

The entire city is governed by Shiva, the omnipresent AI agent designed by Materia. And at its heart lies the residence of the Varma family—an oasis of tradition and power hidden within a shell of code and ritual.

Inside, the room pulses like a living jewel—drenched in deep purples, molten golds, and sapphires that shimmer across walls draped in embroidered tapestries. Lanterns cast lacework shadows that shift with every breath of incense-laced air. Plush cushions spill across the carpeted floor, and at the center, seated on a raised divan like a flame untouched by wind, is Devika Varma.

She reclines with quiet authority, her tall frame wrapped in flowing layers of rust, cream, and sapphire silk that catch the low light like riverwater at dusk. Her skin gleams warm and smooth, sun-kissed and resplendent. Dark brown hair cascades over her shoulders in loose waves, framing a face made sharper by the molten gold of her eyes—eyes that never blink without intention.

Around her, the women lounge in reverent hush. Their tunics are sheer, their limbs bare, their postures relaxed yet drawn toward her like petals to heat. They do not speak unless spoken to. They do not look away unless dismissed. Adoration clings to them like scent to the air.

One of them kneels directly before her, head bowed, hair spilling over her shoulders, lips parted in breathless stillness. She waits, unmoving, every inch of her body devoted to the moment.

Devika raises one hand—not to the woman, but to the shimmering display hovering near her shoulder, the projection cast by her personal AI orb. Aira’s face flickers into view mid-whisper, already rambling.

Devika sighs through her nose, golden eyes narrowing. “Aira. You’ve interrupted a sacred rite.”

Aira just shrugs on-screen. “Yeah yeah, sacred hot-girl circle time, I get it. But seriously—Devika, it happened.”

Devika doesn’t speak, but her gaze sharpens.

The kneeling woman doesn't move, only lowers her head further—as if sensing the shift in the room.

The ceremony may be paused, but something far more serious has begun.

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At the doorway stands Suzie, holding Sorelle’s stun gun, aimed directly at Lyra.

The chamber breathes with low warmth—its carved window screens casting delicate shadows across the floor, their lattice patterns slowly melting into the indigo of early night. Lamps glow in wall niches, flickering gently against murals and woven silk. The air smells of rose, sandalwood, and the faintest trace of ash from a half-burnt incense stick forgotten on a brass tray.

Devika Varma lounges alone on the wide divan at the center of the room. Gone is the ceremonial posture, the audience, the stillness required of her in public spaces. Her long legs are tucked beneath her, her hair unbound and tumbling over one shoulder like liquid chocolate. A robe of soft cotton wraps her body loosely, uncinched. She holds a shallow glass of something dark and spiced, barely touched.

On the wall before her hangs the grand Moonbound mural—a celestial scene of silver-veiled figures beneath a haloed moon. But with a word, it shifts. The paint dissolves into light.

A screen pulses to life behind the illusion.

Footage streams in, pulled directly from Materia’s secure logs.

Camille’s house.

Devika sets her glass aside.

She watches as Hazel enters the frame—already changed. The body language is animalistic, frenzied, unstable, full of exacerbated heat. The AI’s imaging warps slightly just trying to process her. The pulse signature flares and distorts as Hazel lunges, her frame too energized, too raw.

Devika leans forward, eyes catching gold in the low light.

And then Suzie.

When the camera registers Suzie’s scent signature, the screen blooms violently—waves of red-gold and violet overtake the image. Devika’s brows rise.

“Powerful…” she murmurs.

She pauses the footage, rewinds slightly. Plays it again.

The moment Hazel sees Suzie. The moment instinct collides with memory. The moment everything changes.

Then the fight. Camille’s power. Hazel’s escalation. Walls breaking. Doors splintering. Devika watches it all in stillness, one leg slowly swinging off the edge of the divan. Her expression is unreadable—half-fascinated, half-something else.

When Lyra appears—broken, confused, crawling—Devika squints slightly, almost amused. But her attention shifts back to the scent mapping around Suzie. The visual field distorts, bending unnaturally beneath the sheer potency of it.

She exhales slowly through her nose.
“Aira,” she murmurs, voice dry with realization. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Behind the footage, the mural flickers—ghostly figures from the Moonbound painting bleeding faintly through the image, their veils like forgotten memories of gods. Devika doesn’t notice.

Her eyes remain fixed on Suzie.
On what she is.
On what she’s becoming.

“That omega… she became some sort of… hyper-omega,” Devika says aloud.

“Ahaa…” Aira’s voice chirps through the commlink, smug. “I call it The Heat, ” she announces, clearly proud of herself.

Devika raises an eyebrow. “And your niece… and that other alpha—they reacted. Like hyper-alphas.”

“I call that… uhm… The Heat, too. But, you know, for alphas.”

Devika takes a small sip from her cup, contemplative. “We should call it something like… Overdrive. ”

“We? We?! This is my discovery!” Aira protests. “It’s called The Heat! ”

“Thanks to my bots which recorded everything.” Devika ads “Hmm…Or maybe… the Hyper State ,” she misses.

“No! It’s The Heat! ” Aira insists.

Devika doesn’t argue. She rewinds the footage again with a flick of her fingers, watching Suzie’s transformation in slow motion.

“We should just let the scientists give a name to this after they examine this… and them…” Devika murmurs.

Aira’s voice cuts back in, curious. “Can you see what they’re doing now?”

Devika speaks calmly to her AI. “Shiva, give me Suzie. Live feed.”

Shiva replies in a smooth, genderless tone: “Target system is currently powered off.”

“Turn it on,” Devika orders.

There’s a pause. “That would raise suspicion, Miss Devika. A firewall and guardbots have been activated.”

Devika clicks her tongue. “That omega is smart... Thank you, Shiva.”

Aira cackles through the comm. “ You thank your AI? That’s adorable.”

“My Shiva is more than an assistant,” Devika replies coolly. “Far more complex than your AI puppet.”

“Not true,” Aira mutters. “But whatever. It was a brilliant idea to put those bugs in the bots. Still, they hacked the hell out of my lab…”

Devika smiles into her cup. “I had to make it convincing. Materia bots are something else.”

There’s a pause.

“Do you think they got anything on me?” Aira asks suddenly, quieter. “Like… anything they could actually use?”

Devika’s expression shifts. She answers evenly, “I think they believe they can use me to get to you.” She thinks for a little while “And they have something about experiments on convicts. But that’s it.”

“Good,” Aira says. “That’s fine. Anyway, I’m gonna go relax. This was fun. Byeee!”

The line clicks off.

Devika remains still, staring at the frozen image on her wall.
She has seen what Suzie sent. She does have things—real things—that could ruin Aira if released.

But she doesn’t move. Not yet.

She’s still deciding.

Betray Aira and watch her fall?
Force her to surrender part of her empire?
Or stay aligned—become her equal, and together monitor this incredible new evolutionary shift?

She could steal the discovery altogether if she somehow gains Suzie’s and Camille’s trust and cooperation.

But Aira has been experimenting and studying this for so long… she has that advantage.

I wonder how many others are in Aira’s hands? How many other… Heats can she force out of their unsuspecting subjects?

She finishes the rest of her drink in one smooth motion and sets the glass down with a soft clink.

A smile tugs at her lips.

“Ah… this is exciting.”

But it’s getting late… better get my eight hours of sleep…

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What the fuck! It’s six a.m.!

Noura hasn’t slept a minute — the whole night spent sitting on that futon, tense, waiting, scared of Lyra. And Lyra never came.

I should be waking up to run after a good night of sleep right now, getting ready for the day, not still here!

Her jaw tightens, irritation flaring. What the fuck, Lyra Veran? You leave your omega alone all night and don’t come back in the morning? Like it 's nothing? Do you even care for her?

Noura isn’t exactly well-rested, and she knows it makes her more prone to impulsiveness and irritability. Still, she’s a trained mental health professional—someone who doesn’t jump to conclusions or act rashly, even in this state.

She sighs.
This isn’t painting a good picture for Lyra Veran… her expression hardens with anger.
A flash of Ari’s tear-streaked face comes to mind, and her frown deepens.

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Author's notes:

Hello! Any psychologists, psychotherapists, or mental health professionals in the audience? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Also, Happy Wednesday! 

Chapter 37: Truth Remains

Summary:

Between tension, vulnerability, and intimacy. Lyra, still weak after Suzie’s blood extraction, is driven home. Meanwhile, Ari spends the night at Nova’s, which deepens their quiet bond and sparks a personal revelation for Nova about sacred intimacy. Ari and Lyra reunite, but, things gave changed.
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Lyra can’t see a thing, but the sounds are clear, she hears the road, the dashboard of a car, a sigh. She's still weak, tired, her eyes more closed than open but some rays of light finally start to come through, everything is a blur. 

Camille ’s voice comes first—steady, but with something aching underneath.

“I don’t want to leave her like this… without saying goodbye.”

 

Suzie’s voice follows, clipped and tense.

“Ugh. You still like her, don’t you?”

 

Camille’s tone softens, coaxing.

“Baby… I appreciate her. She’s been—well—someone important in my life. I don't love her like that, she’s like what Hazel is to you…”

 

“Ugh! Don´t… don´t say that!”

 

Somewhere between their words, Lyra stirs. A dull ache blooms behind her eyes. She tries to open them, groans, and lets the weight of her head sink back.

 

“She’s waking up,” Suzie says.

 

Camille looks at her. Lyra blinks, still disoriented, everything is still just a blur.

 

Camille sighs. “I’m sorry, Lyra.”

 

Cool fabric slides over her eyes. Darkness presses in. Suzie’s voice is closer now, resigned.

“Okay. I’ll allow it—just this once.”

 

The car slows, stops. A door clicks open. Footsteps retreat, growing faint—Suzie leaving.

“I don't wanna see it!” Suzie shouts from afar.

 

And then Camille is close. The warmth of her body reaches Lyra before her voice does.

“Remember when we thought that time with Ari was going to be a goodbye?” Camille whispers against her ear. “Well… this is an actual goodbye.”

 

Her lips find Lyra’s. Soft. Final. Lyra barely answers, she doesn't have the strength to do it properly.

Camille...

 

When Camille pulls away, the air feels colder.

"That's for Ari too." she sighs "Goodbye."

A door opens, shuts.

Lyra wants to say something, anything to stay a bit longer with her and let her know she's going to miss her, but she can´t get one word out.

The car rolls forward again.

 

Wait—who’s driving? Lyra’s thoughts cut through the haze. Taylor? Shiva? A human?

 

She tries to speak, coughs instead. The movement of the car carries her farther from them with every second.

 

“Stop the… — kof kof !” The cough shakes her. She forces her voice out.

 

“Shiva, stop the car.”

 

Silence.

 

“Taylor, stop the car.”

 

Nothing.

 

“Shiva, come on—”

 

The reply is calm, unyielding.

“This vehicle is on automatic pilot. You have no permission to stop it. You will arrive at a safe location in thirty minutes, Miss Lyra Veran. You should be thankful to Suzie—she spared your life.”

 

Lyra groans, frustration burning in her chest.

“Bot damn it.”

Suzie hacked this…

Whatever… I’ve had worse, she thinks. I just hope it’s not too late to get to Ari…

 

“Shiva, what time is it?”

 

“It’s eight p.m… first day of Eryssa, beginning of the Shadowturn.”

(Eryssa is a month from the Twinmoon calendar, Shadowturn is a season)

 

Lyra exhales, relieved.

Oh wow… I thought more time had passed…

 

Then it hits her.

“What the?! It’s been a whole day?” she blurts, the outburst sending a jab of pain through her skull.

 

“You might want to save your strength, Lyra. You just donated a lot of blood,” Shiva says evenly.

 

“I didn’t donate shit! Bot dammit! Suzie stole my blood!”

 

“That’s what you get when you mess with Suzie.” Shiva answers, obviously hacked.

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Minutes pass.

The car stops. Lyra has recovered just enough to sit upright and yank off the blindfold. Her house fills her vision.

 

“Oh, thank Bot,” she murmurs.

 

She steps out, wobbling, wearing a dark purple pajama set far too small for her. She digs through her pockets—phone, nothing else.

 

“Geez, Suzie… so vindictive”

 

Inside, she hopes to find Ari. Hopes Ari isn’t too upset. Hopes she’ll have the chance to explain—once her head stops pounding.

 

“Ari…” she calls.

 

But the scent that greets her is wrong. Foreign. Everywhere. And from an alpha.

 

It’s Noura’s.

 

Lyra freezes, fury sparking even through her weakness.

“What… are you doing here?”

 

Noura, in contrast, looks somewhat well-rested, her eyes alert, brown. She might’ve had a sleepless night, but she’s clearly eaten, hydrated… and has all her blood.

“Lyra Veran. You already know who I am. I’m Noura—a professional therapist, independent contractor for Morph C.O.”

 

“I know that…” Lyra cutts her off.

 

Noura continues “And this is an emergency session.”

 

Lyra’s voice sharpens.

“What?! Who the fuck do you think you—ah!” Another stab of pain in her head.

 

“I’ve already told you who I am. How about you sit down?” She commands firmly.

 

“Don’t you… fucking tell me… to sit down in my own house!” Lyra growls.

 

She stalks toward her. Noura doesn’t flinch. But Lyra’s knees suddenly give way.

 

Oh no…

 

She wobbles, then collapses. Noura’s eyes widen—she wasn’t expecting that—but she catches her before she hits the floor.

 

“Woah! Lyra… are you—? Are you—?” Noura’s hand goes to her wrist, feeling for a pulse.

 

She's not ok…

 

Noura bends down and hauls Lyra into her arms.

 

“Ugh—oh my…” Lyra is far from light.

 

She carries her down the hall, sets her on the bed, and stretches with a groan from the effort.

 

“You’ve… been here for a while, haven’t you?” Lyra asks, voice faint.

 

“Yes. Too long,” Noura replies flatly.

 

Agreed , Lyra thinks.

 

“You left Ari alone. No explanation. Do you think that’s okay?”

 

Lyra stays silent for several seconds.

 

“Where’s Ari?” she finally asks.

 

“She went to Nova’s house. She was afraid for you… tried calling, no answer. She started fearing the worst.”

 

Lyra remains quiet, a shadow of regret settling over her expression.

 

“I see you’re not healthy enough for a therapy session right now. I’ll call an ambulance—”

 

“Taylor! Call Aira Astoré,” Lyra cuts in, ignoring her.

 

Noura’s posture shifts at the name.

So… Lyra and the CEO are close enough to have each other’s numbers.

 

The call connects.

 

“Hey, Lyra.” The voice is deep, not Aira’s.

 

“Ah… Gala… is Aira there?”

 

“She is, but…” The muscular alpha glances toward the bed where tiny Aira sleeps curled against her. “She needs to rest.”

 

Lyra exhales. “Okay… send the medics to my place, please.”

 

Gala’s mouth curves. “And a happy ending?”

 

“No! I have a girlfriend, Gala.”

 

“Oh! Seriously? Congrats.”

 

Lyra hangs up.

 

Noura blinks, unsure what to do with that piece of information.

 

“What you just heard… I hope it stays between us,” Lyra says, her tone hardening. “And don’t call the ambulance.”

 

..

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Minutes later, Noura returns with a mug of tea for herself and a glass of juice for Lyra.

 

“Here,” she says, holding it out. “This should help you regain some strength.”

 

Lyra takes the glass and downs it in one go. Noura watches, quietly impressed, though she hides it well.

 

“You might want to leave,” Lyra says, setting the empty glass on the nightstand.

 

Noura tilts her head. “Why? Am I bothering you that much?”

 

“I’m saying it because the medics will be here soon,” Lyra replies, eyes steady, a defiant glint of red flashing in them. “If they see you, you’ll be part of this.”

 

Noura swallows. “Part of… what exactly?”

 

Lyra smiles, slow and knowing.

 

A faint flush colors Noura’s cheeks.

 

Lyra grips the collar of the pajama top she’s wearing and rips it open in one motion.

 

Noura flinches, then stares as the fabric falls away. Lyra tosses it aside, revealing a black sports bra over a pale, defined torso—toned abs, strong arms. Her right arm looks injured, her skin drained of color. Heat rushes to Noura’s face.

 

“Taylor, I need my pajamas…” Lyra mutters.

 

“I’ll get it,” Noura replies quickly, grateful for an excuse to move away from those abs. She crosses to the dresser, grabs one of the many identical black pajama sets, and hands it to her.

 

“The medics are at the door,” Taylor announces.

 

“Let them in,” Lyra says.

 

Two elegant betas step inside—white-haired, dark-skinned, with pearly eyes—dressed in crisp physician’s robes adorned with the Astorè family crest. Their gazes immediately flick to Noura standing beside the bed.

 

“Who is she?” one asks.

 

Lyra, now wearing a pajama that fits, smiles faintly. “You’re in this now.”

 

A prickle of danger runs up Noura’s spine, but she masks it with a calm tone.

“I’m Noura Al-Masri, the current therapist for all Morph C.O. employees.”

 

The betas exchange a glance, then smile in a way that makes Noura’s unease deepen.

 

“You’re… very pretty,” one remarks, while the other moves around the bed, setting up a tray with nutrient bags, syringes, and other supplies for Lyra’s treatment.

 

Noura’s pulse quickens—but she doesn’t let it show.

 

“T–Thank you,” Noura says, her eyes scanning the beta in front of her—young, maybe mid-twenties, clean and elegant. The other one is identical.

 

“What’s your name?” Noura asks.

 

The beta smiles, glancing at her twin. The twin meets her gaze with a look that says Noura has just asked something… amusing.

 

“You sure you wanna know?” The beta asks.

 

Lyra chuckles. “Girls, let her go. She’s an innocent bystander—she doesn’t know anything…”

 

Then she fixes her eyes on Noura.

“Get out. Now.”

 

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And just like that, Noura is outside, sliding into her car with shaky urgency. She turns the engine over and pulls away fast. For the first time in her life, she truly feels her life might have been in danger.

 

As the city blurs past her windows, her mind keeps circling back—Ari, Lyra, and that aura of danger clinging to Lyra like a second skin.

 

I shouldn’t meddle. I really shouldn’t.

 

But then Ari’s face flashes in her mind—crying, yet smiling when talking to her.

 

Bot dammit.

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The city glows beyond Nova’s curved glass wall, a sea of lights under the deep indigo of night. Moonlight spills through the arch, silvering the broad leaves that crowd the room. The air smells faintly of damp soil and jasmine.

They’re near the headboard, sitting side by side on the bed. Ari is cross-legged, her knees angled toward Nova. Nova sits with one leg folded and the other bent loosely, easy to shift. Both wear loose, bone-colored pajamas, the soft fabric whispering when they move. Scattered books lie open on the white comforter like fallen leaves.

Nova holds her phone in one hand, thumb hovering over the play icon.
“Ready?” she asks softly.

Ari nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She feels that familiar hum of nerves. It’s just Nova. Why am I tense?

Nova presses play.

Noura’s warm, deliberate voice fills the space.
“Hello, Nova. Hello, Ari. Let’s begin by finding a comfortable position. You don’t have to be close right away—just somewhere you both feel at ease. Notice your breathing.”

Nova eases a little nearer, uncrossing her folded leg so her knee can brush Ari’s. She lets the contact linger, a quiet invitation. Ari’s breath catches, but she doesn’t move away.

Behind the door, a floorboard creaks and a quick whisper rises, muffled. Neither of them hear it.

“Place your hands in front of you, palms up. Offer them to each other without pressure. Let your fingertips meet.”

Nova turns both hands, palms open between them. Ari leans forward slightly to rest hers inside, her fingers cool and tentative. Nova’s curl gently, giving a reassuring squeeze. Her own pulse is calm, steady. She’s soft with me. I like this.

“Close your eyes, if you’re comfortable. Notice the weight of the touch. Let it anchor you.”

Ari exhales and lets her eyelids fall. Nova follows. The room feels smaller now, wrapped in warmth and quiet. Ari’s thoughts still drift toward Lyra, but they slow—Nova’s hands are a weight keeping them from racing away.

From outside: a faint scrape against the doorframe.

“If you wish, let your hands move, tracing the shape of the other’s knuckles, the lines of the wrist.”

Nova’s thumbs begin a slow circle on Ari’s wrists, guiding her. Ari mirrors the motion, fingertips grazing smooth skin. Nova half-opens her eyes, watching Ari’s brow soften. She’s letting me set the pace. Good.

Another sound from the door—a stifled laugh, the rustle of fabric.

“When you’re ready, place one hand over the other’s heart—only if both feel safe. Rest there. Let the heartbeat guide you.”

Nova’s fingers release Ari’s, the warmth leaving only briefly before her palm settles over Ari’s heart. Ari hesitates—then copies her, laying her hand on Nova’s chest. Beneath the thin cotton, the beat is steady, grounding.

Nova smiles faintly. I like this. She’s opening up. I’m leading.

Ari breathes slower, her shoulders dropping.

“Stay here for a few breaths.”

Nova leans in, closing the space completely, and uses the gentle pressure of her palm to draw Ari forward. Ari lets herself be guided until her temple rests just beneath Nova’s jaw. Nova’s arm comes around her, unhurried, claiming without force. Ari feels the warmth seep in like water into sand.

Outside, the whispering halts—just a collective sigh.

Ari’s body loosens more with each breath. She feels like she could stay right here, eyes closed, head cradled in that steady warmth.

Nova’s breathing matches hers. She can feel Ari’s trust in the way her weight leans into her. She’s safe here. With me.

Noura’s voice continues:
“If you feel safe, shift so that you’re closer… supporting more of each other’s weight. Allow gravity to help you rest together.”

Nova eases back against the headboard, sliding down into the pillows, taking Ari with her. Ari follows without thought, ending half across Nova’s torso, cheek just above her collarbone. Nova’s hand spreads warmly across her back, thumb tracing lazy arcs.

Outside the door, three women of the Moonbound Covenant huddle together in the pale corridor, their bone-colored pajamas blending into the walls.

“She’s letting her hold her,” the youngest whispers, awe in her voice.
The eldest tilts her head toward the gap in the door. “I’ve never seen her lead another omega like that… or be this gentle.”
The third’s lips curve. “She’s her mother’s daughter. This must be a sacred ritual.”

Inside, the room is quiet except for breath and the low hum of the recording.

“Notice the rise and fall of breath beneath you… the heartbeat under your ear. Let it lull you. Trust this moment to hold you.”

Ari’s body is limp now, yielding completely. Nova keeps her palm anchored, drawing slow, soothing circles.

She trusts me, Nova thinks. I’ve got her.

She closes her eyes, smiling as Ari’s breathing evens out against her chest. For the first time in a long while, Nova feels both joy and peace in leading someone.

Outside

The three women exhale together, an unplanned, almost devotional sigh. One whispers, “She doesn’t need incense or music… she just is.”

Another answers softly, “Imagine if she looked at us like that.” They sigh.

 

On the phone, Noura’s voice softens into the final line:

“When you’re ready, you can end the exercise… or stay here, as long as you need.”

 

The recording clicks off. Neither of them moves.

 

And outside, three silent figures linger in the corridor, caught between curiosity, envy, and quiet longing, reluctant to turn away.

“We can't tell anyone what we just witnessed, alright?”

They swear, they'll keep the secret of the sacred ritual they just saw.

“We might get in trouble, or worse… get her in trouble.”

They gasp, they swear. This secret now binds them.

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In the stillness of Nova’s room, the city hums far below, moonlight brushing over the bed in soft silver. Ari sleeps on her, breath slow and even, a faint smile curving her lips.

 

Nova is deeply relaxed, one arm around Ari’s back, fingers resting in the folds of her pajama top. Her own smile lingers—small, easy. Her eyelids are heavy, almost drifting, but her mind clings to a single thread of thought.

 

This session with Ari was nice… more than nice. It was healing.

 

This is how it should be, she thinks. This is how …sex… should be—the omega leading, guiding the rhythm. Whether she's with an alpha or... whoever.

 

Her mind flickers to Hazel—rough, intense, the kind of passion that left her flushed but trembling afterward. Enjoyable, yes… but threaded with imbalance, anxiety, and a gnawing shame that came later, in the dark.

 

If it could be like this—soft, safe, led by the omega—it would be something else entirely. Sacred, truly sacred.

 

She exhales, her palm pressing a little closer against Ari’s back. Ari stirs faintly, still asleep. Nova closes her eyes, holding onto the thought, letting it take root quietly inside her.

 

Then, suddenly, a memory stirs—the image of the Goddess of all omegas, watching her in Hazel’s room… while she was getting railed… but that part is muted, what shines in her memory is the Goddess.

 

Is… is this what you were showing me, Goddess? Nova wonders, looking at the images painted in the ceiling of her room . I had to meet Hazel first… to be able to understand this ?

 

A rush of warmth floods her chest. Of course. This had to be some sort of trial—an initiation, perhaps. After all, she is the daughter of a High Priestess.

 

Now it all makes sense. She could cry from the realization, she feels at peace, she's no longer dirty, the rough sex had a purpose, it was all in the Goddesses plan! She stops herself from crying—not wanting to disturb Ari’s rest. Instead, she smiles, a quiet, private smile, closes her eyes, and lets sleep claim her.

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Ari wakes up—surprisingly, in the exact same position she fell asleep in. She blinks, looks around, then sits up on the bed and glances at Nova.

 

Huh… I actually slept amazing… she stretches I feel amazing!

 

She reaches for her smartphone and switches it on. The screen lights up: countless missed calls from Lyra. Tension shoots through her chest. She stands quickly, steps away from the bed, and dials Lyra.

 

“Lyra! Where are you?!”

 

Lyra’s voice comes through, relief flooding it.

“Ari… it’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you… I’m home.”

 

“Lyra, you sound tired. Are you okay?”

 

“I’m better than yesterday.”

 

A few seconds of silence.

 

“I’m sorry, Ari. I will never leave you alone again…”

 

The words make Ari’s stomach twist. She doesn’t believe them—and it hurts.

“Don’t say that.”

 

Lyra’s voice tightens.

“Ari?”

 

“Don’t say that! Not unless you’re going to stop doing dangerous work for Aira.”

 

Silence again.

 

Behind her, Nova stirs awake. She sees Ari on the phone, looking upset. Nova gets up and steps closer.

 

“Ari. Come back home. Let’s talk.” Lyra pleads.

 

Ari wants to. She really does. But deep down she knows how it will go: they’ll talk, Lyra will promise things, they’ll end up in bed—sweet, intense—and by tomorrow another errand could come… and what would happen then?

 

Nova wakes up and sees Ari upset on the phone, in silence, trembling. She stands up and goes to comfort her, takes her hand.

 

“Ari…” Nova squeezes her hand and gives her a supporting look.

 

Ari sighs, nods “I'll go home soon, Lyra.”

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A sleek, pearly-white car glides to a stop in front of Lyra’s home — a Lunara Éclipse, its moonlight sheen now softened by the late morning sun. Nova is behind the wheel.

 

“Thanks for everything, really,” Ari says as she unbuckles.

 

Nova smiles, reaches across, and takes her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you too, Ari. I don’t think you know how much you’ve helped me… but you will.”

 

There’s weight in her voice, and Ari feels a flicker of confusion, but it’s a pleasant kind — warm, like a secret she doesn’t mind waiting for.

 

Nova drives away, and Ari turns toward Lyra’s door.

 

Inside, sunlight spills across the living room. Lyra sits on the couch in loose clothes, a bandage wrapped around her arm. She’s a little pale, lips dry, but her smile is bright when she sees Ari.

 

“Ari!” Lyra stands quickly, moving toward her with more energy than she probably should have. She wraps her arms around Ari, holding her tight, then kisses her.

 

The moment their lips meet, Ari feels it — her anger dissolves slowly, her questions vanish into the warmth of Lyra’s mouth.

 

“Lyra… Goddess, I missed you…” Ari breathes out.

 

They don’t stay in the living room. Soon, they’re in Lyra’s bed, daylight washing over the sheets. Lyra lies back, still recovering, so Ari takes the lead — straddling her, moving with slow, steady waves.

 

Ari savors her, unhurried, as if taking her time with the finest dish she’s ever tasted.

Goddess… this woman… this… this cock… fuck! Lyra… you did it again…

 

Lyra is inside her, warm and hard, pulsing with each thrust.

“I love you, Ari… I missed you…” Lyra’s voice is low, thick with feeling.

 

Ari moves against her, hips rolling in a rhythm that’s more comfort than urgency.

“I love you, Lyra… you dummy…” she murmurs, eyes half-lidded, the sunlight catching in her hair with every motion.

 

“Ah—” Lyra’s eyes flutter closed, her voice unsteady. “You move so well… Ari… thank you… I’m so happy you came back home… our home…”

 

She pushes her hips upward, gripping Ari’s hips, sinking her fingers into her flesh as she pulls down, wanting to be as deep inside Ari as possible, her breath catching.

“In here is my home, Ari!”

 

Ari gasps, the words sending a rush through her. “Lyra… Lyra!”

 

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After their sweet, unhurried session, Ari makes an effort to at least ask. Her anger is gone—melted away in Lyra’s arms—but the questions and the worry remain, stubborn and heavy, and Ari feels that that’s actually good.

 

She lies on her side, watching Lyra. Lyra rests close but looks up at the ceiling, her expression unreadable in the daylight. Ari takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

 

“Lyra… where were you?”

 

Lyra answers without hesitation, no evasions. “At Camille’s. She was hiding Suzie.”

 

Ari’s eyes widen. “Did you… turn her in?”

 

Lyra shakes her head. “No… I… I couldn’t.”

 

Ari exhales.

 

“Where are they now? Camille and Suzie…”

 

Lyra exhales, long and slow, as if bracing herself. Then she turns her gaze from the ceiling to Ari, ready to tell her everything.

Ari holds her worry and gathers strength to give Lyra an ultimatum.

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Author’s Notes:

 

I’ve noticed that deeply religious people often use their beliefs to construct narratives that shield them from suffering, even when going through that suffering would be what finally sets them free from it. In some cases—like Nova’s—it isn’t external hardship that causes the pain, but the beliefs themselves. Yet, because they’re so accustomed to using those same beliefs as a coping mechanism, they fall into the pattern automatically.

 

Have you ever noticed that?

Chapter 38: Power in Her Hands

Summary:

The aftermath brings a mix of emotional strain, political maneuvering, and tangled personal ties. Hazel is battered in every way, yet she can’t afford even a single day of rest—that’s the price of being an Astoré. What some envy as power feels, to others, like a gilded weakness. Some find strength in surrendering to higher forces, letting themselves be guided. Others take power by seizing the reins, carving their own path. Now, the hierarchies are shifting, loyalties are being tested, and ultimatums are on the table.
Who would seat on the throne once the Queen has been beheaded?
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She lies sprawled on her bed, eyes that were once fierce and unyielding now dulled with exhaustion. The fire in them is gone, replaced by a quiet, heavy sadness. Sleep never truly came last night—only restless tossing, shallow dozing, and the sharp sting of waking too soon.

It’s nearly midday. She hasn’t eaten, hasn’t moved much, still wearing yesterday’s clothes even when she showered and feasted the day before, she chose to wear the same clothes to catch Suzie's scent clinging to them. She’d fallen asleep in them after masturbating to what was left of that scent… the one that tangled Suzie’s warmth with flashes of Nova’s face, Nova’s voice, until everything blurred.

Now, the hunger in her body has been replaced by a hollow ache. Her chest feels scraped clean, emptied in a way that unsettles her. She stares at her hands, feels like they’re weak and shameful. 

She remembers the hits launched at Camille, at her door…

She turns to the ceiling, barely blinking, wondering how she ended up here—starved, sleepless, and haunted by two ghosts who are still very much alive.

Her injuries haven´t been treated, any of them.

Her phone rings.

“Taylor, answer,” she commands.

The line clicks.
“Hey! Did you get any good sleep?” It’s Aira.

The bright, rested tone of her aunt grates on Hazel’s nerves.
“Fuck off! This is probably your fault!”

“Okay, I admit it. I might’ve wanted this to happen…” Aira says, her voice dripping with that same unshakable, cheeky confidence.

Hazel’s thumb hovers, ready to hang up, but Aira’s next words pin her in place.

“But Hazel, I’m so proud of you. You have no idea what you just did—or what it means. But trust me, it means a lot.”

Hazel rarely hears praise from Aira. Her eyes widen despite herself, exhaustion momentarily giving way to intrigue. The urge to hang up fades; she’s listening now.

“Let’s meet up.”

“Aira, I’m a mess. I’m not stepping out of this apartment,” Hazel says flatly.

“I’ll send the medics and come to you. This can’t wait.”

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A different kind of medics arrive—one beta, one omega—both impeccably professional, armed with sleek, high-grade equipment. They move with quiet precision, injecting nutrients, checking her blood and hormone levels, tending to her wounds. Their tools are far more advanced, far more thorough than the set used for Lyra. Hazel won’t ever know the difference—she only cares about the pain easing.

“Hazel! My dear niece, my heiress,” Aira sings as she sweeps into the room like she owns it.

“Ugh…” Hazel mutters from the bed.

“Hazel, what you did in your friend’s house…” Aira lifts her fingers and mimics a chef’s kiss. “Do you know what that was?”

Hazel’s stomach twists. The memory flashes—hitting the door to Camille’s room, seeing Suzie in the bathroom… drenched, sweet, afraid… running away from her own lust.

“I don’t want to remember.”

“It’s called The Heat ,” Aira says smoothly. “One of my latest discoveries in evolutionary biology. It’s actually the pinnacle of what an alpha can be.”

Hazel frowns. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I almost did… terrible things. Who the fuck would want to lose control like that?”

Aira chuckles, unbothered. “Well, yes—nature is cruel and immoral, and it produces apex predators. But with my help—thanks to Morph C.O.—we can channel all of that power…” She makes an expansive gesture with her hands. “…for good.”

Hazel eyes her, dubious.

“Imagine an army of—”

“We haven’t had a war in ages. We don´t need a war!” Hazel cuts her off.

“I mean metaphorically!” Aira waves the objection away. “Imagine if that was the standard for an alpha: strong, sharp, almost invulnerable.”

Hazel exhales. “I was an a animal…”

“No, no,” Aira says with quick dismissal. “You were overwhelmed. But think about the healing potential. All those punches you took from a far stronger alpha—you didn’t even feel them because you were healing on the spot!” Her voice rises with genuine enthusiasm.

Hazel keeps frowning.

“Trust me,” Aira says, her tone coaxing as she makes small, reassuring gestures. “I know it looks bad now, but it’ll work out. This is something good—for everyone.”

Hazel doesn’t feel reassured. The sadness is too deep, tangled with too many unresolved emotions. Her chest tightens, her heart rate climbing.

“I don’t want to hear you anymore…” she says quietly.

Aira doesn’t stop.
“Oh, you’re gonna want to hear this…” She inhales, pausing just long enough for the words to land. “You’re getting a promotion. You’ll be Lyra’s assistant.”

“What?!” Hazel’s head snaps up, her expression a mix of indignation, surprise… and the faintest hint of curiosity.

“You can’t learn anything new from that fake position you’ve got now at Morph C.O. But from Lyra?” Aira’s voice is matter-of-fact. “You could learn plenty.”

Hazel’s gaze follows the small woman as she circles the bed, her frown deepening.
“You’ve always liked her a lot, huh?” she says, lacing the words with disdain.

“I saw her potential and helped her develop it,” Aira replies, deadly serious. “And I see potential in you too, Hazel. You just need a little…”

“Yeah, yeah, I need to be Lyra. Got it,” Hazel cuts in, her tone sharp with annoyance.

Aira smiles and exhales—indulgent, as if humoring a stubborn child.
“Alright, alright. I’ll come back when you’re feeling better. Get well soon!” She almost sings the last words as she turns and leaves.

“Everything is set up. We’ll be monitoring you from afar,” the beta medic says.

“Would you like me to stay?” the omega asks—professional, but with the faintest hint of invitation.

Hazel doesn’t even look at her. “No.”

“Very well.”

They leave too, and silence fills the apartment. Hazel is alone now, surrounded by the vast view of the ocean, the slow, lulling rhythm of waves against the shore, and the endless horizon beyond her window. Alone… and ashamed.

She reaches for her phone, opening her messages with Suzie. The chat history glows on the screen—light, fun, playful. She can’t help but smile for a moment.

Her thumbs hover, then type:
Suzie. I’m sor—
She stops. Deletes.

Suzie, ur my best—
Stops. Deletes.

She inhales. Exhales. Tries again.
Suzie, I—
Stops.

Keeps going.
Suzie, I love—
Quickly deletes.

“Arg!” she growls, throwing the phone onto the couch.

I’m pathetic…

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Lyra sits across from Ari at the small kitchen table, brunch between them like a half-hearted peace offering. Steam curls from Ari’s matcha latte, mingling with the faint sweetness of the matcha pancakes she slices with slow precision.

Lyra has just told her everything—the break-in at Camille’s house, Suzie and her scent, Hazel apparently transformed into some kind of hyper-alpha, Camille knocked down and later revived by rest and far too much of Lyra’s blood. And the worst part: Camille and Suzie are gone.

Ari’s gaze isn’t on her. It’s distant, fixed somewhere in the retelling, replaying every detail.

Lyra shifts in her chair, a faint unease prickling at her skin.
“Why all the matcha?” she asks, voice tight… maybe even a little afraid.

“Because it helps me stay focused and calm,” Ari says, drizzling a generous stream of honey over the pancakes.

Lyra blinks. “I don’t think the honey is going to help in that regard.”

Ari frowns slightly. “When are you going to give me an answer?”

Lyra flinches. “I… I can’t just not pay her. There would be consequences.”

“Uuuugh!” Ari snaps. “What consequences?! You can get another job! You have plenty of money!”

Lyra swallows. “Some of my accounts are joint or managed by Morph C.O. Aira can close them if she wants. And this apartment…” She hesitates. “She can claim it back whenever she feels like it.”

Ari suddenly remembers back then when she had a choice between Lyra and Camille. She wonder what would have happened if she had chosen Camille, but she quickly shakes that thought away.

No, I chose her... I chose this beautiful alpha...

Her mind then skips to a different idea.

Ari’s eyes widen in disbelief.
“Oh my Bot… Aira... She’s one of those vile billionaires who kidnap people from the southern tribes and exploit them! She’s no philanthropist. You being here is a crime too!”

Lyra’s expression falters. “I mean… she gave me a job. I only do those errands once in a while… and I'm a citizen... I have... my ID...”

“Don’t you see it’s exploitation, irregardless?!” Ari fires back.

There’s a pause.

“Regardless…” Lyra mutters.

Ari narrows her eyes. “So you do see it?”

“I mean… it’s ‘regardless,’ not ‘irregardless.’”

Ari punches the table—more cute than intimidating. “Bot damn it, Lyra! That’s not the point! We have to get you out of that horrible deal with that monster!”

Lyra feels a pang of guilt for finding her so adorable when she’s furious.

“Why are you looking at me like that?! Damn it, this is a matter of life and death!” Ari shouts.

Lyra blushes faintly. She’s so cute…

Ari grabs a pancake and tosses it at her face. It hits softly, sliding down to the table.

“Lyra, please…” Her voice drops, gaze lowering until her eyes are shadowed. “If you don’t find a way out of that deal with her… I don’t know if there’s a future for us.”

Silence. Heavy. Terrible.

Lyra’s breath catches as the weight of it finally sinks in.
“Ari… no.” Panic edges her voice. “Alright—alright, I’ll get out of it somehow.”

Ari doesn’t lift her gaze.

“I’ll… I’ll ask how much my debt is,” Lyra says quickly, desperation leaking into every word. “If I have a number, I can figure out how to pay it off. I used to have a number years ago... it should be less now...”

Still, Ari doesn’t look up.

“I’ll sell whatever I have to. I’ll take extra work. I do have some money saved and invested…” Lyra’s words start tumbling out in a rush, like a frantic brainstorm.

Finally, Ari looks at her.
“Okay, Lyra. I’ll help you find a way to get out.” She smiles—soft, but firm.

Lyra stares back, completely pliant under that smile.

Lyra stands from her chair and crosses to Ari, wrapping her up like she’s hugging a teddy bear for comfort.
“Don’t say that again… that there’s no future for us,” she whispers.

Ari hugs her back, tight.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! Lyra! Even if you started killing people, I don’t think I’d have the strength to leave you!!! This is awful for my mental health! Gwuauhsekfew…
She squeezes her tighter.

“Remember you agreed to therapy?” Ari reminds her softly.

Lyra nods.

“Well, I think we’re in luck. I asked Noura to see us for couples’ therapy—at work. Ao we don´t have to spend extra time or money-”

Lyra pulls back enough to look her in the eyes.
“I don’t like that woman.”

“Lyra, she took care of me while you were gone. She’s very professional,” Ari says.

Lyra hates hearing that.
“Ugh… she was here, alone with you…” she mutters, the thought sour in her mouth.

“No—actually, Nova was here too. We slept together,” Ari says casually.

Lyra freezes. Her eyes widen, lifting to meet Ari’s with a confused, sharp stare.
“Are you… trying to tell me you chea-chea-”

Ari bursts into laughter interrupting Lyra's stutter, a little matcha latte spilling from her mouth. “Ha! No! No… I mean, Noura led a relaxation exercise—something to stabilize our emotions. Nova was there, so we ended up falling asleep on the bed.”

Lyra doesn’t know how to feel, the initial shock fades. In her mind, Noura is a hungry, lustful alpha with psychic powers, making Ari and Nova kiss on her bed for her own enjoyment. Her face gives her imagination away.

“Lyra… what are you thinking?” Ari asks, narrowing her eyes.

Lyra shakes her head. “Ari… I’m not sure I like what you just said.”

Ari rolls her eyes.
“Here, I’ll show you.” She takes Lyra’s hand and leads her toward the bedroom.

Lyra allows herself to be guided, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

From the kitchen, Noura’s recorded voice drifts through the air.

“I don’t like that woman’s voice…” Lyra mutters under her breath.

“Taylor, alter her voice—make it sound like… me,” Ari says.

“Voice altered,” Taylor confirms.

Lyra tilts her head, listening. “That’s better.”

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One thing leads to another and soon enough, Lyra is inside Ari—this time from behind. She moves with extra care, slow and deliberate, her hands gripping Ari firmly but gently. A wide smile curves her lips, her eyes are dark and lustful, her face flushed, her naked body, sweaty and a bit swollen, against Ari’s soft, flushed, delicate body.

“Say that again…” Lyra breathes, her voice low and hungry.

“I’m completely yours… You own me…” Ari whispers, utterly submissive, her arousal clear in every word. She’s arched on the bed, chest pressed to the mattress, hands clutching the sheets.

Feels so good to say it… I’ve never been this relaxed in this position… ever—

“Ahhh… Goddess!! Ari, this was an excellent idea…” Lyra whimpers, driving in and out with slow, intense strokes.

"Please... say again... say it..." Lyra says, feels like a command and a plea at the same time. Her hands grip her waist and pull her closer.

Ari bites down on the pillow beneath her cheek.
This was not supposed to go this way! …not that I’m complaining… but oh Goddess… how… Why…?

"Lyra... I'm yours..."

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After an intense session of lovemaking—one that lasted a bit longer than usual—Lyra finds herself going back to the memory of Ari's words, naturally a question emerges.

“Ari… you’re telling me that… you heard that audio with Nova—”

Ari cuts her off immediately. “Lyra, no. I mean… yes. But it was different! We just slept—neither of us got aroused!”

Ari pauses, frowning to herself.
Why did we get aroused now? Why didn’t we relax?... well… I did relax… and yeah… being relaxed with Lyra somehow leads to getting aroused… 

“Maybe I shouldn’t use this with you… maybe it only works for omegas,” she murmurs, completely forgetting that the exercise is about Platonic touch and the relationship with Lyra is anything but platonic.

Lyra exhales. “Okay. Let’s have therapy with that woman… I actually want to get to know her. If she taught you this, she can´t be that bad.”

Ari smiles and curls up closer against her.

“Yay…” she murmurs.

Lyra holds her tight, though her mind is already elsewhere.
I need to know if that woman is dangerous or not.

And then, uninvited, Camille’s image slips in—her relaxed posture, that voice saying something like,
“Is the big boss feeling intimidated?”
Playful. Charming.

A pang of sadness hits Lyra.
“This is goodbye…” she remembers her saying.

She hugs Ari even tighter.
Fuck.

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Nova doesn’t go out this weekend. She stays in her room, curtains half-drawn, soft moonlight pooling over her desk. Most of her time is spent speaking with Shiva and searching online for more exercises like the ones she practiced with Ari.

Goddess of all omegas, guide my hands… guide my search. Let me find what will honor You.

“Shiva, I’m going to send you a list of exercises—the platonic touch kind. Do you think we could… maybe create our own?”

Shiva reviews the collection Nova has gathered, the sound of processing soft and measured.
“Nova, we could—but you need a license to teach or supervise these.”

Nova’s brow furrows, though her heart stays steady.

I understand… but the laws of humans are not above the laws of the Goddess. I can begin here, with my fellow Moonbeams. I can learn by touch, by breath, by the sacred closeness She gifted us. Trial and error, in this blessed, safe space.

“I could recommend a path into psychology, therapy, and eventually a specialization in platonic touch therapy, if you’re interested,” Shiva offers.

Nova tilts her head, considering—then gives a small shrug. “Yeah. Why not.”

“Excellent. I’ll send the information to your tablet,” Shiva says.

As the data streams onto her screen, Nova keeps searching, reading, and writing. Each note feels like a prayer taking shape, each exercise a step closer to fulfilling Her will. She hasn’t felt this sense of purpose in years.

Her phone, muted, lights up with Rainy’s name. It rings, but no sound cuts through, and Nova—too deep in her reading and research—doesn’t notice. The call times out. On her screen, the missed call joins a small list: Rainy has tried several times.

Nova has completely forgotten that screen exists.

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Sunday is spent healing, resting, and sulking. But Monday comes anyway, and as if nothing had changed, the women go back to work. Only—things have changed. Lyra had been receiving a bunch of texts in the morning, Ari didn´t want to bother her, so she didn´t ask about it, but she sensed it had to do with Morph C.O at least, if not, Aira.

“Did you see the news?!” Gina approaches Ari and Nova at reception. They’ve been talking, but the moment Gina arrives, Nova’s body stiffens. She tries to hide it.

“I didn’t. What’s new?” Ari asks.

“Our beloved CEO is being accused of crimes… serious crimes.”

The words are enough to pull Nova past her discomfort. Soon, the three omegas—and later Rainy—are squeezed together at Cool Beans, crammed into a booth to watch the most popular Vyre videos about Aira’s alleged crimes.

On-screen, a flamboyant Vyre creator gestures animatedly.
“So yeah! This little woman is Aira Astoré. Did you ever imagine she’d be that short?!” She leans in toward the camera with exaggerated awe. “But don’t be fooled—this little woman is no joke. According to the MCC and the AMC, she’s allegedly committed—get this—crimes against humanity, including people trafficking and illegal experimentation on minors!”

Ari’s eyes widen. Her mind jumps instantly to Suzie. Slowly, she turns toward Gina. Gina catches her glance and side-eyes her knowingly.

Nova can’t tear her gaze from the screen—at least until Rainy arrives. Then she makes the effort, offering a faint smile. Rainy, however, walks past her, waving and greeting the group but keeping her tone cold. The guilt twists in Nova’s stomach.

The booth door shuts. Gina links the screen to her phone, and the feed keeps scrolling—Aira’s scandal is everywhere.

“Makes sense,” Rainy says. “Morph C.O. is at the forefront of bodymod tech. I guess those illegal experiments helped the company get there.”

“Do you think… all of that is true?” Nova asks.

Ari stays silent.

“I knew it. I knew all of it,” Gina sighs, the words dripping with smug certainty—her tone exaggerated, but her confidence unshaken, which makes her sound very believable.

“How?!” Nova and Rainy ask together.

“Ah… I just decided to get more involved with the company, and it started getting fishy,” Gina says—deliberately vague.

Nova fills in the blanks herself, remembering Gina’s conversations with Hazel.
Oh… so she got close enough to Hazel to find out things…
A spike of resentment burns in her chest. She’s suddenly very aware of how Hazel and her didn't really share much about themselves to each other… 

“Anyway,” Gina sighs again, “all of this is still alleged. The Astorès are powerful. I bet Aira will get out of it.”

“You think so?” Ari asks.

Getting Aira arrested could be another way of setting Lyra free... Ari thinks

Gina’s eyes cut to her, cynical. “Yeah. Those fucking families… they’re so detached from us—simple women. They see us as tools. Specially us omegas... they see us as wombs.”

Nova listens, her stomach tightening, her eyes lighting with sudden recognition.
Oh my Goddess… Hazel used Gina… that's it...

“You know,” Ari comments, “it makes me think about how Hazel is an heiress…” She turns to Nova, her tone light. “How are things with Hazel, by the way?”

Nova flinches slightly. “Oh! I…” She exhales. “I actually… don’t know if I want to fix things with her or not.”

Rainy gives her an empathetic look, but quickly hides it. Gina studies her for a moment.

“You know what—you should,” Gina says.

Nova’s eyes widen, surprised. “W-Why do you say that?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“Because, let’s say she does inherit everything Aira has now. By then, you two could be married, and you’d be able to influence her—maybe even humanize her a little” Gina’s tone is still edged with cynicism.

Nova blinks, the thought unexpectedly illuminating.

“What?! Seriously, Gina? You think that’s a valid reason to go back to someone who hurt you?” Rainy protests.

Gina shrugs. “It’s bigger than us. It’s for a greater cause.”

Rainy shakes her head, appalled. “I can’t believe it!”

Ari smiles awkwardly. “I mean… It makes sense. Not that I’m supporting her.”

Nova listens quietly, thinking. Gina and Rainy argue, Ari tries to serve as a bridge, Nova keeps listening.

Goddess of all omegas… Gina has been with Hazel… has she been initiated? I mean… Hazel could be a vessel for your beams of wisdom, somehow… She talks to her Goddess in her mind.

It’s for a bigger purpose… Nova thinks. Those words triggered something in her. To her they sound inspired by the Goddess. She smiles.

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Author's Note:

Happy Mondaaaaayyy!!! omg Im already tired... lol

Chapter 39: Living costs 💰

Summary:

Hazel is having a crisis and it suits her.
Nova struggles with guilt over neglecting Rainy and yearning for Hazel, she feels alone and regretful and gets closer to Ari to try and feel better. Meanwhile, Lyra faces her crushing debt to Aira and resorts to less than clean methods to pay it off, revealing the darkness she hides from her past. Are her actions helping or making things worse?
And Camille... where is she? What is she going to do?
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The omegas head back toward the office. Nova’s gaze keeps darting around, searching for Rainy, but Rainy refuses to meet her eyes. Meanwhile, Gina and Ari drift into lighter conversation—until—

“Ah! What the—” Ari winces, clutching her shoulder where a small but stinging rock just struck her.

“You monsters!” a voice shouts. The group turns to see a handful of women brandishing signs.
“You’re omegas! How can you work for Morph C.O?!” another screams, her voice laced with venom.

Ari freezes, fear mixing with confusion. Gina looks ready to fire back a retort, but before she can, a broad-shouldered alpha in uniform charges toward them. She steps in front, intercepting another volley of small rocks with precision, then draws a weapon—large, sleek, and undeniably intimidating.

The protesters gasp, instinctively flinching. The alpha squeezes the trigger, and a heavy rubber projectile slams into one of the women, knocking the breath out of her before bursting into a cloud of bright, choking smoke.

“Inside, girls,” the alpha orders firmly.

Gina seizes Ari’s arm, pulling her into a sprint. The building’s doors slide shut behind them, muting the chaos outside—until a muffled thump echoes, another shot fired.

“Isn’t that… a bit much? I mean… they were just throwing small rocks at us…” Ari says, breathless.

“Ari… they threw rocks at us!” Gina retorts, her voice tinged with lingering fear.

“There’s also a buff alpha out there shooting at them with a huge gun,” Ari points out.

Lyra appears, rushing down from the second floor. “Ari! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She reaches for Ari’s arms, her warm hands holding her in place. Ari feels herself soften under the contact.

“I’m fine, it was just a small rock and it barely—”

Lyra’s face hardens, fury flashing in her eyes.

Ari’s own eyes widen.
I shouldn’t have said anything… she thinks.

The heavy alpha from outside steps in, removing her helmet. Short black hair clings to her temples, blue eyes sharp beneath a stoic, commanding aura.

“They’re gone. We’re safe,” she says in a deep, steady voice.

Lyra nods once. “Well done, Gala.”

Gala gives the faintest smile and raises a hand in a crisp, casual salute.

“Lyra, what’s going on?” Ari asks.

“Someone leaked information to the major news channels… Morph C.O.’s reputation is taking a dive. Since I anticipated something like this, I requested extra security.” Lyra’s voice is calm but clipped. “Actually, this is the perfect time to make an announcement.”

Within minutes, she calls for a company-wide meeting. Remote employees will get a recording, but those in the office are instructed to head to the top floor—an observatory-turned-auditorium.

The space fills quickly. Ari glances around, surprised. Since when did Morph C.O. have so many employees?

“Morph C.O. has really grown, huh?” she murmurs.

“I mean, it’s always been big,” Nova says, “but never an on-site workplace, you know?”

“Yeah. Ever since the design team proved it could work, they’ve been pushing it in other areas,” Rainy adds. “Not sure it’s actually working, though.”

Nova turns toward her, searching her face, but Rainy’s gaze slides away.

“It’s starting,” Gina whispers.

Lyra steps onto the stage. “Hello, everyone…” She looks composed, but Ari catches the subtle tells—the faint shift of her weight, the measured breaths. Ari’s heart softens, so distracted by Lyra’s little signs of nervousness that the graphs and numbers flashing on the screen barely register.

“…and that’s why Hazel Astorè will be taking that position…”

A gasp ripples through the room.

Ari blinks, snapping out of her daze. “What?”

Gina leans close. “Hazel’s gonna be Lyra’s assistant.”

Ari’s eyes widen. Her gaze instinctively shifts to Nova.

Nova is frozen, staring into nothing—just realizing she’s cut things off with Hazel, an heiress who might be groomed to succeed Aira herself sooner than she thought.

Rainy lets out a quick laugh, then covers her mouth.

“The alleged crimes have not been proven. These are likely just attacks from our competitors—you know how things are,” Lyra continues smoothly.

But Ari knows the truth. She knows those crimes are probably real… and if the leaks are out, Camille and Suzie are almost certainly behind them.

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“Rainy… can we talk?” Nova asks softly, stopping by Rainy’s workstation.

“You completely forgot about meeting us at the café,” Rainy says coldly, eyes fixed on her screen. “Do you even care, or are you just pretending so you don’t look bad in front of others?”

The words sting. Nova swallows hard. “I’m sorry… I did forget. I… I had an unusual weekend, had to take Ari back to my place—”

“I don’t wanna know.” Rainy cuts her off. “You could have called.”

Nova blinks, caught off guard by her tone. “But I—”

“No, Nova.” Rainy’s voice sharpens. “You’re not a great friend, you know that? You’re always in your head, like you can’t focus on anyone but yourself.” She sighs. “And you probably won’t even understand how much effort it takes for me to say this to you…”

Nova freezes, stunned. She lowers her gaze. 

“There have to be consequences to your actions” Rainy says, a little pained.

The omega then quietly walks back to her own desk.

From across the room, Gina leans toward Ari, having caught the exchange.
“Geez… so much drama,” she murmurs.

Ari glances at Nova. The sadness in her expression makes Ari’s chest tighten.
Nova helped me so much this weekend… is this my fault too?

Hazel walks through the designers’ area, her style still unmistakably fashionable, but stripped down. The colors she wears are muted, her caramel eyes shadowed with a quiet sadness. Her nails are bare, a single bracelet circling her wrist—no earrings, no excess, none of the exaggerated flair she once flaunted. There’s a shift in her aura: still wild, but touched now with melancholy and a trace of cynicism. She looks fed-up, and that edge of weariness gives her a new kind of nuance—making her presence sharper, more compelling than before, she suddenly became interesting.

Nova’s gaze locks onto her. She takes in every detail, feeling that magnetic pull. Regret, yearning, frustration… they all flicker across her face before she can hide them. Ari notices and feels a pang of empathy.

Hazel heads upstairs, meeting Lyra halfway. They exchange a few words before disappearing into Lyra’s office.

Nova’s chair scrapes lightly against the floor as she stands, visibly affected. Without a word, she walks toward the executive bathroom.

“Wow… Hazel had a very peculiar glow up…” Gina murmurs “It’s like she stopped caring, but… somehow that makes her look better?”

Ari sighs “ Ah geez…” Things are not going well for Nova… and somehow I feel it’s my fault.

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Lyra takes a golden chip from her pocket and holds it out for Hazel, who lounges on the new sofa across from her.
“I got this from a partner after hitting six months without giving in to my vice,” she says, locking eyes with her.

Hazel stares at it. “Okay.” Her tone is flat, like it means nothing.

Lyra’s jaw tightens. She slips the chip back into her pocket.
“Hazel, you’re going to inherit this entire company—and more. You know that, right?”

Hazel nods, uninterested.

“You’re my assistant now,” Lyra continues, voice measured. “That means you’ll be making decisions that shape this company’s future… under my watch. For now.”

Hazel exhales, almost bored. “What are my tasks right now?”

The disdain in her voice needles at Lyra.

Ha! Why did I think I could actually mentor this child…
“You know what? There’s a station nearby, on this floor.”

She turns her back, grabs a card from her desk, and tosses it to her. Hazel flinches, then catches it.
“That’s your office now. I’ll send a document with everything you need for the moment.”

Lyra sits behind her desk.
“After that, I’ll send you details on each case. If you need anything, ask Taylor. If that fails, ask me.” She lifts her tablet and scrolls. “That’s it.”

Hazel scoffs, stands, and walks out.

Lyra watches the door close.
“…Brat.”

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Hazel’s heels click softly against the sleek, polished floor as she approaches her office. From the outside, it looks like one of the minimalist glass booths scattered across the floor — only hers is sharper, more modern. Subtle lines of light trace the arch of the doorway, and the tinted glass can shift from crystal clear to opaque with a single command.

She slides the slim access card Lyra gave her across the sensor. The reader blinks green, the door gliding open with a soft hiss. For now, the card works — later, she’ll program the entrance to recognize her palm.

Inside, the air is cool and faintly scented with cedar. The workspace is compact yet pristine — clean lines, a streamlined desk, and two low, geometric stools facing her chair. A faint hum comes from the control panel embedded in the wall, waiting for her to adjust the glass privacy setting.

Without breaking stride, Hazel steps inside, the door sealing shut behind her. The glass frosts instantly, muting the world outside. This is her space now.

“Tch… this is so small compared to Lyra’s…” she mutters under her breath.

What are you worrying about? You’ll be the owner of this whole company one day.
She swears she hears Suzie’s voice — that fresh, easy tone that always made things lighter, always gave her room to breathe.

Hazel exhales hard.
“Fuuuuuck…” She drops into her chair, letting her body slump until she’s almost sliding off it.

Lyra’s name pops up on the screen.
“You have an email from Lyra Veran,” Taylor announces in its polite, neutral voice.

“Duh…” Hazel replies without looking away from the monitor.

She sits up enough to scan the attached document.
“So… many… tasks…” Her voice is flat, eyes already glazing. She’s tired before she even begins.

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Over the weekend, Lyra drops a bombshell on Ari, her tone far too cheerful for the words that follow.
“Ari, good news! Aira finally gave me a number.”

“What?!” Ari has never seen so many zeros attached to a money figure in her life.
“This has got to be a joke!”

Lyra blinks, unfazed. “What? It’s less than before…”

Ari stares at her. “Lyra, Aira owns you.”

Lyra’s smile falters. “I hate the sound of that…”

Ari’s head spins. How the fuck am I supposed to come up with that kind of money? Oh Goddess… I need… I need to breathe… She collapses onto the futon.

Lyra follows, concern in her eyes.
“Ari, don’t worry. You…” She closes the space between them, voice low but steady. “You have nothing to worry about. I can pay her.”

“Where does this debt even come from? Can she… show you exactly what she’s paid for so that—”

“Yeah. Here’s the list.” Lyra tilts her tablet toward her.

Ari leans in, scanning the screen.
College in Harrowgate—none other. Clothes. The house. Extra education. Gym membership. Food and shelter for years, her mom’s hospital bills…

She feels the blood drain from her face.

Lyra tosses the tablet onto the couch and scoops her up without warning.
“Lyra!”

“Ari, you look like you’re about to faint. I don’t want to keep you in this state.”

She carries her toward the bed.

“Lyra, not everything can be fixed with sex,” Ari blurts.

Lyra smiles faintly.
“I know, silly. We're not making love right now.” She sets Ari gently onto the bed.

“You stay here. I’ll handle this.” She tosses a sleek black card onto the blanket. “Order whatever comfort food—or anything—you want.”

Ari stares at the card, concern knitting her brows. “Is that going to add to the debt?!”

Lyra exhales sharply. “Okay, don’t order anything. Just rest. I’ll be back soon.”

“Back? From where?” Ari asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

Lyra’s gaze hardens with quiet resolve. “Cashing in favors.”

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Cashing in favors?

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So you think I'm going to just stay here eating cookies, calm, while you're "cashing in favors"?

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“Cashing in favors?” Nova repeats, tilting her head, eyes on Ari.

Ari couldn't stand being alone, she called Nova after thirty minutes of watching a soapy drama.

“Yeah, that’s what she said, and then she just… took off!” Ari’s voice wavers as she picks at a sticky cookie—blue velvet, the flavor of the day.

They’re huddled together under Lyra’s covers, the soft weight of the blanket cocooning them while the soap opera on the TV sits frozen mid–dramatic stare.

“I mean… it doesn’t sound bad,” Nova says, keeping her tone light, but inside she’s quietly savoring this—Ari leaning into her, unguarded. “Sounds like people owe her money or… favors, and she’s probably cashing them in to pay Aira back. That’s good, right?”

Ari’s mouth is full, her words muffled.

Nova leans in a little. “What?”

“I just… feel like she’s going to meet dangerous people and end up in more trouble,” Ari murmurs, eyes downcast.

Nova smiles softly, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of Ari this open with her—it’s a familiar feeling, guiding someone who trusts her completely. She gives Ari’s head a gentle pat.

“Ah… maybe… but come on—it’s Lyra. She can handle it.” Nova’s voice stays low, almost fond. “And if she can’t… well, she’s got you.”

Ari’s eyes widen. “Oh my Goddess… she only has me now!” The thought seems to sink in all at once, and her worry deepens.

She flops back against the pillow with a small groan. “I miss Camille so much! If she was here she would have done something to make Lyra stay safe!”

Maybe we did need her! Maybe not including her in our relationship was a mistake!

Nova wraps her arms around her, giving a gentle squeeze. “There, there…” she murmurs, letting Ari rest against her. With one hand still holding her close, she reaches for the remote and presses play, the soap’s soft, overacted voices filling the room again. Her eyes flick to Ari’s worried face, and despite the knot of concern in her chest, she feels a quiet warmth. Ari being this open with her… it tugs at something deep inside, reminding her of the comfort and closeness she felt while guiding her in the platonic touch exercises, it pulls her away from the feeling of having been abandoned by Hazel and Rainy.

“How dangerous could they really be? Maybe it’s just… regular folks who owe Lyra some money.”

 

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A punch crashes into Lyra’s jaw, snapping her head to the side and spinning her toward the metal net that cages her in from the roaring crowd. She catches herself on the mesh, breath sharp, eyes blazing. In the ring with her is a muscular alpha—no gloves, no rules.

Lyra spits a thread of blood onto the mat, pivots on her heel, and swings hard. Her fist connects squarely with the alpha’s face mid-charge, sending her sprawling flat on her back.

“Stay down!” Lyra barks.

The crowd erupts.

From the stands, an elderly alpha watches with an unblinking, predatory calm. Her jaw works slowly over something she’s chewing, her entire presence steeped in the air of a seasoned criminal. At the sight of Lyra standing tall, her eyes glint with nostalgia.

The downed alpha doesn’t rise. The announcer, Taylor, calls the fight in Lyra’s favor, and the crowd howls even louder. A fearful omega in skimpy clothes scurries into the ring to raise Lyra’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Lyra says, voice like steel. The omega flinches back.

Lyra steps through the ropes and heads straight for the elderly woman. “Give it.”

“As you said,” the woman replies smoothly, “the crowd still remembers you—and they paid handsomely for your return.” She takes out her phone, holding it near Lyra’s until the device chimes, confirming a large transfer into a fresh account.

“A pleasure to have you back,” she adds.

“Oh, and…” Lyra tilts her head toward the frightened omega still in the ring, enduring whistles and jeers. “I need extra… for, you know…” Her gaze sharpens with unspoken meaning.

The woman’s smile falters. “You… you motherfucker…you would actually call the cops on me after I gave you a place in this city…”

“Relax, granny. One time thing. Special offer”

Her lips thin, but she taps her phone again, transferring more credits.

“This is to keep your mouth shut.” Another tap—more credits.

“And a little extra for Aira.”

Lyra slips her phone into her pocket. “This isn’t for Aira. You got that?”

The woman studies her a long moment, then nods once. “Okay…”

Lyra pushes through the exit into the night air, leaving that Goddess-forsaken place behind. But her mind sticks on the image of that omega in the ring—small, humiliated, pretending not to flinch.

Ugh…

Her gut twists. She hates that she’s letting it go. And the thought needles her—what would Ari think if she knew?

I have to pay that debt first…

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Ari feels calmer now, nestled in Nova’s arms. The lights are dim, the world outside their bed distant and irrelevant. Nova’s breath is warm against her ear as she begins something Ari doesn’t recognize—slow, deliberate, but not random.

“Breathe with me,” Nova murmurs, her voice low and steady. She tightens her embrace just enough to make Ari feel anchored, her chest pressing against Ari’s back so each inhale is shared. “In for four… hold for four… out for six.”

It’s box breathing—something Nova had read about late one night, proven to slow the heart rate and quiet the mind. With each cycle, Nova’s voice counts softly, a quiet metronome in Ari’s ear, while her arms maintain that secure, unyielding hold. Ari’s body starts to match the rhythm without thinking, her pulse syncing to Nova’s.

Ah… I should be able to regulate on my own… Ari thinks, the words sharp in her head. I used to… until I chose the mean, dark alpha in debt over the bright, calm, mature one with a steady economy and a plan for the future! She scolds herself, and the self-criticism makes her chest tighten, her breath stutter.

“Shhh… Ari, breathe…” Nova’s voice comes quick but gentle, her arms tightening just enough to draw Ari back into the present.

Ari nods, eyes closing as she searches for the rhythm again—the steady in for four, hold for four, out for six that Nova had coaxed her into. Little by little, her lungs fall in line, syncing to the warmth pressed against her back, the quiet strength in Nova’s embrace.

“Nova… did you get into this because of that night?” Ari asks softly, meaning the night they’d both calmed themselves with Noura’s help.

“You could say that…” Nova answers, her tone deliberately vague.

Ari exhales, the breath a mix of release and unease. “I’m supposed to go to therapy with Lyra next time…”

“What? Lyra and Noura in the same room with you?” Nova’s surprise is immediate.

“Yeah… I suggested it. Do you think I made a mistake?”

Nova’s palm smooths gently over Ari’s arm, patting twice like she’s grounding her. “No… no. I… I think Noura’s a professional. She’ll help…” Her voice softens at the end, but there’s a faint hesitation, like she’s not entirely convinced herself.

“Lyra was ok with it… so I guess she’ll behave.”

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“Are you done?” Lyra asks, her tone edged with impatience.

“Just a little more…” replies the nurse—an alpha whose expression simmers with contained anger.

Lyra sits in the reclining chair of a blood clinic, the antiseptic smell sharp in her nose. “Ugh… alphas shouldn’t be nurses… or… psychologists…” she mutters under her breath, mind flashing to Noura—how she’d seen her in nightmares: seductive, eyes glowing red, hands all over Ari.

The nurse yanks the needle from her arm without ceremony.

“Ow…” Lyra flinches.

“All done,” the alpha says flatly.

Her account pings—credits automatically transferred. The system has already evaluated and appraised her blood; apparently, it’s worth more than standard.

She steps outside, the night, too cold “Ah…” Dizzy, she steadies herself against a wall.

This is what happens when you treat the medical staff like crap, big boss! Camille’s voice echoes in her mind, playful and warm.

The sound of it makes her chest loosen. She wonders where Camille is now.

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The city at night is a tapestry of light and shadow, intricate patterns of gold filigree glowing against the deep indigo sky. Camille’s eyes are wide, drinking in every detail as if she could bottle the air, the colors, the very feeling of this place. The arched façades glitter like spun sunlight, even in darkness, and the reflection on the wet stone streets makes the whole world seem doubled—one above, one shimmering below.

Suzie, walking beside her, has her fingers loosely laced with Camille’s, but her gaze flicks more toward the corners, the rooftops, the subtle movements in the crowd. Her wariness sits in stark contrast to Camille’s awe. Where Camille sees beauty, Suzie sees opportunities for deception.

As they pass through the gates of Materia’s main building, Camille is briefly breathless. Towering white-and-gold domes curve upward like they’re trying to touch the moon, walkways ribbon between them in graceful arcs, and the structure seems almost alive with the play of light on water. She turns her head constantly, following the sound of fountains and the gleam of gilt details, noticing how the water flows in channels alongside marble steps, how the soft lapping catches the light like molten metal.

They move deeper inside, guided by one of Devika Varma’s assistants—an elegant woman dressed in pale silks that cling and flow, the fabric revealing more skin than Camille is used to seeing in formal spaces. The style is echoed by those they pass: long drapes of linen, gold-thread embroidery, bare arms and collarbones glistening under lantern-light. The clothes are soft, light, and alive against the body, moving with the rhythm of each step.

Camille’s fingers squeeze Suzie’s once in excitement, but Suzie’s answering glance is brief and assessing, as if to say don’t get too comfortable . Camille lets the caution roll off her for now—there’s too much wonder in the air.

They enter the grand interior hall, a sweep of patterned arches and high, star-laced ceilings where chandeliers spill starlight. The assistant moves ahead at a measured pace, leading them toward a set of ornate double doors. The gold inlay on the doors shimmers under the chandeliers, and Camille feels her heart skip a beat.

Beyond those doors, Devika Varma awaits.

Camille’s blue irises are almost swallowed by the widening of her pupils the instant she sees her. Tall, poised, her dark brown waves spilling over her shoulders, Devika sits with regal ease—not behind a desk, not flanked by screens, but on a sumptuous futon framed by rich fabrics and intricate decor. Art lines the walls in curated harmony, while women move quietly around her: some perched on low, ornate seating with laptops, others wearing delicate glasses as they gesture into the air, working in invisible AR displays.

Suzie’s expression stays cool, faintly guarded. Camille, however, feels her breath catch. Every surface, every figure in the room, every texture seems steeped in elegance, but it’s Devika who commands her senses entirely.

Draped in a flowing ensemble of cream, deep red, and ink-blue patterned silk, Devika looks every bit the vision of power and beauty. Her neckline plunges, the fabric’s soft fall drawing the eye without apology, and the heavy blue tassel earrings frame her sharp jaw. Her green eyes lift, landing on Camille with quiet precision. For a fraction of a second—before the mask of composure returns—there’s an unmistakable flicker of appreciation in her gaze, an unspoken acknowledgment: This is one of the alphas that went into that hyper state, that Heat, and now I have her here with the omega that also went into Heat. Her name is Camille... and she is beautiful.

Camille feels it, deep in her chest, while Suzie narrows her eyes slightly, her suspicion sharpening. The assistant guiding them says nothing, leading them deeper into the room toward Devika. The air between the four women is already charged, each step pulling Camille further into the gravity of this place… and of her host.

“So…” Suzie breaks the ice. “We gave you a fraction of what we have. Now we expect what was promised to us and we'll continue with the leaks.”

Devika smiles faintly. “Suzie. The smart one.” She rises from her seat. “Priya…”

A woman stands, steps forward, and hands Suzie a tablet with a pleasant smile.

“Here—sign here and here, then confirm by email,” Priya says.

Suzie barely glances at the screen before signing. Apparently, she works for Devika now.

“What about Camille?” she asks.

“The plan didn’t involve her at first…” Devika lets her gaze travel slowly over Camille, as if assessing her. “But with that impressive résumé, it only makes sense we arrange something for her as well.” Her lips curl into a smile.

Camille can’t find her voice.

I live here now? … I… I live here now…

It struck Camille like a sudden gust off the harbor—she had upended her life in a heartbeat. No goodbye to friends, only Lyra, no warning to family. She’d walked away from a job that had paid her well, traded its comfort for the unknown. And now, here she was, in a city that shimmered with beauty yet pressed in with its strangeness—its language, its pace, its unfamiliar rhythms. The streets pulsed with scents she didn’t yet recognize, colors she couldn’t yet name, and voices that made her feel both invisible and exposed. Amid it all, only one thing felt steady, tangible—Suzie, at her side, but her scent… was slowly fading.

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Author’s Notes:

Happy Wednesday! So… my direct boss—a wonderful lady I had a great working relationship with—was just fired. Now her position’s been filled by an older man who, honestly, doesn’t seem to understand much about the modern world. 🙃 It’s frustrating, and I catch myself neglecting work and writing more instead (silver lining?). Anyway, here’s hoping he doesn’t last long. Sending hugs to everyone reading this! 💕

 

Chapter 40: The Orphans

Summary:

In a city where power is currency and secrets never stay buried, Hazel struggles to keep her balance. Between the weight of her past and the pressure of the present, she searches for control in the only ways she knows how.
Aira starts fearing betrayal, even when Devika is delivering what she promised, something just doesn't feel right.
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The door shuts behind her with a sound that feels too loud against the hush of the ocean outside. Hazel doesn’t move at first. She leans back against the glass panel, head tilted, breathing hard like she’s just come out of a fight she lost without throwing a single punch.

The home greets her with silence—vast, pristine, almost luminous under the spill of moonlight. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the living room, opening the space to the horizon where the sea melts into the night sky.

Normally, this house feels like freedom. Airy. Limitless. Built for someone who craves the horizon—walls of glass, natural wood floors that glow warm under daylight, the serene hush of water from the indoor pool reflecting the sun. A place where Hazel can breathe.

Tonight, it feels too big. Too open. Like even the walls are pulling away from her.

Her jacket slips from her shoulders and pools on the floor, forgotten. Normally, she’d toss it over the chaise, kick off her boots with lazy confidence, humming something under her breath. Tonight, she doesn’t even notice where it falls.

The ocean is a sheet of silver ink beyond the glass, moonlight threading across its surface in restless shimmers. The view should make her feel infinite. Instead, it makes her feel small.

She walks deeper inside. The pool lies at the heart of the house—a dark mirror under the skylight, its surface glass-still. By day, sunlight dances there; tonight, it holds only moonlight and the faint reflection of her shadow as she passes.

Hazel stops at the edge, staring down. Her reflection wavers on the water, fractured by subtle ripples from the air vents. For a long moment, she doesn’t move. Just watches herself fall apart in the stillness.

Nova’s scent still lingers here—soft and floral, barely there but enough to twist the knife. It clings to the throw on the chaise by the window, to the sheets in the bedroom down the hall. Hazel can almost see her in those memories: bare feet curled on the sofa, smiling at something stupid Hazel said, eyes blue as the shallow surf, until they turn purple.

The thought steals her breath.

She sinks down onto the low bench beside the pool, elbows braced on her knees, head falling into her hands. The anger towards Lyra, from the office has burned out, leaving only the hollow echo of it—and something heavier pressing against her ribs.

The image won’t stop replaying: Nova behind the glass desk screen, gaze cutting sharp, then going cold. Her fingers moving across the keyboard like Hazel wasn’t even there. Like she was already gone.

Hazel grits her teeth, but the sound slips out anyway—raw, broken:

“Fuck…”

And her, losing control, breaking her screen… and Suzie… drenched and scared, looking at her just like Nova did.

She exhales.

With Nova it was just sex… whatever, she tells herself

But her mind betrays her. The images come in shards, vivid and hot, searing through her calm like sparks on dry grass.

Nova under her, nails biting Hazel’s back, whispering “harder” when others would have begged her to slow down. That wild hunger, like Nova wanted every rough edge Hazel had—and more. No one else ever did, even if she cried after and said she regretted it.

Then that position—Moonbeam scripture turned into something raw and trembling. Nova straddling her, upright, spine long and perfect, pulling Hazel’s head to her chest like a prayer made flesh. Hazel had laughed at first—mocking the “sacred intimacy” nonsense—until Nova began whispering blessings, and Hazel swore it felt like her cock was kissing her from the inside—slow, deep, reverent.

She feels stupid just thinking about it…

The memory hits so hard it almost knocks the breath out of her though. Nova’s head tilted back, lips moving in soft reverence while Hazel’s mouth burned against her skin. She looked… divine. Like the very thing her faith promised—holiness clothed in heat and light. Hazel had thought she didn’t give a damn about goddesses, but watching Nova pray mid-pleasure did something violent to her chest.

And not just then. Even the quiet moments—Nova kneeling by the bed before sleep, fingers pressed together, whispering into the dark. Hazel used to watch her from the pillows, smirking at first, then softening, until she’d find herself staring too long, like she was afraid to blink and lose it. She’d thought it was cute. Endearing. Now she wonders if it was more.

What if Goddesses exist?... If anyone can deliver me from my own terrible self… it must be one of the Goddesses… or the three of them… she thinks for a second.

Nah! What am I saying! I’m so pathetic…

Boss up, Hazel! No more sad shit!

Her jaw flexes. She leans forward, pressing her palms to her face. No tears come—she wouldn’t let them even if they tried—but her chest feels heavy enough to crack bone.

What if Aira was right? What if that animal-like state is the pinnacle of the alphas, the best that she can be.

What if Nova never actually wanted her—just her bloodline, her money, her DNA for some perfect heiress, Moonbeam child?

The thought is acid. It eats at every memory, even the ones that tasted like truth. Hazel’s fingers curl until her nails cut into her palms.

She grabs her phone, screen glowing cold in her hand.

Did you just want me for my money?

Delete.

Her thumb hovers, trembling. She locks the phone and throws it onto the chaise. It lands too soft. Everything feels too soft for how jagged this is inside her.

And for the first time in years, Hazel admits—if only to the empty house, to the whispering sea, to the part of herself she can’t silence:

“I don’t know what this was… but fuck—I wanted it to be more.”

She doesn't know if she’s talking about Nova or Suzie or… herself?

The ocean doesn’t answer.

The pool doesn’t ripple.

And the house that once felt like freedom feels like a question she can’t solve.

Her breath fogs the glass as the words leave her. She closes her eyes, leans her forehead harder against the cool surface. Thoughts of crashing her head against the glass pass through her mind.

She turns around and tips her head back against the glass, staring up at the moonlight spilling through the skylight. Her throat feels tight, but no tears come. She won’t let them.

Instead, a low sound leaves her—half laugh, half curse. “Fuck…”

For years, she told herself she didn’t need anyone. That no omega, no alpha, no one could touch her the way she needed. And then came Nova—with her prayers and soft gasps and sacred positions—and Suzie, with her leather and teeth and wicked hands, now turned omega.

And now?

Now one will have nothing to do with her, and the other vanished into the dark.

“You depend too much on sex to regulate, Hazel.” Camille had once said to her.

“You’re not my mom!” Hazel had answered.

Maybe she was right… ugh… Camille… always so… ugh… and now you’re not here either!!

The house hums softly around her. Perfect. Serene. Indifferent.

And for the first time in a long time, Hazel feels something she swore she’d never feel again.

Alone.

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“So, Hazel Astorè—welcome to your first therapy session,” Noura greets her warmly. Today her irises are a soft caramel, mirroring Hazel’s own.

Hazel enters without a word, shuts the door firmly, and drops onto the couch. Her gaze lingers on the alpha across from her.

 “You have body-mod tech… why?” she asks flatly.

Noura answers with candor, her tone light.

“I like changing my eye color from time to time.” A small, calm smile accompanies her words.

Hazel narrows her eyes, unimpressed. “Why?”

Noura’s expression remains composed. “Because it helps me reflect how I feel on a given day… or sometimes, it allows me to be perceived in the way I want to be perceived.”

Hazel leans back, giving her an openly jaded look, scanning her from head to toe.

“Is that because you want to manipulate your patients? Because my aunt hired you to manipulate us?”

Noura doesn’t flinch. She leans forward just slightly, her voice calm and steady.

“You suspect me—and I understand why you’d feel that way.” Noura remembers being at Lyra’s, seeing how she called Aira and how everything felt shady after that.

“Your aunt hired me, yes. But my role here is not to manipulate you or anyone else. My role is to provide you with a safe space to explore your own experiences and feelings. What you choose to share, and how you choose to use this space, is entirely up to you.”

She lets the silence breathe for a moment, then adds, “If you feel wary of me, that’s an important feeling. We can start there, if you’d like. Can you tell me what makes you most suspicious about me, or about therapy itself?”

Hazel’s mind slips back—uninvited—to the moment her mother died, to when Aira took her in. The house she had grown up in had transformed overnight into something alien: corridors crawling with beautiful women, staff with eyes that watched too closely, a décor that pressed down like a threat. The dining table she once knew was replaced by a vast meeting room. Suddenly, she wasn’t a daughter anymore—she was being tended to by maids. And one of those maids—

“Wait, wait… hold on.” Hazel cuts herself off, snapping the memory shut. A crooked grin spreads across her lips. “Oh, you’re good.”

Noura tilts her head, confusion flickering in her kind expression.

“I am? Why do you say that?”

“You got me right to it, didn’t you? Using your little mind tricks to drag me back into my dark past or whatever.” Hazel’s smirk is equal parts challenge and defense.

Noura blinks, then steadies her tone. “That’s interesting. I only asked about your suspicions—about me, and about therapy. And somehow that brought you straight to your childhood.”

Hazel scoffs, a sharp tch, and pushes herself up, heading for the door.

“Hazel,” Noura calls after her, voice calm but firm. Hazel pauses, hand on the handle. “Do you notice how quickly you run when it gets close? That smirk, the sarcasm—it’s armor. But the moment it cracks, you’d rather walk out than risk me seeing what’s behind it.”

Hazel glances back, her grin faltering just for a beat. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“No,” Noura says simply. “But I think you’re terrified of being figured out. And that tells me more than anything else could.”

For a long second, Hazel stands there, torn between fight and flight. Finally, with a restless sigh, she lets go of the door handle and drops back into the chair.

“Fine. But if you start digging again, I swear I’ll make it interesting.”

Noura smiles faintly, folding her hands in her lap. “Hazel, everything about you is already interesting.”

Hazel blinks. “Huh?”

Noura tilts her head. “What is it?”

Hazel smirks. “Are you flirting with me?”

Noura laughs inside but keeps a calm expression.

“What makes you feel I'm flirting?”

Hazel points at her dramatically. “See? You didn’t deny it! Uuuh, totally unprofessional!”

The corner of Noura’s mouth twitches despite herself, and a small laugh escapes.

Hazel grins wider. “You laughed! I knew it. Got you.”

Noura shakes her head, amused but steadying herself. “No, Hazel. I wasn’t flirting.” A small smile lingers. “But I notice you’re quick to joke when things get heavier. Does humor help you sidestep what feels uncomfortable?”

Hazel leans back with a smirk, pretending she’s unaffected. “So you say you weren't flirting, huh? Mm, could’ve fooled me.”

Noura lets the silence breathe for a moment, her tone calm but curious. “Tell me—what do you think you’re avoiding right now?”

“I'm avoiding… being flirted on by a much older woman”

That does upset Noura.

I'm a couple years older… five top… damn this little… but she keeps calm.

Her gaze steadies, calm but firm. “You were right at the edge of something important before you pushed it away. Why do you think it feels safer to joke about me than to stay with that memory?”

Hazel stops smiling.

“This is bullshit…”

Noura doesn’t flinch. She tilts her head slightly, voice steady but soft.

“Good. Let’s start there.”

She lets the silence breathe, then adds,

“If this feels like bullshit to you, tell me why. What’s happening inside you right now?”

Her tone isn’t defensive—if anything, it sounds almost inviting, as if she’s handing Hazel the reins.

Hazel frowns. In her mind, she’s back in that house—Aira’s house. The walls feel closer, darker. Noura’s calm tone suddenly sounds hostile, manipulative, like her aunt… or like the maids who dressed her, fed her, smiled at her, but never cared.

She remembers the first time she grabbed one of them and made her beg—

“Daaaamn…” Hazel mutters, shaking her head as if to throw the memory off.

Noura, pen scratching quietly across the tablet, glances up.

“You taking notes? Of course you are.” Hazel’s voice hardens as she pushes up from the chair. “That’s it. I’m done. This is supposed to make me feel better, not dig all this shit back up.”

Dig… so she went straight for the trauma… this girl is eager to share… at least the traumatized part of her… Noura thinks.

Hazel heads for the door, yanking it open with finality.

Hazel steps out of Noura’s office. Noura follows her to the door, her expression tinged with pity and the faint frustration of a session cut short. She lingers there a moment, then lifts her gaze across the floor.

Her eyes find Ari. She smiles, lifting a hand in a small wave.

So different from this other girl who smiles and hides things so well.

Ari, surprised, smiles back and returns the gesture. Nova waves too—bright, eager, almost childlike—and Noura answers them both with a kind nod.

Ah… and little miss golden child…

Suddenly a chill runs through her spine. She looks up.

Red eyes… red… irises… 

It's Lyra, staring right at her.

She blushes faintly and enters her office quickly.

Oh my bot… that alpha…

She looks at her tablet, scrolls, finds the date for their session and gulps.

I have to prepare for that day…

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Hazel strides across the dim underground lot, the echo of her boots bouncing off concrete walls painted with Morph C.O.’s sterile gray. Her irritation still lingers, pulsing behind her temples, but the moment she spots her new car, a black Syrena Levana, something inside her softens.

The SUV crouches in its reserved bay, liquid-black curves catching the dull fluorescent strips overhead. The Astorè crest on the door glimmers faintly, almost invisible until the light slides across it. Sleek, predatory, unapologetically hers.

She taps the sensor and the door sighs open. The air inside is cool, tinged with her custom amber-and-smoke fragrance, the seats shifting instantly to embrace her frame. Hazel slides in and lets the door seal shut, cutting off the empty parking lot with a deep, reassuring hush.

For a long moment, she doesn’t move. Her forehead rests against the leather headrest, eyes shut, fists unclenching. The fight, the irritation, the memories—out there. In here, there’s only her.

A brush of her finger brings the dashboard alive. Soft gold ambient lights glow, panels responding like they’ve been waiting for her touch. The console displays her vitals—heartbeat elevated, breath uneven. Hazel smirks bitterly at the numbers, then stretches her legs out, one boot nudging the edge of the pedal before she kicks them off and tucks her feet under her.

She lets the music system hum to life: a low, steady synthline that thrums through the cabin like a second pulse. The seat warms slightly, cradling her, almost daring her to stay parked.

Here, in the subterranean hush of Morph C.O., Hazel allows herself to breathe again. The Levana is more than a car—it’s armor, a sanctuary. She leans back, staring at the faint glow of the ceiling strip, feeling her muscles unwind inch by inch.

For now, she doesn’t need to drive. Just exist. In this cocoon of steel, leather, and quiet power, Hazel finally feels untouchable again.

“Wow, Hazel… this car is too much for you, haha!”

She swears she hears Suzie’s voice teasing her, clear as if the alpha were sitting in the passenger seat. It makes her lips twitch into a smile—until the smile fractures.

The image shifts. Suzie’s terrified face floods her mind—drenched, cornered, trembling in Camille’s bathroom, an omega this time. Hazel’s chest tightens; her hand grips the steering wheel, knuckles pale. She blinks, opens her eyes wide, trying to shake it off.

“Byee!” The sound cuts through—real this time.

Through the tinted glass, she spots Ari and Nova walking side by side across the parking lot. The two of them are talking, closer than she remembers. Yet Hazel recalls Ari’s sharp request not so long ago—that Nova switch seats, sit further away.

Hazel stays hidden in her Levana, watching silently, the sanctuary of her car suddenly a cage of memories and unease.

She drives.

Back home.

She kicks off her boots and gets ready for a night of drugs and Vyre, but an omega runs towards her.

“Huh?? Sorelle? What are you doing here?” 

Sorelle, dressed in casual clothing, goes to her and hugs her.

“Miss Astorè, I was worried!”

Hazel blinks and pats her back.

“Like… why?”

“Didn't you watch the news?”

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Sorelle moves fast—she snatches Hazel’s remote, pairs the TV with her phone, and in a blink, the MCN’s Vyre Channel fills the screen.

“...and in other news—” the anchor’s voice cuts off mid-sentence.

The feed glitches, then a figure emerges: a white mask, carved with four sharp scars slashed across it. The voice that follows is low, steady, and merciless.

“Hello, ladies. We are the Orphans… the forgotten daughters of the Astorè family.”

“The fuck?!” Hazel blurts, stepping closer until her reflection merges with the mask in the glow of the screen.

Forgotten daughters?

She and Sorelle stay frozen, eyes fixed.

“And we’ll be revealing every dirty secret the Astorè family has buried… right here, on this channel. The same channel Aira Astorè herself bought to bend public opinion to her will.”

The words sink in, heavy, dangerous. Hazel’s pulse spikes—fear, yes, raw and immediate. But underneath, in some shadowed place she barely understands, another feeling stirs: a flicker of intrigue… of dangerous hope.

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From the glass walls of her penthouse, Aira Astorè swirls the amber liquid in her glass, the city glittering beneath her. “Care to tell me what the fuck this is about?” Her tone is low, controlled, but fear edges the words.

Devika’s voice fills the room, carried through the AI relay, warm and close as if she’s standing beside her. “Relax, Aira. We have to put on a show, don’t we? I’ll leak light material, just enough to keep Suzie calm… and quiet… until we both get what we want.”

“The name,” Aira mutters, pacing to the window. “The Orphans. It’s…” Her knuckles tighten around the glass. “…unnerving.”

“Effective,” Devika replies smoothly. “Evocative. You of all people should appreciate that.”

Aira turns sharply, eyes flashing. “If you’re holding something back — if you betray me—”

“Threats are wasted on me,” Devika purrs, her voice hanging in the air like smoke. “We’re on the same side. And to prove it… a token of loyalty.”

Taylor’s neutral tone cuts in:

“You’ve received an email from Miss Devika Varma.”

The penthouse screen lights up. A new file plays: a hormone-cam recording. Camille.

Aira freezes, her breath caught. “The alpha who ran off with her…”

“Yes,” Devika says, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “The entire house we placed her in is under surveillance. Every room. Every whisper. You can watch live, or I’ll send you curated highlights at the end of each month. That way, you’ll see exactly how they break… or bloom.”

Aira’s eyes brighten as the implications sink in. This isn’t just leverage. It’s observation. Data. Experiments she can monitor, results she can twist, insights she can weaponize.

A slow smile curves across her lips. “The least you could do.”

“You’re welcome,” Devika says, reclining miles away, her voice still blooming through the penthouse as if the two of them are sharing the same room, the same secret.

 

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Author’s notes

My incompetent new boss is on vacation. I'm actually working faster. Lol. Happy Friday!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 41: Cute things in our house 🚪

Summary:

Boundaries blur when desire refuses to stay in its place. Ari wants comfort, Lyra finds herself aroused and uncomfortable even in her own home, and too often. Ari wants honesty, Lyra wants to just get things over with. Nova feels caught between longing and guilt. What should have been a safe space of intimacy shifts into something volatile, where pleasure, faith, and unspoken fears collide.

The omegas are gathered in reception—a space that feels emptier by the day.

 

“Where’s Rainy?” Gina asks.

 

Nova lowers her gaze, her voice soft. “She’s with the other betas… you know, her girlfriend’s there.”

 

Ari glances at Nova, subtle, gauging her reaction.

 

“Anyway—” Gina cuts in, pulling out her phone. “Check this out.”

On her screen, a shaky video plays—clearly recorded from another phone. The caption identifies it as Materia’s newest hire, a Tech Lead named Suzanne.

 

Ari’s eyes go wide. “That’s Suzie! That’s her!”

 

Nova squints at the screen, frowning. “But… she looks different. Her hair’s short and… she just looks… different.”

 

“Yeah, because she’s an omega,” Gina says bluntly.

 

Ari flinches. Shit, should we even be sharing this with Nova? she thinks, but it’s too late—Gina’s already spilling.

 

“Ari and I knew,” Gina continues. “We found pictures of her before—before all this, she's actually an omega. And we know Morph C.O. is involved in her transformation —”

 

“Gina!” Ari hisses, cutting her off.

 

But Nova’s already staring, stunned. 

 

“Oh my Goddess… those unholy experiments on minors… Suzie might be one of them!”

 

“Exactly,” Gina says darkly.

 

Ari exhales sharply, her restraint breaking.

 

“Ugh… I can’t hide it anymore!” She blurts, “Lyra went to get Suzie from Camille’s house—and now Suzie’s gone. She escaped. Camille too!”

 

“What?!” Gina’s voice drops to a harsh whisper. “She went to get her? Like… what the fuck?!”

 

Ari nods, voice tight. “Lyra works for Aira. Aira is Morph C.O. So yeah—it’s all true. Aira’s a criminal and we’re working for an evil company—”

 

Before she can say more, Gina slaps her hand over Ari’s mouth.

 

“Shut up! If that’s true, we really shouldn’t be talking about it here!”

 

Ari’s eyes widen above Gina’s palm. The weight of it sinks in—she’s right.

 

The reception, once the place where Hazel and Suzie joked, suddenly feels hostile.

 

The omegas glance around, scanning for cameras or hidden listeners. Finding nothing, they drift back to their workstations, pretending to focus.

Just then, Hazel steps out of Noura’s office. Noura follows her to the door, her expression tinged with pity and the faint frustration of a session cut short. She lingers there a moment, then lifts her gaze across the floor.

 

Her eyes find Ari. She smiles, lifting a hand in a small wave.

 

Ari, surprised, smiles back and returns the gesture. Nova waves too—bright, eager, almost childlike—and Noura answers them both with a kind nod.

 

That’s when Ari feels it—a cold shiver running down her spine. She looks up.

Lyra is watching. First at her… then at Noura.

 

Oh my Goddess… Lyra…

 

Noura feels Lyra’s stare, which stays longer with her. She blushes faintly and enters her office quickly.

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The last to step into therapy that day was Nova.

 

“So, I thought—yeah! This whole platonic touch thing can be a divine tool!” Nova exclaims, animated, her hands gesturing as she explains.

 

Noura smiles faintly, jotting notes as she listens.

 

“And I started using it and—”

 

“Wait, Nova,” Noura interjects gently. “You need a license to guide most of those exercises—”

 

“No, no! I mean—yes, technically—but I’ve been using your recordings, so you’ve kind of been guiding the sessions.”

 

Noura’s pen stills. Ah… that may have been a mistake , she thinks, keeping her expression calm.

 

“And I’ve done a ton of research and—”

 

“Alright,” Noura cuts in smoothly, professional tone reasserting itself. “Maybe I could recommend some courses for you. And readings. If you find that tool useful or interesting, there’s no harm in exploring it further—as long as it’s in a safe and legal manner.” She underlines the words gently but firmly.

 

Nova nods quickly, eager.

 

“And I have to warn you,” Noura adds, her voice lowering just a little, “don’t practice it with an alpha. Ever.”

 

Nova blinks at her, startled. “Why?”

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Nova exits the room a little flushed, with eyes a little wide. Noura says goodbye, appears to be giving her reassurances, Nova nods and walks out.

“Nova!” Ari calls her, “Let’s go to cool beans!”

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In Cool Beans, Nova rambles on about her newest theory—that maybe Hazel was meant to be a divine vessel, a lesson sent straight from the Goddess. Ari listens quietly, guilt still gnawing at her for having played a part in Nova’s fight with Rainy. The guilt makes her softer, more patient than usual.

 

“So… Do you want to take Hazel back?” Ari finally asks.

 

“Take her back? More like, get her back, yes,” Nova says without hesitation.

 

Ari arches a brow. “Didn’t you hate how she made you feel? Who you were becoming?”

 

Nova drags her hands down her face with a groan. “Ugghhh! I’m questioning if that even makes sense now!”

 

Ari can’t help smiling at that—relieved to hear even the hint of doubt.

 

Their talk drifts to lighter topics. Ari steers it there on purpose, wanting to give Nova a break from all the drama. Before long, the conversation lands on Nova’s room.

 

“Your room is amazing by the way,” Ari says. “Has it always been like that?”

 

Nova shakes her head, smiling faintly. “Oh no. I used to sleep in a bunk bed with my sisters… well, some of them. Then the eldest left for the north, you know?”

 

Ari nods. The initiations.

 

“And I inherited one of my sister’s rooms,” Nova finishes with a smile.

 

Ari’s chest tightens with quiet understanding. She knows enough about the Moonbound Covenant to read the undertones: even among sisters, hierarchy shapes everything. The fact that Nova ended up with her own room means she isn’t just another daughter—she’s valued, marked as important to the higher-ups. Her sisters crammed into bunks while Nova was given space.

 

Ari sips her drink, a quiet thought tugging at her. Why haven’t they coupled her with someone inside the Covenant?

 

Nova breaks the silence. “What’s it like… being an apostate, Ari? Do you still feel the Goddesses? Do they still intercede—”

 

“Look, I don’t believe in the Goddesses, alright?” Ari cuts in, taking another sip. “I mean… I do dream of them sometimes. It’s hard to shake after years of conditioning. But at least my fear of hell is gone. And I don´t feel like if I don´t pray I'm doing something bad.”

 

Nova stares at her cautiously, as if Ari has just said something dangerous.

 

“Oh stop it! As if fear of hell was the only thing keeping you from doing ‘sinful’ stuff,” Ari teases.

 

Nova hesitates, then murmurs, “What if it was?”

 

Ari pauses, her brow furrowing. “Well… what’s ‘sinful’ to the Covenant might be perfectly normal to most people.”

 

“I want to try having sex with more than one person,” Nova blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

 

Ari goes quiet, sipping again before answering. “…Oh. Uh… that’s not uncommon, you know?”

 

They both flush, cheeks heating.

“OH MY GODDESS!” Nova suddenly points at her, eyes wide.

 

Ari flushes deeper. “Shhh!!! Shut up—shut the—shhh!” She covers Nova’s mouth with her hand, panicked.

 

“Ugh! Why am I even sharing this with you?” Ari groans, frowning. She lowers her voice, threatening: “Don’t go telling everyone, or I’ll tell them you like being choked… and that you came in Lyra’s office. Like, came…”

 

The reminder slams into Nova. Her eyes widen, panic flashing. She remembers thinking Kate had the recordings—but now, with everything she’s learned, she realizes it’s far more likely that Suzie has them.

 

Her blood runs cold.

 

“Fuck,” she whispers.

 

“You’re scared. GOOD!” Ari says and gulps down her drink.

 

She is scared, but not for the reason Ari thinks.

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The next day, by Ari’s workstation—

“So… was it with Camille?” Nova asks, eyes wide with curiosity.

 

“Shhh!!!” Ari hisses, appalled. She grabs Nova by the wrist and drags her into the executive bathroom. “Yeah, it was Camille, alright?” she admits, a flicker of pride slipping into her voice.

 

“Oh my Goddess, Ari!!” Nova gasps, dazzled.

 

Ari flushes, but a small, proud smile curves her lips.

 

Gina watches from the side. Her side-eye seems judgmental, she doesn´t say anything, turns up the volume on her headphones and washes her hands.

 

“The most beautiful, stunning alphas in the office! Lyra and Camille!” Nova gushes. “Well… at least until Camille disappeared… and Noura got hired… and Hazel had that glow up.”

 

“Hey! Hazel’s glow up does not put her on Camille’s level,” Ari fires back.

 

Gina rolls her eyes, swiftly packs her things and goes away. Ari and Nova don´t even notice.

 

Nova chuckles, but them slowly stops laughing and talks with a melancholic tone,

“Hazel is prettier… she's imperfect… but… golden…”

 

Ari stares. Damn… she’s down baaad…

Ari chuckles “Oh my Goddess Nova, what did Hazel do to you? You know, besides… the choking and the unholy sex…”

 

“Ah… it was exactly that…” Nova murmurs.

 

Soon they’re both laughing, shoulders shaking.

 

“Oh, you’re going straight to hell… for asking these questions to a Moonbeam…” Nova teases between giggles.

 

Their laughter only builds.

“So you think Noura’s hot…” Ari says, still laughing.

 

Nova grins. “You do too!”

 

“I mean… she’s objectively attractive,” Ari admits, still chuckling “Oh my Goddess don't tell Lyra, she’ll eat her alive”

 

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open. Rainy steps in, catching them mid-laugh. She freezes for half a beat, then scoffs and turns on her heel, leaving without a word.

 

The laughter dies instantly. Nova’s smile collapses into a pout.

“Rainy…” she whispers, her voice small and sad.

 

She turns to Ari and all but folds herself into her arms, clearly expecting comfort.

“Oh—uh… okay, there, there…” Ari says, hugging her back. She holds her close, still a little baffled at how quickly the mood shifted.

 

Ari keeps patting Nova’s back, murmuring soft reassurances.

 

Suddenly, the door opens. Lyra steps in—and freezes. She lingers at the threshold, eyes fixed on the sight before her.

 

Ari stiffens under the weight of that stare, unsure what exactly Lyra is seeing—or feeling.

 

Lyra’s pupils dilate slowly, her breath catching, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.

 

The executive bathroom, once territory of the alphas in the office, has now been conquered by the Omega majority; only the Goddesses know what they do there. Perhaps go to the bathroom? No… of course not, not in Lyra’s mind.

Ari’s frown deepens. Heat sparks in her chest, frustration bubbling over.

“Lyra, you’re shameless!” she snaps.

The outburst startles Nova, who flinches in her arms.

Lyra blinks, as if waking from a daze—then turns abruptly and bolts from the room.

Lyra runs in the hallway and Ari peeks out the door screaming “Shaaaaaameee!”

Which makes Lyra run faster

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“See ya!” Gina calls, sliding into her car in the parking lot.

“Bye!” Ari waves back.

 

She turns toward her own car—and notices Nova trailing behind.

Uhm…

 

Ari quickens her pace. Nova matches it step for step.

 

“Uh, well, I’m going home. See you, bye!” Ari says hastily.

 

“Wait!” Nova blurts, catching her by the wrist. “Can I come with you?”

 

Ari blinks, uneasy. “What?”

 

“I don’t want to go back home today,” Nova says softly. “I need a place to stay.”

 

Ari hesitates, silent for a few seconds. “…Why?”

Nova lowers her gaze. “I feel alone… also… that black car…”

 

Nova side eyes a black SUV in the parking lot.

 

“That car is on, but it's not going anywhere… it was here yesterday too… I don´t know if someone is inside, I don´t know who's it is... It scares me.” Nova says.

 

Ari finds it a bit cute but also a bit silly “I mean… it could be anyone's…” but suddenly Ari feels like the car is staring at her.

 

She flinches.

That car is somehow intimidating.

 

Nova clings to her arm “Please… don't leave me alone…”

 

The words hit Ari harder than she expects—a pang of empathy twisting in her chest.

 

“Also… I feel like my sisters in the Covenant understand me less and less, so even if I go home I have no one to talk to about the platonic  touch, or therapy or anything…” Nova adds, voice small, almost breaking.

Ari exhales slowly. Yeah… I know that feeling all too well.

“Alright, hop in,” she says, unlocking the doors of her brand-new Evia Lume.

Nova pauses to take it in, running her eyes over the soft curves of the exterior before slipping into the seat.
“Nice,” she says with a little smirk. “Very you.”

Ari tilts her head. “Really? Why?”

Nova gestures around. “It’s… small. Cozy. Kinda like a pod.” She says it as if that’s a compliment.

Ari narrows her eyes playfully. “Are you saying I look like a pod?”

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Lyra returns after a grueling meeting at another Morph C.O. branch. The discussions had dragged late into the night, circling around the possibility of Aira facing charges. 

She is exhausted, her mind buzzing with half-formed strategies and the tension of boardroom politics. 

They had been watching a video about a, now called, ‘Terrorist organization' named “the Orphans” which to Lyra sounded like Suzie with an AI avatar.

All she wants now is simple: to slip into her slippers, crawl into bed, wrap Ari in her arms, maybe tease her into laughter, talk until the weight of the day melts away…

maybe play with her a little more until they both forget about the world.

She changes shoes quietly, already picturing it. But when she pushes open the bedroom door, her steps falter.

On the bed, Ari and Nova sit across from each other in perfect symmetry, legs folded, backs straight, palms pressed together in a mirror-like pose. Their eyes closed, their breathing synchronized, as if caught in some private ritual. The intimacy of the scene radiates through the room—quiet, soft, magnetic.

Lyra freezes. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating as a surge of heat rushes to her face. Her cheeks burn crimson, her body stiff with shock, anger—or something hotter, darker—that coils low in her chest.

Ari feels it first—the shift in the room, the weight of eyes on her. She cracks one eye open and sees Lyra standing at the door.

“Shaaaaaaaaaaame!” Ari suddenly yells, snapping Nova out of her meditative state.

Lyra startles, crouching down and half-covering herself as if she’d been caught red-handed.

“Ari, that’s our bed…” Lyra mutters defensively.

“We’re meditating!” Ari shoots back, springing to her feet on the mattress like she’s ready to defend her ground.

Nova blinks at the sight, flustered. “Oh—oh my! I’m sorry! I was just practicing something I learned. Noura told me I should broaden my methods, so I tried… but I can’t practice at home or I’ll get caught, and—”

“Okay, okay, alright,” Lyra cuts in, raising her hands in surrender before sinking down onto the floor with a weary sigh.

“Ari, can we talk in the kitchen for a second?”

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“Ari… this is arousing,” Lyra admits, no pretense, no beating around the bush.

 

“Shameless…” Ari mutters under her breath.

 

Lyra shakes her head. “It’s not that I want another omega… it’s that you brought another one here and started doing cute things with her—on our bed. Please, stop. I'm tired, I want to sleep.” By the end, her voice almost sounds like a plea.

Ari frowns. “Those cute things help me too, you know? I relax, stop thinking about the debt… and Suzie leaking stuff that could destroy our only source of income… and possibly set you free of debt? Who knows? It could also drag you down!”

 

Lyra exhales, weary. “Fine… but at least do it in the living room. And not this late.”

 

Ari huffs, crossing her arms. “Okay…”

 

Relief washes over Lyra with a long sigh. The last thing she needs right now is another distraction.

 

That was easy…

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Except that it wasn't easy.

The next day Lyra walks in to find Nova curled up, fast asleep, on her bed.

 

“What the fuck, Ari!” Lyra explodes.

 

“Shhh!” Ari hisses, raising a hand. “She fell asleep, I just didn’t have the heart to—”

 

“Wake up!” Lyra cuts her off, her voice sharp.

 

Nova startles awake, wide-eyed.

 

“Time to go home!” Lyra snaps.

 

Nova shoots upright and nods frantically. “Yes, ma’am!”

She bolts out the door.

 

“Nova! I’m sorry!” Ari calls after her, then whirls back at Lyra, her glare cutting enough to make Lyra flinch. “Unbelievable… so rude.”

 

Lyra feels cornered. “What?! It’s my bed—”

 

“Our bed!” Ari fires back.

 

Lyra stammers, heat rising. “But… it’s my house!”

 

“Our house!” Ari throws the words like daggers.

“And don´t you think I haven´t noticed how you come back home with bruises in strange places!” Ari yells.

 

Lyra flinches.

“Ah… I can be clumsy sometimes…”

 

“Don´t lie!”

 

The argument goes on until they’re exhausted and eventually end up making up the way they know best.

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“Ok…” Lyra murmurs, wrapping Ari in her arms under the sheets, both of them naked and slick with sweat. “But this is the last time. We have to set boundaries.”

 

Ari nods quickly. “Alright, got it. Only in emergencies… or, you know, special occasions.”

Lyra tilts her head, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. “And what kind of special occasions would those be?”

“Shaaaaaaameeeeleeeesss!!” Ari howls, clawing at her own cheeks as Lyra breaks into laughter.

Ari spots a bruise over Lyra’s ribs

“Lyra… why…”

She doesn´t say anything, she doesn´t want to start another fight...

 

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Author's note:

 

Never go to bed angry NEVUUUURR!    hugs!

Chapter 42: The Therapist Trembles

Summary:

Ari and Lyras first couple's therapy session! The therapy sessions dig deeper than anyone expected—cracks in walls, truths that sting, emotions spilling out where they can’t be controlled. Noura begins to question whether she can keep carrying the weight of everyone else’s secrets. Are there any secrets to the all-seeing Aira? Maybe there should be.
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Hazel shifts in her seat, eyes flicking toward Noura. “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

The first two sessions had been tight-lipped, evasive. Noura had only managed to sketch the outlines of who Hazel was. But now, at last, the walls are beginning to crack, once Hazel is finally sharing with her, at least about her sexual experiences.

“You’re not a horrible person, Hazel.” Noura meets her gaze with warmth, her expression soft “We all have different ways to make ourselves feel good, your ways might be extreme but they’re normal within a context.”

Neglected child, she thinks.

She needs guidance. Tenderness. This will be challenging. But Noura likes a challenge.

“You were an athlete in college, right?” Noura asks, nudging the conversation forward.

“I was a lot of things.” Hazel’s tone shuts the door, quick and guarded.

Back to evasive.

“You liked college, didn’t you?” Noura asks, her tone calm and inviting.

“Yes.” Hazel smiles faintly, though the smile falters before it reaches her eyes. “I loved it. I think I might’ve peaked in college… haha.” The laugh that escapes is soft, brittle, threaded with melancholy.

“What makes you say that?” Noura leans in just slightly, her voice steady, encouraging.

“I don’t know… I used to feel like… like I had this whole life ahead of me. And I had friends… Camille… Suzie…” The name catches in her throat, stirring something raw.

Noura notices the shift—the dampness in Hazel’s eyes, the way her voice wavers at the mention. She doesn’t interrupt, allowing the silence to stretch, giving Hazel space. Then, gently, she speaks.

“I hear a lot of emotion when you say her name.” Her tone is soft, observational rather than intrusive. “What comes up for you when you think about Suzie?”

Hazel swallows hard, looking down.

Hazel’s lips press together, trembling. She blinks rapidly, but the tears come anyway—hot, sudden, unstoppable.

Noura doesn’t rush in. She sits steady, her presence calm, creating the space Hazel needs. She sets her pen down slowly, signaling that Hazel’s feelings matter more than notes right now.

Hazel covers her face with both hands, shoulders hitching with uneven breaths. “Goddess … I’m sorry…” she manages, her voice muffled.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Noura says softly. Her tone carries reassurance, a safe anchor in the storm. “Tears can tell us things words can’t.”

Hazel lowers her hands, eyes red, wet. She exhales shakily. “It just… it just hurts. Talking about her. About… everything.”

Noura nods, her expression gentle but attentive. “It looks like Suzie means a lot to you. Enough that even her name stirs something very deep. Can you tell me what that hurt is like for you right now?”

Hazel stares at the floor for a long moment before whispering, “Like I ruined the only good thing I ever had.”

Noura marks this as progress.

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Outside, Nova presses her ear against Noura’s office door, desperate to catch even fragments of Hazel’s voice. Footsteps echo down the hall. Startled, she pulls back and hurries to her workstation, trying to look busy.

The door opens. Hazel steps out. Her eyes still carry the weight of sadness, but her lips curve into a fragile smile.

“You’re an amazing woman, Hazel,” Noura says warmly, giving her arm a light, reassuring squeeze.

From her desk, Nova watches. She catches that smile—and feels the pang twist in her chest.

It isn’t fair… how beautiful Hazel has become.

As soon as Hazel is far enough, Nova hurries toward Noura.
“Miss Noura!”

Noura turns with a gentle smile. “You can call me Noura. Just Noura.”

Nova hesitates, then presses on. “Miss Noura… I just wanted to ask—how’s Hazel doing?” Her voice carries an innocent edge, but her eyes search carefully.

Noura’s eyelid twitches almost imperceptibly.
“She’s doing fine.”

“Oh… I only asked because…” Nova fidgets with her hands, lowering her voice. “I thought maybe there was something I should know—since I’m her girlfriend.”

A pause. Noura’s expression softens, but her words cut.
“Nova, Hazel hasn’t mentioned having a girlfriend. In fact, I believe she said she was single.”

The color drains from Nova’s face, leaving her stricken and silent.

Noura exhales, her tone firmer now. “I can’t tell you what happens in Hazel’s sessions. Please… stop asking.”

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Nova steels herself in the bathroom mirror, brushing on the last touches of light makeup. You got this. Just go and tell her you want to talk. Say you didn’t like how things ended. Just… talk.

A soft pat of powder, a final look . No big deal.

She’s dressed extra cute today—planned it, rehearsed it—but the moment she spots Hazel heading for the stairs, her confidence crumbles. Her legs feel weak . Oh my Goddess, I’m going to fall…

And she does—tripping over her own feet and stumbling forward, colliding against Hazel’s back.

Hazel stops, steady as stone. Nova clings there a second too long, feeling the fabric of Hazel’s jacket, the warmth of her body. She lets out an involuntary sigh.

“Do you need something?” Hazel asks, not turning, giving her space to linger if she wants.

“Ah!—sorry!” Nova blurts, straightening quickly, face burning.

Hazel glances back, her eyes locking on Nova’s. The sight makes Nova flush deeper. Talk… talk, bot dammit!

“Hazel… do you— I mean… I’d like to—”

“Hazel. Walk with me.”

Lyra’s voice cuts clean through as she strides past them toward the second floor.

Hazel turns without a word and follows her, leaving Nova frozen in place, the words unsaid still burning on her tongue.

All the designers witnessed the pathetic spectacle, but they pretend they didn't.

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“I’m so dumb!” Nova cries, curled up in Lyra’s bed.

This time it’s Ari who holds her, stroking her hair with gentle pats. “There, there… you’re not dumb,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to Nova’s head. “You’re brave. Maybe… you just try again. Find her after work next time.”

The bedroom door opens. Lyra steps in, pausing at the sight. She can’t recall exactly how it started, but somehow it’s become routine—Nova showing up, slipping under her covers, Ari tucked in with her.

“I want to go to bed,” Lyra says flatly, eyes on them.

“Lyra,… wait until Nova—” Ari begins.

“Ari,” Lyra cuts in, her voice cool but firm. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

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“I’m saying… there need to be boundaries,” Lyra insists, her voice low but steady.

“I understand, but…” Ari’s eyes glisten with frustration. “You keep coming home with injuries and not saying much. I stopped asking and you seem to be fine with that... but it keeps stressing me, making me anxious. I need emotional support, Lyra. You’re… not here for that…”

That stings.

Ari continues "This sounds bad but, just having someone with me  hugging or better yet, meditating with me, helps me a lot."

Lyra exhales, tired. “I’m fighting to pay the debt, okay? I don’t think I have to tell ypu, you know. And it’s working. I’m also cashing in favors—and sometimes it gets messy. I need to get stuff from… places… and such…”

Ari lets out a sharp sigh. “My Goddess!! Ugh!!” She punches the wall, but so softly it barely makes a sound. Lyra, despite herself, finds it cute.

“The last thing I wanted was for you to do even more dangerous stuff!” Ari blurts.

“It’s not that dangerous, I'm stronger than those alphas” Lyra tries to reassure her, her tone gentler now.

Ari folds her arms, sulking, little sounds of protest slipping out.

A timid voice drifts in from the hallway.
“Um… sorry… I couldn’t help overhearing…”

Nova peeks around the corner, uncertain, her fingers curling against the frame. Wide eyes flick nervously between them.
“Lyra… I knew you had a debt, but… I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

Lyra turns sharply, her brow furrowed.

“You knew?”

Nova flinches under the weight of her stare.

Lyra looks at Ari with severity, then back at Nova.

“Boundaries…” Lyra says, voice firm, eyes locked on her.

Ari exhales, resigned. “Yes, Nova. We have an insane debt. But you have to keep it a secret.”

Nova hesitates, then offers a small, nervous smile. “I… I could maybe help you.”

Lyra and Ari exchange a glance—suspicion giving way to a sudden spark of hope in their eyes.

 

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Lyra strides toward her car, frown etched deep, her pace brisk. Behind her, Ari and Nova hurry to keep up. Their coats and scarves mark the cold weather, but Lyra’s long black coat makes her look almost untouchable—elegant, striking, like she’s stepped out of a perfume commercial.

Ari stares for a moment, caught in the spell, then shakes herself free and runs to catch up. “Hey—hey!” She grabs Lyra’s arm.

Lyra stops, but her gaze stays forward. “Ari… I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

Ari exhales sharply, her breath clouding in the cold. “She’s paying a lot of credits. It’ll only be for a few months and—”

“Ari, why do you—”

“I don’t want you getting hurt anymore!” Ari bursts out, voice cracking with desperation.

Lyra turns, startled by the raw plea on her face. She has no words.

From a few steps back, Nova watches, frozen in place. “I… it’s alright,” she murmurs, almost too softly. “I understand if you changed your mind."

Ari looks at Lyra again, eyes begging. Lyra holds her gaze for a long moment, then sighs. She steps toward Nova, gripping her arms just firmly enough to make her tremble. Lyra’s eyes lock with hers.

“You’re welcome to stay. In the other room. And the rent is steady—no bargaining.”

Nova’s face lights up, a wide smile breaking through as she nods eagerly.

Lyra releases her with another sigh. “And remember… boundaries.”

Nova nods even more eagerly.

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“And she’s fighting! Fighting! With her fists—like some street brawler! And then—then she lies, she just lies and lies!” Ari flails her arms, mimicking punches and dramatizing every word as she paces Noura’s office.

Across from her, Lyra sits still, her black eyes fixed on Noura. Deep. Dark. Threatening. The weight of her stare makes Noura’s throat tighten. Lyra isn’t much taller, not much broader—but her presence radiates dominance. Noura can’t shake the thought that if Lyra wanted to, she could pin her right there against the desk.

“…and she won’t even let me do my exercises, she—”

“Wait.” Noura cuts in gently, trying to redirect. “Exercises? You mean the platonic touch practices?”

“Yes! Those!” Ari brightens instantly. “They really help keep my stress levels down.”

“Ari…” Noura exhales, her tone edged with concern. “I’ve already told Nova this—please don’t practice those unsupervised.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Lyra twitch. Barely visible, but telling. Something about that warning pleases her.

“But we use your recordings,” Ari insists.

“I only ever gave you one recording,” Noura replies cautiously.

“We use your videos on Vyre,” Ari clarifies, almost sheepish.

Noura falls silent, regret sinking in the moment Ari mentions Vyre.
“…Didn’t you read the warning I put on those videos?”

Ari just shakes her head, almost innocently.

Noura exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Alright… let’s get back to the fighting.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Lyra twitch—the shift back to that subject clearly irritates her. Noura feels it like static in the room.

She decides to address it directly.
“Before we continue, I want to check in.” Her eyes meet Lyra’s. “Lyra, are you comfortable? Is anything making you uneasy?”

Lyra blinks slowly. “…No.”

“Good to know. Could you try relaxing your posture a little?”

“No.”

Noura’s lips press into a thin line. “…Okay.” She sighs, resigned.

Noura lets the silence breathe for a moment, then speaks softly.
“Lyra… I can see that being here, and especially having Ari share what she just did, is weighing on you. I want to name that out loud so it’s not just hanging between us.”

Lyra’s eyes flicker, guarded. “You think?”

Ari shifts uncomfortably. “Lyra, we’re in therapy. I had to say it.”

I kept it secret that your debt is with Aira and that is huge!

Lyra turns to her, sharp. “ Had to? You chose to. You didn’t even ask me.”

Her voice cracks slightly at the end. Ari swallows hard.

“We’re in therapy!" Ari exclaims.

Noura leans in, calm but steady. “This is important. Lyra, what’s the hardest part—having Ari know, having me know… or that she said it out loud in front of you?”

Lyra exhales sharply through her nose. “…All of it. I didn’t want anyone to look at me like that.” She doesn’t meet either of their eyes. “Not Ari. Not anyone.”

Ari’s chest tightens. “I don’t look at you any different. I just—”

“You do,” Lyra cuts in, her voice rising. “Since I shared my debt with you, you look at me like I’m something broken you need to fix. And now… now she knows too.”

Noura takes a slow breath.
That’s it… progress.

She leans in slightly, voice steady. “It sounds like you feel exposed. Like Ari stripped away your control in here.”

Lyra snaps her head toward her, eyes narrowing into a murderous glare. “Huh?”

The weight of it lands hard.

Noura’s throat tightens. For a flash, her body screams danger —the kind of instinct that makes her want to shrink back.
Oh Goddess… she’s going to kill me.

But Noura steadies her face, forcing calm into her voice. “I mean… it feels like your choice was taken away. That’s what I hear in your words.”

My choice? You fucker. It’s about Ari’s choices, not mine. Ari doesn’t realize she chose a woman in debt, with nothing to offer, when she has so many other suitable options… she accepted me, all of me so far, but… how long till she’s fed up? Fed up and ready to go with another alpha…

Lyra doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Her eyes drag over Noura like a blade.

Noura feels it—the weight of that stare—like her skin is being peeled back. A chill runs down her spine, but she keeps her shoulders square.

“Lyra, you’re staring,” Noura says softly, though her throat is tight. “But you’re not saying anything…”

“Am I?” Lyra’s voice is low, edged.

Noura swallows hard. The weight of it feels like a knife hovering just beneath her chin.

“Ahm… you’re like Ari in that sense,” Noura says carefully, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ari also has a very rich inner world, and sometimes forgets to share what’s happening in her mind.”

Ari gives a small laugh, warmth spilling into her expression. “Thank you,” she says, turning to Noura with a smile so kind it could light a room.

The sight makes Lyra’s jaw tighten, her nails biting crescents into her palms. Each sweet note in Ari’s voice, each gentle look at Noura, only fuels the slow, burning rage building in her chest.

The silence in the room feels thick, like it could snap.

Noura folds her hands in her lap, choosing her words carefully. “Lyra… can I ask you something?”

Lyra doesn’t answer, but her eyes cut toward her with a look that says try me.

“When Ari told me about her brief relationship with Camille… I wondered.” Noura’s tone is tentative, but steady. “Did you ever feel… intimidated by her? By Camille?”

Ari stiffens, her breath catching.

Lyra’s face gives nothing away at first, but her chest rises and falls a little faster. “What kind of question is that?”

Noura holds her gaze, even as a pulse of fear runs through her. “One worth asking. Camille was… accomplished, confident, admired. And Ari trusted her. I wonder if that trust ever felt like a threat to you.”

Noura suspects Lyra’s weakness is Ari. Lyra is confident in general, but very insecure when it comes to Ari.

Ari’s mouth opens, then shuts. She wants to defend Lyra — but she also wants to hear the answer.

Lyra finally exhales, sharp and dangerous. “…Camille was never a threat.”
But the flicker in her eyes betrays something else.

“Camille is someone… we could lean on,” Lyra adds, her voice rougher now. “She’s… my best friend, I think…”

I think? Noura notices, arching the slightest brow. Lyra’s certainty doesn’t match her words.

Noura leans forward just a fraction, her voice careful. “You say best friend, but it sounds like there’s more weight there… more complexity.”

Lyra says nothing.

“Ari mentioned that Camille was the most mature person in the office, do you feel the same Lyra?” Noura asks.

Lyra looks at Noura and nods.

Noura nods slowly. “And that steadiness — for both of you — it sounds like it mattered a lot.” Her gaze flicks between them. “I wonder if, in some way, you measure yourselves against her still.”

Lyra’s hands flex in her lap. “I do miss her.”

Ari’s head turns quickly, eyes soft. “Me too.”

Lyra studies her, voice dipping low. “Are you… regretting choosing me?”

Ari reels back, appalled. “What? No—of course not!”

Lyra exhales, the sound ragged, almost bitter. “Sometimes it feels like you do. Or that… maybe we should have kept her…”

Noura’s eyebrow twitches at the phrasing. Kept her? The words hang heavy, threaded with meanings she can’t quite untangle.

As Ari and Lyra continue, the edges of their conversation peel back just enough to reveal that Camille had held a… peculiar place between them—something layered, intimate, not easily defined.

Heat rises in Noura’s cheeks. She flushes, caught between professional composure and a very human discomfort, unsure how to step into terrain that feels both private and volatile.

Mercifully, the clock spares her. Their session time has run out.

“Well… that’s all the time we have!” Noura says, a little too high pitched “This was a very productive session. Good job you two!”

I just can´t wait for you to get out of my office.

Lyra stares and exits the room without saying a word.

“Thank you Noura!” Ari says following Lyra.

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After her last session, Noura collapses onto the futon, staring blankly at her schedule. The weight of it all presses down—too many names, too many demands. With a weary sigh, she begins rejecting a string of session requests, firing off polite emails, filing the necessary reports.

Her tablet buzzes. An incoming call, unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Miss Astorè’s secretary. She was wondering why you’re rejecting so many of the employees’ therapy requests.”

The voice on the other end sounds fresh, almost too cheerful. Noura doesn’t recognize it.

“Could you give me your full name, miss?”

“Sorelle.”

Noura waits for a surname that never comes.

“…Alright, Sorelle. Please tell Miss Astorè that not every request is urgent. I’m prioritizing the employees who truly need help.”

A thoughtful hum. “Mm, noted. Thank you!” And the line cuts.

Noura stares at the screen, saving the number almost on instinct. Couldn’t this have been an email?

Then she notices something chilling: Aira’s access to her tablet had been immediate. No request, no delay. As if the CEO had been watching all along.

That’s not right. Did Aira expect her to use the company-issued tablet for her private notes?

Good thing she doesn’t.

Hazel’s words echo— Aira is controlling. And Lyra’s too, only darker, heavier, like a warning wrapped in silences. If they see you, you’re in this.

Noura exhales slowly, the knot in her chest tightening. She wonders, if this is really a job she wants to keep.

She closes her eyes and sinks deeper into the futon, letting her mind drift. Ari and Lyra surface first—no surprise there. Then Nova and Hazel appear, and she frowns.

Ari and Lyra I can understand… but Nova and Hazel? Such an unlikely pair.

And then Camille—the enigmatic one. Noura has only heard of her through others, never met her face-to-face. Maybe she really did help stabilize things between Lyra and Ari…

Noura sighs, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead.

A relationship like that… three people tangled together? She shakes her head. What am I even thinking… I can´t and won´t ever recommend that… 

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Authors notes:

Oh no... I feel its derailing... or... that this middle stage is stretching to much uaaa. Ma gawd I gotta close it to end this season and end well!!!

Chapter 43: 🌙 The Goddess Moves in Mysterious Ways PT1.

Summary:

SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT
The first part of SMUT
The chapter explores the fragile balance between Ari, Lyra, and Nova as their boundaries blur under jealousy, desire, and devotion. Tension explodes when hidden frustrations and unspoken feelings surface, pulling the three into a storm of raw vulnerability, dominance, and tenderness—all while testing what it truly means to belong to one another.
This makes Nova rethink her ideas.
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Nova had already paid one month in advance and promised the next payment soon, just to be nice.

Lyra smiled at the numbers in her new account—a sealed account Aira couldn’t touch. The sight made her strangely patient toward the little blonde omega, who still hadn’t figured out how to clean up after herself, make her own breakfast… or stay in her own bed.

Weeks passed, and things settled into a rhythm—as okay as they could be.

Another night found Lyra working late, buried in shadows and numbers and violence.

And another night found Ari curled up with smutty literature, reading it to distract herself from wondering about Lyra’s late returns, the "mysterious" bruises, and the stacks of cash that seemed to follow her home.

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“Ari…” Nova peeks into the room. Lyra’s bed always makes Ari look impossibly small.

Ari is tucked in, pajama-clad, her hair tied up loosely, a tablet glowing in her hands.

“Yes?” She glances up.

“Can I stay with you until Lyra gets back?” Nova asks, her voice soft, almost childlike.

“Sure!” Ari replies warmly.

Nova slips inside, climbing onto the bed without hesitation. Her pearly white pajamas nearly match Ari’s, though hers are cut shorter—shorts instead of pants—even with the temperature dropping.

“When’s Lyra coming back?” Nova asks, folding her legs beneath her.

Ari sighs, lowering her tablet. “She didn’t say…”

“Oh… I see…” Nova murmurs, her expression dipping just enough. A hush settles between them, thick with unspoken things.

“Where is she?” Nova asks after a beat.

“I don’t know… I—” Ari falters, the tone Nova recognizes all too well. “Lyra keeps doing dangerous things… I wish she’d just stop.” Her shoulders slump.

Without hesitation, Nova scoots closer and wraps her arms around her. “Oh, Ari… I don’t mean to upset you…”

I completely mean to.

“It’s not you, it’s her! She should tell me where she’s going, when she’s coming back!” Ari’s voice cracks with frustration. Then softer: “Anyway… I don’t want to burden you with my Lyra issues again.”

She inhales deeply, exhales, and tries to return to her reading.

Nova studies her in silence.

It’s not like I’m upsetting her on purpose… she’s frustrated, but she keeps shoving it down. That’s not healthy. So if I’m digging it up now, it won’t fester later. Yes… I’m helping. She has wondered before why she keeps pushing. Tonight, she settles on her answer.

“And what’s with Gina?” Nova asks quietly.

“Oh my bot, you noticed too?” Ari blinks.

“Yeah… she’s been avoiding us. Or…” Nova hesitates, “…maybe just me.”

Ari arches her brow. “You?”

“Mm. She was… briefly with Hazel.”

Ari’s eyes widen. “What?! Wait—source?”

“I saw them talking. And… touching.” Nova drops her gaze, voice trailing as if the memory unsettles her.

“Oh, Nova.” Ari softens. “I don’t think Hazel’s her type. Or Gina Hazel’s, for that matter.”

Nova presses her lips together, eyes glossy, shoulders curling inward.

Ari sighs, setting her tablet aside. “Oh, no… come here.”

Nova melts into her arms, hiding a small, satisfied smile against Ari’s shoulder.

Her breath brushes Ari’s neck. Before she can stop herself, her lips graze the skin there—so fleeting it might be mistaken for nothing at all.

Her heart stutters. What am I doing?

Ari exhales softly. “It’s nice… having someone to talk to. About what’s stressful. Someone who’s… at home.”

The Goddess moves in mysterious ways, Nova thinks.

“I actually learned this new exercise,” she says gently. “It might help, if you’d like to try it.”

Ari leans closer, uncertain. “I don’t know… I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Nova smiles, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Oh, no. If anything, I need the practice. And since I’m living here now… maybe the boundaries can stretch a little.”

Ari studies her, hesitation slowly softening into trust. “Yeah… I guess.”

 

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“What the fuck are you two doing?”

“Oh my Goddess!!” Nova gasps, practically springing off Lyra’s bed. She’d been lying on top of Ari.

Ari sits up, calm, unphased. “Lyra, it’s one of the platonic touch exercises I told you about,” she explains evenly.

“Nova enrolled into a course and she learned this new one…”

Lyra’s eyes blaze. “The fuck it was! That didn’t look platonic at all! And I told you to use the living room!”

Her gaze cuts to Nova, who trembles where she sits on the edge of the bed, almost sliding off.

"Don´t you think I didn´t see what you were doing..." Lyra says menacingly.

She caught with the corner of her eye, as Nova was partially laying on Ari, how she subtly shifted her head so that her lips graced Ari's neck. Not a kiss, but almost.

Nova feels caught, scared, she wonders if she's about to be punched for the first time, or worse, which for her is strangely arousing.

Nova! Stop being a sinner! STOP! She tells herself in her mind.

“Lyra… your hand,” Ari says softly, noticing the blood seeping through a bandage around Lyra’s knuckles and palm.

Lyra tucks it in her coat's pocket.

“You went to the ring thing again, didn’t you?” Ari presses.

Lyra exhales hard and turns away "Get her off of my bed..."

“Lyra!” Ari stands, fury in her voice now. “You went to those horrible cages to fight?! or was it in the streets?!”

Lyra keeps walking.

“Lyra!!”

“It pays well,” Lyra snaps back, finally spinning to show her phone's screen. Numbers flicker on the screen—fight winnings alongside Nova’s rent. “Look. With this and what we make from work, we’ll pay it off relatively soon.”

Ari stiffens. The credits are real and more than she expected.

“It’s… it’s plenty, Lyra, but—you promised. You told me you wouldn’t do this. You lied to me.”

Lyra’s eyes drop with guilt. “I wasn’t planning to… but the opportunity came, and it was too much to turn down.”

I just want to be over with this fucking debt, Ari. For your sake more than mine...

“Fuck!” Ari shouts, pain raw in her voice. “Do you even respect me? Do you even feel bad about lying?! You told me you wouldn´t go!”

Lyra’s sadness twists into anger. She grabs Ari’s wrist, dragging her into the bedroom. Ari’s eyes widen as Lyra throws her down onto the mattress. She lands with a bounce, stunned.

From the corner, Nova freezes. She’d just been pulling on her socks, but now she’s staring at Ari’s body tossed like nothing. She inches toward the door, but Lyra’s glare snaps to her.

“Stay.”

The command freezes her in place. She trembles.

Lyra pushes her down onto the bed beside Ari, leaning over both of them, arms braced, caging them in.

Two omegas, side by side, wide-eyed, trapped beneath her.

“You—insensitive little woman-child!” Lyra roars, voice cracking like thunder, directed at Nova “Can't you see we, Ari and me, haven't been able to FUCK because you're here, on this bed the Whooole time! I fucking told you to stay on your bed! Boundaries I said!” She roars.

Nova nods quickly, terrified. She had never been yelled at like that.

“And you…” Lyra snaps, turning on Ari.

Ari trembles beneath her gaze.

“Don’t you ever say I don’t respect you. I fucking love you! And I’ve been climbing the walls with this pent-up sex thing... as I've already said...” Lyra exhales sharply, chest heaving. Nova's  breath hitches, she feels hot.

Ari trembles still, she understands what Lyra is saying, but the way in which she's saying it is intimidating so she stays quiet.

Lyra goes on “And you expect me to feel nothing when I come home and see you lying under another omega? And her off all people! Don´t you see how she weasels into our bed whenever she can? You didn´t see her doing her weaselly things... but didn´t you even feel it?”

Ari blushes “Oh my bot… I... I didn't... I don´t...  it's not like that! Right, Nova?” she turns to Nova.

Nova flushes hard. Oh no… Lyra, shut up…

“I’m not made of stone, Ari! You know what it does to me to think that you, my omega, is somehow the object of desire of another omega” Lyra says, her voice raw, low "You said it yourself, hugging Nova relaxes you, being her meditation buddy or whatever, relaxes you. And Nova likes it too but in a whole different way..." Nova side eyes her.

Lyra please shut up!!! Nova thinks.

And then, she feels it—heat flooding her, the same aching pull. Horniness, sharp and merciless. She slaps both hands over her mouth, trying to hold it in. But the sound slips out anyway—a desperate, broken whimper.

Lyra freezes. Slowly, she turns her head toward Nova. Her voice drops, low and disbelieving. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Nova’s body shudders, her hands still covering her face. She had just come. It's Lyra’s office all over again.

Ari jerks toward her, eyes wide, face flushed. “Nova!”

“I’m sorry!” Nova sobs, voice muffled behind her palms. “I… I have a problem! That’s what the courses are for! And therapy!”

She slowly turns her head to the side and looks at Ari “But Lyra is not wrong… I do like it very much when we’re together… like… very much…”

Ari gasps and frowns in disbelief.

Lyra’s breath hitches—anger still there, but tangled now with something hotter, darker.

Nova glances between them—Ari, Lyra, then Ari again—before suddenly leaning forward, aiming for Lyra’s lips.

But Ari is quicker. Her hand shoots up, clamping around Nova’s throat and halting her mid-motion.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Ari’s voice is low but it burns with fury.

Lyra freezes, stunned, her arms suddenly weak at her sides.

Nova chokes out a gasp, struggling for words under Ari’s grip. “Ah… did I… I misread the vibe…?”

“Yeah, you did,” Ari growls.

And then—Nova smiles through the choke, lips trembling into submission.

“Are you enjoying this?!” Ari snarls, livid and confused.

Lyra lets out a low, throaty chuckle.

“Lyra!” Ari snaps, somewhat appalled.

But Nova’s voice breaks in, soft, almost pleading. “Ari… I was saying... Lyra’s not wrong.”

Lyra feels a tremor spark low in her body.

“I… I just want to make you feel good,” Nova stammers, breathless. “It makes me feel good too. I don´t know why...”

Lyra’s gaze sharpens on her, something feral glinting in her eyes. “Ari… you know she likes being choked. And right now—you’re choking her.” Her lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Oh, goddess…” Ari releases her grip, startled by her own intensity.

Nova coughs, chest rising fast, then steadies herself enough to whisper, “Ari… let me try. Let me make you feel good.” Her voice is sugar-sweet, melting into the air.

Lyra whimpers low, unable to hide it.

Ari’s first instinct is outrage, but then—her gaze flickers to the mirror.

The reflection makes her breath hitch: her hand still hovering near Nova’s throat, Lyra looming above them, Nova flushed red, trembling, submissive.

Ari turns to Lyra. “Lyra… are you… okay with this?”

Lyra covers her mouth to trap another whimper, arches her brow, savoring it too much. She uncovers her mouth and nods.

Ari’s eyes widen.

She swallows hard, heat curling low in her belly. Goddess… no. Stop. Think of the consequences. Bye-bye platonic touch… and then what? Would this just be a one-time thing? Or… do I really want Nova tangled this deeply in my life?

Lyra peels off her top in one fluid motion, revealing a black satin bra. Her body radiates raw confidence.

Aaah, Lyraaa… not the satin bra!!! Ari’s mind screams.

“Stop! Wait!” Ari blurts, her voice cracking as she lifts a hand toward Lyra.

Lyra freezes mid-motion, the satin strap slipping halfway down her shoulder.

The air between them tightens, but Lyra waits.

It’s true, Ari thinks bitterly. She and Lyra haven’t been able to do anything for weeks. She can pretend it doesn’t affect her—but it does. It fucking does. And all these damned touch exercises? They were supposed to help with that too, but they kinda don´t, they sort of make it worse. And she did feel it, how Nova sometimes pressed her lips against her skin, softly, ambiguously. Ari didn´t mind, she even liked it a little, it felt warm.

With a surge of frustration, Ari pulls Lyra down. Lyra lets herself go soft, yielding easily, and Ari seizes the chance to pin her. She isn’t wide enough to cage both women at the shoulders, so instead she straddles Lyra’s hips and braces her arms on either side of their heads, boxing them in. 

Lyra is beaming silently. Ari is so cute!

“Okay,” Ari says firmly, breathless, “we need rules.”

Lyra muffles a gasp. Ari looks like she's making a huge effort to stay on top.

Nova’s eyes widen, her heart thundering. Oh my Goddess… is this really happening? Is this really happeniiiiiiing?!... If this is happening it must be the will of the Goddess...

“Lyra,” Ari says, staring at her. “You can’t…ugh… fuck her. No matter what—you don’t go inside her. In fact, don't take off your underwear from the bottom!”

Lyra protests softly “ But, Ari… I want to be inside you.”

Ari flushes “Ok… you can take it off… but keep your cock away from her!”

Nova muffles a chuckle.

Ari said cock…

Lyra nods once, serious.

“And you…” Ari turns her glare on Nova.

Nova’s breath catches, no more chuckling.

“I feel like you wormed your way into our bed on purpose,” Ari says coldly. “So yeah—part of me is mad at you. And it might show.”

Nova gasps, her lips parting, and then she nods slowly, trembling with uneven breaths. The anger only makes it worse, or better?

“But I also feel like… you, for whatever reason… you really care about making me feel good. And… maybe it's because you're confused? I don´t know” she inhales and exhales “I need to relax, desperately.”

Lyra whimpers and covers her mouth.

“Lyra is not your alpha, you got that?” Ari says, like a threat.

Nova nods “Yes,”

“You’re my omega… at least for now, got it?” Ari says, her voice low, cheeks burning as her eyes dart away. She knows those words mean something very specific to a Moonbeam.

Lyra feels like she’s ascending to the heavens. She whimpers under her own palms, eyes fluttering shut as if to steady herself. My omega has an omega… that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.

“And one more thing,” Ari adds sharply. “You don’t touch Lyra’s cock. If you do, you’re out of this bed.”

Nova nods quickly, eyes wide, chest rising and falling fast. “I… thank you… I’m so scared… this will definitely send me to hell, but I’m glad it’s with you—” Her voice cracks, fear and arousal knotted together.

How do you always find a way to throw jabs like that? Ari thinks, exasperated, though the corner of her mouth twitches.

Ari shifts her weight, straddling Nova now, pinning Nova’s wrists above her head against the mattress. Nova gasps, trembling, lips parted in helpless surrender.

Lyra, bigger than both but making herself smaller, lies nearby on the wide expanse of the king bed. There’s plenty of room, yet she remains close enough to see every detail—the flare of Ari’s eyes, the quiver of Nova’s breath—as if drawn into the gravity of the moment.

“When you were helping me… during the platonic touch exercises…” Ari’s voice wavers, sharp but uncertain. Her eyes glimmer with doubt. “Was this your plan all along?”

The sincerity in her tone makes Lyra’s chest tighten. She gasps.

Oh no, Ari… are you hurting? Nova, say something! Fix this, quick!

Nova’s eyes widen. “No! Not at all…” Her face softens, desperate, pleading. “Those exercises helped me. You helped me, Ari. I really liked it… I felt I was helping you. And I like that feeling.”

Lyra shoots Nova a playful, accusing look, and Nova squirms beneath it.

“Okay… like… it started innocent,” Nova admits, her voice shrinking. “But then I started liking… giving you little… very little ... very small ...kissies.” The last words tumble out in a whisper.

Lyra feels like she could come just from hearing that adorable confession. Kissies

“You gave me what?” Ari asks, her brow lifting.

“Ari, please…” Lyra cuts in quickly, her voice low and aching. “Don’t make her say it again…”

Ari fixes her with a long, steady stare. “…Shame.”

The word lands heavy, and Lyra bristles, heat prickling under her skin.

“But—I didn’t want this to end up in a threesome! Honestly!” Nova blurts, her hands flailing for emphasis.

Lyra turns her head on the pillow, eyes narrowing as she studies her intently, so close she can feel the warmth in Nova’s every word.

“You’ve helped me too,” Nova says, softer now, voice trembling but sincere. “Emotionally… spiritually, even.”

Lyra blinks, lips parting, something unsteady flickering through her chest.

My omega’s omega is being such an omega to my omega… uaaaaaa!

“After what happened with Hazel,” Nova whispers, “I thought the Goddesses had led me into a trap… that something was wrong with me. But with you, I learned something valuable. I found purpose again. I reconnected with Them.” Her lips curve into a fragile, pleading smile.

Ari exhales, staring down at her. Whatever doubt she carried ends in that moment—Nova hadn’t schemed this. At least not consciously. She had been happy with crumbs, she definitively didn´t expect the whole cake.

Lyra can’t look away. A small, radiant smile spreads across her lips despite herself. She loves this—Ari’s fury, her jealousy, her cute dominance and doubt—and Nova’s apology and revelation, her desire to please Ari. It makes her chest ache, makes her feel alive. She sighs softly, almost girlish, like a teenager drunk on love.

“You’ve got some nerve, putting on that face,” Ari snaps, catching Lyra’s dreamy look.

But Lyra doesn’t flinch. Her gaze stays fixed on Ari, eyes shining with pure adoration, as if no one else in the world existed.

“You're so pretty…” Lyra murmurs, quickly and very low.

Finally Ari turns back to Nova, her tone softening as she exhales. “I believe you…”

Nova smiles, relief flooding her features.

“Just remember,” Ari adds firmly, her gaze cutting between them, “Boundaries...”

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Author's notes:

Lyra loves yuri, hahaha. This chapter was originally the whole scene, you know, the whole thing that happens... but I decided to edit it in AO3, like a psychopath, and it ended up being 7k words! so I had to split it in two.

Chapter 44: 🌙 The Goddess Moves in Mysterious Ways PT2.

Summary:

Ari asserts unexpected dominance over Nova, Lyra loses herself to exhaustion after pushing her body past its limits, and tenderness mixes with jealousy in dangerous ways. The night ends in steam and silence. Someone faints, someone gets to hop into the jacuzzi, and someone is about to get a scary surprise.
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Ari never lets Nova’s lips touch Lyra’s. Nova can be in Lyra’s arms, stroked and held—but every time she leans in to kiss, Ari seizes her, rough and unyielding, forcing her mouth back under her own. Biting, claiming, holding her still. Lyra freezes at the sight, stunned by how much she loves it.

They never agreed Nova couldn’t kiss Lyra, but Ari makes it clear without words. Lyra doesn’t mind leaving it unspoken—especially if it means watching Ari act a little jealous.

“Stay… submissive… don’t take what’s not given,” Ari whispers in Nova’s ear, low and dangerous, her hands roaming firmly over Nova’s body while she rests in Lyra’s arms.

To Lyra, Ari sounds impossibly cute, sweet even. The way she touches Nova—assertive, clumsy, protective—is almost adorable. Heat floods her body at the sight.

To Nova, those words echo scripture—lines only whispered in hidden Moonbeam texts, where alphas told their omegas how to surrender. With every touch, she feels like she’s getting to know Ari more deeply.

What follows is messy—Lyra cages them both while Nova and Ari fumble through one another, neither sure what to do until Ari decides. She’ll be the one on top. She’ll do the kissing. She even tries biting.

“Uh… nope…” Ari mutters, pulling back with a grimace.

Nova chuckles, breathless.

Lyra shuts her eyes, overwhelmed. She could come from the view alone.

Ari strips Nova bare, her hands rough for an omega but still kind. She lowers, lips closing over Nova’s nipples. Nova arches on her back, whimpering, trembling, every sound dripping surrender.

Lyra hovers above them, breath caught in her chest, watching. Finally—it seems Ari and Nova have found their place.

“Oh, my bot… my omega… devouring another omega…” she murmurs, voice thick and low. She doesn't want to interrupt.

Nova lies naked on her back, flushed and panting, her body trembling under Ari’s weight. Ari straddles her, settled firmly between her legs, now lifting them, letting them bend down, her breath heavy with hunger and intent.

Lyra hovers close above Ari, her mouth near her ear. “She really desires you, Ari…” Lyra murmurs, lips brushing her skin. “You’re so delicious, even an omega can be tempted by you…” Lyra holds Nova’s legs open, freeing Ari’s hands.

Ari huffs, eyes burning as she looks down at Nova. “Stay… submissive.” She strips off her own unbuttoned top, her pants, baring herself without hesitation.

Nova instinctively lifts her hands to cup Ari’s face, but Ari catches them, pinning her wrists back against the bed. With a sharp pull, she knots her discarded top around them, binding her wrists above her head.

“Don’t try being cute,” Ari snaps, her tone scalding “I know you like it rough.”

Lyra whimpers and twitches, she can't cover her mouth. She ejaculates a little but hides it and fights to hold it in.

Nova whimpers, aroused, her body arching as if pleading.

Ari kisses her then—slow, deep, claiming—her nails dragging along Nova’s waist, marking her.m with faint pink lines that dissappear seconds after. She breaks the kiss just long enough to flick her eyes toward Lyra, checking, testing if jealousy burns there.

But Lyra only looks back at her with devotion, sighing like a girl in love.

“You’re shameless…” Ari mutters, slight judgment in her tone.

Then she bends to Nova again, biting her lips until Nova gasps out a sharp, broken cry.

“Ah!”

Ari is naked and breathless, rolling her hips, grinding down against Nova’s crotch in slow, deliberate circles. She leans in close, lips brushing Nova’s ear, her whisper low and commanding.

“Good girl… stay submissive… take it… this is making me feel so good.”

Lyra lets go of Nova’s legs to cover her own mouth and drown her moan.

Nova keeps holding her own legs up and open, bending her knees, now hugging Ari with them.

Lyra comes undone again behind them, smothering her moan against her palm, her other hand gripping the tip of her cock to keep control and not spill on them. Her shoulders heave, her eyes bright with hunger as she forces herself silent, smiling through ragged breaths. 

Nova nods quickly to Ari’s words, panting, sweating, her body trembling beneath the light but insistent weight pressing her down. Her legs fall open, she can´t keep hugging Ari with them anymore. Her wrists still bound and pinned, every shiver a surrender.

Lyra, watching from above, is taut with arousal, every muscle rigid. Even spent, she feels she could come again—the sight alone is unbearable. She aches to move, but doesn’t dare disturb the perfection before her eyes. But she knows… if she comes one more time she might miss the opportunity to participate actively, and she definitely doesn't want to miss that.

“Oh… Ari…” Lyra groans, voice thick with need. “I want in…”

Ari’s hand shoots to Nova’s hair, yanking her head back and tearing their kiss apart with deliberate roughness. Her gaze slices to Lyra, sharp and burning.

“Remember,” she warns, her voice laced with dominance, “not to get your cock near her…”

Lyra swallows hard and nods at once.

She rises to her feet, and Nova’s eyes follow her—wide, curious—watching as Lyra uncaps the bottle of lubricant and coats her own cock in slow, deliberate strokes. This brief pause is also a chance for her to calm down and focus.

“Don’t look at her cock…” Ari growls, seizing Nova’s chin and forcing her gaze back. Their eyes lock—Ari’s deep brown eyes, burning with protective love for her alpha. The sight makes Nova shiver, her breath hitching. She nods, lashes lowering, then leans up to kiss Ari. Ari meets her halfway, their mouths tangling in soft, hungry kisses.

Behind them, Lyra kneels, her breath uneven as she spreads lubricant between Ari’s lower cheeks, her fingers slow, deliberate, reverent.

“Lyra!” Ari jerks at the touch, startled, her voice trembling. “W-why there?”

Lyra leans close, her words husky against Ari’s back.
“I want Nova to see you being soft… extra soft…”

Ari trembles.

Shame floods her. Not just from the act itself, but from the eyes watching. Nova’s eyes.

They were both Moonbeams once, daughters of the Covenant of the Moonbound. Ari knows exactly what the scriptures say about this kind of pleasure—that it wastes seed, that it twists the sacred purpose of bodies. She had left the faith behind… but Nova hadn’t.

Her gaze flickers toward Nova. The little blonde is flushed, panting, completely undone. And still, Ari’s heart clenches.

Ugh… What if she judges me?

The words echo in her mind, the same words she remembers Nova whispering once: “All Hazel does is fuck me in ways that don’t make babies…”

Or something like that.

Ari exhales, torn between shame and the heat surging inside her.
I can’t… I can’t have sex with someone who will judge me!

And then—soft fingers graze her cheek. Nova’s hand.

Ari startles, meeting her gaze. Nova’s eyes are wide, shimmering, her face still flushed from trembling breaths. She strokes Ari’s cheek with a feather-light touch, her thumb brushing along the skin as if soothing the storm in her.

Nova nods once, slow and deliberate, her lips parted, breath warm against the charged air.

Ari’s chest tightens. She understands.

No judgment. Only surrender.

The heat coils deeper, heavier. The shame doesn’t vanish—it transforms, tinged with a tenderness so intimate it feels more dangerous than the act itself.

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It takes some maneuvering—pushing, back-arching—but then Lyra is buried deep inside Ari’s ass, and all of Ari’s hard-won dominance unravels beneath her. Each thrust drags Ari’s body forward, her torso grinding against Nova’s smaller frame. Nova’s hands are free this time, no restraints, and she delights in holding Ari close, watching her undone, helpless between them.

Lyra moves slowly at first, achingly deliberate. Every thrust is measured, her gaze locked on Ari’s trembling body. She savors each reaction, careful, attentive, devouring the sight of her omega coming apart.

“Look at her, Nova,” Lyra murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “Look at her body… she’s surrendered.”

Nova’s lips part, her eyes wide with awe. “It’s… amazing…” she whispers, trembling.

Is this supposed to be a sin? she asks herself. Because it’s so… beautiful.

Lyra groans, hips snapping harder now, her rhythm deepening. “Yes… she’s—ahh—amazing. So soft with me.” Her breath shatters as she thrusts harder. “I own her… ahh—”

Ari is drowning in it, pleasure flooding her, tangled with the sting of shame that only makes her tremble harder. Lyra’s words drag a raw moan from her lips. She nods helplessly, lost to the rhythm rocking her forward and back. Nova clings to her, arms wrapping around her trembling frame, and Ari, undone, clutches her back just as tightly, holding on as Lyra drives them both deeper into the moment.

“I own you… You're made for my cock… your whole body… is made for me.” Lyra growls.

Nova hears it and feels like she's listening to scripture.

Ari’s mouth falls open, drool slipping from the corner of her lips as gasps rip from her throat. She’s pinned—Lyra’s agonizingly slow thrusts behind her, Nova’s warmth pressed to her chest.

Nova strokes her cheek with trembling fingers, her eyes brimming with adoration. The same woman who had pinned her down moments ago is now panting, unraveling, helpless. “Ari… I love it when you give yourself to her,” she whispers. “You look like you’re in heaven.”

Ari’s pupils flick downward, glassy and unfocused, her brow tightening as though she’s fighting to hold on.

Nova leans in, searching her gaze, then presses a tender kiss to her cheek.
“Kissies…” she murmurs softly.

The word detonates inside Lyra. She jerks, a shock racing through her, her grip clamping tight around Ari’s waist as her release tears out of her.

“Ah! Nova—don’t say that!” she cries, her voice breaking with pleasure.

“Lyra… ahhh!” Ari whines, the name fractured and weak under the waves of pleasure.

Nova beams, sweet and girlish, smiling like she’s drunk on love—mirroring the very look Lyra had given Ari before. 

Lyra feels herself teetering on the edge, even after the previous release. Ari’s face—furious and soft all at once—is too much. Her chest tightens.

“Ari, I love you… you can have an omega, but no one else can have you, only me. Say it…” Lyra’s voice is velvet, low and dripping with heat.

Ari’s lips tremble, her breath breaking. “You… you own me…”

The words make Nova shudder with arousal. She can’t help it—her hand slips down, touching herself beneath Ari’s trembling body.

“One more time…” Lyra commands, her tone sharper, hungry.

“You… own… m—” Ari tries to speak, her moan cutting the words apart. She melts into the kiss that smothers her protest—Nova’s mouth claiming hers, swallowing every sound.

Nova kisses her lazily, deliciously, and whispers against her lips, stealing her breath. “Ari… your voice sounds so sweet… I couldn’t help myself.”

Lyra’s eyes widen. Her rhythm stutters, then speeds up, her gaze locked on the sight of Ari being kissed, kissed and adored while she herself is buried deep inside her making her whole body rock.

“Ari… Lyra owns you, she’s your alpha… and I'm your omega… does that mean that you own me?” Nova breathes against her lips, her voice trembling. 

Lyra hears it, she's done, she feels it coming, the one release that will knock her down.

“Ahhh!” she cries out, slamming deep one final time as her release surges. She collapses onto Ari, shuddering, spilling inside her, muffling her cries into Ari’s neck, near Nova’s ear “Aahhh… Goddess…!”

Ari feels it all—the fullness, the claiming, the heat of it. And she loves it. She always loves being owned by Lyra, filled, cherished, consumed.

She Owns Me… she… completely owns me…

Nova watches in awe. Ari’s expression is of complete surrender and bliss.

I can see it… Ari really loves this… they go together so well. The kind of alpha-omega love the scriptures talk about… they mirror each other.

Her mind drifts to Hazel for a second.

Lyra buries her face deeper into Ari’s neck, her breathing ragged, body still trembling from release. One arm stretches out blindly, instinctively seeking Ari—but instead her hand finds the soft curve of Nova’s face. Without realizing, she strokes her cheek with tender care. Nova turns her head slightly and presses a peck to Lyra’s hand.

Thank you for making Ari feel amazing and teaching me how an alpha-omega pair should be… Nova thinks

Ari sees it. Her eyes narrow. Slowly, she takes Lyra’s wrist, pulling it away from Nova’s skin. But instead of letting go, Ari moves with sudden precision—her hands closing firmly around Nova’s throat.

“You didn’t stay submissive, you kissed her” she hisses.

Nova’s eyes widen as her breath cuts off, her body arching helplessly under Ari’s grip. The pressure tightens, her chest heaving, panic and desire twisting together.

Oh Goddess… Ari… this is love too!! You’re so protective of your alpha! Oh Goddess I need air!

Then Ari leans down and crushes her mouth to Nova’s, kissing her through the choke, devouring her. And that’s when she feels it—Nova’s body shuddering violently beneath her.

An orgasm tears through her, explosive and raw, triggered by Ari’s merciless grip.

Ari breaks the kiss, her lips brushing Nova’s as she whispers, voice thick with dark triumph:
“Yes, I own you. At least for tonight ” The rest is lost to Lyra, too soft to catch—but Ari’s eyes lock on her as she says it, deliberate, burning. Lyra has no more cum inside her but if she had she would be spilling it and Ari knows it.

Ari… you’re merciless…

“Ah—Ari!” Nova cries out, her body arching once before collapsing limp beneath her. Ari releases her throat at last, though her fingers linger, tracing softly along the sensitive skin as if savoring the aftermath.

Lyra watches, making an effort to stay awake, transfixed. But she gives in, she’s beyond exhausted, she is knocked down.
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After Lyra faints and Nova shudders through her own release, the girls simply collapse beside her stiff, sweaty body. The king-sized bed swallows them in its expanse, sheets twisted and damp with heat. To the side, the wall-to-ceiling mirror reflects the tangle of limbs and flushed skin back at them, doubling the intimacy in the dim light.

For a while, they say nothing—just soft cuddling, the brush of fingertips, small kisses placed tenderly on cheeks and shoulders. The silence is heavy, but not uncomfortable; it hums with exhaustion and the residue of pleasure.

After several minutes, Ari’s worry starts to press through the haze. She props herself up on one elbow, studying Lyra’s still form. “Lyra?” she whispers.

No response. Lyra’s eyes remain closed, her lips dry, her chest rising shallow and slow.

“Ari…” Nova murmurs, glancing at her through the faint mirror-glow. “I think she’s going to have to sleep like that.”

“Without taking a shower? Nu-uh…” Ari shakes her head firmly, brushing stray hair off Lyra’s damp forehead. “We shower her.”

Nova side-eyes her, raising a brow. “Uh… how, exactly?”

Ari hesitates, biting her lip as she glances at Lyra, then at the mirror’s reflection of the three of them tangled together. “Maybe… maybe we should shower ourselves first, and think about that later?” she suggests carefully.

Nova shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips, and settles back against the pillows. “Makes sense. One can think better when one is clean!”

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They slip into Lyra’s jacuzzi, steam curling up into the night. Through the wide glass window, the artificial moon carved on the stone wall is full and luminous, casting silver ripples over the water. To Nova’s eyes, the place looks sacred—like a temple the Covenant itself might have built, a pool blessed for worship. Like the one in which alphas and omegas cleanse and share their joy.

Ari sinks into the warmth with a low sigh, the water enveloping her up to her neck. She leans back against the smooth edge, eyes fluttering shut, her breath leaving her chest in long, relaxed waves. For the first time that night, her body unwinds.

Nova can’t stop staring—not at Ari, but at everything around her. The polished stone, the glow of the indirect light at the edges of the wall, the reflection of the moon across the surface. “Lyra has… amazing taste,” she murmurs, still in awe.

Ari opens one eye, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, she does.”

Nova blinks, the words sinking in differently. Her lips part, then she laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Ari!” she chuckles, shoulders shaking.

Ari laughs too, soft and warm, the sound echoing faintly in the steamy air.

They both think the comment is about them.

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After a relaxing session in the jacuzzi, Ari and Nova step out, clean and relaxed. They see Lyra still laying on the bed, stiff looking, cheeks sucked in, lips dry.

“Oh my Goddess!” Ari exclaims at the sight “I thought she would have woken up by now…”

She is a little pale.

“We need to wake her up, maybe?” Nova asks Ari.

Ari goes to her alpha laying on the bed “Lyra…" she looks at her injured hand, remembering she was already coming from making strenuous effort. “Why do I always end up worrying about you…”

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Ari lifts Lyra’s head, shoulders, and torso while Nova gathers her legs. Together they half-carry, half-drag her toward the shower, where steam already spills into the room. Water cascades down, ready and waiting.

“What the fudge! She’s not waking up!” Ari exclaims, breathless as they maneuver Lyra under the spray.

Nova giggles despite herself, busy scrubbing at Lyra’s arm with gentle strokes.

“Don’t touch her cock!” Ari blurts automatically.

Nova freezes, blinking—then chuckles, eyes sparkling.

“I mean it! Don’t!” Ari snaps again, cheeks flushing.

Nova raises her free hand in mock surrender, still smiling. “Alright, alright…”

So possessive.

The shower hisses around them, hot water misting their flushed faces as they keep working, their laughter mixing with the steam.

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Mission accomplished—Lyra is clean, towel-dried, but still dead asleep.

Her hand is bruised but not bleeding.

Her body no longer stiff-looking.

“Oh my Goddess... Lyra is still knocked out... whyy—” Ari exclaims, wringing her hands.

Nova catches one, squeezing gently to calm her. “Maybe we should let her sleep.” She tilts Ari’s chin up, guiding her gaze. “She’s done a lot, Ari. I think she came like… five times.”

Ari exhales hard, shoulders sinking. “You’re right.”

“Ari, there’s a group of people at the door,” Taylor’s voice cuts in, smooth and mechanical, shattering the quiet.

Nova flinches, clutching at Ari’s arm. “Oh my Goddess… I’ll never get used to having an omnipresent AI in my house.”

Ari looks at her subtly. My house?...

“Several people?” Ari frowns. “Taylor, give me a visual on the screen.”

The wide display on Lyra’s bedroom wall hums to life, shifting from black to Taylor’s feed of the front door.

A cluster of blonde, blue-eyed women stand there in the porchlight, they wear traditional clothing made in the Covenant.

Nova’s eyes go wide, her blood running cold. “FUCK!”

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Author's notes:

Muwahahaha! I'm so tired... I need desserts and sleep.

Chapter 45: Oppression and Resistance 🔥

Summary:

In this chapter, moments of dread, tenderness, and chaos weave together. Fear tests bonds, jealousy reveals hidden vulnerabilities, and unexpected comfort reshapes old wounds. Outside forces intrude—some menacing, some absurd—reminding everyone that private emotions are never fully safe from the larger world. As loyalties, ambitions, and insecurities collide, each character must decide what role they play in a world where intimacy can be both a shield and a weapon.
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Taylor’s voice vibrates low through the walls:

“You can speak now.”

 

The cluster of women outside shifts. One steps forward into the porchlight. She leans closer to the camera.

 

Ari’s heart stops. Her gaze locks on the woman’s face—blue eyes, long blonde hair, a little wild but not quite. Memories from the Covenant flood her mind. She used to sleep in a room lined with bunk beds, dreaming of being a good Moonbeam, worthy of the highest alphas. That’s what her mothers wanted for her—only the best. And she got the best…

 

But this blonde woman, the one who is supposed to be  “the best”, is far stronger and doesn't care about Ari’s softness and fragility. In a certain moonlit room, light spilling through a single window, she looks Ari up and down and smiles, feral. Then she lifts Ari as if she weighs nothing, harshly.

 

“You’re mine. The Goddess of all the alphas told me.”

 

A chill floods Ari’s chest. Fear roots her in place. This woman isn’t kind. Not holy. Not even gracious, she doesn't look at her with love or even care. How could this be the one meant for her? The Goddesses—did they want this woman to tear her apart?

 

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Nova holds Ari’s hand, bringing her back to the present, to Lyra’s room.

 

“Ah…” Ari says, trembling slightly.

 

The blonde woman smiles—too calm, too polite.

“Hello. I know our sister is there. Her name is Nova. You might know her from work. We’ve been worried sick because she hasn’t come home for almost a month. And she didn’t tell us where she was going. Can you please open the door and let us speak with our sister?”

 

The words are even, rehearsed, as if read from a script. No anger, no warmth—just a surface-level concern that rings hollow.

 

Ari’s body goes rigid. Her throat feels dry. She looks at Nova, wide-eyed, demanding silently: Is this true?

 

Her sisters?....by blood?

 

Nova’s face is pale, almost green, her lips trembling. Her pupils shrink in sheer panic. When she finally speaks, her voice is so small it’s barely audible.

“Don’t let them in.”

 

Ari blinks. She whispers “Taylor, mute us. Don't let them hear.”

 

Nova’s eyes snap to hers, pleading, terrified. Her voice breaks:

“Don’t let them in… or—” she swallows hard, glancing toward the darkened corners of the room, as if already searching for escape—

“…let me hide first.”

 

Nova clutches Ari’s wrist, panic sharp in her voice. “It’s gonna look suspicious if you don’t open. The lights are on… it looks like you live here. They’ll know. So just… let me hide.”

 

Ari trembles too, the last thing she wants to do is open the door to that feral woman.

She thinks for a tense second and then, it comes to her. Tilting her head slightly, as though the thought has only just occurred to her. “Suspicious? But… why would it be suspicious that I don’t open the door for strangers?”

 

Her voice is quiet, steady, almost thoughtful. She brushes her thumb along Nova’s knuckles, grounding her. “I’m an omega… staying here alone.” A faint, rueful smile tugs at her lips as her gaze flicks toward Lyra’s still form. “Well… not alone. But with my alpha knocked out after… everything.”

 

She looks back at Nova, at her green eyes wide and earnest, speaking softly as if sharing a secret. “So, as an omega, would it really be strange if I didn’t open the door to a bunch of alphas? Isn’t that exactly what an omega should do? What does scripture say about it?”

 

The words are comforting, like Ari is building a little shield of logic around Nova and herself.

 

Nova’s lips part, trembling, as if her panic falters for a moment. She exhales shakily, her shoulders loosening just a little at Ari’s reasoning. Ari squeezes her hand gently, nodding once as if to say: See? You’re safe with me. Masking the shear panic hidden in her stomach.

 

On the screen, the woman outside leans closer, still waiting, her smile fixed.

 

Ari takes a steadying breath.

“Taylor, put me through. I want to talk to them.”

 

The wall screen hums, connecting her voice to the porch.

 

“Hello! Oh! It's a group of alphas. I’m sorry, but Nova’s not here. I do know her—she works with me—but she isn’t here tonight. And…” she glances down, softening her tone, “I’m an omega. I cannot open the door. I think you’ll understand.”

 

Her words trail off, leaving the night quiet.

 

Outside, the women shift slightly, exchanging glances. The one nearest the camera steps closer, the porchlight catching in her blonde hair. She nods once before speaking, her voice calm but firm.

 

“I understand. But you see… Nova has to be here.”

 

Her gaze lingers on the doorway, on the lit windows behind it. “We know our sister. We know her scent. She’s here, isn’t she?”

 

Inside, Nova goes stiff, clutching Ari’s arm with both hands. Her breath comes shallow, her lips trembling. She shakes her head quickly, whispering through clenched teeth:

“Don’t let them in. Please.”

 

Ari looks at her, scared, her chest tightening at the raw fear in Nova’s eyes and at her own, slipping.

 

Ari stays quiet for a moment, her mind racing. Nova’s grip on her arm is trembling, urgent. Then her eyes flicker with a sudden idea.

 

“Oh—” she says softly, almost to herself. “That’s it.”

 

She leans a little closer to the screen, voice careful but steady.

“Sorry, maybe I have her scent on me. We hang out a lot… at my job. And she’s been here before. So, yeah, you’d probably catch a trace of her.” She pauses, then clears her throat. “But she’s not here.”

 

Her voice hardens, edged now with a thin thread of fear.

“And frankly… I’m getting scared. So if you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the police.”

 

On the porch, the blonde nearest the camera blinks at that. Then she exhales, scoffing, a faint smile curling her lips.

“You’re getting scared, you say…” Her eyes glint dark in the porchlight.

 

Ari’s fear spikes. Nova notices it immediately in her face, in the way her breath falters—but she stays silent, tense.

 

The blonde leans closer. Her voice drops.

“Ari… Longsworth.”

 

Ari gasps, flinching, and drops back onto the bed in a sitting position, her whole body rigid with fear.

 

“I remember… you were brave once,” the blonde murmurs, her tone almost mocking.

 

Another sister slips in close, catching the woman’s sleeve. She turns toward the camera with a practiced smile.

“If you see Nova at work, please let her know we’re worried about her. We’ll leave our contact with your Taylor. Thanks.”

 

The screen cuts to black.

 

Nova stares at Ari, unsure what to say.

Ari’s eyes are wide, her breath shallow.

 

After a few seconds, Nova moves closer. She takes Ari’s hand and sits beside her.

“Ari?” she whispers.

 

Ari doesn’t answer. Fear keeps her silent.

 

“We’re safe,” Nova says softly.

 

Suddenly, Ari throws herself into Nova’s arms. The swiftness startles her, but she quickly gathers her close, squeezing, grounding her. Then she cups Ari’s face—only to find it streaked with tears.

 

“Ari!” Nova breathes. “What happened?”

 

Ari doesn’t answer. Instead, her lips purse into a faint kiss-shape, wordless, pleading, eyes closed. Nova blinks in surprise.

She… wants a kiss? Now?

 

The memory comes back—Ari telling her she was her omega for that night. And Nova knows exactly what that means for a Moonbeam.

 

So she leans in and presses a soft, unhurried kiss to Ari’s lips. Slowly, Ari begins to relax against her.

 

They sink back onto the bed together, Nova above her, their mouths still joined. She kisses Ari again and again, tenderly, her hands tracing Ari’s face, her arms, anchoring her.

 

“After this… let’s talk about it, okay?” Nova murmurs between kisses.

 

Ari nods faintly, and Nova keeps kissing her.

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Many kisses.

 

Many caresses.

 

Warmth, sighs

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They lie close to Lyra, whispering.

 

“I know her,” Ari murmurs. “She’s… the alpha the Covenant chose for me.”

 

Nova’s eyes widen. “Gabriella?! Seriously?!”

 

That name carries weight. It means Ari had been destined for a Seligman—the highest lineage in the Covenant. And it also means…

 

“Ari… you escaped her, didn’t you?” Nova asks softly.

 

Ari nods.

 

Nova pulls her close, pressing quick kisses to her previously tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

 

When Ari lifts her gaze, Nova’s eyes are startlingly tender, invested in a way Ari has never seen before.

 

Ari stares for a second, then she continues.

 

“I didn’t know she was a Seligman… they hid it…” Ari whispers.

 

“Forget about her,” Nova says, holding her tighter. “You’re safe. She's gone.”

 

But inside, Nova seethes. The Covenant is full of dangerous individuals—and Gabriella is one of the worst. Yet they protect her. They shield her. It’s wrong. All of it is wrong.

 

And then, she sees her again…

In the corner of Lyra's bedroom, near the window, without a reflection on it, without shadow, only light.

“The Goddess!” Nova gasps. 

 

“Huh?” Ari asks, but the Goddess lifts her finger, urging Nova to stay quiet.

 

“I said… Goddess… I just hate how the Covenant protects people like Gabriella…” Nova whispers.

 

The Goddess smiles and nods.

 

Nova is amazed , You too? , She thinks. Goddess of all omegas... you know something is wrong with how the Covenant is now, right?

 

The Goddess nods.

 

Right? It 's wrong!! Goddess!!

 

The Goddess nods.

 

And I… I should do something about it …who else if not me?

 

The Goddess nods.

 

Nova is filled with purpose again. 

 

Sex is a bond, and now Ari and I are bound. Through that bound I understood how an actual mate is to an omega. Lyra is kind, possessive, but carrying, dark like the ocean at night and Ari is her Moon… a true Moonbeam that lights up and guides the darkest of oceans!!

 

Ari parts from Nova just slightly.

“Thank you for calming me,” she says with a small smile.

 

Nova stares at her, almost in awe.

This Moonbeam—destined for a Seligman—kept unraveling revelation after revelation before her. She surely must be someone special.

“No, Ari… thank you.” Nova leans in and kisses her. Ari kisses back.

 

A low grunt stirs beside them. Lyra shifts, moving sluggishly.

“Ugh… my head… it hurts…”

 

Her eyes crack open, catching sight of the tender scene before her.

“Girls… please… you’re going to kill me…”

 

At the sound of her voice, Ari jerks upright, eyes wide.

“Lyra!”

 

She jumps to her and hugs her.

“I was so fucking worried you dummy!!”

 

Lyra chuckles softly.

 

"Fucking hydrate you... YOU BIG DUMMY!" Ari exclaims in Lyra's arms.

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They tell Lyra everything—everything except for Gabriella’s presence. Ari doesn’t want to reveal it, and Nova won’t disrespect her choice.

Lyra sits at the kitchen table, several empty juice glasses scattered before her. She exhales heavily.
“Nova, why did you escape?” she asks, her tone edged with mild annoyance.

“I’m… working on a project,” Nova replies. “And the Covenant doesn’t like it.”

Lyra arches a brow. “A project? Care to be more specific?”

Nova lowers her gaze. “No.”

“No?” Lyra repeats, incredulous.

Ari jumps in. “Lyra, the Covenant is dogmatic—frankly, dumb! They forbid the most harmless things!”

Lyra turns to Ari, lets out another sigh.
“This is trouble. We don’t have the means to protect her from the Covenant.”

“We could hide her, at least temporarily!” Ari blurts, her voice pleading.

Lyra’s eyes linger on her.
She’s really attached to Nova… it’s making me a little jealous.

She exhales slowly. “We can hide her for a while. But—”

“Don’t worry!” Nova cuts in, her tone suddenly bright with confidence. “When my project is ready, I’ll go back to the Covenant.”

Ari blinks, surprised. “Really?!”

Nova lays her hand gently over Ari’s. Lyra notices—and blinks, a flicker of alarm tightening her chest.

“Don’t worry,” Nova says. “It’s part of my plan.”

“Plan? But… they’re psychos…” Ari whispers.

“I know there’s something wrong in the Covenant,” Nova admits, her smile faint but steady. “But I have the tools to fix it from within. I’m a Seligman.”

Lyra watches them, unease settling in her stomach. She’s starting to not like this interaction at all.

“Ari, can I talk to you in our room?”

Lyra doesn’t wait for an answer. She strides quickly toward the room, tugging Ari by the sleeve. Once inside, she shuts the door, takes Ari’s hands in hers, and fixes her with a searching look.

“Ari…” She draws in a breath.

Ari blinks, caught off guard by the tone.

“Did you… enjoy sex with Nova that much?” Lyra asks, her voice trembling on the edge of a plea.

Ari flinches, eyebrows shooting up. “Huh?!”

“You’re acting so… attached to her, I was wondering if you… needed her here… for that reason…” Lyra murmurs, a faint ache in her tone.

And then Ari understands.
A smile tugs at her lips. “Oh my bot, Lyra—you’re finally jealous.”

“Ari, just tell me… please…” Lyra presses, eyes searching.

Ari chuckles softly. “It was fun, but it’s not that.”

Lyra exhales alleviated.

“Remember how I escaped the Covenant? I know what she’s going through. I know how it feels… and I just wish someone had helped me back then,” Ari says quietly.

Lyra’s eyes soften. She lifts a hand, gently caressing Ari’s cheek, tilting her chin so their eyes meet.
“Maybe her case is different. She’s the daughter of the most important woman in that cult.”

“Maybe that makes it worse…” Ari murmurs.

Lyra strokes Ari’s hair, thoughtful.
“Alright. We’ll keep her here for a while. But if things escalate, we’ll have to find another place for her.”

Ari nods, a small smile breaking through—then she chuckles.
“Find another place for her… it sounds like we’re adopting a pet.” She laughs softly again.

Lyra smiles despite herself, then exhales. “I’m pretty sure she already is our pet.”

“That’s so mean,” Ari teases, grinning. “You’re just jealous…”

Her smile only grows wider.

 

They return to the kitchen. The little omega has clearly tried to make pancakes for herself—the counter is cluttered, napkins are scrunched on the floor, and she now sits at the table nibbling on an apple.

“Lyra says you can stay!” Ari announces, her voice bright with relief.

“Yay!” Nova cheers, throwing her arms up.

Ari rushes over and hugs her tightly.

Meanwhile, Lyra’s gaze sweeps the kitchen. Her brow twitches.

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“Just tell Taylor to clean it up! It’s easy—just ask. And check after, because sometimes Taylor misses things. Then you grab a cloth and finish it yourself,” Lyra lectures as they step out of her car in Morph C.O.’s parking lot.

She looks imposing—an elegant silhouette in a long black coat with burnished buttons, sleek leather gloves, and tall boots that add even more height to her already commanding presence. The high turtleneck grey sweater clings to her figure beneath the coat, giving her both austerity and quiet allure. Ari can’t stop staring, her eyes lingering every time Lyra’s stride makes the coat sway.

“I don’t like talking to the AI…” Nova mutters. She wears a cream-beige cape coat with clean lines, its structure softened by a high ivory turtleneck peeking out at the collar. Knee-high black boots complete the look, making her seem polished yet delicate—contrasting the messes she leaves at Lyra's place.

“I get it. In the Covenant there are no AIs,” Ari chimes in quickly.

Ari wears a brown plaid pleated skirt and matching blazer, paired with a fitted cream turtleneck tucked neatly under a wide white belt. The oversized jacket hangs off her shoulders with careless confidence, the mix of textures giving her a modern schoolgirl-meets-streetwear vibe. Black mid-calf boots finish the look, and her hair loose, now falls longer.

Lyra frowns at Ari, unimpressed. “Ari, you’re not helping…” she studies her "Also, you need a haircut."

"Hey! That sounded mean..." says Ari, pouting.

But before she can press further, Nova’s eyes light up. She spots Rainy, grins, and bolts across the lot.
“Rainy!”

Lyra exhales, resigned. “Aaaand… she escaped.”

Ari chuckles.

“I don’t like this, Ari, you’re spoiling her, and she’s already spoiled” Lyra mutters.

Ari slips into her arms, resting her head against Lyra’s chest. “Aw, you’re so jealous. So possesive, hihihi ”

“It’s not that! She needs to clean up after herself, that’s all! ” Lyra growls.

“I love how jealous you get over me…” Ari teases, rubbing her cheek against Lyra’s chest.

“Is this revenge? It’s revenge isn't it?” Lyra says, looking down at her omega.

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“This is fucking revenge!” shouts a chubby alpha as she pulls a mask over her face. Behind her, a crowd of women follows suit, their mismatched masks turning them into a faceless mob. They rush the doors of Morph C.O.

“Ugh… here come the uggos,” sneers Gala. She towers above the entrance in a robotic exosuit, bazooka locked on her shoulder. All around the building, armored alphas like her stand at the ready, heavy weapons gleaming under the lights.

“First round!” Gala bellows.

The bazookas fire in unison— thoom, thoom, thoom! —launching bright pink projectiles across the plaza.

“Fuck! Stand back!” one of the rioters screams. Panic ripples through the crowd as they stumble into each other, scattering too late. The balls explode into sticky gobs of gum, gluing bodies together and pinning them to the ground as if they’d been dropped in a vat of giant bubblegum.

“Bot dammit!” someone shrieks.

Another cluster gets hit, including Opal, who struggles furiously.
“This is so unfair!” she cries.

A voice pipes up from the crowd, high and excited. “Hey, it’s you! The sex offender!” a young woman exclaims, way too enthusiastically.

Opal snaps her head toward her, scandalized. “I beg your pardon?”

But the girl is already flipping her phone on, angling it toward her face.
“Thiiiiis is your friendly neighbor Honey, from Honey’s Diary ! And I’m here IN. THE. MIDDLE. OF. THE. RIOT!” She winks at the camera, puckers her lips, and blows a kiss. “Risking my life just for you girls!”

“What?! You’re Honey?” Opal blurts, stunned.

Up close, she looks… different. Less polished than the filtered clips.

“Are you a fan?” Honey smirks at her phone. “Normally I’d love that, but you’re Opal Brown—famous for recording your coworkers in the bathroom. Boohoo…” She taps her screen, and a cheesy defeat sound effect plays “Now everyone knows that these rioters are fucking sex offenders and just awful, envious people like this bitch.” She laughs.

Opal’s face burns red. “How do you know that?!”

“Honey has her bees, her busy busy bees…” the influencer replies with a sly grin. She spins away, already refocusing on her livestream.

“That’s right, girls! You can all be part of my busy bees and catch the hottest tea for me, your queen bee, your Honey!” She winks into the lens, voice sugary sweet
“Just send an email to [email protected] and the best stories and tips will be rewarded! Yeees! The best one gets a date with me, Honey!”

Gala strides over and clamps a hand on Honey’s shoulder.
“Ma’am, you can’t be here. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Uhh, hey cutie!” Honey chirps, batting her lashes at the armored alpha.

Without missing a beat, Gala snatches the phone from her hand and powers it off.

“Hey!” Honey protests.

“Cut it out, Honey. That’s enough…” Gala mutters, steering her firmly away from the chaos and toward the parking lot.

“Okay, okay—thanks for the dose of realism, Gala.” Honey grins, unfazed. “You really are a cutie, though.”

Gala grunts, clearly annoyed.

 

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“Hahahaha! This is so fun! Look at that fatty getting gummed!” Aira cackles from her bed, streaming Honey’s channel on a massive screen. She turns toward Sorelle, who’s sprawled on a beanbag looking drained. “We should give Honey another hundred thousand subscribers just to thank her.”

Sorelle yawns.

“What’s with you, Sorelle? You don’t like Honey? She’s hot.”

Ugh… Miss Astoré, she’s practically a teen and you’re middle-aged…

“No, I do. I actually follow her…” Sorelle admits.

“Then why the weary eyes?” Aira presses.

Another yawn. “I spent the night with Hazel.”

Aira’s brows lift, intrigued. “Uuuh… you two fucking?”

Sorelle shifts uncomfortably but she’s used to this.
“No. She just… needs someone to hug to sleep.”

Aira bursts out laughing. “Ha! What a fucking omega behavior!”

Sorelle frowns, but only inwardly.

“I thought Lyra’s vibe would rub off on her a little… it’s been weeks and they’re supposed ot be working together…”

Sorelle talks “They actually don´t talk to each other. Lyra smothers her with tasks and leaves her in her office all day… at least that’s what Hazel said.”

Aira sits up on her bed “What?!”

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Lyra’s phone buzzes. She glances at the screen.
A. Astorè

“Ugh…” she mutters.

“Who is it, baby?” Ari asks, her voice extra sweet—still basking in the glow of Lyra’s jealousy.

“It’s Aira.”

Ari’s smile vanishes. “Oh no… I don’t want her sending you on another dangerous mission, Lyra! Don’t answer!”

“Hey,” Lyra says into the phone anyway.

“Uuuughh!” Ari groans in protest.

Lyra slips an arm around her, holding her close while speaking into the receiver.
“Aha… yes, I gave her a task list and sent her to her office… aha…”

“Lyra, don’t!—” Ari starts, but Lyra covers her mouth.

“Why would I hang out with her? She hates me,” Lyra says evenly.

On the other end, Aira’s voice purrs through.
“Because, basically… I want her to be you.”

Lyra’s eyes narrow. “Then give me her inheritance and I’ll be your niece.”

Aira bursts out laughing. “Bwahaha! See? You said that so confidently! I could’ve said yes right there! And that’s exactly what I want—but for Hazel.”

Lyra falls silent, her expression unchanged, but her annoyance increasing.

“What if I pay you to hang out with her?” Aira continues. “Be extra… mentory and stuff. I know you're getting punched on the streets for money, are you low on cash or something?”

"No." Lyra says flatly.

Aira chuckles "Anyway, I'll pay you handsomely. What do you say?"

Lyra 's eyes widen. “I’m listening…”

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Author's notes:

I feel like I really need to take some time to mark the important points in this story—otherwise it might derail, and I want to finish it properly! Once that’s done, I can finally wrap up the Dungeon Meshi one, and then start working on merch and more for this project. The store and stuff.

And on top of all that… a college has invited me to give a class! So now I have to prepare for that too. Ughhh, I’m so busy! But it's good stuff so I'm thankful. I'm thankful for all of you too, amazing readers!! omg I'm so tired I'm getting cathartic...

 

Post edit: Ari is projecting her traumaaaa and protecting Nova as if Nova was herself.... awwww

Chapter 46: 🏹Let's keep in touch 🌑

Summary:

This chapter weaves together moments of confrontation, loss, and fragile intimacy, showing how each character is forced to reckon with shifting loyalties and unspoken desires. From quiet rituals of promise-making to the ruins of cherished spaces, from the ache of separation to the revelation of hidden longing, the story builds on contrasts: tenderness in the middle of violence, love entangled with politics, and personal choices shadowed by a wider collapse.

What guides our loyalty? Principles? Basic needs?
Who would you leave behind and who would you stand by?
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“So, it’s been fine. I’m sleeping okay as long as Sorelle is with me.”

“That sounds good for now,” Noura replies, her tone warm with encouragement. “You’re doing an amazing job, Hazel.” She smiles.

Hazel smiles back, a little lighter.

“So… how’s the task list going?” Noura asks.

“Ugh… that…” Hazel groans. “Why do I have to do that? I get enough tasks from Lyra already…” She looks properly pestered.

Noura chuckles softly. “I’ve already explained—but you’ll understand once you start doing the work. Trust me, you’ll feel the difference.”

 

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The session ends and Hazel steps out of the office. Just outside, Nova lingers suspiciously close to the door before drifting away, feigning casualness.

Noura follows Hazel, and out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Nova.
Ah… that little woman… is she spying on her again?

She checks her tablet.
Lyra Veran.

Oh my Bot…

A tremor runs through her.
And not with Ari… damn. Us two… alone.

She’d tried to push that one to the very end—and the end had finally come.

She looks up and spots Nova and Ari talking. They’re close—too close—touches lingering, gestures soft and easy. Then Lyra appears, slipping an arm around Ari, subtly tugging her back from Nova’s orbit.

Nova speaks to Lyra with unshaken confidence, and Lyra responds almost kindly. The three of them stand together now, their closeness unmistakable. Open postures, smiles, some possessive body language from Lyra towards Ari.

Noura blinks. The whole interaction is… interesting… and telling, very telling.

Noura blushes, then shakes her head to cool off before calling out in a forced, polite tone. “Ah—Lyra, it’s your—”

“I know, I know,” Lyra cuts her off, already moving toward her. She slips past and into the office.

“You can do it, Lyra!” Nova cheers brightly.
“You’re so cute, Lyra!” Ari adds, grinning.

Lyra blushes, flustered. “Okay… thanks…” She disappears inside.

Noura blinks.
What is this shift in their dynamic?

The door closes. Nova and Ari head toward their workstations.

“Gina, hey!” Ari greets her friend cheerfully.

But Gina’s reply doesn’t match her energy. “Hey.” She doesn’t even look at her.

Ari frowns.
Gina… what the fuck… why are you acting like this with me?

“Uh…” Ari pulls out her chair and sits beside her. “Gina… we’re friends, right?”

“Aha…” Gina answers, eyes still glued to the screen.

“And friends sometimes need to have uncomfortable talks.”

Gina nods slowly, still not meeting her gaze.

“Why are you being like this with me?” Ari asks softly.

“Like what?”

“Look at me, Gina…”

Finally, Gina stops typing. She sighs, turning to her.

“Like you can’t stand me. Like I’m annoying,” Ari says.

Gina’s eyes soften. She looks down, then back up.
“Ari… it just feels like you’re pretending nothing’s happening. Every week there’s another leak from the Orphans, the entrance to our office is guarded by armed security… You said it yourself—we work for an evil company. And I thought we were in this together. I thought you and I would… do something about it. But it feels like it’s just me. Me and Rainy. And you…” She swallows. “You’re somewhere else.”

Ari is stunned into silence. The words land heavy.

And they’re… true? Maybe? She hasn’t been watching the leaked videos, that’s true. She knows the crimes exposed are gruesome, brutal—especially against omegas—but she hasn’t had the bandwidth to process it all. Her mind is already consumed by Lyra, by the debt, and now by Nova and her escape, and Gabriella...

“I… I have a lot going on right now,” Ari says carefully.

“I know,” Gina murmurs. “I can see it. You haven´t seen any of the videos I sent you. You and Nova are… close now? I guess? She’s living with you now, right? And she smells like Lyra…” Gina hesitates, then asks quietly, “Are you sharing Lyra with her?”

“No.” Ari’s reply is quick, defensive. “She just needed temporary housing. We’re renting her a room, that’s it.”

“Okay.” Gina sighs. “It’s just… you two talk about alphas, who’s cute, like that’s all that matters, like it all was the same as before. And meanwhile…” Her voice falters. “There’s a war on omegas, Ari. And I feel like I’ve lost you to… small talk.”

Ari reels.
“Damn, Gina… I need a little small talk sometimes. And don’t pretend you don’t look at alphas—you do it too.”

“Not like this, Ari, not now. Not when it feels like everything’s falling apart.” Gina draws a breath, steadies herself. “Rainy and I… we’ve decided to quit.”

Ari’s eyes go wide.

“We don’t want to work for a criminal anymore,” Gina says, her voice low but firm. She hesitates, then adds, almost pleading: “I just need to know, Ari… what side are you on?”

Ari sighs and looks down.

“Gina, things aren’t so black and white…” She begins.

“They kidnapped Suzie! Then drove her and Camille to flee.” Gina’s voice tightens, wounded. “Did you know, influencers, probably paid by the Astorès, have made videos upon videos about how Suzie is a liar and Camille a mediocre worker looking for revenge? Their reputations are ruined. They’ll never get jobs in any city under Aira’s tech. You care about Camille, don’t you?”

Ari’s chest twists with disbelief, denial, and then deep sadness. “I… I didn’t know…”

Gina exhales, her shoulders sagging.
“It’s not just Rainy and me. Others are planning to quit too…”

Ari lowers her gaze, shame pressing heavy on her.
“It’s not fair… I had just started to save some money… you can't ask me—”

Gina sighs, softer this time.
“I know…”

Silence lingers between them. Gina glances at Ari from the corner of her eye, wondering if she’s been too harsh.

“Agh…” She rubs her temple. “I know you’re not willingly supporting an evil company, Ari. It’s just… you look so happy, so at ease, like you’re fine with how things are.”

“I…” Ari sighs “It’s not me the one being shallow, Gina.” Ari stands and walks away.

Gina’s eyes linger on Ari, full of regret. She drags her hands over her face, then exhales heavily.

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Ari reclines in her car—her oval, pod-like Evia Lume. From the outside, it looks like the practical choice for a modern omega. But inside, it feels almost luxurious, a private cocoon. She tilts the seat back to nearly 180 degrees and exhales.

“So unfair…” she murmurs.

The dashboard glows in silver and pink, a sleek animation rippling across it while soft ambient music hums in the background.

Ari pulls out her phone and opens Morph C.O.’s social feed. Her inbox floods the screen—Gina’s messages stacked everywhere.
So, yeah… I missed some messages…

She taps the first video. The Orphans. The moment she sees the mask, frustration rises.
Ugh, this is beyond my control… I don’t need this right now.

She shuts it down and scrolls. Her eyes skim the list of clips until one makes her stop.
Wait… is that Camille?!

She clicks.

“Ari, check this out! I’m recording it from this Materia phone—it’s one of those short videos from Hype.” Gina’s voice bursts through, enthusiastic and warm. The friendliness in her tone stings.

Hype? Isn’t that banned in every Morph C.O. city? Where the hell did she even get that phone?

Short-form content was outlawed under the “Astorès’ regime”, but people still found workarounds—making long compilations and uploading to Vyre or other platforms. This one, though, feels raw. Fresh. It’s recording from that foreign phone for Goddess sake! It's top tier tea.

The camera steadies. Camille sits on a beanbag, wearing one of Suzie’s old band tees. It hangs loose, cropped just enough for her abs to show. Ari blushes.
That HAS to be intentional.

Camille picks up a guitar-like instrument—more sculpture than tool. Carved wood, elegant, classic. She strums. The sound that flows out is enigmatic, hypnotic. And then, Camille starts signing.

“Some ancient call that I've answered before

It lives in my walls and it's under the floor

If this was meant for me, why does it hurt so much?”

Then a string solo. Short but devastating.

The video fades to black, leaving only Camille’s Hype handle glowing on the screen.

 

Ari feels her face flush. She exhales softly.

“Ah… Camille…”

 

She presses the phone to her chest, eyes falling shut. A long sigh escapes her.

 

After a few seconds, she opens them again.

I’m just… glad she’s alive. Glad she’s okay.

Her song felt so melancholic and sad though.

She lifts her phone and writes into Gina’s chat

“I should have seen these before, sorry. Let's talk at Coffee Beans, don't quit before talking, please”

Hits send.

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After a few hours, Ari walks toward Cool Beans, rehearsing in her head what she might say to Gina about everything. But when she arrives, the sight before her cuts her breath short.

The café is shuttered, its windows cracked, walls smeared with graffiti, trash scattered across the entrance. Abandoned.

From behind her, Gala’s voice rings out, casual under the weight of her armor.

“Yep. No more Cool Beans… thanks to the rioters”

Ari’s mouth falls open, her brows arching high, eyes wide.

“But… but why? Why Cool Beans?”

Gala only shrugs. “Word was this was a favorite hangout for you Morph C.O. girls. Somebody decided that meant it must’ve been one of Aira’s businesses.”

Ari stares at the ruins of her favorite spot. She knows the truth—it wasn’t Aira’s. It began in the humble streets of Pomona. Her chest tightens, and her voice trembles.

“This was a small business… from Pomona… Do they even realize how much effort it must have taken for the owners to build this place here? In this fancy neighbourhood… that's supposed to be safer…”

Her eyes glisten, swelling with tears as she takes in the wreckage.

Gala shifts awkwardly, then gives the omega a tentative pat on the back.

“Hey… uh…” she murmurs, her gauntlet tapping gently. “There, there…”

Ari breaks down, sobs catching in her throat.

From behind Gala, a familiar voice cuts in.

“Sucks, huh?”

Ari spins around. Gina stands there, arms crossed, her face heavy with the same grief.

“The rioters are assholes!” Ari bursts out, her voice trembling with anger.

“I mean… they didn’t know,” Gina replies softly. “They thought they were striking at Aira. They made a mistake.”

“This was someone’s hard-earned dream,” Ari cries. “Not some corrupt empire like hers. Just… ordinary people, working their hearts out—and they destroyed it!”

Gina nods slowly, her eyes full of understanding.

“You knew?” Ari asks, searching her face.

Gina shakes her head. “I just found out a few minutes ago. But… I still came here. I knew you’d be here so...”

“And they think this is how they fight against Aira?!” Ari shouts, her voice raw with anger.

“You tell them, sister!” chimes a shrill, all-too-familiar voice.

Honey, the influencer, appears with her phone raised high, already streaming.

“Is this how you fight corruption, huh?” she says, her tone dripping with fake outrage. “By destroying the dreams of hardworking entrepreneurs?”

Before she can say more, Gala reaches out and plucks the phone from her hand again.

“Hey! Censorship!” Honey squeals, stomping a heel.

“Don’t use that clip,” Gala warns flatly.

Honey frowns, pouting dramatically at Gala.

Ari exhales hard, shoulders sagging. “Ah… whatever… let’s just go,” she mutters, defeated.

  

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Ari exhales, rubbing at her temple.

“I get it—they hate Aira. I hate her too. But… don’t they think before acting?” she mutters, her voice thick with frustration.

Later, she and Gina sit together in the small cafeteria tucked beside the gym on the third floor of Morph C.O.’s building. Neither of them has ever set foot there before. In fact no one ever goes there, there's only Morph C.O ‘s products.

“You can’t expect much from your average rioter,” Gina says, lifting a plastic cup of bright-blue juice to her lips. “They’re angry. They feel powerless. I get why they just attack stuff.” She takes a sip—then immediately grimaces. “Oh, bot… this tastes like shit.”

Ari holds up her own glass, the liquid inside a murky red. She smirks bitterly.

“The best Morph C.O. has to offer,” she says with dry cynicism.

They both drink anyway.

“Look,” Ari says at last, her voice quieter. “I know Aira is… evil. But I can’t just quit. This is my first real city job. If I walk away, I’m screwed. And if she blacklists me…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I can’t risk it.”

Gina lets out a long sigh and pushes her cup away.

“I know. I understand.” She hesitates, then adds, “But… I will quit. And I’ll try to find something else—for both of us. Alright?”

Ari turns to look at her, startled by the resolve in Gina’s voice.

“Do you have a place to land on? Or are you going to be jobless for a while…” 

Gina smiles “I will live off of my savings for some months… and I diversified here and there…”

Ari lifts an eyebrow.

Since when do you keep it vague ? Ari wonders.

“Don´t you think we can do something from the inside?” Ari whispers.

“Not really… I’d like that though…”

They drink their shitty drinks, eyes and postures of resignation.

“So, this is goodbye?” Ari asks.

“Let’s just call this a see you later ,” Gina says, forcing a smile.

Ari exhales softly. “Keep in touch. Seriously. I’ll read your texts, watch the videos — I promise.” She lifts her pinky.

Suzie tilts her head, intrigued. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a Moonbeam thing,” Ari explains. “We hook each other’s pinky fingers — the finger of the heart — when we make promises.” She gently takes Suzie’s hand and demonstrates, hooking their fingers together tightly.

“I promise,” Ari says firmly.

Gina’s expression softens, touched. She mirrors the gesture and answers, “I promise.”

The small ritual ends, leaving soft smiles on their faces.

“So… have you and Nova ever made promises like this?” Gina teases, her tone lighter now.

Ari side-eyes her, lips quirking. “No. We’re not that close — we just had sex.” 

“OH MY BOT!” Gina bursts out.

 

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“They blew up Cool Beans?!”

“It’s better if you don’t look at social media, babe. That’s addictive,” Suzie says, running her fingers through her freshly cut hair — a sharp bob with a subtle purple streak that catches the light. It frames her face perfectly, her makeup soft yet precise, accentuating the confidence in her expression.

Her outfit is effortlessly elegant, a tailored black blazer over a sleek top with a cut-out neckline, layered necklaces glinting against her skin. She moves with a mix of poise and edge, radiating the kind of presence that turns heads without trying, especially in a city where the color palette leans to beige and earth tones, and fashion leans to flowy, wavy dresses and tunics rather than structured outfits.

Camille watches her from beneath the rim of her beanie, fingers loosely resting on a small string instrument — not quite a ukulele, but close. Her gaze drifts over Suzie’s outfit, lingering on the way it frames her figure.

“Suzie… do you want to stand out?” Camille asks, her voice low, curious.

Suzie tilts her head just enough to give a playful, sidelong glance — a flirtatious spark in her eyes.
“Why do you ask that, babe?”

“Because you do,” Camille replies softly. “You stand out. All black and, you know…”

Suzie smiles, slow and sure. “I just want to keep my essence.”

Suzie moves toward her alpha and settles between her legs, leaning back against her chest with a soft sigh. Camille instinctively opens her posture to make room, setting the instrument aside.

“I like standing out in your eyes,” Suzie purrs.

Their gazes lock, heavy and half-lidded, drifting closer as if drawn by gravity.

Then Suzie’s phone buzzes. An alarm. She has to be back at the office.
“Ugh… gotta go.” She rises reluctantly.

“You leave again,” Camille mutters, her voice low. “And I’m left here… with nothing to do…”

“Aww… I’m sorry.” Suzie crouches back down, trying to soften the sting. “Devika says—”

“Yeah, I know.” Camille cuts her off, sharper than she means to.

Suzie’s eyes widen, wounded. Camille’s sadness hits her like a blow. “I’m really sorry, Camille… I know I pulled you into this,” Suzie admits, her face tightening with her own pain.

Camille exhales, regret sinking in. “No, Suzie… it’s fine. Go. We’ll talk later.”

They kiss — a brief press of lips heavy with longing, as if already missing each other. Then Suzie pulls away. She walks off, her silhouette in black shrinking, dissolving slowly into the pale backdrop.

“Ah…” Camille exhales, leaning back against the beanie. Her hand finds the small, pseudo-ukulele, strumming a few quiet chords that echo her mood.

After a pause, she picks up her smartphone, fits it onto a selfie-stick stand, and sets it to record.

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“I’m using most of these instruments for the first time. I’m not a native in this city… I’m still getting used to how things are here…so please be kind.” She winks.

Lyra’s eyes soften, uncharacteristically tender as she watches her.

The strings shimmer with hypnotic notes beneath Camille’s fingers, and then her voice drifts in:

“I think I heard your voice…”
“I think I caught your scent…”
“I think I saw another one hold your hand as I go—”
“Go, go, go on with my day…”

The melody lingers, fragile and intimate—until Noura’s tablet suddenly goes black. Camille’s image vanishes.

“Hey! Don’t cut it off like that,” Lyra protests, sharper than she means.

“Sorry! It’s automatic,” Noura explains quickly, but she doesn’t switch it back on.

“Anyway…” Noura hesitates, studying her. “That was Camille, wasn’t it?”

Lyra exhales, a sound more like surrender than confirmation. “Yes.”

Noura is stunned. Lyra’s whole posture has melted open, her eyes carrying a mix of delight and sorrow. It’s as if the performance stripped away her armor. 

She misses this woman—terribly.

Noura lingers on her, quietly enthralled. The sight is moving—like watching a fierce panther on the verge of tears, or a dark, endless ocean lit by a mournful moon.

She shakes herself from the trance and presses on.
“I—I can see she’s dear to you. Do you ever… call each other?”

Lyra meets her gaze directly. The weight of it makes Noura flinch, almost imperceptibly.
“No. I didn’t know where she was—until now.”

Noura’s eyes widen. “Oh.” She quickly jots something down, then adds,
“Well, it makes sense. I pulled this from a compilation of short-format videos — and from what I understand, they’re forbidden here.”

Lyra nods, but then her eyes sharpen, a spark of realization. “Wait… you’re from a Materia city?”

Noura smiles. “Yeah. You could put it that way. I was born in one of the cities that uses Materia tech. The name of the city is—”

“Do you ever go back?” Lyra cuts in, urgency breaking through her composure. “I think Camille is in one of those cities.”

Noura studies her for a moment, then asks gently, “Would you like to visit her?”

“Yes,” Lyra replies, immediate and absolute. No hesitation.

This woman is a straight arrow — pulled back with restraint and focus, then released forward with unshakable confidence and force.

Noura feels heat rising in her cheeks. She clears her throat, trying to steady herself.
“Uhm… I think our time is up. But… we made a lot of progress,” she murmurs, the faint blush betraying her composure.

Lyra rises, stretches, then fixes her gaze back on Noura from above.
“Good. Can you send me that video?”

Noura blinks, caught off guard.
Oh my bot… this woman goes straight for what she wants. A true arrow.

“Sure,” she manages, her voice softer than intended.

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Author's notes:

Sometimes a friend break up is harder than a romantic break up. Sometimes we have to stay by places or people that we don´t want because we can´t afford to leave, usually it's jobs, lol. Doesn´t mean we can´t grow to like them or find a way out later. Lifeeeeee

Chapter 47: Find the mark/Strategic loyalty

Summary:

FIRST ATTACK ON MORPH C.O
not small riots, a serious attack.
And it hits Aira where it hurts.
Between moments of intimacy, jealousy, and public confrontation, each woman is forced to confront where she stands—both with each other and within the storm gathering around their company.

Another cool morning of Shadowturn greets Lyra, crisp and still, her favorite season. She stretches, already feeling more at ease. The task ahead is simple: guide Hazel a little, shape her into something like herself. No real plan, just stick close, like glue. With the amount of money Aira is paying her, even Hazel’s bratty attitude no longer seems annoying. She yawns and rubs her face.

 

“Good morning A—”

 

Seems like Ari has already started her morning.

“Stop! Stop kissing! It’s not fair!” Lyra yells “Why the fuck are you in this bed! What the fuck?!”

The two omegas pause softly, blinking at her.

“Why???” Ari asks, pulling back with a grin. “Are you jealous?”

Lyra growls. “This is a violation of our contract! You HAVE to include me!”

Nova, still beneath Ari, speaks up softly, almost timidly: “We… actually never wrote down the rules. Or made that point official…”

Lyra snaps her gaze at her. Nova squeaks, flinching, a high-pitched sound slipping out. Ari chuckles.

“Okay then,” Ari says, teasing. “Let’s write it down!”

Before she can move, Lyra pushes Ari off and straddles the blonde omega herself.

Ari’s eyes widen, her brow furrowing. “Don’t you daaaaaaare!”

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The morning starts messy—jealousy, laughter, half-serious arguments about rules for the contract. But within the hour, the chaos gives way to order. A final contract is drafted, rules are put down, and the women are dressed fro another day at Morph C.O.

 

Lyra cuts a striking figure in black, wide-legged trousers paired with a daring deep-plunge blouse, scarf-like ties draping down, her waist cinched with a gold-buckled belt, golden cuffs gleaming at her wrists. Sleek, commanding—untouchable.

Nova, by contrast, looks understated in soft beige. A high-neck knit tucked into tailored trousers, simple and polished, as if she could disappear into calm neutrality.

Ari strikes the balance between them—cozy yet stylish in a fitted black turtleneck and a ribbed, earth-toned maxi skirt. A crossbody bag hangs at her side, white sneakers grounding her look with playful ease.

“Why do you always wear beige?” Lyra asks, sitting at the kitchen table, biting into a pancake.

“Why do you always wear black?” Nova shoots back without missing a beat.

Lyra frowns. “What kind of answer is that?”

Ari, perched nearby, watches them with delight sparkling in her eyes.

“I think beige suits me,” Nova says with a small, satisfied smile.

“I know black suits me,” Lyra replies flatly.

Ari giggles.

Lyra side-eyes her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she mutters to her omega.

Ari nods, grin turning mischievous.

Nova dabs her lips with a napkin, drops it neatly on the plate, then springs to her feet. “Thanks for the food!” she chirps, darting off toward the front door.

“Don’t you dare leave this mess here!” Lyra yells after her—
but it’s too late. Nova’s gone.

“Bot dammit!”

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As Lyra drives them to work, Ari leans into her seat and lets her eyes wander. Her beautiful alpha—long black hair, fierce eyes, presence sharp as ever. Then, in the rearview display on the dashboard, she catches Nova’s reflection, she's like a fancy doll she could have never afforded, she exhales in quiet satisfaction.

Everything around her feels comfortable, beautiful, clean. She feels fortunate.

But unwanted thoughts creep in—Cool Beans destroyed, Camille singing her melancholy songs, the Orphans’ mask flashing across her mind.

Yes, her life feels comfortable. But outside their little bubble, a crisis is unfolding.

 

They’re forced to take a longer turn toward the parking lot—now cordoned off by a perimeter of alphas in exosuits. From inside the car, they watch the armored women stand sentinel, visors glinting, heavy weapons at the ready. A few even nod in greeting as the car rolls past.

“I think this is being taken out of proportion…” Nova murmurs, her eyes glued to the hulking suits.

“Aira likes fighting fire with atomic bombs,” Lyra replies dryly.

“Hasn’t she already been cleared of most of the crimes?” Ari asks, frowning.

“Yes,” Lyra says, her tone flat. “But nobody’s buying that.”

 

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Inside the office, a bittersweet moment unfolds—it’s Gina’s farewell mini-party.

On the giant screens overhead, Aira’s face beams live across the building.

“As you all know, Gina has been one of our best product designers, a true asset to Morph C.O. We’re proud to say that one of our finest is moving on to a new opportunity. She’s been headhunted by RAG, a younger, daring project. Gina, we’re not happy to see you go—but we’re happy to see you grow.”

Employees clap politely, the speech polished, almost moving.

“Wow… Aira’s like a completely different person when she gives speeches,” Ari murmurs, admiring the eloquence from her spot below the fourth-floor screen.

Lyra leans close, her voice low in Ari’s ear. “That’s because she literally is another person. This omega, Sorelle, writes and delivers her speeches, it used to be Camille. Aira just uses an AI mask to put her face on the person doing the hard work.”

“Huuuh?!” Ari blurts, eyes wide.

Geez! That woman…

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“So you chose to go through the front door,” Ari says as she approaches Gina at her workstation.

“Yep.” Gina nods. “I thought about what you said. It’s true—I’m leaving for moral reasons. But I don’t have to make a statement right now. I don’t want to close doors.” She sighs. “Rainy doesn’t feel the same way… and I respect that.”

Ari’s eyes drift toward the corner. Rainy, the angry beta sits there eating the company’s cake in silence, still ignoring Nova—even as others have gathered around her.

“They’ll all kick the door next week,” Gina murmurs. “That group… they want to make a statement. And it’s going to be big.”

Ari studies her, intrigued… and just a little afraid.

She sits and exhales, trying to let go of the tension—when suddenly, the office screens flicker to life. Aira’s face fills every wall, and the chatter dies instantly as heads turn toward the nearest display.

“Hello everyone! I’m back—and I’m here to tell you that I’m a criminal. And a murderer.”

Gasps ripple through the building. Shocked murmurs rise from every floor. Even outside, the armored alphas pause, tilting their visors toward the broadcast.

Aira continues smoothly. “Here are some of the charges I’ve already been cleared of.” A long list scrolls beside her face. “But I have undeniable proof that I, Aira Astorè, was personally involved. That I approved them.”

Short clips begin to play—grainy but damning—showing enough to tie her directly to the worst crimes on the list.

“And here’s a sexy bonus,” she adds with a smirk, “for all of you who fawn over my most loyal soldier-girl, Lyra Veran.”

Ari’s heart jolts. Her eyes widen, body flinching as the footage cuts to Lyra. She’s in an underground fighting ring, clad in a black gym top and work pants, light gloves on her fists as she brutalizes another alpha. The video ends abruptly, but the message lands.

“Did you like that?” Aira purrs. “Still fans of my main bitch? She would kill for me—and probably has. That’s the company you’re working for. You’d better know it now.”

The office is stunned into silence. Indignation. Fear. Eyes drift toward Lyra. Ari’s gaze darts desperately upward, searching—there she is, on the second floor, frozen, her face stricken with shame.

“Lyra…” Ari whispers, dread twisting in her chest.

On-screen, Aira leans forward. “So, proud employees… are you part of my evil corporation?”

Her face begins to melt, sliding away into a dark mask—the four scarred slashes over the eye, the now-iconic symbol of the Orphans. The voice shifts, distorted, inhuman.

“Or are you part of the change? Part of the old order of rancid, lustful, killer alphas… or one of the good women who will shape the future?”

And then—black.

The screens cut off, leaving the office in stunned silence, hearts pounding, everyone blindsided.

Chatter erupts across the office, voices overlapping in a rising storm. Upstairs, Lyra feels it cut through her like a blade—scared omega and beta eyes pinning her, judgmental alpha stares burning holes in her back. She doesn’t linger. Head high, she walks fast, pushing through the tension, down toward the first floor.

Ari darts across the floor and meets her at the foot of the stairs. “Lyra…” She throws her arms around her alpha, cupping her face with trembling hands. “Lyra, I love you.”

Lyra exhales, a faint smile breaking through the tension. “You always know what to say…”

From the back of the marketing area, a young alpha’s voice slices through the noise. She clenches a fist, jaw tight, and shouts:
“I’m fed up! Tired of these rioters telling us we’re evil! As far as I know, Aira’s been cleared of those charges—and those videos could be fake!”

The words ripple outward. Heads turn. Some faces flicker with hope, others twist in doubt.

“They’re trying to weaken this city!” she continues, voice rising. “It’s Materia bullshit!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that…” someone mutters.

“Me too…” another echoes, hesitant.

A new voice rises from the accounting side—clear, beautiful, commanding. The woman strides forward as if onto a stage.
“Are you joking? You can’t really believe that. Materia and Morph are colluded—the powerful always are. What would Materia even gain from this?”

The air thickens, factions pulling apart. Ari’s eyes dart nervously between them—until Lyra takes her hand, firm, steady.

“Let’s go, Ari. This is about to get ugly.”

Ari nods quickly. Instinct takes over. “Nova!” she calls out.

The blonde omega looks up from across the floor. Ari waves her over, urgent. Nova nods and runs toward them.

“Where are you getting those ideas from?!” the young alpha fires back at the accountant. “They’re trying to pit us against each other! The justice system is judging Aira—whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Don’t be so naïve!” the accountant retorts. “That justice system is owned. Morph, Materia—doesn’t matter. Different masks, same power!”

Nova reaches them just as the shouting swells. Lyra clasps both omegas’ hands and turns toward the elevator.

But a warm hand presses to her chest, stopping her.

“Lyra, wait.” It’s Noura.

Lyra frowns. “Move.”

The office roars behind them, more voices rising, the tension spiraling.

Noura’s voice trembles, but she pushes past the fear. “Lyra, this is an opportunity. Normally, as a therapist, I’d never tell my patients what to do. But this… this is different. You’re the alpha who brings order to this office. If you leave now, everything will collapse.”

“I have to protect my omegas,” Lyra answers flatly.

Ari hears it and her pupils shrink.

“I understand,” Noura says softly, pressing her palm firmer against Lyra’s chest. “But listen. Even if you don’t feel it, your presence here keeps the balance. This is your chance to lead. To be the leader. Come clean. Guide them by example.”

Her hand lingers over Lyra’s heartbeat. She breathes in, slow and deep. Lyra mirrors her without realizing. Nova watches, recognizing it instantly. Touch therapy.

“I know you want to come clean too. This thing doesn't have to reflect badly on you. You’re being pushed into it, own it.”

Lyra’s breath steadies. Her shoulders lower. She releases Ari’s and Nova’s hands.

“Noura…” Her eyes meet hers. “Make sure they’re safe.”

Noura nods once.

“Lyra, what are you—?” Ari starts, but the tender look Lyra gives her is enough to silence her.

The alpha turns and strides into the center of the storm, where the women shout and accuse, voices overlapping in a chaotic blur.

“SHUT UP!” she roars.

And just like that—silence.

She looks around, scanning every face—the horror, the hope, the anger, the fear. She exhales, then inhales deep, and speaks loud enough for the whole floor to hear.

“I did fight in those cages. That video wasn’t fake. And I’d rather tell you myself than let someone else twist it.”

Gasps ripple through the office. The room stills.

“I fought for money. Because I owe Aira. A debt that isn’t small.” Her voice doesn’t waver.

Every eye is locked on her now, every sense tuned in.

“Aira practically saved my life. She gave my mother the chance to die with dignity—and that costs money. I had to find a way to pay her back. And yes… fighting in the ghettos wasn’t moral, and it sure as hell wasn’t pretty. But I did it. I own that.”

Her jaw clenches before she continues, softer but steady.

“I’m not fighting anymore. I’ve found other ways to cover what I owe. And for the record—Aira didn’t send me into those cages. And I have never killed anyone for her.”

That last sentence catches in her throat, the weight of it pressing down. But she forces it out, firm enough to carry.

“No company is one hundred percent moral. And yes—among that long list of accusations, there are probably some that hold truth. But nothing has been proven yet. What is certain is that there are forces trying to break Morph C.O. from the outside.

We don’t have all the facts. So let’s not tear each other apart now.

If you feel you can’t keep working here on moral grounds, I respect that. And I’ll personally make sure your resignation is handled properly, without retaliation.

But if you stay—if you choose to stand here with me—you’ll have my protection. That’s my word.”

The room falls silent. Horror, anger, and chaos dissolve into order—into thoughtfulness. Still, a few faces hold onto their anger.

“I’m resigning,” says the woman from accounting, the one who shouted second.

Lyra nods, her tone steady. “I understand. Please come to my office.” She glances briefly at Noura, gives a subtle nod, then turns back to the crowd. “Anyone who feels the same—you can come to my office at any time. We’ll process your resignation.”

Then she turns and climbs the stairs, her presence towering, her aura stronger than ever. The women on the second floor part as she approaches, opening a path with quiet reverence. They look at her like subjects watching their queen.

Noura exhales, relief softening her face “Crisis averted”
I knew it. She’s a straight arrow—a potent arrow. She just needs direction.

Beside her, Ari looks conflicted.

But Nova watches Noura instead, eyes wide, full of admiration.
This woman…

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As expected, dozens of resignation requests flood in that day. Morph C.O. loses nearly 18% of its workforce in a single blow. Other companies under the Astorès umbrella are hit as well, though the full scale of the damage is harder to measure. No one, however, responds as fast—or as effectively—as Lyra Veran.

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“Devika, you fucker!”

 

Aira screams into the air. Her AI lights pulse faintly as the line connects, Devika’s voice carrying smoothly through the walls of her room.

 

“Language…” Devika’s voice answers, calm, almost amused.

 

“Language my ass! You’re attacking me in plain sight—you betrayed me!” Aira snaps, pacing on her bed like a cornered animal.

 

A pause. Then Devika’s voice again, even and cool:

“I didn’t want to tell you… but the Orphans? That wasn’t me. And Suzie isn’t behind it either. My guess? She passed her data to someone in your city before escaping. I'm trying to find out more.”

 

Aira freezes, breath catching.

I don't think I can trust this bitch… but what if she’s not lying? Fuck! I need her though…

 

“You don’t want to mess with me, Devika,” Aira growls. “And I’m still waiting for those research results. How’s that going?”

 

“It’s taking time. This can’t be rushed.”

 

Aira bares her teeth, seething. “If I don’t see results next week, I’ll retaliate as if you sent this Orphan shit yourself. Taylor—hang the fuck up.”

 

The AI chimes softly as the line cuts. Silence fills the room.

 

Far away, Devika stands in her own darkened chamber, lips curling into a slow smile as the connection dies. She laughs, low and elated—but the sound fades quickly. She knows she can’t afford open war with the Astorès. Not yet.

 

“Priya.”

 

A beautiful, dark-skinned omega rises from the corner and approaches.

 

“Take this.” Devika hands her a tablet. “Use the mix. Release the fog inside Suzie’s humble abode. In every room.”

 

Priya bows her head in a single nod.

 

“Cameras go live at sundown,” Devika continues. “Every room. Make sure the girls are recording”

 

Again, Priya nods.

 

Devika exhales, satisfied. In the quiet, her laughter returns, softer now—less joy, more promise.

 

She could have handed over the results Aira wanted long ago. But she saved that card, waiting for the right moment—the moment her loyalty would be tested.

 

Now it had come. And she knew she had to deliver.

 

And deliver she would.

 

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“Damn! That was a sneak attack and a critical hit!” Gina says through the screen on Ari’s dashboard.

Ari stares off, distant.

“Hey… Ari? You there?”

Ari snaps back. “Oh—yeah, yeah. It’s just that…”

“No, I know.” Gina leans closer to the camera. “This shit is wild. The Orphans are no joke.”

“Yes, but… it’s something else.” Ari swallows. “Lyra said that Nova is also her omega…”

Gina’s brows shoot up. “Yyyyikes…”

“I… hate that,” Ari mutters.

“Uh, didn’t you have sex with her?”

“Yes. Me. Not her. She—kinda had sex with me… while I was… on top of her?” Ari’s face flushes as the words slip out. “Oh my bot…”

“HAHAHA!” Gina bursts out laughing. “Oh, Goddess, Ari—you always have the best drama.”

Ari groans, covering her face. “I think I need to kick Nova out.”

“Ari, breathe. Think about it. Remember why you even invited her into your bed in the first place,” Gina says, softer now, trying to ground her.

Ari inhales deeply. Exhales. “…Yeah. I’ll do that.”

“Welp, I gotta go. You sure you don’t wanna come to my party?” Gina teases.

“I’m sorry… I would, but I’m still in shock,” Ari admits.

“I get it. See you next week!” Gina chirps before hanging up.

The screen goes dark. Ari sinks back into her seat, lingering in the quiet, delaying the drive home. But then it hits her—Lyra is already there. Probably with Nova.

Her pulse kicks. She straightens the seat, grips the wheel, and flicks the car on.

“Taylor,” she says, voice sharp, “drive home. Fast.”

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Author's notes:

Agreements are fragile without trust, even contracts.

Chapter 48: 🐺 The Weight of Territory

Summary:

Lyra is queen now?
So what are Ari and Nova?
What's Hazel's place in this mess?
Old mistakes resurface, stirring guilt and doubt, while new intimacies test trust and boundaries. Meanwhile, curiosity, power struggles, and unspoken revelations ripple through the characters, each grappling with instinct, desire, and control.
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“What are you doing?” Ari bursts through the door, breathless, eyes sweeping across the living room.

 

Lyra is laying on a futon, of all places, a mint-green face mask drying unevenly on her cheeks. A towel is draped over her forehead, and she looks perfectly unbothered. 

 

From the kitchen, smoke curls toward the ceiling. Nova is at the stove, wielding a spatula. On the table beside her sit a couple of mournful burnt pancakes.

 

“Oh, hey, Ari,” Nova says brightly, though her voice cracks with effort. “I was making pancakes for you.” She flips another one, looks less burnt.

 

Lyra tilts her head on the pillow, her voice muffled and casual. “Ari. Why did you stay late?”

 

Ari scans the room, searching for anything out of place, any trace of betrayal, before answering lightly,

“I needed to decompress in the car.”

 

Lyra smiles, eyes half-closed.

“Could’ve done that here.”

 

“Lyra, can we talk in our room?” 

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“Ari,” she blurts, her voice tight. “How many omegas do you have?”

 

Lyra blinks. “Two.”

 

Ari stiffens, her whole body trembling.

“N—No! Nooooo!”

 

Lyra’s eyes widen at the outburst.

 

“You have one,” Ari insists, voice breaking. “One! Me!”

 

Lyra nods slowly. “Yes… but you also have an omega. And your omegas are my omegas.”

 

Ari shakes her head hard, fingers tangling in her own hair. “That’s not how it works!”

 

Lyra gently takes her shoulders, steadying her.

“Ari. What do you think I mean? Do you think Nova and I would ever be… intimate without you? Is that it?”

 

Ari falters, frowning, lips trembling. “I…”

How to put this into words?

 

“I…I want to be your one and only…” she says, hurt, and a little shy.

 

Lyra blushes “Ari… you are.”

 

“Then what about Nova?”

 

“She’s yours.” Lyra says softly.

 

“What about Camille?” Ari asks.

 

Lyra’s eyes widen for a second “What… she’s not here… let’s not—”

 

Ari sighs “You're right. Let's focus on the now”

 

Ari rubs her face, flustered. “Ah… I’m more possessive than I thought.”

 

Lyra tilts her chin up with a gentle hand. “Good.” She kisses her slowly, deeply, until Ari melts against her. When she finally pulls back, she traces Ari’s lips with her tongue, savoring.

 

“Come on,” Lyra murmurs. “Let’s go to the kitchen—I don’t want to leave the little one alone for too long.”

 

Ari looks at her suspiciously.

 

“She might destroy the kitchen, Ari.”

 

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At night, Lyra and Ari sleep soundly. Nova, meanwhile, sits cross-legged on her bed, scribbling, not on a tablet, but with pen and paper like some ancient soul. Her hand races, words spilling faster than thought. Pages scatter across the blankets, then form a growing pile as she numbers them, scratches things out, and reshuffles them again.

Hours pass before her hand slows. She finally lies down, but sleep eludes her. After tossing and turning, she rises groggily and pads into Lyra’s room. Quietly, she slips under the covers and presses herself close to Ari. Still fast asleep, Ari instinctively wraps an arm around her, clutching Nova like a teddy bear. Nova exhales, soothed by Ari’s warmth, and at last drifts into rest.

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Camille jolts awake, breath sharp, heart pounding as if she’s been pulled out of a nightmare. For a moment she lies still, listening—yet the house is silent, almost unnaturally so. Only the steady whisper of the AC stirs the air.

“Suzie…” Her voice breaks as she stumbles to her feet. “Suzie, are you alright?”

The house is too quiet. Only the soft hum of hidden ventilation, the faint glow of chandeliers scattering golden light against pale walls. But beneath it all—thick, syrupy sweetness lingers in the air. It clings to her skin, settles in her lungs, fills her with a feverish hunger. The same scent as that night. Overwhelming. Inescapable.

Her steps echo over the polished floor as she crosses the vast living room, past low white couches and carved screens, until she reaches the bedroom. The door is ajar, spilling muted light across the hallway.

Inside, the room gleams in soft beige tones, mirrors catching fragments of her reflection. Suzie lies tangled in the sheets, flushed and trembling, her breath ragged as she fights against herself. One hand is buried in the blankets, the other clawing at the pillow, as if nothing can soothe the ache gnawing through her body.

“Silly kitty,” Camille whispers, rushing forward, her voice harsh with worry. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Suzie turns her head, cheeks wet, eyes glassy. “I… I didn’t know what to do. It feels wrong to wake you up just because I’m… like this... I hate that this is happening.”

Camille climbs onto the bed, her body moving on instinct, and straddles her, holding her down with gentle strength. Her lips brush Suzie’s temple, soft and trembling, before pressing to her mouth. A kiss—hungry and tender at once.

“I don’t think it's wrong" Camille murmurs against her lips, her voice low, husky, certain. “After all, I’m your alpha.”

Camille takes off her shirt.

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The recording has been running for minutes, but only now does the air in the observation room grow charged.
A cluster of women lean closer to one particular screen—the feed from Camille’s and Suzie’s bedroom.

“Oh my goddess…” one of the younger ones breathes.
“She’s beautiful.”
“And… so…like…the perfect size…” another adds, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Girls, breathe,” Priya murmurs, her tone cool but not unkind. Then, more firmly, she gives the order: “Shiva, switch the scan cams on.”

The image shifts. The bed, the bodies, the flushed sheets dissolve into something else—luminous waves of color blooming across the display. Aura made visible, the invisible turned spectral. Their scents pour out in radiant streams, colliding, twisting, glowing with heat.

“Booooh…” one of the women whispers, unable to contain herself.

Priya allows herself the smallest smile. “Come on, girls—we’re scientists,” she reminds them, though her voice carries the warmth of shared wonder.

“Shiva, take pictures of any aura that surpasses level five. Send copies to the team and to Miss Devika Varma.”

“Will do, Priya.”

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Hazel rubs the back of her neck. “I don’t… I don’t want to ask her straight out, but I still need to know. You get what I mean?”

Nora studies her for a moment, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I get it. Can I give you some advice?”

Hazel exhales. “Please.”

“Just ask her this very simple question: what do you like about me?” Nora says gently.

Hazel falls quiet, chewing on the thought. It still feels a little embarrassing, but it’s easier than blurting out the question sitting heavy in her chest—whether the girl only wants her for her money and or baby making capabilities.

“Alright,” Hazel mutters, almost to herself. “I can try that.”

Noura smiles. Working with Hazel isn’t so difficult after all…

“Do you plan on asking her out today?” she asks calmly.

Hazel shifts in her seat. “Uh… yeah. If the moment feels right, I’ll do it.”

“Good. And remember—go slow. Try to hold off on sex for at least a few days.” Noura rises and walks back to her desk. “Alpha–Omega relationships are volatile enough with our hormones. If you want something steady, you’ll need to be careful.” She glances back at Hazel with a small smile while reaching in a drawer for something.

Hazel nods. “Yeah…”

Still… I really miss fucking her.

“And read this.” Noura hands her a slim tablet.

“More homework?!” Hazel groans immediately, already complaining.

“You’ve done very well so far,” Noura says, calm as ever. “You finished all the videos I gave you and read all the texts. So this one is just a little more advanced.”

Hazel lets out another dramatic groan. “When is this going to end? These reading tasks, I mean.”

Noura pretends to think it over, tapping her chin. “It’s like going to the gym. When do you really finish? Sure, there are goals to reach, but once you achieve them, you still need to keep going if you want to maintain that body.” She gestures toward the tablet. “So, when does this finish? Once my contract ends, I won’t give you any more tasks. But this—” she points at the tablet—“this only finishes when you decide.”

Hazel looks less annoyed.

“Are you giving me extra sessions… being this attentive… just because I’m Aira’s niece?” Hazel blurts out. A faint blush creeps across her cheeks as she realizes, too late, how vulnerable the question sounds.

Noura rests a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“No. I’m doing it because you’re responding really well, and because I see a lot of potential in you, Hazel.” Her smile is calm, warm, steady.

Hazel’s blush deepens. She looks away.
“Ok. Whatever…” she mutters.

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When Hazel steps out, Noura glances around, instinctively searching for Nova.

Huh… she’s not here…

Usually Nova hovers nearby—watching, prying, trying to draw bits of information out of her. But this time…

Where is that g—oh my bot…

Noura spots her across the room, perched in Ari’s lap. Ari is at her desk, half working, half trying not to lose focus, while Nova leans against her, chuckling at something small, eyes locked only on her. The scene is disarmingly sweet—almost too sweet.

Noura’s breath catches. Her surprise burns into something hotter, sharper. She clamps a hand over her mouth muffling a gasp and forces herself to turn away. Back in her office, she shuts the door, drops onto the futon, and mutters under her breath:

“What the fuck… how do they let that happen at work? Oh my bot…”

The image lingers—two omegas, sweet and sticky with each other, her greatest weakness.

“Ugh, stop it, Noura,” she scolds herself, running a hand through her hair. “You’re a professional. Act like it.”

Noura steps out of her office, ready to call Nova in for her session, when she spots Lyra on the second floor.

“Ari, Nova—stop being so distracting,” Lyra says, her tone clear and clipped.

“Aww…” Nova whines softly.

Ari smiles, endeared. She presses a quick kiss to Nova’s cheek. “We can cuddle at home. Let’s focus now, okay?”

Noura hadn’t noticed before—she’d run off too quickly the first time—but plenty of others had been watching. The whole office was being pulled into the sweetness of the scene. Ari and Nova didn’t seem to care. They just kept going, lost in each other.

Why do those two act like they can get away with anything?

And then it clicks.

The balance in the office has shifted. Hazel hadn’t even been present the day of the attack—she’d been out sick. Without her, without Camille, or any other alpha of similar weight in the hierarchy, Lyra had quietly crowned herself the absolute top.

Shit. I didn’t think of that.

Those two—if Noura remembers correctly—are her omegas now. No wonder they feel untouchable. This isn’t just an office anymore. It’s Lyra’s territory.

Noura knows these things don’t move under the rules of reason. They’re primal, instinctual. Ever since women began dividing into alphas, betas, and omegas, such dynamics have shaped behavior—and only in the last few decades has science begun to catch up.

This is interesting… this office could be a perfect place for observation. But first…

“Nova, it’s time for your session,” Noura calls gently.

Nova nods and walks towards her, not without giving Ari a warm “See you later”.

I don’t belong in this hierarchy. I’m just a contractor, just an o—

Noura’s thought cuts off as she notices Nova walking past Hazel. Hazel catches a whiff of her scent.

Oh shit…

Hazel’s pupils narrow, sharp and telling.

I know what’s about to happen… oh no. Hazel—don’t screw up all your progress now, Noura thinks, her stomach tightening.

Hazel’s gaze locks on Lyra.
No, Hazel. Think before you act!

But her body betrays her. She rises abruptly, shoulders tight, and starts up the stairs. Every step radiates a heavy, dangerous energy—her aura sharp, almost murderous. Her jaw clenches, hands flexing at her sides as if she needs something to hold onto, something to break.

Noura’s stomach twists.
Shiiiiiit.

“Uhm… Miss Noura? Can I go in?” Nova’s soft voice pulls her back. She’s standing right in front of her.

“Ah… yes. Come in.” Noura forces a smile, though her heart is still pounding.

Her thoughts echo like a bitter whisper: I wish I could stop you, Hazel… but I’m just a contractor.

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“Lyra… can we talk in your office?” Hazel asks. Her voice is even, but beneath it she’s straining to cage the violence coursing through her veins.

Lyra blinks, then smiles—strangely cheerful. “Actually… I’d like that very much.” Her mind is on the immense amount of credits that Aira offered her to be Hazel’s mentor. The tone rubs Hazel raw, stoking the fire already burning inside her.

They head into the office. As soon as Lyra shuts the door behind them, she turns.

“Hazel, I think we started on the wrong foo—”

Her calm, measured words are cut short. Hazel swings, her fist slicing the air, missing by inches.

Lyra reacts instantly—swift as a blade. Her hand clamps around Hazel’s throat, slamming her back against the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Lyra growls, her voice low and dangerous.

Hazel thrashes against her grip, but it’s useless—Lyra is stronger, taller, immovable. After a tense beat, the dark alpha releases her.

“Kof! Kof!” Hazel coughs, clutching her throat, eyes stinging with tears. She looks up at Lyra, voice breaking. “Why… you already have Ari…”

Lyra blinks, caught off guard.

“You already have an omega!” Hazel roars, the sound raw, almost feral. “Why do you need two?! And why her?!”

Oh crap, Lyra realizes.

“Ah… Nova—she’s not my omega,” Lyra says, the words sounding thin, unconvincing.

“She reeks of you! She reeks of Ari! You fucked her, didn’t you?!” Hazel snarls, her voice shaking with rage.

Lyra freezes, unsure how to answer.

“Just tell me, for fuck’s sake! Just tell meee!!” Hazel swings again.

Lyra slips aside. Hazel swings, and Lyra evades. Again and again—until Hazel’s fist cuts through the air with a sob.

The sound of tears makes Lyra falter, unsettled. The next swing lands.

“Ouch!” Lyra stumbles, then seizes Hazel’s arms, pinning them tight.

“Why her?! I hate you! You knew she’s mine!” Hazel screams, crying and thrashing in her grip.

Lyra’s nerves ratchet tighter with every second.

“Hazel… it’s… it’s not quite what it looks like…”

Oh my bot… am I really about to give this brat details of my sex life?

Her thoughts flicker to numbers, to the weight of her debt, to how close she finally is to paying it off.

Ugh…

Hazel can’t fight her. She feels how easily Lyra pins her, sees the pity flicker in her eyes—and it cuts deeper than any blow. Like a blade sliding straight into her chest.

The fight drains out of her. She crumbles, bawling in the office, shameless and loud.

Lyra’s eyes widen. She’s officially rattled.
“What are you doing?! Seriously—crying?! Oh my bot…”

With a sharp sigh, Lyra releases her and drops onto the couch.
“Ah, bot dammit…” She rubs her face, then snaps: “Taylor, tint the glass and turn on soundproof.”

“Yes, Lyra.”

Lyra exhales hard. “Stop bawling, for fuck’s sake. I’ll tell you everything.”

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I wonder what’s going on up there… Noura can’t help herself; curiosity gnaws at her.
Is Hazel actually being mature, asking Lyra about Nova? Or is she throwing punches—or more realistically—being flattened by Lyra…

Ugh, this curiosity is killing me!

“Uhm, Miss Noura?” Nova’s voice pulls her back. “You’re very quiet.”

“Ah! Sorry, yes—I was just… thinking about how to start this session.” Noura clears her throat. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about today? Maybe… Hazel?”

Nova waves a hand dismissively. “Forget Hazel.”

Noura’s stomach drops.
Forget Hazel? Oh wow… what happened between them? Did she… perhaps… find another alpha?

Her gaze lingers on Nova. Meaning Lyra.

“I can’t keep obsessing over her… I’ll just drive her away…” Nova sighs, shoulders slumping.

Noura studies her. Ah. So she’s still interested. A small flicker of relief warms her—strange, but real.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that thing you did the other day,” Nova says suddenly, lifting a hand to her chest. “That… thing, with Lyra.”

“You mean the calming touch,” Noura replies, already knowing what she means.

“Yes! That’s it!” Nova’s eyes brighten, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “When am I going to learn that?”

Noura lifts an eyebrow.
“And why do you want to learn that, Nova?”

Nova fidgets in her seat, fingers twisting together. “It’s just so… so cool. And useful.”

Noura tilts her head, studying her closely.
“Useful, hm? And what exactly would you use it for?”

Nova pauses, as if pretending to weigh her words. “To calm alphas, for example. As an omega, sometimes you have to calm them.”

A perfectly good answer, Noura thinks. Almost too perfect.

“I see.” she pauses “This is actually not in the lessons you’re taking. You have to study for some years in Materia territory, in their schools, to learn about it.

“In Materia schools…” Nova repeats, thoughtful

So I have to go there eventually… if the Goddess takes me there I’ll go…

“Yes.” Noura narrows her eyes slightly, watching her. “Are you thinking about diving deeper into touch therapy?”

Nova meets her gaze directly and nods. “Yes. It’s very interesting… and so far, it’s been very useful.”

Useful…

Noura’s thoughts wander before she can stop them—sliding to images of Nova and Ari… touching.

Heat rushes to her face. She quickly covers her mouth with her hand.
Oh no…

Nova notices—the faintest smile curling at her lips.
“Miss Noura, how was it when you started practicing? Did you ever have a partner to practice with?”

Noura blinks. “Ah—yes. We were assigned partners.”

“Mine’s Ari,” Nova says lightly, testing the words like an experiment.

Noura’s hand flies to her mouth again. She murmurs, almost too softly, “Ah… I see…”

She doesn’t press further.

But Nova sees everything. The blush, the fluster, the way Noura tries to hide it. And she savors it, quietly enjoying every second.

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“So… you fucked Ari.”
“Aha.”
“On top of Nova.”
“Yep.”
“But actually… Ari fucked Nova?” Hazel narrows her eyes, trying to make sense of it.

Lyra growls, sharp. “Stop saying it like that! So crude…” Her voice drops lower, almost reverent. “The love between omegas… it’s not fucking. It’s softer. Purer.”

Hazel blinks at her, like she just said something ridiculous. “But didn’t Ari herself say she’s Nova’s alpha?”

“No! Ugh!” Lyra’s exasperation flares. “She said Nova is her omega.” The memory warms her tone.

“Ah… same thing.”

“No! Not the same!”

“So… you’re not her alpha…”

“Correct.”

“She’s Ari’s omega,” Hazel presses.

“Yes.”

“But you still had her in your bed. Naked. Right there.” Hazel’s growl rumbles, low and territorial.

Lyra blinks. “Ah… well, yeah. But—”

“NO BUTS!” Hazel snaps.

“BUT!!!” Lyra fires back, then steadies herself, gaze unshakable. “Hazel, you have to believe me. I don’t want anyone else as my omega. Only Ari.”

Hazel studies her, jaw tense, but she feels the truth radiating from Lyra’s words.

“If I wanted her, I’d just take her and beat you up,” Lyra says flatly.

Hazel bristles, growling low, but she can’t deny it’s true. The silence between them simmers.

“Fine!” Lyra suddenly stands, grabs a tablet, and thrusts it into Hazel’s hands. “Here. Read the contract I had to sign just to keep Nova’s hands off my omega!”

Hazel blinks, takes it, and starts scrolling. Her scowl slowly breaks into a grin, then into a soft laugh.

“Lyra… you’re getting scammed,” she chuckles.

“Hey! That’s not true!”

“You basically get to watch—sometimes!” Hazel laughs harder.

Lyra snatches the tablet back, her cheeks warming. “Sometimes! Because as long as Ari is between us, I do get to act. And I’m fine with that. It’s actually… very sweet. A very sweet deal.”

Hazel exhales, bitterness creeping back in. “So an omega took my omega… I think that’s even more pathetic.”

Lyra scoffs, then adds sharply, “No. You broke up with her. And your omega weaseled her way into my omega’s bed.”

Hazel falters. “I… I broke up with her? Did I?”

Lyra sighs. “You smashed her computer. You left a scar on her shoulder.”

Hazel’s eyes widen, filling with raw regret. “I gave her a scar?” she whispers.

“Yes. You bit her—on the shoulder, near the neck.”

Hazel freezes. A memory floods back—the fear in Suzie’s eyes, the rush of feeling like a predator, then Nova’s eyes, just as scared as Suzie’s. Her stomach twists. She buries her face in her hands.

“I’m so stupid… I don’t deserve an omega.”

Lyra watches her crumble, empathy tugging at her chest.

“Don’t say that…” Lyra stands and crosses to her, resting a hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “You messed up once. She’ll probably forgive you—if you ask.”

Hazel lifts her head, eyes searching. “You… think so?”

Lyra nods, offering a small smile. “Sure.”

But Hazel’s guilt lingers, heavy in her chest.
I didn’t even know I’d left her a scar… fuck!

She slams her fist against the floor.

“Hey, stop. No more sulking. Do something about it, okay?” Lyra says firmly.

Hazel looks up at her again. “Lyra… have you ever fucked up a relationship this badly?”

Lyra lets out a laugh, shaking her head. “The real question is… how have I not fucked up this one? Did you forget I was an addict?”

Hazel’s mind flashes back to that day—Lyra holding out the golden coin.

“Oh… yeah…” she murmurs, piecing it together. “You were going to tell me about it, that day.”

Lyra nods. “Yep. But… you’re not an addict. Probably my stories are of no help.”

Hazel hesitates, then reaches for her hand. Lyra flinches at the touch.

“I’m not,” Hazel admits, “but I have this thing… this thing that’s been happening ever since that night at Camille’s. That night… when we found Suzie.”

The memory hits them both. Lyra’s smile fades, her expression turning grave.

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“And sometimes we just lie there,” Nova says casually, watching Noura closely. “Ari’s usually on top.” she exhales “I like it that she’s on top…”

Noura’s brows twitch. Her cheeks flush crimson, eyes half-closed, her hand pressed against her mouth as if to hold herself together.

“Ahm—Nova,” she stammers, clearing her throat. “How about we… talk about the attack on Morph C.O.? Did that affect you in any way? I heard one of your closest friends, Rainy, quit.”

Nova sighs. “Yeah… it sucked. But Rainy already hated me, so I didn’t feel the loss that much. Besides… Ari was there with me.”

Noura shifts uncomfortably. She wants to steer the conversation away, but Nova keeps circling back, dropping Ari’s name again and again.

Why does she keep doing that?

And then it clicks.

Oh… I see. Of course. She’s Nova Seligman—how could I forget? Daughter of Regina Seligman. She’s used to special treatment, used to being the one in control. That’s what she’s doing here—trying to steer this session.

Noura straightens in her seat, resolve settling over her.
Well… she won’t be able to.

“I notice you’ve brought up Ari several times today. Can you tell me why she’s important for you right now?”

Nova almost flinches. The question shines a spotlight on her motives. What are my motives? Do I even know?

“Actually… she’s very important in general,” Nova says carefully. “She… she’s an apostate. Did you know that? She used to be a Moonbeam.”

Noura nods, listening.

“And yet—she knows scripture better than I do. Now that I’m living with her, I can see how she practically lives by it. Her and Lyra both.”

Noura blinks, keeping her expression neutral.
Well… that’s certainly your interpretation.

“And I’m very thankful to her, because…” Nova’s words trail off. Her chest tightens.
Because she led me back to the Goddesses… Should I tell her that?

Silence stretches.

“You say you’re thankful to Ari, even though she’s an apostate. It sounds like she’s given you something you didn’t expect. What is it?” Noura breaks it.

Nova’s eyes widen. “Revelation.”

The soft chime of the alarm cuts through the air, marking the end of the session.

Noura exhales, frustration flickering across her face. She wishes she could extend it, press further, catch hold of that fragile thread—
but she can’t.

Not today.

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Author’s Notes:

Helloo!!! 💫 I probably won’t be able to post as often for a little while—I’ve got a paper to finish, books to read for class, a trip to plan, and I’m moving out of my apartment. Busy, busy, busy!

But don’t worry, this story isn’t being abandoned! I already have the next chapters planned out, plus a few others written and waiting. In October I’ll be traveling for a month, so things might slow down, but this won’t be left unfinished.

I actually wrote this chapter just now, no time to edit or polish like the others, because of how hectic things are—but I didn’t want to leave you all waiting. Thanks so much for your support! 💕

Chapter 49: 👁️ All Eyes on the alphas / 🎭 Public Faces, Private Battles

Summary:

In this chapter, the quiet tension around Lyra, Ari, Nova, and Hazel spills into both their private lives and the public eye. Admiration becomes gossip, intimacy becomes spectacle, and what begins as teasing and domestic warmth escalates into confrontation. By the end, the characters find themselves swept into a setting where appearances, pride, and alpha dominance must be tested before a crowd, forcing them to face not just each other, but also the weight of their reputations and unspoken desires.
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“Ari is really possessive about your cock…” Hazel smirks at Lyra, her voice lilting with mischief, the contract still fresh in her memory.

Lyra doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blush. “Yes.” She sips her drink—black coffee from her thermos.

“Do you like that?” Hazel presses, her grin widening.

Lyra nods once, calm as ever. “Yep.”

Hazel bursts into a playful laugh. “Oh my bot, you two are freaky…”

Lyra’s mouth curves into the faintest smile.

They sit in Morph C.O.’s cafeteria—a sleek, minimalistic space, all white surfaces and cool lighting. It had once been almost abandoned, but with Cool Beans gone and the risk of being attacked outside, it’s become the only safe option at lunch.

 

The food isn’t much: packaged snacks stacked neatly in transparent vending walls, bottles and cans that clink when dropped into the retrieval slot, sandwiches wrapped in smart film that keeps them fresh, fruit in sealed packs. You can even ask for your drink poured into a glass by the table AI, but nobody bothers—everyone just takes the can or the bottle. Most employees bring food from home and simply sit here.

Around Hazel and Lyra, the silence isn’t total. Whispers travel easily in the cold air.

 

“She’s the heiress. Aira’s niece.”

“I heard she’s a player…”

“She’s with an omega, right?”

“No, they broke up.”

“And Lyra. My bot… she’s so fucking hot…”

“Careful, she already has two omegas.”

“Two?! Damn…”

“Hey, maybe they’re looking for a fourth. Rumor is her main omega likes that…”

 

“Hey!” Ari calls out, her voice carrying as she walks toward Lyra’s table. When her eyes land on Hazel, her tone drops flat. “Ugh…”

Hazel sticks out her tongue in response.

Lyra narrows her eyes. “Don’t make gestures like that to my omega.”

Hazel only smiles slyly, shoulders lifting in an exaggerated innocent shrug.

From a nearby table, whispers spark again.

 

“That’s her main omega…”

“Hmmm… would.”

“Would what?”

“Would.”

“Would what?!”

….

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“Ahm… I just wanted to say… I really admire you.”

Lyra doesn’t react right away. Her face remains calm, unreadable. She leans back in her chair behind her desk.
“Thank you. I’m flattered,” she answers at last, her voice steady, directed at the sweet omega sitting nervously in front of her.

“The speech you gave while everyone was fighting… it was just what we needed.”

Lyra blinks once, acknowledging. “Thanks. Is that why you wanted to see me? Would you like to process your resignation?”

“Oh! Uh, no, no…” The omega fidgets in her seat, fingers tangling together, eyes darting away. “It’s just… I noticed that… you now have two omegas.”

Lyra’s composure shifts ever so slightly. “Oh. That.”

The omega swallows. “I was wondering if… if you… and them… like… you have that type of relationship. And… and I…”

Lyra finally starts to understand what she’s reaching for.

She sighs. 

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After some minutes she gently escorts the resigned omega out of her office, goes back in and lays in her futon.

“Taylor, tint the glass.”

 

“Yes, Lyra.”

 

She sighs, closes her eyes.

 

It’s the second time this week…

 

It’s been a little over a week since that speech, and Lyra is already becoming a figure of admiration.

 

“That’s a really good angle of Lyra’s face…” Nova says as she scrolls through a compilation of short Hype videos in Vyre on her phone.

 

“All angles are good angles of Lyra’s face…” Ari sighs, not looking away from the screen.

 

The two of them sit there, Ari quietly entranced. Lyra is everywhere now, clips replayed, shared, remixed. On social media she appears as the beautiful, very alpha, very sexy face of Morph C.O., and the fanbase around her grows larger every day.

And Hazel, suddenly she’s the other face catching attention by proxy. The sexy bad girl, blood of the enemy, embodying power and tech. She radiates danger, and that only makes her hotter.

 

“Ughhh… I hate how hot Hazel’s gotten!” Nova groans, scrolling through her clip compilations.

 

“You should come eat with us at lunch,” Ari says, “She’s there now… with us.” her tone edged with reluctance.

 

“Nuuh… I’m not ready. I’ll just scare her off with my neediness…” Nova’s voice shrinks, barely above a whisper.

 

Ari chuckles softly. She leans in, her arm brushing along Nova’s side before circling her waist in a loose, easy hold. “Then maybe,” she murmurs, lips close to Nova’s ear, “before you see her, you let me help you blow off some steam. You’ll be a lot more relaxed.”

 

Nova’s cheeks flare pink. “Ari… oh my bot.”

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“What the…” Lyra stops in the doorway, her gaze catching on the scene before her.

 

Ari has Nova pressed into the futon, half-naked and breathless beneath her.

 

“Surprise!” Ari grins looking up at Lyra.

 

Lyra’s fingers tighten around the doorframe. Her throat works once before she speaks, voice lower than usual. “Taylor, lock the doors. Dim the lights to fifty percent.”

 

She shuts the door behind her, her eyes never leaving the bodies on the futon.

 

The dynamic has shifted over the past week. Ari keeps seeking out Nova, for fun, for release, for validation… and most of all, because nothing thrills her more than making Lyra ache with want.

 

Nova notices. She sees how Lyra’s eyes darken whenever she melts beneath Ari, how much Ari drinks in that reaction. And so, Nova leans into it, being extra soft, extra pliant, surrendering in ways that magnify Ari’s power and Lyra’s hunger all at once.

 

Nova thought of the idea while watching the enigmatic oil painting that Ari made a long time ago. 

 

“Is that a black moon?” She asked.

 

“Oh, no, I'm just repainting a moon.” Ari explained while she sketched on top of the painting “I had scraped the moon… well, two moons… because… reasons. But now I think I can add them again.”

 

Nova stares and thinks.

This is a vision… I can feel it… the ocean is the Alpha essence, the fertilizer of everything on this planet. The moon must be the omega essence,  moving the ocean… Ari is sketching two moons… What a mystery!

 

I could be the second moon and move the ocean through the first moon. Teh-he! 

 

Wow…

 

“You like it?” Ari asked.

 

“I do.”

 

And now, they’re tangled in Lyra’s office. Lyra lies back on the futon, Ari straddling her, hips rolling in slow, sweet waves as Lyra thrusts up into her.

“Ah… Ari…”

 

Nova presses against Ari’s side, close enough to feel every movement. Ari steadies herself with one hand planted on Lyra’s chest, while the other wanders to Nova—stroking, fondling, pulling her into a raw, hungry kiss.

 

“Ari… more…” Nova gasps against her lips.

 

Ari’s mouth curves in a smirk. Her free hand slides lower, finding Nova’s clit, stroking her in a deliberate rhythm even as her own body rocks with Lyra’s beneath her.

 

Lyra grips Ari’s hips hard, pulling her down as she thrusts deep. “My omega…” she growls, her voice rough.

 

Nova meets Ari’s eyes, breath shuddering, and takes Ari’s hand, pushing it deeper against herself. A broken moan escapes her lips. “Ah…”

 

Ari’s lips part, her body jolting with the surge of sensation, Lyra driving into her, Nova clutching at her hand. Her hips stutter for a moment before she finds the rhythm again, a desperate sound escaping her throat as her gaze locks with Nova’s, caught between Lyra’s growl and Nova’s needy plea.

 

Nova devours Ari’s lips, kissing her hungrily, and Lyra watches, it pushes her right to the edge.

 

Nova cups Ari’s face, eyes wide and pleading. “Ari… fuck me like Lyra fucks you…”

 

Lyra’s reaction is immediate. “Ahhh!” she growls, spilling deep inside Ari.

 

Ari gasps, her body arching as the heat floods through her. Her moan breaks against Nova’s mouth, half kiss, half cry, her hips grinding down hard, desperate to take every drop. Her fingers clutch at Nova’s waist, trembling with the shock of pleasure, caught between Lyra’s release and Nova’s raw demand.

“My Goddess… Nova… you say the sweetest things…”

 

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This was supposed to be Nova’s way of blowing off some steam before facing Hazel. Yeah, right, Ari thinks.

 

Nova didn't have the strength to stand up after the session in Lyra’s office, she didn´t even finish her work… and now, a second session back at home, just because.

 

The three of them lie tangled on Lyra’s bed, skin still warm, breath slowing. It hadn’t been rough—just another light session, with Ari once again at the center. She exhales softly, a flicker of doubt crossing her mind. Am I being too selfish? I don’t know…

 

Beside her, Lyra blinks at the ceiling before turning her gaze to Ari.

“You’re up.” She smiles.

 

Ari smiles back, letting out a sigh. “Yes…” Her eyes trace Lyra’s face, drinking her in. Lyra… you’re so beautiful. So effortlessly elegant, so strong… ah…

 

She shifts closer, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. Lyra welcomes her, arms wrapping around her as their mouths meet again, slow and sweet.

 

On the other side, Nova stirs, one eye fluttering open. She watches them in silence, her breath hitching faintly. I know I must leave once I finish writing… I know I’m not meant to stay…

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Another swing and a miss in Lyra’s office.

 

“This is the worst!!” Hazel bursts out, pacing.

 

“I took two showers to be fucking nice to you! That’s a lot of effort,” Lyra replies, dropping into her desk chair with a sigh.

 

“Uuughh!!! Shut up! Stop fucking her!”

 

“I’m not fucking her…”

 

“Uuuughh!!! Yes you aaare!” Hazel yells, tugging at her own hair. “You and Ari are like… one person. You fuck Nova through Ari!”

 

Lyra scoffs, leaning back. “No. You’ve got it all wrong.”

 

Hazel stomps hard against the floor, the sound sharp in the office. “I can’t be here with that smell around you!”

 

She stomps away. Lyra follows her with the eyes, sees her leave. 

She sighs.

That's going to be a problem.

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Back at home, Ari sits in her pajamas on the couch. News anchors shout over footage of riots breaking out at other Aira-owned companies, the ticker crawling with updates about her being summoned to court.

 

“Lyra, things are getting heated…” Ari mutters.

 

Lyra’s gaze lingers on the screen, but something else catches her eye, a beige suitcase standing by the sofa.

 

“What’s that?” she asks.

 

Ari’s shoulders sink. “Oh… Nova’s leaving.” Her voice dips, tinged with sadness.

 

Lyra blinks, turning to her sharply. “Huh? Why?”

 

Lyra goes to her room, sees Nova packing her backpack.

 

“Nova. Why,”

 

“I finished my project. It's time I go back.”

 

Ari comes walking behind Lyra.

“We knew this day would come, but this is sooner than expected…”

 

Lyra continues “You can stay longer if you want.”

 

Nova shakes her head “I'd like that but…”

The Goddess takes me elsewhere.

 

Ari goes to her and hugs her “I'll miss you.”

 

Nova smiles and hugs her “Me too…” she sighs.

 

Lyra’s heartbeat hurts a little with that scene.

 

“You’ll spend the night at least, right?” Lyra asks.

 

Nova nods.

 

“How about we have a special night?” Lyra says.

 

Nova smiles, eyes wide, and nods.

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They’re curled up under a fuzzy blanket in the living room, dim lights casting everything soft. Nova is nestled in the middle, pajama-clad like the others, eyes fixed on the TV.

“Do you really want to watch this one?” Lyra asks, her voice edged with regret.

“Yeah! I won’t be able to watch it back at the Covenant. This is my one and only chance!” Nova beams.

Ari chuckles. “I’ve seen it twice.”

“Huh? You don’t want to see it?” Nova turns to her.

“I do, I do! I love it,” Ari laughs, leaning closer. “Lyra’s the one who hates it.”

Lyra exhales through her nose, a quiet huff, but doesn’t argue.

A soft bing chimes from Taylor. “Pizzas are ready.”

“I’ll get them,” Lyra says, pushing off the couch.

Ari and Nova cuddle closer under the blanket as Lyra returns, balancing two large pizzas.
“Make some space on the table.”

They shuffle things aside, and Lyra sets the boxes down.

“This is so unhealthy…” she mutters.

“Well…” Ari takes a slice with a grin. “It’s a special occasion.”

Nova grabs a slice and bites eagerly. Her eyes widen, and she moans, “Mmmm! Oh my Goddess!”

Lyra flushes, watching her. “You really like that, huh?”

“It’s my first time trying this.”

“What?! Seriously?”

Ari chimes in, half-teasing, half-serious. “The Seligmans forbid certain foods. Pizza’s practically a sin for them.”

“Mmmmmm!” Nova moans again, savoring each bite.

Lyra clears her throat, embarrassed. “Ahm… you’re being a little loud…”

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“That’s the loudest I’ve ever heard you be,” Ari teases casually as the three of them walk through the office, oblivious to the glances following them.

“Really?” Nova chuckles. “Well, it was delicious.”

Wide eyes turn their way.

“It amazes me that was your first time trying it,” Ari goes on. “Must’ve been a whole other experience.”

Around them, a few women exchange looks—some already slipping out their phones, recording discreetly.

Nova nods brightly. “And it was amazing!”

“Stop! Stop this!” Hazel’s voice cuts from the second floor.

Heads turn as she storms down the stairs, her words sharp, her pace fast. Phones tilt toward her now, recording openly.

“You’re talking about your sexual stuff so casually, right in front of everyone!” she yells.

“What?!” Lyra shouts back, incredulous.

Nova and Ari both flush, frozen in place.

“Hazel, that’s not what this is!” Ari blurts out.

“You shut it!” Hazel snaps.

The commotion draws more attention. Office doors crack open. Noura steps out, her expression stern.

“Lyra,” Hazel says, voice carrying across the room, “You come to my office. Now”

Lyra looks toward her, indignation burning in her face. “What?!”

“This is sexual misconduct, you’re not above the rules!”

Noura gasps. “Oh no…”

She rushes to Hazel, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Hey! What is going on here?” she smiles trying to de-escalate the situation.

“Noura, Lyra is boasting about making Nova scream, right here in the middle of the office!” Hazel blurts, voice shrill.

Nova gasps and drops into a nearby chair, face hot. Ari looks at her, worried she might faint. “Nova!”

“That’s not it. Hazel, we’re talking about pizza!” Lyra growls.

“Oh yeah? Why would she scream… about pizza?” Hazel snaps.

“Because she’d never tried it before! You’d think you’d know that—since you two were in a relationship!” Ari fires back.

Hazel flinches. “What?! …uhm—”

“You were such a crappy girlfriend, Hazel,” Ari mutters, bitterness dripping from every word.

Hazel’s eyes flash. She growls low in her throat and starts toward Ari, steps heavy and menacing.

Lyra moves fast, slipping between them. “Let’s not be hasty.”

Noura squeezes Hazel’s shoulder gently. “Yes… I bet this is just a misunderstanding.”

Hazel doesn’t calm. She’s livid—everyone can see it. Lyra knows why. It might not be love, maybe not even affection. But it’s definitively possession. Hazel wants Nova, no matter the cost.

Lyra exhales slowly, then steps forward.
“Okay, Hazel. Let’s go.”

“Huh?” Noura reacts, startled.

“Go… wh–where?” Hazel asks, her voice caught between anger and the edge of fear.

“Let's resolve this like alphas.” Lyra grips her wrist firmly and pulls her forward.

“Whoa—wait—wa–wa–waaaiit!” Hazel stumbles, struggling, her bravado slipping into panic.

Gasps ripple through the office. A young alpha from Marketing jumps up, shouting her support for Lyra. Others murmur Hazel’s name nervously, torn between fear and awe, some worried Lyra might actually beat her down.

Nova’s eyes dart across the room, catching faces, women smitten with Hazel, women wary of Lyra’s strength. Her heart hammers.

“Hey—wait!” Noura hurries after them. “Lyra, what are you going to do?”

Lyra glances at her. “You’re an alpha too, right, Noura?”

Noura frowns. Doesn’t it show?

“Yes.”

“Then come with us.”

“Huh?!” Noura stammers.

“Lyra!” Ari’s voice calls out from behind.

Lyra doesn’t look back. “Ari, Nova, stay here. It’s too dangerous for you.”

Hazel freezes at that, panic flashing in her eyes. “Hold on! Let me go!”

Lyra’s voice drops, sharp as a blade. “Then give me your omega and stop whining.”

Hazel clenches her jaw, muscles taut, refusing. “No.”

Nova hears it, cheeks burning, her whole body trembling at the weight of the words.

“Then come with me,” Lyra says, dragging Hazel onward.

“Ok, ok, I’m coming too!” Noura says, voice a little high pitched.

 

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They’re in Lyra’s car, the engine humming low as she pushes the speed. The streets are near-empty at this hour—only the silent automatons in their motor vehicles glide by, precise and unhurried.

Glass towers and manicured blocks fall away behind them. The clean lines of the city blur into narrower streets, walls layered with old paint and neon scars. They pass through Pomona, its edges raw with graffiti and shuttered shops, until even that polished decay gives way to harsher corners.

“Oh my Goddess…” Hazel whispers, eyes darting nervously at the shifting landscape.

Noura sits straighter, jaw tight. She feels the same unease, the same distaste, but she keeps it hidden, her expression smooth as glass.

“We’re almost there.”

Taylor stops the car in front of what it seems to be an abandoned store. The place is desolate and crappy.

“Let’s go.” Says Lyra.

“What?! Here?!” Hazel reacts

Noura gulps.

“Yes."

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Behind the facade of an abandoned storefront lies the entrance Lyra knows all too well… the way down to the cages. The metal door groans as she pushes it open, the echo swallowed by a dim, humid corridor. The air is thick with rust, sweat, and something acrid, like old blood ground into concrete.

A roar rises from below. The floor almost vibrates with the crowd’s chants, guttural and raw. Two alphas are already fighting in the cage, their bodies colliding with sickening force. The smell of adrenaline and too many bodies in one place seeps into everything.

A senior alpha steps forward from the shadows, adjusting her glasses as recognition sparks. “Hey, Lyra!” she calls, her voice hoarse but warm with familiarity. Then her eyes catch the two women trailing behind. She squints, leans closer—then jolts back. “Hazel Astoré?!”

The old woman springs back as if scorched. Hazel flinches under the weight of her name.

“Relax, gramma,” Lyra says with a grin. “She’s here to fight. That’s it.”

“WHAT?!” Hazel and Noura shout in unison.

Lyra spins toward Hazel, her voice a blade cutting through the roar of the crowd. “Listen to me. You hunt omegas and talk big game, but all you’ve ever done is hunt in controlled environments. College. Your aunt’s office. You’ve never taken a real hit. Never had a stranger swing at you without caring if you walk away pretty. And you’ve never conquered an omega’s heart outside in the real world. That’s why you’re weak.”

Hazel’s face burns crimson, her body trembling with fury. Noura’s eyes widen, nervous, but silent.

“Oh yeah?!” Hazel shouts.

“Yeah!” Lyra roars back, the sound reverberating against the concrete, nearly swallowed by the cage’s noise.

Hazel can’t answer. She just growls, low, guttural, animal.

“I fucking train,” Hazel spits. “I don’t have to, but I do it. I could kick your ass if I… if I trained more!”

Lyra’s eyes narrow, her voice colder now: “Good. But right now, you can´t. So, beat the opponent gramma here chooses for you… and I’ll stay away from Nova. I’ll even forbid Ari from kissing her again.”

Noura flushes, caught off guard by the bluntness.

“But if you lose…” Lyra leans in, her smile sharp, “I get another week with her.”

Hazel’s fists clench, knuckles white.

“Yeah… a whooole other week.” Lyra repeats.

“OK!” Hazel roars, shoving forward. “Deal!”

The senior woman beams, pulling a crumpled scrap of paper from her pocket. A faded sketch of the Goddess of all alphas stares back. She kisses it reverently. “Oh my Goddess! You heard my prayers! This is going to bring serious cash into my pocket!”

Hazel eyes her up and down, raggedy clothes, messy hair, and those strange things perched on her face.
“Hey, grams, what’s that on your face?”

“You mean my glasses?”

Lyra raises a brow. “What, you’ve never seen glasses before?”

Hazel shrugs. “Only in museums… why would you use glasses when you can just modify your eyes?”

The old woman laughs, a dry, raspy sound. “Ah… as expected from an Astoré.”

The old woman steps closer, tapping the edge of her glasses with a crooked finger.
“Girl, these cost a fortune. Why would I waste that kind of credit on banalities like body-mod? I gotta eat, you know?” She smiles, a little toothy.

Hazel stiffens. Somehow, that simple statement lands heavier than she expects.

Noura notices, her eyes narrowing in thought. This… this might actually be good for Hazel.

Behind them, the crowd erupts—an alpha is slammed into the cage wall, blood streaking the mesh. The stench of sweat and iron rolls over them, thick and suffocating. Hazel straightens her spine, jaw locked. She’s about to step into a world she’s only heard of, never lived.

“But Lyra…” the senior woman says, eyes glinting. “The fight can’t be today. I gotta make posters, stir up hype! You think I’d waste a match like this? I gotta milk it.”

Lyra nods once, cool and measured. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hazel snaps her head toward her. “Wait—if she does that, we’ll have a crowd. Bigger than this smelly bunch.”

Lyra only smiles. “Exactly. You’re the heiress of an empire. You need to get used to being out in the public.”

Hazel falters, the retort dying in her throat. Lyra’s certainty blindsides her, so firm, so absolute.

Noura looks away from Hazel, her gaze sweeping the arena. She catches sight of an omega stepping lightly into the ring, a small board held high above her head, announcing the next round. The cheers rise again, crude and hungry.

“Oh my bot… poor creature…” Noura mutters under her breath. The omega in the ring is visibly nervous, clutching the sign with trembling hands.

“Who, Flower? Ha! Nah… she’s used to it,” the old woman says with a dismissive laugh.

But Noura knows better. The girl isn’t used to it. She’s scared.

“Lyra, I hate that,” Noura says, her voice tight. “I truly hate that.”

Lyra exhales, eyes on the cage. “Me too… but there’s nothing we can do.”

The old woman turns, her gaze sweeping over Noura with a palpable sharpness. “Hey… you’re an alpha too, right?”

Noura’s expression hardens. It’s the second time tonight someone’s asked, and now it feels like an insult.
“Yes,” she answers flatly.

“How about you fight for her?”

“Huh?!” the three women blurt out together.

“Yeah,” the old woman grins, pushing her glasses up. “You can be the opener. The unknown rookie! Lyra goes second, a classic that never fails. And Hazel takes the main event, the heiress of the Astoré empire! Ready to be initiated into the real world! What do you say?”

“Hey, hey! Why are you including me?!” Lyra snaps.

“The deal won’t sell if you’re not in it!” the woman barks back. She spreads her arms, her voice booming over the noise of the cage. “So… deal?”

The three women exchange looks, the crowd’s roar swelling.

Noura exhales and nods. Hazel shrugs. Lyra sighs.

“Deal”

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Author's notes:

Another chapter done without edits or revisions...omagawd, I just hope there aren’t too many spelling mistakes. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 50: 🔥The thrill and the calm🍷

Summary:

Over an opulent dinner, sharp words and conflicting opinions clash over Hazel’s future. Later, conversations in cars and offices reveal how each character balances strategy, fear, and desire. Ari and Lyra’s bond deepens. Noura feels electrified, and Hazel feels like she's burning.

It's so stressful to be a rich girl when there's nobody to fuck.
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The restaurant glows in amber light, chandeliers scattering warmth across the tall arched windows and mirrored walls. Curved booths cradle hushed conversations, candles flicker against polished silver, and bowls of bone-dry branches stand like art installations between courses. Around them, women in sleek dresses swirl wine in crystal glasses, their laughter low and deliberate. Waitresses move like dancers, placing plates of bone marrow glistening with herbs, saffron foam cradling ravioli and edible flowers, and steak crowned in pepper sauce. A black-and-red cake waits at the center, gleaming under the candlelight, decadent and almost menacing.

 

Aira sets her glass down with precision, her voice cool but edged. “Lyra… what the fuck were you thinking, taking Hazel in there?”

 

Lyra doesn’t flinch. She leans back, eyes steady, fingertips brushing the stem of her wine glass. “You told me to mentor her, that’s what I’m doing. She needs to grow up. You’ve coddled her too much. Yet at the same time, you treat her like shit.”

 

Noura shifts slightly, startled by the bluntness, the polished tension between them sharper than the cutlery gleaming on the table.

 

Aira lets out a soft laugh, unbothered, almost indulgent. “C’mon. I gave that girl the world. Two apartments. My advice whenever she asked, and or needed. She’s had everything laid at her feet.” she sips from her cup “It’s true, I can be a little… hmm…critical of her sometimes.”

 

Like telling her that she’s dumb all the time? Noura thinks, almost frowning.

“But I do it out of love, you know? I expect a lot from that girl” she sips the whole content of her glass.

 

Noura hesitates, then speaks softly but firmly. “With respect… Hazel does have wealth, yes. But she’s been through the loss of her best friend and lover, and her other closest friend. She’s alone now. And she’s not in college anymore. She’s not a girl, she’s a grown woman, and a high-profile heiress, it’s already difficult enough to make friends as adults. For her, it’s harder still, when she can’t ever meet her peers as equals.”

 

Plus, she's a little bit childish… and impulsive… Noura doesn’t say that.

 

The words hang in the golden air, the nearby clink of glasses and low laughter carrying on as if their table were a world apart, a much tense and uncomfortable one.

 

“Ok, okay, so…” Aira spreads the roasted bone marrow across her toast with deliberate care, her voice back to angry, but also almost curious. “…how is fighting in some dirty ghetto supposed to help her with that?... Huh, Lyra?”

 

Lyra takes a slow sip. “She’s going to face reality for the first time.”

 

Noura clears her throat gently, leaning in. “My opinion, as an expert in mental health, is that she shouldn’t fight at all.” She exhales, her eyes lowering briefly to the table before lifting again. “But… the deal was made.” A small sigh escapes her, then her tone steadies. “Still, this could be an opportunity for Hazel. As Lyra said. She might finally see other kinds of people, and understand what life is like outside her bubble. It's always healthy to have perspective.”

 

The perspective of knowing that money won't always protect you… for example, if a punch is flying to your face, your bank account matters very little at that moment…

 

The candle between them flickers, its flame catching in the glossy red glaze of the untouched cake, as silence briefly settles over their table.

 

“You’re risking her face. I can’t allow it,” Aira says, her tone flat, final “Have you seen how many compilations of her are there in Vyre? Her face is an asset right now, a scar would not look good, she's not like you, Noura, you’re sexy-smart, and you’re a professional and shit…”

 

Noura’s eyebrows twitch. Who do you think you are to comment about my looks and overall worth like that?

But she doesn´t say anything.

 

“...or you Lyra, she’s not like you. She's just pretty. A pretty girl.”

 

“Hey! …I'm pretty…” Lyra murmurs, almost hurt.

 

Noura quickly lifts her napkin to hide her reaction, eyes wide. Lyra, oh my goddess… that’s your reaction after a comment like that?!

 

“No, you’re not pretty, Lyra. You’re beautiful, it’s different, and also, you’re a baddie.” 

Aira bites her toast, almost annoyed at having to explain herself.

 

Noura blinks.

Is this how she always talks?

“There’s a difference,” Aira continues smoothly. “You could take a scar, Lyra, it’d even make you sexier. But Hazel? She’s girlish… omega-ish even. She’s got the face of an omega but the body of an alpha… a little shorter but, still…”

 

Do you really think you’re the one to comment about height? Noura thinks, her eyebrow lifting slightly.

 

“...She can’t take a scar. That’s like fifty percent of who she is.”

Lyra scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Noura sits back, judging silently. Hazel’s behavior suddenly makes a lot more sense now…

Aira casually reaches for the glossy red cake, cutting into it with delicate precision. “What do you think, Noura? Lyra’s a baddie, isn’t she?”

Heat creeps up Noura’s cheeks. She hides behind her napkin and coughs softly, trying to cover it.

“I… I don’t want to give… aesthetic opinions… on someone who’s sitting right here,” she mutters, her voice shy and awkward.

“I don't mind. Aira does it all the time.” Lyra says.

 

Noura kofs again into her napkin.

 

“Well… Lyra, you do look tougher than Hazel…” she mentions carefully.

 

“Tougher? Like… not pretty?” Eyes widen slightly.

 

Noura kofs again “I don't want to continue this conversation…”

 

“Anyway. No fights for Hazel, end of story.” Aira says.

 

Lyra reaches for her glass of wine and shrugs.

 

“But… There's already a whole campaign running. Tickets have been sold…” Noura protests gently, her voice tinged with unease.

Lyra side-eyes her.

 

“Can’t risk her face,” Aira repeats, sharper this time, as if stamping the words into the air.

 

Noura opens her mouth to argue again, but then, she feels it. A warm hand resting on her leg beneath the table. Her breath catches, and she turns her head slightly, following the line of the arm. Lyra. Calm, steady, her eyes already on Noura. A subtle lift of the finger: quiet. She means.

 

Noura swallows hard, her blush betraying her, and lowers her gaze.

 

“Ok,” Lyra says evenly, breaking the silence, withdrawing her hand. She sets her glass down with care. “I’ll tell Hazel you forbid her to fight, and that’s that.”

 

The words hang in the candlelight.

 

“Good. I don't want more nonsense in the news about me or my family…I have enough with these trials… those fucking AI videos…”

 

She sinks her spoon into the cake. 

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“Lyra, how could you give up so easily?” Noura asks as they drive back to the office. The city lights flicker across the windshield, painting shadows over her face.

 

Lyra smiles faintly, her hands steady on the wheel. “I thought you’d understand. You’re a psychologist, after all.”

 

Noura blinks. “Explain yourself…”

 

“When we tell Hazel she’s not allowed to fight, that her tormentor Aira Astorè forbids her to fight…” Lyra answers smoothly, eyes fixed on the road, “she’s going to want to fight even more.”

 

Noura blinks again, caught between disbelief and reluctant recognition.

 

Makes sense but…

 

She studies Lyra in the glow of the passing streetlamps, the calm certainty in her posture, the way every word sounds deliberate, as if part of some hidden strategy. How is this woman so sure about all these risky actions? She’s running on a hunch, and even if Hazel does want to fight, Aira will definitely try to shut it down by other means. Noura doesn’t even know what Aira could do, she could find out and blame Lyra, she could go against the ghetto even!

“Lyra, Aira could retaliate if she realizes it was never your intention to stop her,” Noura warns, her voice low.

Lyra leans back against the seat, casual, her lips curving just slightly. “Yeah… but she won’t find out.” Her eyes flick toward Noura, steady, unbothered. “You’re the only one who knows. And you’re not going to tell… are you?” 

Her chest tightens, a nervous flutter rising inside her. But it isn’t just anxiety. It’s something sharper, something that feels dangerously close to exhilaration. Oh my goddess… I feel nervous, but it’s a thrill. Like …yes, we’re going against a woman who owns this city, but somehow it’s going to work, because I’m with Lyra, and I’m part of her plan.

Now she understands what Ari meant in all those sessions: that strange mix of thrill and calm, reckless risk wrapped in an unshakable steadiness. One pressed right against the other.

To an omega this must feel incredibly stimulating….

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“You promised…” Ari whispers bitterly as Lyra presses her slowly against the wall in her room, eyes aching, hands braced on either side of her body, so close, yet holding back their hunger.

 

“With this, and the credits I’ll get for mentoring Hazel, we’re done. The debt is paid off,” Lyra says, her voice low, deliberate.

 

Ari exhales, defeated. “Ok.”

 

Lyra tilts her chin up, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Ari… I know you’re sad about Nova leaving and nervous about me fighting, I can´t do more than ask you to trust me.”

 

“Yeah I’m sad and…” Ari’s voice cracks, heavy with ache. “I don’t have Nova to talk to, or to relax with, while you risk your life again… yes. And… I trust you but… you can´t control everything in a fight… who knows what might happen… you might get seriously hurt…”

Lyra sighs softly, guilt threading through her voice. “I’m sorry, Ari. I love you. It must be such a burden to be loved by someone like me…”

Ari frowns, sharp and immediate. “Don’t say that.”

Lyra aches. Slowly, she sinks to her knees, never breaking eye contact, her voice roughened by restraint. “I do feel it’s a burden. And Noura told me it’s okay to say that to you… even if you don’t think so at least you know what I feel, and… I’m sorry about it. So please, allow me to apologize.”

From below, she gazes up at her, that same aching intensity burning through her expression, reverent and desperate all at once.

“Lyra…” Ari breathes, her chest rising unsteadily.

You’re so beautiful when you ache…

 

Lyra lowers her face, brushing delicately against Ari’s crotch, her breath warm through the thin fabric. She murmurs her name like a prayer. “Ari… oh, Ari…”

 

Her hands slide to the waistband of Ari’s pajamas, gripping it with quiet urgency. Ari shivers, her head tipping back against the wall. “Oh, goddess… Lyra…” Her voice trembles, half-plea, half-surrender. “Oh, my goddess…”

 

Lyra lifts her eyes, gaze burning from below, her voice low and raw. “Ari… you’re so good to me. I hate making you sad… I want to give you the world…”

 

Her fingers hook into the waistband, tugging gently. The fabric yields, sliding down inch by inch until Ari’s pants and underwear fall away in one slow motion.

 

Lyra leans in, pressing her face tenderly against her, moving with deliberate care, as if every brush of her skin is both an apology and a vow. Her hands grip her tender skin, her thighs, her buttocks.

 

“Lyra… oh, Goddess…” Ari gasps, her voice trembling as her fingers curl against the wall.

 

Lyra presses a soft kiss to the swell of her venus mound, lingering there as though savoring the intimacy of the first touch. She breathes her in, her lips brushing lightly, reverently. Then, with patient tenderness, she trails slow kisses lower, her mouth moving deliberately, not rushing.

 

She parts her lips against Ari’s folds, teasing at first, tasting, mapping every shiver. Her tongue moves in circles, slow and steady, before slipping deeper, purposeful, coaxing Ari open. Each movement is careful but insistent, designed to build pleasure rather than chase it.

 

Ari whimpers, her hips tilting forward, searching for and loving Lyra’s mouth. “Oh… Lyra…”

 

Lyra’s hands spread gently over Ari’s thighs, grounding her, steadying her, as she continues, sometimes soft and teasing, sometimes pressing firmer, her rhythm shifting like she knows exactly when Ari’s body is asking for more.

 

When Lyra finally flicks her tongue against Ari’s most sensitive spot… slow, consistent, focused, Ari’s knees weaken, a helpless cry leaving her lips.

 

Lyra pulls back just enough to murmur against her, “Let me take care of you… please.” Then her mouth returns, unrelenting, as if worshiping every sound Ari makes.

 

“Lyra!”

 

Ari’s breath comes in ragged gasps, her head tilting back against the wall. She reaches down, tangling her fingers in Lyra’s hair, clutching hard enough to make her feel it. The rough grip only drives Lyra deeper, her tongue alternating between soft, teasing circles and firm, focused pressure against Ari’s clit.

 

Ari… you’re being rough with me? You?

 

“Ah—yes, Lyra, right there… don’t stop…” Ari moans, hips rolling forward, pressing herself into Lyra’s mouth. Her thighs tremble, and her fingers tighten in Lyra’s hair, pulling her closer.

 

Lyra’s hands steady Ari’s thighs, but inside she feels herself unraveling. She’s guiding me… taking control. The thought burns through her, sharp and intoxicating. No one has ever led me like this. Lyra lets her be rough, let’s her move her.

 

Ari gasps again, voice breaking, “Oh goddess—yes—yes… just like that…” Her hips rock with the rhythm, pushing, demanding more. Each pull of her fingers in Lyra’s hair feels commanding, every grind of her body a plea and an order all at once.

 

Lyra moans low against her, the vibration making Ari cry out. She’s so sexy like this… the way she uses me, the way she won’t hold back. I never knew being guided could feel this arousing.

 

Ari whimpers, legs shaking, her grip tightening. “Lyra—don’t you dare stop… please… keep going…”

The rawness of Ari’s voice, her desperate encouragement, the relentless drive of her hips… it makes Lyra ache with desire, her whole body tightening as if every demand were a gift.

 

That’s it, Ari… pull me closer… my mouth is yours, she thinks, dizzy with arousal as Ari fists her hair and grinds against her lips.

 

“Lyra!!” Ari cries out, voice breaking, her body shuddering violently. Her hips jerk forward once, twice—and then the tension bursts. A hot rush spills from her, sudden and uncontrollable, wetness flooding over Lyra’s mouth, spraying against her lips and cheeks.

 

Ari gasps in shock at her own release, but doesn’t let go—her fingers clutch Lyra’s hair even harder, holding her in place, forcing her to take it. “Don’t stop—oh Goddess—don’t stop!”

 

Lyra moans into her, swallowing greedily, letting the overflow slick across her face. She licks and drinks with abandon, her tongue circling Ari’s clit again, coaxing more out of her, her own body trembling from how ferociously aroused she feels. She’s soaking me… claiming me… and it’s so fucking sexy.

 

Ari’s legs quiver, her whole body shaking as wave after wave crashes through her. She pants helplessly, voice ragged, “Lyra—ahh—Lyra—I can’t—I can’t—” but still presses her hips forward, riding out the last of it against Lyra’s eager mouth.

 

When at last Ari slumps back against the wall, trembling and undone, Lyra looks up at her—her face glistening, lips swollen, eyes burning with raw devotion. She drags her tongue slowly across her mouth, savoring the taste, before rising to her feet.

 

The little omega is panting, flushed and trembling, her chest heaving with every breath. “Lyra…” she whispers, voice hoarse. “Lyra…” Her gaze meets hers for only a moment before her body gives way and she collapses forward.

Lyra catches her, arms wrapping tight, squeezing her against her chest. “Ari…” she groans, clutching her as though she could press them into one body. Her voice drops into a husky rasp. “That was too fucking hot… we’re not done.”

She presses Ari firmly back against the wall, her restraint snapping. With hurried movements she shrugs off her blazer, then her blouse, tossing them aside without care. Her pants fall next, her underwear peeled away. She’s already hard.

Lyra moves in, her hips pressing forward, the heat of her arousal rubbing against Ari’s sensitive core. The friction makes Ari gasp, her body caught between exhaustion and fresh waves of need.

“Lyra—wait—” she breathes, but her protest melts into a moan as the pressure builds.

Lyra leans close, her mouth at Ari’s ear, her voice rough but trembling with tenderness. “You… took my mouth so roughly, pulling my hair, using me…” She bites softly at Ari’s neck, possessive, then licks the mark as if to soothe it. “Since when are you rough, hm?” Her lips brush Ari’s jaw, her tone breaking with awe. “My sweet omega… you drive me crazy. You made me yours… and now I’m going to make you mine again.”

Her hands slide under Ari’s thighs, lifting her with ease, guiding her legs around her waist. Ari gasps, clutching at her shoulders, but Lyra doesn’t let her think—she eases forward in one deep, claiming motion. Ari is so wet that Lyra’s cock slides into her with effortless heat.

Ari cries out, nails digging into her back.

Lyra groans low, lips brushing against her cheek, her words fervent and tender all at once. “That’s it… take me, Ari… take all of me. My omega… my perfect little omega who soaked my face, who guided me, who made me hers…” She thrusts deeper, her rhythm steady and consuming, each word thick with devotion. Ari arches, her eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“You’re mine,” she breathes against Ari’s skin, kissing her jaw, her temple, her mouth in frantic bursts. “Every sound, every shiver… belongs to me.”

Ari moans, legs tightening around her waist, body giving in again to the relentless rhythm. Lyra groans into her neck, her voice breaking with awe. “I can still taste you on my lips, Ari… and I’ll never get enough of you…”

Lyra pulls at Ari’s pajama top, baring her trembling body to the cool air, her hands roaming as if to memorize every inch. She holds her tighter against the wall, her hips rolling forward with a rhythm that makes Ari’s head fall back, mouth open in helpless cries.

“My woman…” Lyra whispers, her voice raw with emotion. She kisses Ari’s shoulder, lingering between bites and nuzzles. “My woman… you’re everything I need.”

Ari clings to her, arms looped around her neck, legs locked around her waist, every thrust pulling sharp, breathless sounds from her lips.

Lyra buries herself deep one final time, the tension shattering as she groans, her release flooding into Ari, hot and overwhelming.

Ari feels it pulse inside her, spreading warmth through her core. She moans with the intensity, her body trembling as it clenches around Lyra’s, filled completely.

Lyra holds her there, pressed to the wall, still joined, her forehead resting tenderly against Ari’s temple. Through her ragged breaths she murmurs, voice soft but unshakable, “Mine… always mine.”

Ari trembles, whispering shakily, “Your one and only?”

Lyra lifts her gaze, eyes burning with reverence. “My one and only.”

 

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A mellow saxophone drifts through her stickerphones, joined by soft strings, the slow, romantic melody wrapping around her like a dream, and the lyrics, making her smile.

You fill my eager heart with such desire
Every kiss you give sets my soul on fire
I give myself in sweet surrender
My one and only love…

Lyra smiles as she moves, her body flowing through practiced forms. She works her stance with care, her punches precise, her kicks balanced, each movement deliberate and controlled. The music is tender, almost too romantic for a training session, but to Lyra, it feels perfect.

She lets the rhythm guide her, each strike syncing with the rise and fall of the melody. The warmth in her chest isn’t just from the exercise, it’s from the thought of Ari. Of the two of them free at last, the debt gone, their days spent on sweet, playful dates and their nights burning with passion.

With every repetition, her body sharpens and her smile deepens. Each day that passes, she realizes she’s falling harder, loving Ari more fiercely. And the hope of a future, simple, happy, and debt-free, fills her with a rare, steady happiness that makes her movements feel almost like a dance.

She exhales.

The nice warm feelings don´t stop.

On the other hand, Ari has booked a private office just to meditate. She sits cross-legged in the quiet, but the calm won’t come. She no longer has a warm body to lean against while Lyra is out doing dangerous stuff. Nova has been working remotely, and Ari suspects  it wasn't her decision, she suspects she’s being punished for escaping. The thought gnaws at her. She tries harder to focus, but images intrude: Lyra taking punches, Nova being yelled at or punished ritualistically.

“Ugh…” Ari groans, giving up. She opens her eyes, stands, and leaves the office. By the time she returns to her workstation, she has resigned herself to feeling only somewhat okay, but nowhere near stress-free.

Meanwhile, Lyra finishes her training, takes a long shower, and comes down to the first floor. Her body is loose, her skin fresh, her spirit light. The moment she spots Ari across the office, her chest warms, her smile growing a little wider.

“Hey,” she says sweetly.

Ari looks up, her expression tired, not exactly happy. Lyra notices immediately.

“Oh no… are you still stressed about the fight?” she asks softly, reaching down to caress Ari’s face.

Ari sits slumped at her desk, while Lyra towers over her, the height difference making Ari look even smaller. She sighs. “I try not to be worried… I do…”

Lyra bends down onto her knees, bringing herself to Ari’s level. She cups her cheeks, squeezing them lightly in her palms. “Don’t worry, baby. Soon it’ll all be over.”

“You look kinda happy, though…” Ari murmurs, searching her eyes.

Lyra nods, her lips curving. “Yes, I am… I’m looking forward to being debt-free.” Her voice drops, softer, meant only for Ari. “And spending all my time with you.”

Ari’s face softens at that, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’m happy to see you optimistic.”

Noura watches them from a few meters away, she pays attention at their body language, especially Lyra’s, she’s particularly sweet and vulnerable with Ari. Noura sips from her mug, cappuccino, decaf, to not upset her nerves.

Noura watches them from a few meters away, her eyes tracing the subtleties of their body language, especially Lyra’s. With Ari, she notices, Lyra is much softer, sweeter, almost vulnerable.

She lifts her mug and takes a slow sip of cappuccino, decaf. So, every once in a while they add a third… The thought lingers as she sips again.

Noura has spent time living in Paradise Hills, a city deep in Materia territory. She knows polyamory well; it is ordinary there as it is in most cities run by Materia. But she left, not just to pursue more advanced studies and higher-paid work, but to escape the pressure of being an alpha in a city where Materia’s culture defines everything, where expectations press down on her shoulders simply because of what she is.

Her gaze returns to Lyra. But Lyra… I think she could fit in, in that kind of society.

Another sip. Her eyes flick briefly to Ari. I wonder if Ari would, though.

Hazel approaches Noura, worry written all over her face.
“Noura… uhm… I was wondering… are you training?” she asks candidly.

Noura shakes her head.

“What?!” Hazel blurts out. “Then what’s your plan?!”

“I’ll evade and evade until the other woman gets tired,” Noura answers plainly.

Hazel stares at her in disbelief. “What?! That’s it? That’s such a simple plan! I was expecting some kind of mental game, strategy, something…” She sounds almost betrayed.

Noura only smiles. “I just don’t want to lose, and I know my punches suck. But if I do lose…” She rests a steady hand on Hazel’s shoulder and softens her voice. “I’m counting on you, Hazel.”

Her smile is calm, but it makes Hazel’s stomach drop. She suddenly feels doomed.

Fuck! I don’t want to disappoint her… shit!

 

“Oh, Hazel!” Lyra calls out, striding toward her. “It’s your lucky day. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

 

Hazel blinks, stunned. Relief flickers, but confusion takes over. “Really? How so?”

 

“Your aunt forbids it,” Lyra explains bluntly. “Says all you’ve got going for you is your pretty face, and you might lose it in the ring. So… forbidden.”

 

Damn, Lyra… you could’ve softened the blow, Noura thinks, wincing.

 

“Huuuh?! That bitch said wut?!” Hazel explodes.

 

Lyra just nods, arms crossing, sighing with fake resignation. “Welp, what’cha gonna do…”

 

Hazel’s jaw tightens. “That old-timer… she’s not my boss!”

 

Hazel… she literally is, Noura thinks, suppressing the urge to say something.

 

“We’re gonna fucking fight!” Hazel declares, fire in her eyes. She swings to Noura. “You have to rescue that omega you’re trying to fuck, right?”

 

Noura recoils, disgust twisting her face a little. “Hazel… I’m not trying to—ugh…” She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales, squinting.

 

“Whatever!” Hazel snaps. “We have to fight! I mean, the old lady with the glasses already sold tickets and shit! Who the fuck does Aira think she is?!”

 

She literally owns this city, Noura thinks grimly.

“We’re fighting… whether she likes it or not!” Hazel declares, fire in her eyes, her voice fierce.

Lyra glances at Noura and winks, subtle and knowing.

Caught off guard, Noura blushes faintly, her gaze skittering away.

“Well, I’m a simple employee of the Astorès. If you say we fight, we fight,” Lyra says, almost smiling.

“Damn right!” Hazel shouts, before bolting up the stairs to the second floor.

Noura and Lyra watch her go.

“Goddess, she's easy to manipulate…” Noura murmurs.

“Yep,” Lyra answers flatly.

“That’s terrible for an heiress…” Noura adds under her breath.

Lyra nods once. “Well…” She pats Noura’s back, just enough to make her rock forward slightly. Her hand stays there, warm and steady. “You’d better start training for real. That whole evasion plan? It won’t work.”

“Huh?! How do you know?” Noura shoots back.

Also, you heard us from over there?!

“I know most of the fighters,” Lyra says, calm and blunt. “And you kinda… don’t stand a chance.”

Noura turns her head toward her, indignation and fear prickling at her expression. “Thank you for your honesty…?”

Lyra’s lips curl into the faintest smile. “No problem.”

Her hand is still on Noura’s back.

Heat rises to Noura’s cheeks again, and she tries to hide it by lifting her mug. She takes a sip.

…Empty.

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Author's notes:

Hope you like this one! I'm so tired lately...

Chapter 51: 🎭 Masks of Heroes and Monsters

Summary:

Some characters wrestle with silence and distance, others with the sudden weight of unexpected attention, and still others with the pressure of roles they never fully chose. Between viral rumors, intimate doubts, and the quiet solitude of night, each woman faces the question of who they are when no one is watching, and what they will risk when the spotlight inevitably finds them.
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Hello Nova
R u reading your texts? Hazel hits send.

“Fuck!” She regrets it instantly, clutching her phone. “I’m so stupid!”

If Nova doesn’t answer…well, then she’s not reading them. Otherwise I'd see it!
If she does answer… then of course she’s reading them!
What a stupid question!

Gawdess Hazel stop being so dumb!! She scolds herself.

“Ugh!” Hazel groans, tossing herself back on her bed.

But suddenly, the dots appear. Typing. Hazel’s eyes widen, glued to the screen. Hope glints in her eyes.

Then the dots vanish.

“FUCK!”

 

Back in the covenant, Nova lies on her bed, arms crossed, an upset look shadowing her face. “This is so unfair…” she mutters.

Her smartphone is in a basket, away from her, in her room but she's forbidden to touch it.

Around the basket, a group of omegas huddle over her phone. They were the ones answering to Hazel before, but now they just giggle nervously, they didn´t dare send the message.

“Nova, your girlfriend is writing,” one of them says with a smirk. “Should we answer?”

Nova blinks, her expression flickering. “Who?”

Ari?

The group giggles louder. “What do you mean who? You should know!”

Nova frowns at them. “Stop teasing me. It’s not good behavior for a moonbeam to tease others, you know?”

They whisper among themselves, still laughing. “Did she have many girlfriends?” More giggles.
“Rumors say she was with an omega…AND an alpha…”

A few of them flush red, the room filling with quiet laughter.

Nova’s voice cuts through, soft but heavy. “Do you think I’m a sinner?” She stays on her back, staring at the ceiling, not daring to look at them.

The giggles stop.

“Not at all, Miss Seligman…” one says, her voice suddenly hushed, almost reverent. “You’re…” She steps forward, crossing the quiet room, and kneels at the side of Nova’s bed. “You have such a deep relationship with the Goddesses. I’m sure your actions are guided by their influence… even if most don’t understand it.”

The other omegas watch in silence, their eyes fixed on the exchange. The light spilling from the circular window falls on Nova, partially on the omega kneeling by her side.

Nova’s expression softens. She turns her head toward the young woman who has spoken, comfort stirring in her chest. “What’s your name?” she asks gently.

“Mary,” the omega whispers.

Nova smiles faintly, repeating it as though testing its weight. “Mary.”

The sound of her name on Nova’s lips makes the omega shiver.

“Such a humble name…” Nova murmurs, her smile deepening. “What compelled you to say that, Mary? Did you feel it? Did the Goddess whisper it to you?”

Nova’s blue eyes fix on her.

The omega kneeling at her bedside is a little taller, with long brown hair, pale skin, and caramel eyes… a little like Hazel’s. Her cheeks glow rosy, her nose small and delicate, her stare innocent yet quietly confident.

“I too have a special relationship with the Goddesses,” Mary admits softly, “but… I can’t speak of it.”

Nova studies her face, lingering on the warm caramel tint of her eyes before letting her gaze trail slowly over the rest of her. “What’s your last name?”

The omegas watching from across the room gasp.

Mary blushes fiercely, her pale skin betraying every rush of blood. “I… I don’t have a last name yet…”

Nova’s eyes widen in recognition. “Oh—you’re from the tribes…” she murmurs. Like Lyra.

She shifts, rolling onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. Then she extends her hand, reaching for Mary’s. The sudden movement, the unexpected touch, make the omega’s breath hitch.

“Do you want to know more about my relationship with the Goddesses?” Nova asks softly, her voice intimate, inviting. “We could share our experiences… if you like…”

The group of omegas watch closely. One of them frowns, huffs, then blurts out, breaking the moment:
“Nova, do you wanna watch Hazel’s fight in my room? I have a TV.”

Nova shoots upright, her eyes widening, expression shifting instantly to shock.
“Hazel’s fight?!”

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They’re gathered now in the room of the omega who offered to host Nova. From her smartphone, she projects a stream of compiled videos onto the wall—clips pulled from Vyre. Hazel flashes across the screen: running, training, sparring with Lyra. Some shots are shaky, caught by passersby, others cleaner—filmed by Moprh C.O employees.

Nova stares, her eyes following Hazel’s face, her body, every movement. She sulks, burying her face in a pillow. Ugh, I hate how hot she looks right now.

The omegas around her giggle at her reaction. All except one, the one with the caramel eyes. The one who invested her leans closer, pats Nova’s back gently.

“So… is that your girlfriend?” she asks.

Nova groans into the pillow. “Ugh, I wish. I mean… we were, but we had a fight.”

A collective gasp fills the room. “You had a fight? About what?”

Nova lifts her head “She… she wasn't very nice to me.”

Another round of gasps.

“How dare she!”

“No, it’s ok… she was mean but… ugh…” Nova buries her face in the pillow.

She made me feel so good… and… she’s gorgeous… aaaghh! And she’s intense… wild… an ocean that I can tame.

“Why is she fighting? Isn´t that illegal?” One omega asks.

“It’s not, as long as you have credits to body-mod the fighters, then it’s ok.” another answers.

Body mod… Suddenly, Nova’s eyes widen with worry, she lifts her face again.

“Hazel could get hurt… oh my Goddess… I have to stop her! Is the fight starting soon?”

“Nope, it’s on the weekend.”

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In the following days, posters are printed and sold as merch, striking artwork created by ghetto artists, snapped up by high-paying fans from the wealthier quarters of Aira’s territory. Videos flood the net, clips multiplying across feeds. Honey, the influencer, surfs the wave: her subscriber count jumps by 200k as she features Hazel and Lyra in most of her uploads. Whispers spread about a mysterious third fighter, though Noura’s name is still left out.

“I forbade Hazel to participate…” Aira declares during questioning by the lawyers, the recorder light blinking red. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Miss Astorè,” one of them presses, “we assure you this is relevant. If you forbade Hazel, why is the fight still happening?”

“Because she ignored me,” Aira snaps, “and half the city is already fangirling over it. I’ve got more than enough on my plate right now. Again—how is this relevant?”

That snippet leaks online, spreading like fire. Soon the Orphans are using it as fuel.

“As you can see,” a voiceover proclaims, the mask of the Orphans on the screen “straight from the Queen herself, if it’s half of you, she can’t fight against that. Stand up, citizens of Aira’s territory. Stand up against the Astorès. Hazel stood up…”

But, why is she fighting? The cities wonder. She’s rich, an heiress, what does she want?

“I think Hazel’s playing some 4-D checkers here… she knows her aunt is an authoritarian, bitch who doesn't care about the poor, but she does and she’s doing this to de-centralize the economy by bringing attention to the ghettos and…”

Honey pulls back her phone “Okey dokey! that was fun.”

“No wait! I haven´t finished!” The beta being interviewed snatches Honey’s phone and starts running.

“Hey!” Honey’s voice is heard in the background, running behind her.

The beta exclaims “Shout out to my girl in Gangnam! Giiirl I know I’m poor and I let you down but we can make this work! Hazel’s gonna fix this shitty place! We already gettin’ money from merch! Go buy my merch at… UGH!” The beta is taken down.

Somehow, more and more people start seeing Hazel as a champion of the poor. Maybe it’s because illustrators, printers, and all kinds of crafty workers made good money off the fight. Maybe it’s because of the fight’s location itself.

“Or maybe it was me!”

“What? Why would you do that?!” Sorelle snaps, scolding Honey as they sip drinks at Red Brew.

Honey grins, unbothered. “What? Was it a bad idea? It makes the Astorès look cool again.”

Sorelle frowns, shaking her head. “No. It makes Hazel look cool… and the rest of her family look bad.”

Honey pouts, twirling her straw. “Aw… then no, it wasn’t me. It’s just organic. People want a hero, you know? Lyra looks like too much for them, untouchable and serious. But Hazel? She’s kinda short for an alpha, and she’s pretty… so she feels… I don’t know… approachable?”

Sorelle understands. The Hazel she’s come to know over the past weeks—the therapized Hazel who curls up beside her, who hugs her tightly, who sometimes even nuzzles against her in her sleep—that Hazel is sweet, soft, and yes… approachable.

Sorelle sighs, then snaps herself back to reality. “Uhm, but she’s not approachable at all. She’s a billionaire heiress. She just barely realized that not everybody can afford body-mods. Did you know she’s never set foot in public transport? or that her aunt bought her her first omega?”

“Ah, duh!” Honey slurps her drink with a grin. “But the audience doesn’t know that. And honestly? It’s sweeter to believe there’s someone in power who’s actually on your side when you’ve spent your whole life feeling abandoned.” She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “You know how that feels, right, Sorelle?”

Sorelle stares right into her eyes, thinking, Fucking cunt…

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“Oh, the consolation of the less fortunate! Simple pleasures—a warm meal when you least expect it, a conversation with a dear friend, a night of good sleep, or a once-in-a-lifetime thrill like this one!” exclaims the old woman in the ring, her eyes shining with expectation as she practices.

“Ha! Ha!” She laughs at herself. “What do you think, Flower? Bit of a poet, aren’t I?”

Flower, the unfortunate omega, sits at ringside, already dressed in a revealing outfit. The sadness in her eyes looks carved there, permanent.
“Ah… I guess it’s a nice line,” she answers softly.

“Cheer up, girl! We’re going to be rich! Well… I’m going to be rich. But I’ll buy you food and clothes!”

Flower blinks, realization dawning. “Hey, Gramms… if they win… that alpha said she’s going to free me, right?”

The older woman’s face changes, the sparkle dimming. “Ah… that. Yeah. But they’re gonna lose.”

Flower stares. “Why? How are you so sure?”

“Because I chose the fighters. The hard part was finding someone to fight Lyra.”

“You mean… you plan on making Lyra lose?”

The old woman sighs, leaning closer, her voice dropping. “Yeah. I can’t make Hazel lose—she has to win, that’s where the big money is. But…” She meets Flower’s eyes, steady and unapologetic. “I can’t afford to lose you.”

The flicker of hope on Flower’s face vanishes. Her eyes dull again, as if a small light inside her has been snuffed out.

“Also…” the older alpha adds grimly, “we’re being paid even more by someone else to let their fighter in. And they want Lyra to go down.” Her tone carries no triumph, only resignation.

Flower lowers her gaze, silent.

The old woman exhales, almost gently. “Sorry, Flower.”

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“Nova’s not coming to the office and I’m about to lose my mind!” Hazel bursts out in Noura’s office, pacing like a caged animal.

“Well, if she were here, what would you do?” Noura asks calmly.

“I don’t know… I’d ask her out, with… uhm… flowers… and… a bunch of presents!” Hazel blurts, flustered.

Noura can’t help but giggle. “That’s sweet, Hazel, but my advice? Go slow. 

“I know, I know, there’s not going to be sex on the first date!” Hazel answers hastily.

Noura continues “No, I mean, don’t start with big gestures. Just ask her out. Talk to her. Ask about her life, her goals… build from there.”

“Ugh, I know, I know…” Hazel groans.

Noura takes her hand, her touch firm but gentle. She meets Hazel’s eyes, then presses lightly against key points on her palm.
“Take a deep breath.”

Hazel obeys, inhaling shakily.

“Now close your eyes.”

She does.

“Remember your safe place? Let’s go there…”

The office door creaks open just a sliver. From the crack, the dark lens of a smartphone camera peers in, recording.

 

Hazel does.

 

“Remember your safe place? Let’s go there…”

 

Noura’s door opens very slightly, the lens of a smartphone camera peeks from the opening.

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“Who is that?”

“Is that an alpha… touching Hazel’s hand?”

The omegas sit entranced, eyes glued to the screen. Their voices stay hushed.

It has become routine: gathering in one of their rooms before bed, watching Hazel clips with Nova. Tonight, the glow of the latest compilation from a shadowy, obscure account flickers across their faces.

“Look at Hazel,” one whispers. “She trusts this woman a lot.”

Nova freezes, her throat tight. “That’s Noura,” she murmurs. “Our therapist.”

All the omegas turn back to the video, their voices soft. “Noura…”

Nova bites at her nails, panic clawing at her chest.
Oh my Goddess… Hazel’s been with alphas before. I never thought I could lose her to an alpha…

She shakes her head, trying to chase the thought away. No… Noura is just doing her job. Therapy. That’s all… right?

But then a memory strikes, her own “sessions” with Ari. The way touch crept in, the way her lips brushed against her skin, how closeness blurred into attraction.

Her eyes widen. Oh Goddess… I have to go back to Morph C.O. soon!

Mary notices her worry, she takes her hand subtly.

“Don’t worry, Nova. If it's love, she won´t close her heart to you.” she smiles.

Nova blinks, eyes wide.

Is it love though? Is it?

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The end of the workweek arrives. Tomorrow is the big fight. Hazel slips on her coat, ready to head home early, to train a little, maybe even take something to take the edge off.

Suddenly, an omega rushes up and grabs her hand.

“Huh?” Hazel freezes, staring down at the smaller woman now clutching her fingers.

“Thank you, Hazel,” the omega says with a bright smile.

Hazel blinks. “Ah… no problem…”
Thanks? For what?

Word has spread. Some of the Morph C.O. staff actually believe Hazel is stepping into the ring for the sake of the poor.

From the second floor, Lyra watches with a faint smile. Noura stands beside her, observant, arms folded.

“Did you plan this?” Noura asks.

“No,” Lyra answers, lips curving wider. “But it’s genius, isn’t it? They love her now.”

Noura glances toward the marketing department. Not everyone looks pleased, some women shoot Hazel sharp, hostile stares.

“Well… not everyone loves her. Some remember her days of hunting omegas and terrorizing HR,” Noura murmurs.

“And that’s good,” Lyra replies smoothly. “Hazel’s going to have to face the consequences of that too, eventually.”

Noura arches a brow. “And in your opinion, how is that good?”

Lyra’s gaze stays fixed on Hazel below. “Because after the fight, she’ll finally be in a position to do just that.”

Noura studies her, unsettled by Lyra’s certainty. How is she so sure of that? And what’s the logic behind it?

“Lyra,” Noura says carefully, “I think we should try a different type of therapy.”

“Huh? Where did that come from?” Lyra asks, caught off guard.

“The couples’ therapy with Ari is good,” Noura explains, steady. “But for you… I’d recommend something else too. Therapy for leadership. A different approach.”

Lyra studies her in silence, chest rising with a long inhale. She lets the thought settle, then exhales, her eyes meeting Noura’s again. A small, reluctant smile tugs at her lips as she nods.

“Alright. If you think it’ll help… yes. Let’s do it.”

Noura smiles, relief blooming. This is good. She’s not scary anymore. She’s not seeing me as a threat. Good, good, all goo—

Lyra suddenly steps forward, closing the distance. She leans in, breathing in Noura’s scent, invading her space.

Noura freezes. Her eyes widen, her pulse quickens, heat rises in her cheeks. “Lyra… what are you doing?”

“I’m making sure I remember your scent,” Lyra murmurs. “And making sure you’re an alpha.”

Annoyance cuts through Noura’s nerves. That last part stings. “I told you—I am.”

“Yes,” Lyra says, eyes narrowing with intent, “but I have to be certain.”

“Uhm, why?”

Lyra eases back, giving her space. “Because you had chances to take Ari away from me, and you didn’t. There’s only a small percentage of alphas in the world, and even fewer in cities run by Morph C.O. tech. And rarer still are the alphas who would respect an omega’s vulnerability the way you did with Ari.”

Noura’s expression shifts. She blinks, blindsided.
Lyra is absolutely right. Her entire career has been shaped by omegas, supported by betas. Alphas are forced through harsher tests just to earn the title, and even then they’re not trusted with delicate minds. Alphas are given companies, stadiums, armies, fields that prize strength and dominance, but rarely the trust to guide or protect a vulnerable omega’s heart and mind.

Materia-run cities are different. The role of alphas is another. More of them means a whole different dynamic. They’re still a minority, but not nearly as much as in Aira’s territory.

“You’re a good person, Noura. I want to remember your scent. If I ever have to trust someone to protect Ari in case things get dangerous, I can trust you for that.”

Noura blinks.
In case things get dangerous… is she already thinking things will get dangerous?

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Noura pulls into the narrow garage beneath her home, the hum of her car fading as the gate slides shut behind her. She slips off her coat as she climbs the small flight of steps, scanning her wrist against the sensor to unlock the door.

The house greets her with warmth and light. It’s not large, but it breathes with open space, the double-height ceiling lifting above the living room, the wide windows pulling in the glow of the city outside. The chandelier over the loft flickers gently, scattering light like starlight across the marble counters of the kitchen.

Her shoes click against the polished floor as she crosses into the living space. She tosses her keys onto the counter, exhales, and lets her shoulders fall. From the glass walls she can see her small backyard, quiet and still, the faint outlines of plants moving in the night breeze.

Upstairs, her bed waits on the loft, half-hidden behind the railing. For now, though, Noura stays in the living room, sinking onto the white couch, staring at the glow of the trees reflected in her windows.

Her home is beautiful, sleek, carefully put together, yet she feels its silence pressing in, reminding her that tomorrow she will be in that dirty, noisy ring, fighting against an unknown, probably tougher alpha.

“Ugh…” Noura sulks, rolling onto her side.

Later, she’s in bed, the room dim except for the faint glow of her tablet. A soothing meditation program plays from Vyre, soft tones, calming voices, but her mind refuses to settle. The fight tomorrow, the web of intrigue, the danger… Lyra. It all spins in restless circles.

With a sharp exhale, she stops the audio. Silence fills the room.

How long has it been since she was with someone? A few months already… And why now, of all times, is she thinking about that?

She sighs, eyes opening to the darkness. Red irises catch the faintest light, sharp even in shadow. She’s calmer, gentler than most, yes. Not the typical alpha. But she’s still an alpha.

Lyra.

Her thoughts summon her, tall, defiant, standing before her in the privacy of her imagination.

Lyra, Lyra… what do I want to do with you?

Lyra, coming closer to sniff her.

She inhales.

Better save this for tomorrow.

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Author's notes:

yayayayayayayayayayaya

Chapter 52: Are You Not Entertained?

Summary:

the charged atmosphere surrounding a major fight, where influencers, elites, and hidden factions converge. Rivalries between streaming stars play out online, personal tensions surface among those watching, and the fighters prepare under the weight of expectation. Glamour collides with grit as the event transforms into a stage for power, politics, and personal stakes. Just as the spectacle reaches its height, an unexpected revelation threatens to upend everything.
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Tens of thousands in merchandising for a handful of the most talented ghetto artists, a life changing earning. Hundreds of thousands of new followers, and the launch of new channels on Vyre and Hype, a win for influencers everywhere. Not exactly the grand redistribution of wealth the less fortunate had been waiting for, but it was something, a start, and all of it thanks to Hazel, or so the story goes, and the people love it.

Why wasn’t this fight held in one of the more prestigious rings? Simple: there are none. Fighting isn’t a sport the elites or anyone who deems themselves refined cares for. It’s a pastime of the poor, consumed mostly by betas and alphas, an industry so neglected by authorities that it harbors some of the worst crimes imaginable, including omega trafficking.

According to many influencers, Hazel’s choice to step into this world was no accident. They say she’s making a statement, calling out the crimes of her aunt, the very woman she openly opposes.

Livestream sales of the event keep climbing, while the seats themselves were gone by the second day after the announcement. As expected, none of the locals managed to get in. Most tickets ended up in the hands of high-profile artists eager to frame the fight as a daring performance piece, board members from companies tied to the Astorés, influencers chasing relevance, and a few lucky salarywomen quick enough to click “buy” in the early hours of the morning.

The once grimy, foul-smelling underground ring has been scrubbed into something new, clean, orderly, not exactly luxurious but respectable enough. The stench is gone, the walls no longer reek of decay, and even the seats now have a kind of padding.

“Hello, my beautiful bees! It’s your Queen, Honey!” She twirls toward the camera, her sequined jacket catching the light in dizzy sparkles. “Yes, I’m early to the event, buzzing in before the hive fills up, because you know I always get the first scoop.” She puckers her lips, blowing a kiss at the lens before snapping her fingers so the screen overlays glittery emojis and a pulsing “LIVE NOW” banner.

“All of you who paid for this exclusive livestream, congratulations! You’re now in the running for a date with me!” Honey beams at the camera, throwing up a glittery heart with her hands.

Nova grimaces at the screen, her lip curling. Around her, the other omegas nod in agreement, watching her reaction as if it validates their own. The room is crammed full, smartphones glowing, every pair of eyes glued to the broadcast.

“I don’t like that woman…” Nova mutters.

“She’s a little vain… but she does get exclusives—OH MY GODDESS! Is that Blue in the background?” one of the omegas squeals.

“Blue? What are you talking about? The walls are just… gray.”

“I mean the influencer! BLUEEE!”

In seconds, a handful of them switch streams, flipping to Blue’s channel.

Blue is striking in her simplicity. Her black hair falls in tousled strands that frame her sharp features, one lock brushing across her face in a way that only adds to her allure. Her eyes are steady, captivating, holding a calm intensity. 

“Hey there, it’s Blue,” she greets, her voice warm and unhurried. “And guess what? I’m giving you full access to the event of the year, for free. Because that’s just me. I like to give.” She punctuates the line with a slow wink.

Ink coils along her side, a serpent tattoo twisting just above the waistline of her dark trousers, a promise of danger hiding beneath the polished surface. Her posture is relaxed, almost languid, but it’s the kind of ease that suggests control rather than carelessness.

Admiring gasps ripple through the room.

“Oh Goddess that snake…”

Back on the other feed, Honey’s smile tightens as she side-eyes the rival stream. “Ugh…” she hisses under her breath, her glittery persona slipping for just a second.

“I don’t care about these influencers, when is Hazel going to fight?” Nova asks, impatience sharp in her tone.

“It’s the last match,” Mary replies. “Still a few hours away.”

Nova exhales in frustration. “Fine. I’ll be writing in the other room. Call me when Hazel’s on the screen…” She pushes herself up from the bed.

“Hazel’s on the screen!” an omega suddenly shrieks from the top bunk across the room.

Nova spins around, hurrying back. She scrambles up beside her, heart quickening, and drops onto the mattress. Her gaze locks instantly onto the smartphone, eyes wide and unblinking.

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Lyra takes a cab to the venue, she's not going to risk having her Rivian stolen. When the car door swings open, she steps out with the deliberate poise of someone who owns every inch of ground she walks on.

Her outfit is a razor-sharp statement: a dark oversized blazer draped effortlessly over her shoulders, a silk-gray shirt tucked into high-waisted trousers that emphasize her long, lean frame. A belt cinches her waist just enough to highlight her figure without softening her edge. The subtle shimmer of fabric, the way her shirt falls open just so at the collarbone, it’s elegance sharpened into menace.

Her body moves like a weapon sheathed in beauty: tall, shoulders squared, every step confident and unhurried. She carries the kind of presence that makes onlookers tense without knowing why. Fierce. Dangerous. Unapologetically commanding.

And then there’s her face. The cut of her jaw, the sculpted cheekbones, the disdainful curve of her lips. She looks untouchable, almost severe. Yet her beauty is undeniable, devastating in its precision, the kind that leaves people unsure whether to worship her or run. Dark hair spills loosely around her face, framing sharp eyes that glint with the promise of violence and allure in equal measure.

“Ah! That’s Lyra Veran!” Honey announces, she runs to her with her camera crew.

“Hey, Lyra!”

 

“Scram.” Lyra says, flatly and walks away from her.

 

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“Hahaha!” Nova laughs, so loud that other omegas in the room flinch. “Ah… That’s not Hazel…”

 

“No, no, in the background… that’s her car…”

 

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The Syrena Levana drives itself through the neon-lit streets, while Hazel sits inside, bouncing one leg, nerves tangled with adrenaline. She hasn’t done any drugs, hasn’t even touched herself, Lyra’s advice still rings in her head. “Use whatever you have pent up inside you to give your best blows.”  Her coach’s voice, calm, commanding, impossible to disobey.

Hazel exhales sharply, trying to steady her breathing. She clenches her fists, then shakes them out, hyping herself up with muttered curses. Her bratty edge shows even in the way she psychs herself up—cocky bravado masking the tension in her chest.

The car eases into the lot and parks itself. The door lifts, and Hazel steps out.

She looks like trouble wrapped in beauty. Her blonde hair catches the neon light, falling in tousled waves that frame a face equal parts angelic and defiant. Caramel eyes glint with nervous fire, betraying both her excitement and the weight pressing down on her.

Her outfit is sleek and merciless: a skintight black bodysuit that clings to every line of her body, stitched with golden accents that trace her curves like luxurious veins. A cropped gray hoodie hangs over her shoulders, casual but stylish, giving her the swagger of someone who doesn’t need armor to be dangerous. The design is clean, pure, making the silhouette sharp, bold.

As she steps onto the pavement, Hazel rolls her shoulders, forcing herself into composure. She’s a little jittery, but there’s a spark in her smirk, the bratty confidence she always hides behind. Tonight, she’s ready to turn every ounce of pent-up tension into something brutal, something unforgettable.

“Ugh, who cares about Lyra Veran? The real star of this fight is here! Hazel!” Honey calls out, striding toward her with a bright smile, camera crew trailing behind like worker bees.

“Me?” Hazel blinks, pointing to herself.

“Of course, you! Who else?” Honey laughs, already angling the small mic closer. “I’m Honey. Tell me you follow my channel?”

“Uh… ahm…” Hazel hesitates, scratching her cheek.

Honey barrels on without waiting. “More important… what are you wearing? Everyone’s dying to know.”

Hazel straightens a little, smoothing a hand over the sleek fabric. “Oh, this? It’s the new activewear by Astartè. That’s my cousin’s clothing line.”

 

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Gasps and soft awws ripple through the omegas watching in the Covenant. Nova narrows her eyes, scanning the room, trying to catch which of them is bold enough to openly admire her alpha.

“She seems kind…” one murmurs.
“Aw, she’s wearing her family’s clothing line.”
“Um… most of the luxury clothing lines are from her family…” another adds.

Nova scoffs, the sound sharp as a blade. The omegas fall quiet instantly, their admiration swallowed by the tension in the air.

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“I said scram.” Lyra says, grabbing Hazel’s wrist and pulling her away from Honey.

“Hey! No fair!” Honey exclaims. Lyra puts her hand on Honey’s face and pushes her lightly.

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“Hahahaha!” Nova laughs again.

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Honey’s mic is off.

“Da fuck is wrong with that woman…”

The camerawoman peeks and says “She’s Aira’s main thug or something.”

“Ugh…” Honey growls, her glittery smile slipping. “Anyway, let’s wrap up here and—hoooold ooon… there’s the mystery fighter!”

Another cab glides to the curb, sleek and silent. The door opens, and Noura steps out. Honey’s mic is back on.

Her skin glows bronze under the streetlights, her red irises catching the light like gems. She wears a fitted black top, clean and understated, paired with pale leggings that sharpen the contrast. No glitter, no excess, just stripped-down elegance. Her dark hair falls loose around her face. She doesn’t hurry. She doesn’t fidget. She doesn’t smile.

“Looks like our mystery fighter is on a budget…” Honey remarks, her tone less than kind.

Without missing a beat, she rushes forward, mic in hand. “Hi! I’m Honey. What’s your name?”

Noura answers with a warm, polite smile. “Hi. My name is Noura.”

Honey leans in, buzzing with faux curiosity. “And how do you know Hazel?”

“I’m her therapist,” Noura replies candidly.

Honey’s eyes widen. “Hazel goes to therapy?! Woow! And why are you fighting today? Did she pay you to do this?”

Noura chuckles softly. “No, not at all. I have my reasons.”

Honey tilts forward, pressing. “C’mon… tell us. We’re dying to know!”

Noura closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again, her red gaze suddenly sharper, dangerous. Her voice is calm, deliberate. “Did you know that forty percent of omegas living below the poverty line are forced into unregistered jobs that compromise their wellbeing and dignity?”

Honey blinks, thrown off, her smile faltering.

“And the other sixty percent?” Noura continues smoothly. “The jobs left to them are the kind that will never pull them out of their situation.”

Honey stammers, caught flat-footed. “Ah… okay… ahm…”

Before the silence can grow heavier, Lyra steps in. She grips Noura by the wrist, her expression serious, and pulls her away from the cameras, dragging her into the shadows with her.

Honey doesn´t follow her.

“Aaanyway…”

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“Hahaha! Ah…” Nova lets out another laugh before waving it off. “Anyway, just call me when Hazel’s back on screen.”

She goes down the bunk bed and exits the crowded room.

Nova’s phone buzzes in the basket, all omegas who are close look at it, the screen lits up, Ari’s name on the screen.

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“Pick up, Nova! Dammit!” Ari bites her nails, glaring at the screen. When the call drops, she groans. “Agh…”

She flicks on the TV and scrolls to Vyre.

Why do I even stress myself…? Lyra’s just going to keep doing these things. Who knows if she’ll stop even after the debt is paid? Do I want to live like this?

Her mind betrays her, pulling up memories—how she had ridden Lyra’s mouth, rough, frustrated, torn between anger and desire.

Ugh… I hate being a little angry when making love. I don’t like those feelings mixing.

She sighs, shaking it off. Ah… whatever. I choose to believe in Lyra. I choose to believe this fight, Hazel’s mentorship—it’ll pay off the debt.

But even as she tells herself that, her heart doesn’t quite follow.

“Ari, Gina is at the door,” Taylor announces.

“Gina!” Ari leaps off the bed, runs to the door, and flings it open. “Gina!” She throws herself into her friend’s arms.

“Whoa! Hello…” Gina laughs, startled.

“Ah, Gina, I’ve been so stressed!” Ari admits, clinging tight.

Gina chuckles, softening. “I missed you too?”

“Come in, come in—the fight’s about to start.” Ari ushers her inside, her relief spilling into her voice.

Fresh pizza slides out of the oven—not a delivery box this time, but a tray.

“You made pizza? You never make pizza,” Gina says, grabbing a slice.

“I like pizza now.”

“Good news!” Gina grins.

They carry the tray into Lyra’s room, settling on her bed, Blue’s livestream playing on the TV.

“Why are you watching it on this crappy stream? There are actual channels airing it,” Gina says, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, but Lyra doesn’t pay for those…”

Gina nearly chokes. “What?! Don’t you ever watch TV?”

“Not national channels, no. And none of our streaming services picked it up.”

“Damn…” Gina shakes her head. It’s true then—fancy people don’t pay for national channels.

“Look, let me connect my phone.” She plugs it in, and suddenly they’re watching the fight like the middle class.

“Did you tell Rainy?” Ari asks.

“Yes, but… she’s… ah…” Gina trails off.

On the screen, a group of masked women appear, voices raised in protest.

“This fight is a circus! Hazel Astoré is no champion of the poor!”
“An Astoré will never defend the poor!”
“She fucking bit my friend!”

Ari stares, eyes wide.

Gina exhales. “Yep… that’s Rainy.”

“I mean… she did bite Nova, but…”

Gina sighs again. “Yeah…”

Ari watches at the women, they’re not many.

I feel sorry for them. What they say is true but… nobody is behind them… and everybody, even the victims of the Astorès are rooting for the Astorés…

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“Hazel! Hazel! Hazel! Hazel!” the crowd roars.

No one has stepped into the ring yet, but anticipation is thick in the air. Some have come just to see Hazel for the first time, half-expecting her to stride out and read a manifesto before the fight even begins.

“Look at them, Flower… these are fine people. Good people. Not like the usual crowd of lowlifes,” the gramms says, her eyes shining with admiration as she surveys the stands.

Scattered among the audience are influencers, clusters of salary women packed into the back rows, a few of Aira’s wealthy friends lounging up front. There are recognizable faces too: business owners, the so-called Queen of Raspberry Imports and Exports, even a pair of Taylor engineers.

“Ah… fine people,” Gramms repeats, voice trembling, nearly moved to tears.

Flower studies the crowd, jaded and unimpressed.
“They look the same to me.” she mutters

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“Ew! This place is gross! Where the fuck can I leave my clothes?! This locker is dirty…” Hazel complains, wrinkling her nose.

“Hazel, shut up. Don’t talk like that in here. Just take off your jacket and leave it,” Lyra orders, her tone sharp and calm at once.

“It’s a five-hundred-credit jacket…” Hazel mutters.

“It’s worth far more than that,” Lyra corrects coolly. “You’re wearing it for a historic fight. After tonight, it’s a piece of history, worth thousands.”

Hazel gulps, suddenly quiet.

Noura steps forward with a kind smile. “Here, I’ll hold on to it.”

Lyra strips off her jacket without hesitation and tosses it to Noura, who catches it easily. But when her eyes flick back up, they linger.

Lyra is undressing with the same confidence she always brings to the atmosphere. Her sports bra clings to her frame, stark black against sculpted shoulders and lean, defined muscle. Black panties hug her hips before she slides into training shorts, every motion efficient, unbothered by the eyes on her. She tightens the bandages over her knuckles and then the straps of her small gloves, then gathers her dark hair, twisting it into a firm bun.

The light catches on her torso, tracing every line of strength, hard abs, sinewed arms, the elegant menace of a body built for battle.

Noura stands frozen, jacket clutched to her chest, her gaze helplessly drinking in the sight. Lyra isn’t trying to be alluring, she’s focused, fierce, just preparing for the fight. And yet to Noura, it’s devastating. Every move radiates power, precision, and a raw sensuality she can’t look away from.

Her breath hitches, a small flush rising in her cheeks. She forces herself to swallow, to smile faintly, masking the pull she feels. 

Hazel notices immediately.
“Uhh… oh-oh… teh-hehehe!” she giggles, covering her mouth but grinning wide.

Noura exhales through her nose, shaking her head as she quickly averts her gaze, cheeks warming.

“I’m first. So, yeah.” Lyra states flatly before striding out of the changing room, her presence leaving a vacuum behind.

Hazel and Noura remain inside. Hazel smirks knowingly, leaning against the lockers, eyes glinting with mischief. Noura stays quiet, her silence speaking louder than words.

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“In the right corner! Standing tall at five-foot-eleven, weighing about one hundred and forty-five pounds!”

She’s cut off by a voice from the stands.
“Use fucking kilograms, you animal!”

The crowd erupts, half of them laughing, the other half booing the heckler.

“What?! You were all thinking it!” the voice defends itself.

“Don’t speak for all of us, you fucking low-life!” a Taylor engineer shouts back.

Noise swells, the crowd restless, the energy turning rowdy.

Gramms grips the mic tighter, glancing around. The audience suddenly feels less like an audience and more like a mob. Then, without warning, a firm hand takes the microphone from her.

“He—hey! Oh… Lyra…”

Lyra doesn’t hesitate. Her voice cuts clean through the noise.
“Shut up. I’m Lyra. I’m one meter eighty tall and I weigh sixty-eight kilograms, for all the ignorant out there.”

The crowd falls into a hush, her presence commanding the space more than any announcement could. Lyra hands the mic back to Gramms.

“Ah… ok…” she inhales “Ok you heard her, it’s Lyra Veran!”

The crowd again erupts, now into cheer.

“And in the left corner! Standing at five feet seven inches tall, weighing in at a rock-solid one hundred and sixty pounds of pure power! A devoted member of the Covenant of the Moonbound…”

What?!

Lyra stiffens, caught off guard. She doesn’t know this fighter—hadn’t even heard of her—and the revelation of a Covenant member in the cage is unsettling.

“Give it up for… Gabriella!”

The crowd erupts, some cheering, others murmuring in shock. Lyra’s eyes narrow, fixed on the woman across from her, trying to size her up.

Flower steps forward, small against the cage’s bulk, and unlatches the entrance with both hands. The metallic clang of the door swinging open cuts through the noise.

Out of the corridor, she comes. Blonde hair pulled tight into a bun, blue eyes blazing with feral intent. Her expression is raw, animalistic, daring anyone to hold her gaze. The white fight gear clings to her frame, every muscle line drawn sharp under the lights. Her hands, bound in white tape, flex with restless hunger for contact.

She doesn’t hesitate. One foot on the edge, then she climbs into the cage with fluid strength, pulling herself up and over like the bars are nothing. As she lands, the tattoo across her back flashes into view—a crescent moon etched deep in ink, momentarily catching the light like a brand.

Inside the cage, Gabriella claims her space immediately. Shoulders squared, fists clenched, she paces the mat like a predator marking new territory. She doesn’t acknowledge the crowd, doesn’t even glance at Flower, the world has already narrowed to one point of focus: Lyra.

The cage door slams shut with a heavy metallic snap. The roar of the audience surges, primal, as if the sound itself confirms it: the beast is inside.

“She looks buff!”

“Fuck! …would.”

The crowd buzzes, a mix of awe, fear and a little bit of lust.

Lyra studies her carefully. She’s strong. Her arms are a little shorter than mine, that’s an advantage. But why would Gramms throw in a new fighter like her?

Her eyes flick to Gramms. The old woman quickly averts her gaze.
Something’s off. Something’s fishy.

“Woah!!”

A sudden kick slices through the air, forcing Lyra to jerk back. She evades it by a hair, stumbling into the wall of the cage.

“Hey!”

Gramms rushes forward, throwing up her hands. “Whoa, whoa, wait! Wait till the fight begins!”

Gabriella exhales slowly, then takes the mic from her. Her voice rumbles deep, heavy, commanding. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the rules of this sport.” She hands the mic back without a hint of shame.

But her eyes never leave Lyra. They burn with menace, simmering rage barely contained, like she isn’t here to fight, but to settle something personal.

Lyra feels it deep in her gut. That kick wasn’t a mistake. Gabriella had aimed to kill.

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Back at Lyra's, Ari watches, frightened.

"Ari?..." Gina shakes her subtly. Ari is not responsive.

"Ari... Ari... Ari..."

Gabriella's voice: Ari

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Author's notes:

Awawa!

Chapter 53: Faith and Fury

Summary:

Lyra faces an opponent who wields not only brute strength, but also words sharp enough to cut at her heart. The crowd fractures between chants of devotion and cries for blood, their tension mounting with every strike. Outside the ring, Ari and Gina witness the chaos with conflicted emotions: fear, awe, and a dangerous sense of comfort.
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Ari sits on Lyra’s bed, trembling in Gina’s arms, unable to look at the screen. She has just poured everything out: Gabriella, the covenant, the arranged marriage, her parents, spilling it all in a rush. Gina holds her tight.

“Let’s turn the TV off,” Gina whispers.

“No.” Ari shakes her head, though her eyes stay downcast. “I want to see Lyra… I need to know she’s okay.”

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“No biting, no spitting, no headbutts, no undressing the opponent, no hitting or kicking the groin. Keep it clean …ish. Let’s begin!”

The fight starts. The crowd, so used to other kinds of spectacles, falls into an uneasy hush. Only murmurs ripple through the silence.

Lyra takes distance. Gabriella smiles.

“Hey, did Ari come here? Is she in the crowd?”

Lyra’s eyes widen. Huh?!

Ari… she said her name. Why? How does she know?

Lyra doesn’t answer, doesn’t engage.

Gabriella presses on. “Oh. No, of course not. You wouldn’t bring her here when you can keep her safe at that place you have in *****. The same place you had Nova.”

Lyra stiffens. Unsettled.

Gabriella lunges, throwing a punch.

It almost connects, but Lyra slips away.

Damn it. She’s making me lose focus.

Another strike. Another dodge. Then another, closer this time.

The audience gasps, murmurs swelling. Phones rise in every direction, influencers and onlookers recording, snapping pictures.

Gramms scans the crowd. The silence is wrong. No cheers, no screams, only whispers. She steps forward and calls out:

“C’mon, people! This is like a concert! Cheer for your fighter!”

At first, only a few voices rise, shy cheers, murmurs. Then, from the back, a salarywoman suddenly stands and shouts:

“Go Lyra! You’re so hot!”

The room erupts. A roar of women breaks free
“Yeeaah! Gooo! Yeah!”

Gramms laughs, clapping her hands. “That’s the spirit!”

Flower scans the crowd. Even with the noise building, some women stay quiet, hesitant, watching with expressions that feel different. 

Maybe this crowd is actually different.

In the ring, Lyra throws a punch. It connects, awkwardly, against Gabriella’s shoulder as she twists to evade.

Solid, Lyra thinks, feeling the dense muscle under her knuckles.

Then—

“Uughh!”

A devastating blow slams into her stomach. Air bursts out of her lungs. Pain flares. Disoriented, she staggers back, gasping for breath.

Fuck… she’s strong.

Gabriella charges.

Lyra keeps her distance.

“What’s wrong, Lyra? I was told you’re a good fighter,” Gabriella taunts, her grin feral.

Lyra suddenly drops low and sweeps a kick at her leg. Gabriella stumbles, drops to one knee…
and Lyra snaps a kick straight into her face!

“Oh my Goddess!!”
“Right to the face!”

The crowd explodes.

Gabriella staggers back. Blood smears her lip, but she barely flinches. Her eyes burn wild, her stance almost unshaken.

Ok… she’s strong. But not that fast. And her technique… sloppy.

Lyra steadies herself, breathes deep, shaping a plan in her head.

But Gabriella surges forward again, reaching to grab her.

Lyra’s instincts flare. Something dangerous.

She ducks under, drives a fist into Gabriella’s face once—no reaction. A second time, finally, Gabriella backs off.

She slipped up. Careless. That’s my way in. I just need to make her crack like that… a couple more times.

“Hey, Gabriella… or whatever your name is… how do you know Nova?” Lyra calls out.

Gabriella spits blood onto the floor. “She’s my sister. Why? You gonna tell me you fucked her?” She smiles, as if it means nothing.

Lyra grins back. “No. She’s my omega’s pet.”

The words ripple through the crowd.
“Oh my Goddess—what?!”
“Her pet?!”
“Lyra, wut?!”

Gramms grabs the mic “Oh-ho! Looks like this just turned personal!”

Gabriella freezes, fury flashing across her face.

A Seligman. Her sister. Being reduced to that? An apostate’s plaything, not even the alpha’s, but her omega’s. Demeaning. Unthinkable.

“What did you say about her? A Seligman?” Gabriella snarls. “You know lying is a sin. And lying about someone like Nova is especially heinous.”

Lyra tilts her head, smiling with mock sympathy. “Oh… so Nova is special to y'all, huh? No wonder she always ran from the kitchen, leaving a mess. Raised by people who taught her she’s something else of course she doesn´t know how to clean after herself. Tch..-that pillow princess.”

Gabriella snaps. She charges.

Lyra strikes—a punch—Gabriella ducks low and clips her jaw with a counter. Lyra pivots, drives a kick into her stomach, then slams a fist into her face.

Gabriella crashes to the floor, but scrambles back to her feet almost instantly.

Yes. That’s it. I just need to press her on that subject… make her mad. Push her until she breaks.

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The omegas in the covenant watch in silence, they blink.

Her pet?

Some of them blush faintly. Nova is not there watching the fight, she’s not there to defend herself and nobody dares to go get her.

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Round one is over, round two starts.

Gabriella lunges again, arms outstretched to grab her.

Lyra’s eyes widen—danger, again.
Why does that move feel so intimidating?!

She ducks under, snapping up with an uppercut—
but Gabriella’s elbow is already crashing down.

Their strikes collide.
“Agh!”

Pain shoots through Lyra’s hand. She jerks back, clutching it.
“Fuck!”

Gabriella only smiles, feral and steady.

The crowd erupts.
“Go Gabriella!”
“Go, muscle mommy!”

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“Lyra!” Ari cries out toward the screen.

“Fuck ...that’s bad,” Gina mutters.

“I have to go see her! I have to help her!” Ari pushes forward, frantic.

Gina grips her arm. “It’s better if you stay here. If we go, we’ll only get in the way.”

The words sound harsh, but Ari knows they’re true.

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Gabriella lunges again, arms reaching to seize her.

Lyra’s senses flare. She twists away, dodging. Her right hand is useless—pain throbs with every motion, so she keeps slipping back, evading, always on the defensive. Gabriella presses forward, relentless, always reaching for the grab.

Lyra’s pupils shrink. Sweat beads on her brow.

“Oh my bot!” Gramms shouts into the mic. “Lyra—former champion, legend of the ghetto—is in trouble!”

From the crowd, a woman in beige suddenly rises. She yanks a pendant from beneath her shirt and thrusts it high.

“Gabriella! The Goddess is with you!” she cries.

Others rise in response, voices swelling.
“The Goddess protects you!”
“We’re your moons—you’re our ocean!”

“Destroy that fucking atheist!”

The Taylor engineers exchange looks, uneasy at the sudden chant.

“Stupid cultists…” one mutters with disdain.
“Magical thinking is a disease,” another adds, shaking her head.

 

Gabriella inhales the cheers of her fans, her chest swelling as if the chants themselves give her strength. She lunges—fueled, feral

—but Lyra is already moving.

She bursts forward, colliding into Gabriella with sudden force. Surprise flashes across Gabriella’s face as Lyra hooks an arm around her waist and wrenches her off balance. The two crash to the ground, the impact rattling the floor.

Before Gabriella can recover, Lyra shifts fast, sliding onto her back and snaking her legs around her torso. She locks her ankles, arms wrapping tight around Gabriella’s throat in a rear naked choke.

The crowd roars. Some scream for Gabriella, others for Lyra.

“Lyra! Kill that religious freak!”

“Shut up, you sinner!”

“Muuuusclee mommyyyy!!!”

Gabriella thrashes, clawing at Lyra’s arm, trying to pry her off. But Lyra’s grip only tightens, her muscles straining, her jaw clenched.

“Stay down,” Lyra growls into Gabriella’s ear.

Gabriella bucks, kicks, slams her elbows back—desperate—but the choke holds firm. Her movements falter, slow. Breath hitches, ragged, then fades shallow.

Relief stirs in Lyra’s chest. It’s working. Her heart steadies. Soon, she’ll be home with Ari. Ari will scold her, sure, but it will be worth it.

Gabriella’s limbs go slack. Lyra holds a few seconds more, then finally exhales and loosens her arms—

—when Gabriella’s eyes snap open.

“Fuck!” Lyra reacts too late.

Gabriella lashes out, an arm shooting free. She claws at Lyra’s wrist, tearing a gap in the choke. With the other hand she twists hard, yanking Lyra’s thumb back at a vicious angle. Pain rips through Lyra’s grip, forcing her to let go.

The crowd explodes.
“Oh my Goddess!!”
“Yeeess! Do it for your moonbeams, Gabriella!”

Gabriella surges, using the opening to roll her body. She slams an elbow backward into Lyra’s ribs, forcing separation, then twists sharply and manages to drag Lyra down to the mat with her.

Now Gabriella’s on top, pressing her weight, straddling Lyra’s torso. Her hands drive down for control, one pushing at Lyra’s chin, the other grappling for her injured right hand.

The ambiance turns electric. Phones are up. Cheers and screams collide into chaos.

Gabriella’s fans rise to their feet, voices swelling in rhythm. The omegas—her devoted Moonbeams—clap and stomp as they chant, their words echoing like a hymn twisted into battle-cry:

“The Goddess shines, the Ocean roars,
We are your moons forevermore!
Rise, Oceanborn! Rise, Oceanborn!
The waves are strong, the night is yours!”

Their chant rolls through the hall, fervent and unshakable, while Lyra’s supporters glance around, already feeling overpowered by the sheer devotion of the Moonbeams.

Pinned beneath her, Lyra feels Gabriella’s raw strength pressing down like iron.
Shit. She recovered too fast.

“You sound ridiculous!” one of the Taylor engineers suddenly shouts at the Covenant women. “You believe the moon is your Goddess? We have FUCKING AI! Grow the fuck up!”

“Shut up! You’re so ignorant it’s painful!” a Moonbeam snaps back.

Gramms raises her mic, trying to calm it. “Hey, ladies, eyes on the ring! He-he…”

A paper ball sails from the stands and bounces off an engineer’s shoulder.
“Hey!” she protests.

On the mat, Lyra whispers through clenched teeth, “Ah… being pinned down like this… this is how your sister must have felt under my omega…”

“What?!” Gabriella jerks, fury flooding her expression—

—and Lyra slams a fist right into her face, even with her injured hand. The shock catches Gabriella off guard. She reels back, disoriented.

Lyra twists free, scrambling out from beneath her. She backs up, sucking in air, putting distance between them.

Fuck… that was close.

Ding! Ding! Ding!
The bell signals the end of the second round.

The crowd erupts.

“Holy bot! Did you see that?” Honey shouts into her smartphone, face lit by the screen. “I forgot where I even was—oh my bot, Gabriella is a fucking beast!”

The Moonbeams sway and chant their hymns with eyes closed, voices rising in devotion. Their fervor clashes with the rest of the audience—uneasy, irritated, divided.

Lyra heads to her corner, sweat dripping, chest heaving. Gramms leans in with the mic.

“Hey, big baddie… you okay? Do you want to give up?”

Lyra snaps, hissing through her teeth, “What?! NO!”

“Okay, okay…” Gramms raises her hands, chuckling nervously. “Just checking…”

She runs to the other corner. Gabriella is bruised and bloody, but she smiles, she’s invigorated by the chanting.

“Hey… you. Need anything? The fight’s back on in a few minutes,” Gramms asks.

“Yes, old lady,” Gabriella answers without opening her eyes. “Bring me one of the Moonbeams.”

Gramms blinks. “Eh… okay…” She looks up at the stands, lifting her mic. “Hey! Any of you Moonbeams want to come down here? Gabriella’s calling.”

The Moonbeams gasp, voices overlapping in excitement—until one woman cuts through the noise, moving with quiet certainty. She steps down from the crowd.

Lyra frowns. “What?! Is this even allowed?”

The Moonbeam is striking: small and delicate, with pale blue eyes and long black hair, dressed head to toe in white. Silver necklaces bearing moon symbols jangle softly at her throat. Tattoos of waves and crescent moons curl over her hands.

Flower stares, breath caught. Wow… she’s beautiful. Clean, radiant…

The woman glances sideways at her, offers a faint smile. Flower freezes.

Gramms helps her climb into the ring. She crosses to Gabriella’s corner, bows low. “Hello, Oceanborn.”

Gabriella returns the bow, kneeling with her eyes shut.

The Moonbeam begins a ritual. Her voice hums low, rhythmic, words almost unintelligible. She slips one necklace from her throat and circles it around Gabriella’s body, as if infusing her with unseen power.

The crowd falls silent, transfixed by the sight.

“Oh, c’mon! What the fuck is this?!” an engineer shouts, standing up. “Are you seriously endorsing this superstition?!”

“Silence!” a Moonbeam snaps.

“You shut up!” a salarywoman fires back.

The hall vibrates with tension.

The Moonbeam finishes the ritual just as the crowd’s chatter swells. Without hesitation, she leans in and kisses Gabriella on the lips. A collective gasp ripples through the onlookers.

Lyra complains with a scoff “Oh, come on! So I can just bring my girlfriend into the ring and kiss her too?”

Gramms waves her off. “We’ve always been loose with the rules, Lyra… we're the fucking ghetto for Goddess sake”

Unbothered, the Moonbeam steps down, slipping back into the crowd and rejoining her group.

Murmurs spread—some sharp with judgment, others edged with curiosity.

Lyra takes a long sip from her tumbler, swishes it, then spits the water to the side. She peels back her gloves just enough to change the bandages underneath. Her hand looks bad, swollen, bruised, already turning the wrong colors.

Fuck…

Gramms calls it, and round three begins.

Gabriella bolts forward, teeth bared. Lyra, against her better instincts, surges to meet her.

They collide mid-ring, the crash of muscle against muscle. Gabriella grins as she locks her arms around Lyra, trying to muscle her down, relying only on brute force.

But Lyra has technique.

She drops her weight, shifts her hips, and snakes an arm under Gabriella’s. With a sharp pivot she goes for a hip throw, trying to leverage Gabriella’s momentum against her.

For a moment it almost works. Gabriella stumbles, balance tipping

…but her raw strength kicks in. She plants her feet like anchors, straining, stopping the throw halfway.

Damn, she’s solid… but her stance is… flawed…

Lyra shifts tactics instantly.

“You know… I actually liked Nova a lot,” she whispers.

“Huh?” Gabriella snarls, momentarily thrown. “What, trying to get in my good graces now?”

“My omega misses her. We protected her from someone else… that’s how she became Ari’s pet…” Lyra grunts as they grapple, muscles straining.

“Stop talking.”

“Didn’t you notice? She has a scar on her shoulder. Someone was quite rough with her...”

Gabriella blinks. Her focus slips for half a second.

Lyra hooks a leg, sweeps hard, twists. Gabriella’s footing buckles—
—but she claws at Lyra’s back, dragging her down with her in a violent tumble.

They slam into the mat, tangled, each struggling for control. Gabriella presses down with brute force, trying to smother her. Lyra’s mind races: If I can just isolate an arm… choke her again… something she won’t expect.

She slips her arm under Gabriella’s, pivots her hips, and rolls, clean reversal. In a heartbeat, Lyra is on top.

Her knee pins Gabriella’s arm, her other leg climbs high to trap the shoulder. She locks her arms, cinching tight. The arm triangle closes, pressure crushing down.

Gabriella thrashes, raw power bucking, but Lyra only squeezes harder, bone grinding into artery.

Got you.

Gabriella’s grin falters. Her frantic kicks lose rhythm. The Moonbeams rise in unison, their chants rolling through the rafters in prayer for their Oceanborn.

Lyra snarls, teeth bared, tightening inch by inch. She feels Gabriella’s pulse hammering beneath her forearm, slowing, weakening.

No loosening the grip this time.

The crowd erupts, voices clashing.
“Where’s your Goddess now, huh?!” an engineer jeers.
The Moonbeams scowl, their devotion hardening. Salarywomen shout over them, desperate, screaming Lyra’s name.

Gabriella’s eyes begin to roll back.

“Hey, Lyra, that’s enough!” Gramms calls from below, nervous now.

“No, Gramms…” Lyra growls. “This one’s tricky.”

“Lyra, let her go!”

Lyra glances down, frowning. She eases the choke just a fraction—that’s all it takes.

In that instant, Gabriella jerks, exploding free.

Lyra clamps down, crushing tight—
but Gabriella powers through, ripping herself loose.

“Fuck!” Lyra staggers back, glaring. “The fuck, Gramms?!”

Gramms only shrugs, awkward and guilty.

Gabriella coughs, breath shallow as she steadies herself. Her face hardens into a fierce frown… then stretches into a smile that shows her teeth.

“How are you so calm, Lyra? Do you not care about your omega?”

Lyra’s eyes widen in indignation. “Huh? Why the fuck would you say that?”

Gabriella’s grin widens. “Oh… she didn’t tell you about me.”

A chill runs through Lyra.
This bitch knows Ari…

“She never told you about the visit I paid to your house. She probably froze the moment she heard my voice.”

Lyra blinks, forcing herself to focus.
Don’t let her get in your head… I can deal with this later.

She drops into a fighting stance.

Gabriella laughs, loud and cruel. “Your omega doesn’t trust you!”

Anger flares hot in Lyra’s chest.

“She probably confided in my sister instead. They’re probably closer, you call her her pet out of jealousy. My sister can steal her from you, because she’s a Seligman, and you’re nobody.” Gabriella laughs again, feeding off the crowd.

The audience roars, some jeering, some cheering, pressuring Lyra to react. Temptation gnaws at her restraint.

Gramms gulps, voice uneasy in the mic. “C’mon, Gabriella… fight with your fists, not your mouth…”

“Silence, old woman.” Gabriella sneers. “Lyra needs to hear the truth.” Her gaze locks on Lyra. “I’m fated to her, to Ari. She’s fated to me. You’re just a phase until she accepts her destiny.”

The words hit deep. Gabriella’s confidence cuts like a blade, so sure, so final, that Lyra snaps.

She lunges forward, fast as lightning, breaking into Gabriella’s space. Her fist slams into Gabriella’s ear with brutal force.

“Oh! A lethal punch from Lyra!” Honey screams.

“She moved super fast!” Blue exclaims.

The crowd erupts in cheers. The Moonbeams gasp in horror—
“Gabriella!” one of them screams.

Gabriella’s balance crumbles, staggering.

Lyra doesn’t back off. She lunges in, seizing Gabriella’s neck with her left hand, fingers digging deep.

Gabriella chokes, her breath cut off. She claws at Lyra’s arm, but too slow—

Lyra drives her injured fist into Gabriella’s eye.

“Aaaaghh!” Gabriella screams, her body jerking from the impact.

Lyra shoves hard, sending Gabriella crashing onto her ass and hands on the mat. She scrambles to rise, but Lyra is already looming over her, eyes blazing, fury rolling off her like heat.

Lyra raises her leg, aiming a brutal kick at Gabriella’s head.

Gabriella jerks aside …too slow. The strike grazes her arm, tearing skin.

“Fuck!” she screams, clutching the cut.

“Ari is mine. Forever,” Lyra snarls, and swings her leg again.

Gabriella throws her arms up to shield herself, but the kick still slams into her guard, rattling her bones and flooding her body with pain.

“Ref! Save her!” voices scream from the crowd.
“Stop the fight!”

Gramms looks around, panic rising, sweat beading down her forehead.

Lyra kicks again. Gabriella can’t get up, she just crouches low, covering, absorbing blow after blow.

“Stop! She’s going to kill her!”

Gramms flinches, then bolts forward. She scrambles up to the ring and shouts into the mic with trembling hands:

“The winner—Lyra Veran!”

Lyra halts mid-motion, lowering her leg. But her fury still burns. She towers over Gabriella, pointing a stiff hand at her face like a gun.

“If you ever come near her or my house—” Lyra growls, “...bang.”

The crowd gasps, a wave of shock rippling through the hall. Gramms looks around at the frightened faces.

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Ari watches the scene unfold. She knows it’s bad for Lyra—knows this will only fuel the rumors that she’s killed for Aira. But still… that protective fury blazing in Lyra’s eyes makes her feel safe. Safer than she wants to admit.

Gina studies Ari’s face, catching the flicker of comfort beneath her surprise. She swallows hard, unsettled by what she sees.

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One of the engineers suddenly stands and shouts, “Oh, c’mon! This is a fight! Lyra’s just intimidating her! She won, so fucking cheer!” She claps hard, sharp, cutting through the tension.

Her friends join in, clapping louder. Slowly, some of the salary women follow, tentative at first, then more voices swell, cheering Lyra’s name.

The Moonbeams remain frozen, horrified. Others in the crowd exchange uneasy looks, judgment heavy in their eyes.

Gabriella growls but she can’t fight back, she won't stand to fight.

Gramms watches her, regret written across her face.

Lyra frowns towards her. “You don’t look happy, Gramms.”

Gramms gulps, forcing a shaky smile as she turns back to the mic.
“Now… hehe… a short break before our next fight! The mystery fighter, Noura Al-Masri—versus Miss Cross herself!” she runs away.

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Author's notes:

Awawi...

Chapter 54: ⚔️ The Revenger

Summary:

The underground fight spirals into chaos as masked intruders disrupt the spectacle, forcing unexpected alliances and clashes inside the ring. The crowd becomes both witness and judge, their cheers and jeers fueling the tension. In the midst of the violence, deeper truths begin to surface, and what was once only entertainment turns into a dangerous arena for ideas, grievances, and revelations. Meanwhile, outside the ring, other players and onlookers confront their own anxieties, faith, and shifting loyalties as the spectacle unfolds.
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“That was intense!” Gina exclaims.

Ari has calmed down a little, still worried, but now more for Lyra than herself. She flops back onto the bed.
“Uaaaaghhh! That was so tense!” She covers her eyes with her arm, exhales shakily, and a few tears slip free.

“Hey,” Gina says gently, “Lyra won. That woman’s scared. It’s over.”

“The thing is… Lyra knows now. She knows I hid that from her.”

Gina sighs, understanding flickering in her eyes.
“I get it. But… worry about it later.”

“That feels a little…” Ari starts.

“No, but seriously.” Gina leans closer. “Lyra loves you. She’s not going to be suuuuper angry. Upset, maybe. But not angry-angry. So don’t stress.” She pats her head.

Ari frowns. It feels like her feelings are being brushed aside, but when she thinks about it, Gina’s right. Lyra does love her. She might be upset, but they’ll work it out.

Ari nods, wiping her eyes. “Yeah… okay. You’re right.” She exhales, softer now. “Still… you could’ve been a little more empathetic.”

Gina grins. “I am, I swear! It’s just… I don’t want to feed your stress. Better to cut it off before it really takes over.”

Ari sniffs. “I don’t like how that makes sense.”

Gina grins, snatching a slice of pizza and taking a bite. “That’s why you like Nova so much, huh?”

Ari frowns. “Quiet…” Yet a small, playful smile tugs at her lips despite the frown.

Gina chews, eyes glinting with mischief. “So… was she really your pet?”

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A small group of omegas slips quietly into Nova’s room. They want to know what Lyra meant when she called her her omega’s pet, to grant her the benefit of the doubt, but also just let her know the fight was over.

Inside, Nova sits at a low table. In front of her are scattered scraps of paper, covered in neat handwriting. She lifts each one with care, then retypes the words onto her laptop, slow and deliberate.

“She’s doing what the ancients did…” one of them gasps.

To them, it is unmistakable: the ritualistic transcription, moving sacred words by hand into the digital archive. No tools, no automation, no shortcuts. Only scripture or truths worth preserving deserve the pain of such devotion. It is said that that is one of the activities characteristic of the Goddess of all the Betas, and that makes her the guardian of sacred scripture.

“Nova… uhm…” one of them calls shyly.

“I’m busy,” she replies without looking up, her fingers still pressing each key with reverence.

“Uh… we were wondering…” another ventures, hesitant, “why would Lyra Veran say you were her omega’s pet?”

Nova freezes. Her hands stop over the keys. Heat floods her cheeks, and she stares at the glowing screen with an appalled expression.

She said… pet?!

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Lyra steps into the locker room. Hazel is sprawled on a portable massage bed, Sorelle working her shoulders.

“Oh my bot, Lyra, you look like…! Ah…” Noura exclaims, censoring herself before being insensitive.

Hazel lifts her head, relaxed, until she sees Lyra. “Shiiieeeet…”

Lyra chuckles, exhausted. “Ha ha… thanks a lot.”

Noura hurries over, presses a bottle of water into her hand, and dabs sweat from her forehead with a towel. She checks her skin with worried fingers.
“Okay. No fever. You’re good.” she touches her hand, sees the terrible colors on her knuckles “That needs meds right now.” She goes to her bag and grabs a couple of injectables.

“C’mon, girls, I’m not that beat up.” Lyra rolls her shoulders, then touches her jaw, wincing at the unexpected ache where Gabriella’s near-misses clipped her.
Damn… she did get me good.

“I’ll be honest,” Noura admits, voice low, “this is making me nervous…”

“Relax,” Lyra says. “If you get too scared, you can always tap out. Then it’ll all depend on Hazel.”

Hazel flinches. “Don’t say that!”

Lyra grins. “Also, if Hazel loses, I get Nova for another week. So either way—we win.”

Noura side-eyes her.

Hazel growls and bolts upright from the massage table. “No way!”

Noura sighs. “Ah… anyway… it’s my turn now.”

Lyra pats her back. “Go get ’em, tigress.”

Noura exhales, resigned. She shrugs off her jacket, leaves it behind in the locker room, and heads out.

Gramms sees her going to the ring, falls into step beside her, worry etched across her face. “Hey, uh… Noura… you’re not really a fighter, are you?”

Noura shoots her a look. “What’s with that question right before the fight?”

“I just remember… you wanted Flower, right? That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

Noura sighs, her voice steadier this time. “It’s not that I want Flower. It’s to give her freedom. She’s  not here as a paid employee, is she?”

The fuck is up with this messed up thinking around omegas…

Gramms lifts her brows, nods quickly. “Ehrm…Okay, okay, sure… how about we make a deal?”

Noura’s steps slow. She tilts her head, listening.

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Next fight is about to start.

Second pizza out of the oven.

 

“Are you sure you want another?” Gina asks lifting an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, super sure.” Ari answers quickly.

 

Gina stares.

She’s eating out of anxiety…

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Back at the Covenant, Nova owes them an explanation.

She smiles faintly, feigning ignorance, then lets out a nervous giggle before sighing.

“I… like… what did she mean by pet? You know?” she stammers. “She should have been… more specific…”

One of the omegas steps forward, voice trembling.
“Did you… sin with her? Without the alpha?”

Nova freezes. If the alpha is absent, for two omegas to lie together as omega and alpha would, it is sin. Scripture says so, though it’s long debated.

“I…” Her eyes dart around the small group pressing in on her. She whispers a quick count under her breath: “Four… five…” One of them is Mary.

Suddenly, she rushes to the door, turns the key, and locks it.

“Nova!” one of them gasps, startled. They think she’s trying to escape, but she does the opposite, she traps them in.

Back against the door, she breathes deep, gathers herself, then turns. Her eyes burn with a new severity.

“Listen to me… I knew it as soon as I saw Mary,” she declares. Her voice sharpens, commanding. “But now it’s clear. The Goddess of all omegas has chosen you.”

The room stills.

“Do you know what I’m writing? Do you know why?”

They shake their heads.

“This is Scripture. The Goddess of all omegas chose me first… and all of you, second.”

She extends her arm, fingers trembling as if summoning them.

Mary steps forward. Hesitant, but drawn, she places her hand in Nova’s.

Nova’s lips curl into a smile. I knew I could count on you.

She pulls Mary toward her desk and tilts the computer screen so she can see.

…to be my first follower.

“I didn’t sin,” Nova continues, voice steady, luminous. “I know you feel it too, something is wrong with the Covenant as it is now. Especially for us omegas. The Goddess of all omegas is tired, she sees it too.”

Mary’s eyes dart between the screen and Nova’s face, nervous but alight with excitement.

“Read this. Meditate on it. If you feel what I feel, follow me, and I’ll teach you what the Goddess herself has shown me.”

The others move closer, tentative but compelled.

“Read it as much as you want,” Nova adds, almost gentle now. “Yes, I was with Ari. Sometimes Lyra was there… other times, she wasn’t.”

A collective gasp.

“You’ll understand why,” Nova says firmly. “It came to me in a revelation.”

The omegas exchange glances, doubt in their eyes, but also wonder. A thrill.

This is new scripture. Nova is a Seligman, a bloodline touched by myth. Some among them don’t even have last names. Mary, especially, knows how rare this moment is.

History might be unfolding before their very eyes.

The omegas gather around the desk, looking at the computer, reading.

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After a few minutes Noura exits form another room

“Ok everyone! If you thought the last fight was fire… uf… you better buckle up, because the next one is going to burn hotter!”

The crowd stirs, snacks in hand, drinks already halfway gone. A few grumble about the lines at the bathrooms, but nobody dares leave their seat. Not now. Not with what’s about to happen.

Gramms leans into the mic, voice booming across the arena.
“For all you fine folks in the audience… our next fighter is a stranger, but she’s no stranger to this ring. A regular—yes, yes, and a fan favorite… none of you have ever seen her but she’s a star in the ghetto.”

The lights dim, a single spotlight swinging toward the left corner.

“In the leeeeft corner…” Gramms stretches the words, milking the suspense.
“She stands at five-foot-ten, one-hundred-and-forty-eight pounds of lean, cut power. A hunter of ruins, a breaker of bones, and the reason your favorite mercs retire early …give it up for the one, the only… Lara Cross!”

The crowd explodes, stomping and roaring.

Lara steps forward into the light, tank top clinging to her frame, shorts cut for movement, belt heavy with carved insignia. Arms crossed, chin tilted just enough to challenge anyone watching.

Gramms grins, pacing the stage.
“She says she doesn’t fight for money, no, no… she fights because danger bores her if it’s too small. And tonight? Tonight she promises this ring won’t survive her.”

The spotlight sharpens, her shadow stretching tall across the arena wall.

The crowd cheers, the moonbeams cheer no more, but there they are still.

The salarywoman clap.

“Lara Cross? Doen´t that sound… familiar?”

“Hmm…………………………………………………………….. nah!”

“And in the riiiiight corner, fighting for Hazel’s team. She’s a mental health professional who isn’t afraid to discipline her clients when she has to!”

Noura sighs inwardly at the line, rolling her eyes as she steps into the spotlight. Oh bot… please don’t let this ruin me professionally.

Gramms continues, hyping the crowd.
“She stands five-foot-nine, one-hundred-and-forty pounds, a master of mind games and cool composure under pressure… give it up for Noura Al-Masri!”

The crowd cheers, some intrigued by the strange contrast of her title and her presence in a ring.

Noura enters the ring with measured steps, her expression calm. She doesn´t look like a fighter at all, her top is one you would see at yoga class on a weekday, her pants, equally simple, her stance, normal, the only aggressive thing about her are the red irises.

The moonbeams suddenly widen their eyes, some of them start murmuring amongst themselves.

“Al-Masri… she’s from Materia…”

“Yep… an alpha, Al-Masri”

Noura sighs, lifts a hand in the air, and waves half-heartedly.

The crowd answers with an equally half-hearted cheer.

Gramms blinks, caught off guard. “Oh… kay! So…” She takes a deep breath, trying to recover. “Get ready for the fight!”

She gives Flower a nudge into the ring. The timid omega carries a board with the word APPLAUSE scrawled across it. Smiling nervously, Flower shuffles around the ropes, hoisting the sign high.

Most women in the audience cringe.

“Hey! What the fuck, is that omega even working here legally?” a salarywoman shouts.

Others yell in agreement.

Flower’s smile doesn’t falter. No, I’m not. Please call the authorities…

Gramms winces and quickly yanks Flower out of the ring. “Guess they didn’t like it…” She forces a laugh. “Ahaha! So… rules are simple: no biting, no undressing your opponent, no kicking the balls and shit. Let’s get it on!”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Lara Cross immediately drops into a fighting stance, bravado in every line of her body, grin sharp, eyes taunting.

Noura, on the other hand, raises her fists stiffly, pretending, looking more awkward than fierce.

“Hey, girlie! Ready to fight?” Lara calls out, her strange accent thick.

“Ahm… I guess…”

Lara lunges. One strike, dodged by a startled Noura. A second strike, dodged again. Then Lara suddenly hooks her arm around Noura’s neck.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

With her lips close to Noura’s ear, Lara whispers, “Hey, you gotta give me something. Pretend to fight back. Hit me or something.” They wrestle, making it look messy.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Noura hisses back.

“Ugh, follow my lead. Stomach. Hit me in the stomach.”

Noura obeys, and actually hits her. Hard. Lara’s breath bursts out of her lungs as she staggers and releases the hold.

Noura stumbles back, putting distance between them.

The crowd roars.
“Go Noura!”

Lara growls under her breath. “Don’t actually punch me, bitch! …Ah, whatever.”

She charges again, sweeping Noura’s leg out from under her. Noura crashes to the mat, and Lara slides in, locking her into a chokehold.

“Ah! Fuck!” Noura gasps.

“Shhh…” Lara’s voice is steady, almost calm in her ear. “Fight back a little. You look bigger than me …pretend to be strong, or whatever.”

Noura cringes inside… then forces out a growl.

“Teh-he…” Lara giggles. “What was that?”

Noura blushes. “I’m trying to be tough! …Whatever. Just tell me what to do.”

“How many rounds do you have to last?” Lara asks.
“Three full rounds.”
“Hmm… okay, I have a—”

The crowd suddenly erupts in noise. Lara’s grip falters, and Noura looks up.
“Huh?!”

A mob of masked women surges into the recinto.

“Hazel is a fraud! She’s no champion of the poor!”
“The Astorès have committed crimes against humanity!”
“Release the Aira files! The people have the right to know!”

Among them is Rainy, hidden beneath layers of jackets, a mask, and a raised sign.

“Booooh! Shut up!” someone from the stands yells.
“I came here to relax, not hear that crap!”
The audience turns hostile, lashing out at the mob.

The shouting intensifies. Two, three, four women climb onto the ring, booting the metal gate open.

“Hey! Hey! Stop!” Noura cries. “What are you doing?!”

Rainy’s altered voice cuts through the noise.
“Noura, when I saw you were the mystery fighter, I couldn’t believe it. You—helping this circus to distract people from the Aira files?”

“Rainy, it is you, isn’t it? Listen to me…” Noura’s voice softens, urgent. “…maybe it’s true, maybe this fight is a distraction from the trials and the bigger issues. But believe me—it wasn’t planned that way.”

“Noura… it’s just too convenient. I can´t believe you!”

“Woaaah!” Lara swings at one of the intruders, the punch connecting clean.
“Uuughh!” The woman crashes onto the ring floor.

“Lara, get ’em!” someone screams from the crowd. The audience goes wild.

“Whoa!” Noura ducks just in time as Rainy’s fist slices past her cheek.
“Rainy, you’re not like this! What happened to you?”

Lara slams her knuckles into another woman’s jaw, sending her sprawling.
“Yeah! Take that, cowards!” she shouts, victorious. “C’mon, Noura—let’s team up!”

“Yeaaaaah!” the audience roars, bloodthirsty.

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From inside the locker room, Lyra freezes. The muffled roar of the crowd has shifted—too wild, too chaotic. She downs two shots of med-tech, grits her teeth, and tightens the bandages around her torso.

“The noise… that’s not normal,” she mutters. Then, sharper:
“Hazel, stay here. Lock the door.”

“Will do!” Hazel answers.

Lyra bursts into the corridor, then out into the open—and straight into chaos.

“What the fuck…?!”

Masked betas swarm the arena, barely being held back by two exhausted fighters. The crowd is on its feet, shouting, panicked and exhilarated all at once.

“Look, it’s Lyra Veran!”
“Aira’s thug! Get her!”

Two of them break off and rush her. Lyra moves without hesitation—her fist drives into one stomach, then another. Both collapse, one of them gagging, retching on the floor.

“Stupid girls,” Lyra spits, her eyes cold. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Get Lyra!” another voice shrieks.

More masked figures lunge. Lyra steadies herself, feet braced, slipping into a fighting stance as they close in.

 

From the corner, Gramms scans the crowd and grins nervously. They’re liking this …hehe… this can still go my way.
She dashes to the metal gate and slams it shut, locking it while Lyra and the other wto fighters outside subdue or toss out the rest of the mob.

“Gramms! What are you doing?!” Noura yells.
“You can take them, Noura! It’s two versus two!”

Lara takes a punch square to the face, staggers, then retaliates with another blow.
Rainy swings at Noura again. Noura slips aside.
“What’s the point of this, Rainy?”

“To stop this farce! To take this ring and expose Aira!”

Another wild swing. Noura pivots, then lunges, tackling her. Rainy braces, locks her stance, refuses to fall.

What?! How the hell did she hold that?

They grapple, straining for control. In a sudden burst, Noura seizes Rainy’s mask and rips it away—
Her face is sharper now, more angular, harder.

Noura falters, just long enough for Rainy’s fist to drive deep into her stomach.
“Uuugh!” The air rushes out of her lungs.

Shrugging off her heavy jackets, Rainy reveals a leaner, hardened body, muscles taut beneath the lights.

Noura steadies herself, gasping. “You… you’ve done something to yourself.”

“I had no choice!” Rainy spits, grabbing a mic that’s fallen onto the mat. She presses it to her lips, voice carrying through the arena.
“This society left us no choice! Us betas, we’re treated like trash in this city, even though we’re the majority!”

“Booooh! Go cry somewhere else!” someone from the crowd jeers.

Another fist cracks across Lara’s face. She stumbles, then collapses onto the mat.

“No! Lara!” Noura rushes to her side, cradling her.
“Lara, wake up!”

Lara’s eyes flutter. Then she laughs through the blood on her lips.
“Ha… ha… I won’t be beaten by a beta.”

With a ragged breath she forces herself upright, staggering but unbroken. With a sudden burst she hurls herself at the woman who struck her, sinking her teeth into her neck.
“Aaagh!” The woman shrieks. Lara smashes a fist into her ear.

Both tumble, limp and motionless.

Silence ripples for a heartbeat.

Now only Rainy and Noura remain standing in the ring, the floor littered with the bodies of the fallen.

Gramms lifts the mic, her voice booming with theatrical glee:
“Iiiiin the leeeeeeft cooorneeeeeer…!”

The crowd rises, roaring with anticipation, hungry for more.

“A new Challenger! The Beta Revenger—Raaaaaainyyy!”

The arena erupts in cheers.

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Author's notes:

The Aira files! OMG! 

Anyway, I'm so behind at writing this paper thing. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 55: ⚔️ The Beta’s Roar

Summary:

The fight spills far beyond fists turning the arena into a stage where power, ideology, and personal wounds collide. Between blows and speeches, questions of inequality, faith, and truth rise to the surface, igniting passions in the crowd and beyond the walls of the ring. The spectacle reverberates across territories, sparking something dangerous and alive. And as one fight ends, the next challenger is introduced, pushing Hazel to step into the spotlight whether she feels ready or not.
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“A new Challenger! The Beta Revenger—Raaaaaainyyy!”

The arena erupts in cheers.

“No! Stop it!” Rainy shouts, furious. “I’m not your spectacle, dammit!”

Noura glances around, her chest tight, the weight of thousands of eyes pressing on her.

Gramms saunters closer to the ropes, right by Noura’s corner.
“Remember our deal …three full rounds.”

“This isn’t what we agreed to!” Noura fires back.

Gramms smirks. “Fine. I’ll call it off. But Flower stays right here.”

Noura stiffens, jaw tight. A flicker of pain crosses her face. She exhales shakily, then turns toward Rainy, sliding into a fighting stance.

“What?! You’re really going to play into this, Noura?” Rainy shouts, eyes blazing.

Noura exhales and shifts into a guarded stance.
“I guess I don’t have a choice… if I have to destroy you.”

“Wooooaaaah!!!” The audience explodes, the roar deafening. Around them, the other mobsters have either been dragged out or fled the arena.

Rainy charges, fists flying.
Noura slips aside, blocks a few, but some still land.
Ugh! They actually hurt!...

“Rainy, what have you done to yourself?” Noura gasps between blows.

“Ah… I just molded myself to survive in this sick society!”

“It’s awful you feel that way, awful you think you have to change to be accepted,” Noura says, her voice pained.

“Don’t fucking therapize me!” Rainy snaps, lunging again.

Noura breaks away, dodging, running to create distance.

The crowd erupts in boos.
“Fight back, Noura!”
“Punch her in the face!”

Their chants pound the air, the whole arena demanding blood.

I don´t want to hurt her… All I have to do is last three rounds… after those three rounds I’ll have to knock her out…

Rainy suddenly reaches her and punches her right in the jaw.

“Ughhh!” Noura spins as she falls, flat on the mat. Her head dizzy, her sight blurry.

Oh my bot… she’s strong… I might not be able to knock her out but at least I’ll try to last those three rounds!

Noura pushes herself up, blood spilling from her lips onto the mat. She spits it out and steadies her stance.

Rainy charges, throwing another punch—but this time Noura slips aside and counters with a hook to Rainy’s stomach.
“Ugh!” Rainy staggers back, clutching her abdomen, gasping for breath.

Noura presses forward, another strike—but Rainy evades and swings back. Noura ducks, pivots, and catches her in a chokehold.

“Yeeaah! Alpha supremacy!” a voice cries from the stands.
“Booooohhh! Shut up!” The majority of the audience drowns it out with jeers.

Rainy twists, struggling. “Ha… is this what you want?! Alpha supremacy?!”

“No!” Noura grits out. “I just want to free the omega who was probably trafficked and brought in here…”

“What?!” Rainy snaps. “How the hell is this supposed to do that?!”

“Work with me, Rainy. I just have to last three rounds…then she’s free.”

“This is monstrous! Why don’t you just go to the authorities?!”

“Rainy! You know damn well that won’t do anything!”

With a violent jerk, Rainy breaks free and throws Noura aside. She backs off, panting, glaring.

Gramms’ voice cuts through the mic:
“That would be the end of round one, but it doesn’t look like our girl Rainy here gives a damn about rules, does she?”

Rainy snatches her own mic, her voice sharp and defiant.
“Rules are meant to be broken when they’re written to favor some and crush the rest.”

“Uuuuuhhh!” The crowd boos, but the noise is fractured, whispers ripple, salarywomen lean into each other, debating. The Moonbeams sit silent, watchful, their faces unreadable.

Rainy raises her voice:
“Alphas are a minority, yet they run this city! They hoard leadership, power, and wealth. Ever wonder why?!”

Murmurs surge. One of the Taylor engineers rises to her feet, hand outstretched for the mic. Gramms hurries, passing it to her.

“This is a common subject among academics,” the engineer says, steady, her words carrying over the arena. “There are many hypotheses. The biological argument is still the most popular—but it’s been disproven. The truth is societal. During the era of adaptation, alphas were the majority, and they positioned themselves as protectors. Myths and religious stories painted them as humanity’s saviors, as the ones who prevented extinction simply by existing. And that cultural weight,it still shapes us, even now.”

The crowd falls into an uneasy hush. Rainy listens, her chest heaving. Noura, too, stands still, caught between fight and reflection.

“If you want to change that, Rainy, then become a woman of science,” the engineer urges, her voice ringing clear. “It’s not too late to enter the fields that truly shape the world. You don’t have to fight.”

“Boooh!” jeers a lavishly dressed woman from the stands. She leans forward with a wicked grin.
“It’s fun to watch her fight—let her fight!”

The Queen of Raspberries smiles as her jeweled entourage bursts into applause, delighting in the chaos.

Then a Moonbeam rises, her presence serene but commanding.
“There is a place for betas in the world,” she declares. “But women have strayed from the Goddesses, from nature, from the Mother. The covenant welcomes you, Rainy. We would honor you as a beta.”

The engineer snaps, fury breaking through her composure.
“You pounce on every vulnerable soul to recruit them! You parasites!”

The Moonbeam tilts her head, calm and superior.
“You’re projecting,” she says smoothly, her tone dripping with condescension.

“We all know the Covenant treats betas like trash!” the engineer shouts.

The crowd explodes into heated arguments, voices clashing across the arena. Gramms scans the chaos, wringing her hands, searching for a way to calm things down.

Meanwhile, Lyra finishes piling the unconscious bodies in a corner. She nods to the other fighters in thanks, then turns, her sharp eyes sweeping the ring.

“Gramms,” she murmurs. “If you’ll allow me…”

Gramms stiffens, uneasy—but then exhales, surrendering. She presses the mic into Lyra’s hand.

Lyra raises it to her lips.
“Ladies. Hey. All of your points are very interesting…”

The noise dips. Arguments continue in murmurs, but most of the crowd goes silent, drawn to her voice.

“...but I know Rainy. I know what’s really happening here.”

Rainy’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I worked with Rainy for a while at Morph C.O. She’s brilliant. But she was in love with Nova Seligman. And when she realized Nova only seemed to care for alphas, Rainy’s frustration boiled over… and she started lashing out against them.”

The crowd gasps. A ripple of shock, whispers, and a few sympathetic awws pass through the stands. Rainy’s face flushes crimson.

“What?! NO! WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!” she screams.

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Back at Lyra’s, Ari stares at the broadcast in disbelief.
“Lyra… really?” She sighs.

Beside her, Gina chuckles. “Ahh, I knew it…”

“But Rainy’s making valid points!” Ari protests, gesturing at the screen. “How can Lyra just out her like that?”

“I think it’s smart,” Gina replies, eyes narrowing. “She’s defusing the whole thing. If the crowd frames this as a personal issue—a crush, jealousy—then it feels lighter. Less dangerous. People won’t stay riled up over it.”

Ari blinks, considering. It makes sense.
“Well… I see what you mean.” She frowns. “Still feels harsh.”

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“But Lyra! Isn’t Nova your omega’s pet?” a salarywoman shouts from the stands.

The arena erupts into laughter, the sound rolling like thunder. The Moonbeams stiffen, glancing around as if they themselves had been insulted.

Lyra only smiles, slow and satisfied, letting the noise wash over her.

Rainy glares, trembling with fury. Beside her, Noura covers her mouth, trying to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks.

“Yes,” Lyra says evenly, her tone cutting through the laughter. “Apparently Nova has a thing for alphas in general—and for my omega in particular.”

The crowd howls with laughter again. Lyra’s smile widens, steady and deliberate, a powerful woman holding ground.

“And when Rainy found out… she radicalized.”

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Back at the Covenant, the Moonbeams watching the broadcast shift uneasily.

“This is bad. They keep calling Nova a sinner—we have to act!”
“Where are Mary and the others? Weren’t they supposed to bring Nova?”
“I’ll go find them.”

An omega jumps down from her bunk, her face set with worry. She strides through the hall and pushes open the next door without suspicion.

“Hey girls, I was wondering if—”

Her words die in her throat.

Mary lies sprawled beneath Nova, her face twisted in pure ecstasy. Nova straddles her, hands pressed against Mary’s chest, her own breath ragged, eyes half-lidded, glowing with something unearthly.

Around them, several Moonbeams sit in a circle, watching in reverent awe. Slowly, they turn toward the intruder, their stares heavy and silent.

A few seconds stretch unbearably.

Then Nova’s voice cuts the air, low and commanding.
“Get her.”

The Moonbeams surge forward.

 

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“That’s a lie!” Rainy screams, her voice cracking under the weight of fury.

The engineers remain silent. The Moonbeams, too. Only the Raspberry Queen breaks the hush, laughing, clapping her hands like it’s all a performance for her amusement.

Rainy trembles, teeth gritted, shaking with frustration.

“Rainy…” Noura murmurs gently, stepping closer. “I can explain everything later. But please, there’s a way out of this. Just let me last three rounds. After that… you can knock me down if you want.”

Rainy forces a breath in, then out. Her chest heaves. For a moment, she looks almost steady.
“Ah… I wish I could…”

Then, with a guttural cry, she launches at Noura.

Punch after punch, furious and relentless. Noura ducks, sidesteps, pivots—evading again and again.

“Well, this would be the end of the second round,” Gramms calls into the mic, her voice high with theatrical glee. “But Rainy just won’t stop! Don’t you want to rest for a bit, huh?”

The crowd erupts, stamping and cheering, feeding on the spectacle. The moonbeams keep quiet, the engineers sigh.

Lyra suddenly rips the mic from Gramms’ hand. Her voice cuts clean through the noise:
“Rainy! So—you knock out Noura. What next?”

“Next is you!” Rainy shouts without thinking.

“Uuuuuuhhh!” the audience howls, gasps and laughter mixing in a single roar.

“Me?” Lyra presses, smiling like she already knows the answer. “So, once you finish with her, I get to step up and fight you? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

Rainy gulps, her confidence faltering.

In the ring, Noura slips behind Rainy, locking her arms around her neck in another chokehold. She leans close, whispering through the roar of the crowd.
“Rainy… I’m offering you a way out. Please.”

They struggle, bodies straining as the audience cheers louder.

“Come to think of it, Noura…” Rainy grits out, twisting in the hold. “I have done something here. I’ve amplified the message. I’ve got people talking. Whether I beat you or not doesn’t matter, what matters is that I get the truth out there.”

With a sharp drive of her elbow, she slams into Noura’s stomach.
“Ughh!” Noura gasps, the air ripped from her lungs as she stumbles back, releasing Rainy.

Freed, Rainy straightens, chest heaving, her voice rising to fill the arena.
“You can say whatever you want about me, Lyra Veran. But the truth is the truth. Betas are treated like less in this society. So much so that Aira is conducting experiments—EXPERIMENTS TO ERASE BETAS, TO TURN EVERYONE INTO EITHER ALPHAS OR OMEGAS!”

The crowd explodes in chaos. Gasps, shouts, furious arguments overlap into a deafening storm.

“What?! How do you know that?!” one of Aira’s business allies shouts, pale-faced.
“Don’t go throwing around accusations without proof!” another businesswoman snaps, her voice shaking.

From her seat, the Raspberry Queen claps gleefully, laughing like it’s the best theater she’s ever seen.
“I love this!”

Noura’s eyes go wide, her voice breaking.
“Is that true?!”

Rainy turns to her, gaze burning.
“Yes, Noura. The organization I work with uncovered it.”

Lyra lifts her mic, her voice calm and cutting through the uproar.
“That’s a grave accusation. And if it’s true, it’s horrific. But Rainy …you’ll need proof.”

“Soon…” Rainy says, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. 

Noura launches at her but Rainy evades and punches her in the face.

Noura falls on the mat.

The crowd calls for her to stand up.

Rainy walks to her and kicks her while she’s laying.

Lyra frowns furious “Hey! That’s too much, Rainy!”

Rainy looks at her, puts one foot over Noura and keeps talking into the mic “We have some of the meds Aira is using!” She then turns to the engineers “I can assure you, among you women of science, there’s many who already know… and they do nothing about it.”

Then she turns to the moonbeams “And you… IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT THIS HAPPENED! YOUR WHOLE RELIGION PUTS BETAS BELOW ALPHAS AND OMEGAS!”

The moonbeams flinch.

“Betas have to rise, we’re the majority. RISE BETAS! EVERY BETA WATCHING THIS, RISE!”

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Across Aira’s territory, Materia, and New Asia, women watch the livestream with bated breath. Betas everywhere feel something stirring inside them.

Blue, a beta who has long passed as an alpha, grips her chest, unsettled by a feeling she can’t name.
Honey, an omega who should not feel anything, is transfixed. She’s made no commentary, no publicity, just silent, entranced by the events unfolding.

Among the salarywomen, it’s visible too: a fire in their eyes, lit by the spectacle.

Back in the ring, Noura jolts awake. With a sudden surge she grabs Rainy’s leg, yanking her to the mat. She straddles her, fists raining down.

“I’m sorry, Rainy. I have to free this omega! Please… let’s talk later!” she cries between punches.

Rainy shields herself, absorbing blow after blow, then cuts through, her hand snaring Noura’s neck. She drives her fist into Noura’s face once, twice.

“Noura! Give up. Let me handle this,” Lyra commands through the mic.

“NO!” Noura screams back. “Not before the third round…” she murmurs

Rainy stares at her, pity flickering in her bruised eyes.
“Have you thought… you could fight for equality another way? In this case, you could have just gone to the authorities.”

“I’ve already told you… You don’t understand what that would do,” Noura gasps, blood streaking her lips, sorrow in her eyes. “After this fight… Come see me…”

Rainy scoffs.

Noura slams her forehead forward.
“Agh!” Rainy reels.

Another headbutt, this one crunches against Rainy’s teeth.

Gramms watches, satisfied. She got her spectacle. She exhales, almost giddy.
“I guess Flower is free…” she mutters.

Snatching the mic, she calls out,
“So, this would be the end of the third round…”

At those words, Noura forces one last desperate headbutt before collapsing over Rainy. Both women crash onto the mat, bloodied and breathless. Noura lies unconscious, Rainy wheezing beneath her.

Then Rainy begins to laugh. She claws for her mic, voice raw and hoarse as she shouts:
“I beat an alpha… I’M A BETA AND I BEAT AN ALPHA! This is a symbol—kof, kof—this is a symbol! We can be as strong as alphas, as valuable as omegas! WE MAKE THIS SOCIETY WORK!”

The crowd roars, divided and shaken.

Lyra climbs the ropes, pushes open the metal gate, and steps into the ring.

“Hahahaha!” Rainy laughs raggedly, blood on her lips. “What—are you going to beat me up now?”

Lyra kneels, lifting Noura gently. She studies her bruised face, brushing strands of hair back behind her ear. A weary sigh escapes her.
“Ah… Rainy. You shouldn’t have done this…”

She lays Noura carefully back onto the mat, almost reverent, before rising and stepping toward Rainy.

Without a word, Lyra slips behind her, locking her arms around Rainy’s throat—not crushing, but steady, precise, designed to cut off air.

“What are you—?! Lyra!” Rainy thrashes, clawing, jerking against the hold.

Lyra’s grip doesn’t falter. She keeps it firm, her expression calm and unyielding. Rainy struggles and struggles, but she can’t break free. Her movements weaken, falter… until at last her body slackens, collapsing into unconsciousness.

Gramms should have stopped it.

Lyra’s eyes snap toward her, dark and burning. The old woman flinches, her lips pulling into a small, nervous smile, pretending nothing is wrong.

“You saw it, girls. Rainy, the beta revenger actually defeated an alpha…” Blue says, with aw “I don´t agree with how she barged in here but… some of her points are valid…”

“Poll time!” Honey sings into her mic, “Do you agree with the Revenger? Yes? No? Maybe? Vote, my bees! We’ll coin the votes at the end.”

Gramms speaks into her mic “I guess a break is in order…”

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Back in the locker room, Lyra enters with Noura limp in her arms.

“Fuck! She’s destroyed!” Hazel blurts at the sight.

“It’s good you didn’t come out,” Lyra mutters, laying Noura down gently. “Some rioters broke in and… well…”

Hazel gasps, panic flashing in her eyes. “Oh no… we need to get out of here!”

Lyra shakes her head firmly. “It’s taken care of. But… this counts as a loss. Which means you have to win, Hazel.”

Hazel swallows hard.

“We’ve got a few minutes to rest,” Lyra adds.

Hazel fidgets, then digs into her tote bag. “Hey, Lyra… I brought something. Some… help.”

She pulls out small injectors, enhancement shots. “One for strength, one for stamina. Maybe I could, you know… use them.”

Lyra exhales through her nose, reaching out. “Let me see those.”

She turns the vials in her hands, her eyes narrowing. “Wow. Morph C.O.’s latest.”

Hazel nods quickly.

Lyra slips them into her pocket. “I’ll hold on to them.”

“What?! No! I need those!” Hazel protests.

Lyra shakes her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Lyra, c’mon …look at Noura!” Hazel’s voice cracks.

“That was an accident,” Lyra counters, calm but firm. “And you’re not her. You train. She doesn’t. Remember?”

Hazel slumps, sighing. “I’m scared, Lyra…”

Lyra studies her quietly, then speaks with measured weight.
“You know… I wanted this to be a positive experience for you. I wanted you to win fair and square. Your aunt—she’s a bitch. You’re her heiress, and she doesn’t think you’re enough. We both know that. But if you win here, tonight, without cheating—this place, this ring—it’s yours. She could never do that. Never win here, in the lowest of the low, without tricks or power plays. You’d always have that over her.”

Hazel exhales, the weight of Lyra’s words pressing on her.
“I… is it bad that I feel like I can’t win without tricks?” she admits softly.

On Lyra’s arms, Noura stirs with a groan. “Ugh…”

“Noura!” Hazel rushes to her side.

Through ragged breaths, Noura murmurs, “Hazel… you’re better than Aira. You can win without tricks…”

Lyra leans closer, her voice gentle for once. “Noura, don’t overexert yourself.”

Hazel glances between them, uncertainty in her eyes. “Do you really think that?”

“Yes. Absolutely…” Noura wheezes, then coughs hard, blood flecking her lips.

“Hazel, hand me the shots,” Lyra orders.

Hazel fumbles three vials into her palm. Lyra selects one, steady as she drives it into Noura’s arm.

“Ahh—!” Noura gasps as the bots flood her bloodstream, stinging sharply. Her body shudders, breath coming fast, but already some color returns to her face.

“She’s right, Hazel,” Lyra says firmly. “You’re better than Aira. The world already sees it—they love you. So go out there and give it everything.”

Hazel’s voice trembles. “They love me because they think I have something to say about the poor or whatever… but I don’t! I’m… dumb…”

Noura coughs hard, then forces words out between breaths. “No, Hazel… that’s your aunt talking in your head. You’re not dumb. You’re sensitive. You’re passionate.”

Lyra leans in, steady and unyielding. “Even if you don’t have a grand opinion about the poor or politics, people already like you more than they like Aira. And you do have something to offer. Just show them who you are.”

Noura nods weakly, voice rasping but resolute. “I’m cheering for you, Hazel…”

Lyra slips an arm under Noura, lifting her gently. She carries her to the massage bed and lays her down with care, brushing hair from her damp forehead before stepping back.

“And Hazel, if you lose, I’ll be keeping Nova for another week, we made a deal. That doesn’t mean I want you to lose. I’m rooting for you too.”

Hazel nods, swallowing hard. “Thank you…”

She walks out of the locker room.

Lyra sighs.

Noura smiles at her “You’re like a mother figure to her, did you know that?”

Lyra flinches “What?! D-don't say that…”

Noura chuckles.

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Out in the arena, the lights cut to black.

“In the riiiiight corneeeeeeeerrrr!!!” the announcer’s voice booms.

The crowd erupts—cheers, screams, signs waving high above the sea of heads.

“The Light of Hope in the Darkness of the Astorè Dynasty!”

Spotlights flare, dancing across the arena.

Backstage, Hazel winces. “Oh my bot…” she mutters under her breath.

“The powerful heiress… the woman with something to say!”

Hazel exhales shakily and begins her walk down the aisle. Every step feels too slow, too heavy. She tries to keep her pace steady, hiding the tremor in her hands.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel—”

Hazel grimaces. “Oh my bot… when is she going to finish…” she whispers.

“—Astorè!!!”

The arena explodes. “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!”

The roar rattles the floor as flowers are hurled toward the ring, signs waving so high they blot the upper tiers. The lights narrow, focusing to a sharp, blinding column around Hazel as she climbs up the steps, pushing the metal door open to step inside the ring.

Hazel  looks around, reads some of the signs, sees their faces.

“Oh my bot…” she breathes in.

Ok Hazel, you got this… you trained and shit… 

Gramms sighs.

Ah… it’s been a good run…

“In the left cooorneeeerrr—--!!!!”

Hazel stiffens

Who is it… who is it dammit!!!

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Author's notes:

Awawi...

Chapter 56: Hold your breathe

Summary:

That's Hazel. She's so hot right now....

Honesty and emotional openness is really really attractive and the crowd is about to find out.

Is this a fight or---? Should I be watching this?
Cover the virgin eyes of the Moonbeams!
Against all odds this is the hottest fight, but the heat does not end in the ring. In the locker room Lyra and Noura discuss therapy outside of work hours and a contract.
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Hazel’s chest tightens. The crowd is a living storm, roaring, stamping, waiting for Gramms to announce her opponent.

Then the noise spikes. A figure appears in the arena.

Blue.

She strides forward with effortless confidence, climbing up into the ring.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!” The crowd erupts, wild with cheers.

Gramms seizes the moment, her voice booming:
“IIIIN THE LEEEFT COOORNEEEER!!! The rising influencer, the heartthrob, the beloved, the one who loves to give—Blllluuuueeeee!!!”

The metal door slams open as Blue pushes her way inside.

She’s dressed in a tight black top that hugs her chest, shorts cut to reveal the curling end of a snake tattoo winding up her torso. With deliberate calm, she ties her hair back.

A ripple moves through the audience.

“She’s hot!”
“So fucking sexy…”
“I love you, Blue!!!”

Hazel sizes her up. Blue isn’t that tall, she is muscular and lean, but not bulky. I can take her, Hazel thinks, lips twitching into a smile.

But then Blue’s eyes lock on hers, fierce, unblinking. Hazel falters, her confidence shaken. Blue lifts a small mic to her lips.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Blue.”

The arena shakes with applause, the cheers deafening.

Blue waits just long enough for silence to creep back in. Then she says, steady and sharp:
“I just want to say, Rainy is right. This is a sham.”

The crowd gasps. Boos ripple out, clashing with scattered cheers.

“I was paid to lose against Hazel Astorè”

 

Gasps and indignation ripples around.

“What?!”

“Oh my bot!”

“What a scam!”

Hazel’s eyes widen, her pupils shrink. She… she paid her to lose? …I was going to win… with tricks… like all Astorès do… 

Gramms looks around, panicked, her voice cracking through the mic.
“Ah! L-Ladies, hold on—!”

A plastic bracelet flies from the stands and smacks her across the face.
“Ouch!”
“Fucking liar!” someone screams.

“But ladies—!”

Blue raises her hand, commanding silence. Her voice is steady, clear:
“Rainy… Rainy was really inspiring. And if I’m going to stand here, fighting in front of all of you, then I have a moral duty to say something.”

She exhales, steadying herself. The crowd slowly lowers their voices, curious, waiting.

“My actual name is Bluery. I don’t have a last name yet. I come from the southern tribes… and I’m a beta.”

The arena gasps as one. A third wave of shock rolls across the stands.

Blue presses on.
“I had to pass as an alpha to be popular, I'm not body-mod but luckily I'm tall. So... Rainy was right, betas are labeled, diminished, and those labels keep us down. Like, I wouldn´t have been this popular if my audience didn´t assume I was an alpha”

Her eyes snap to Hazel, fierce, unwavering.
“So now… I’ll fight Hazel with everything I have. Not for spectacle, but for truth.”

Hazel keeps her gaze fixed on the mat, shoulders heavy.
They thought I couldn’t win without tricks… they were ready for me to have an empty victory…

A bitter chuckle escapes her lips. Quiet at first, then louder, sharper, until it echoes strangely in the hushed arena.

Blue frowns, tilting her head. “Hey… are you laughing?”

Hazel doesn’t lift her face.

“Hey! —oh…”

A tear slips down her cheek, landing on the mat. Then another. The droplets glisten under the harsh lights, and the crowd falls into silence as they notice.

Hazel finally raises her face. Her eyes, shimmering with sorrow, capture the moment like a portrait of pain. Her beauty, marred by grief, seems almost like a painting come to life.

Blue’s breath catches, her cheeks color faintly.

Hazel’s voice trembles. “Who paid you… was it Lyra?”

Blue blinks, startled, then shakes her head. “No… ah… it was the old lady.”

Hazel sniffles. “So… Lyra isn’t involved. She doesn’t know, does she?”

Blue hesitates, then shakes her head slowly. “Not that I know…”

A fragile laugh tumbles from Hazel, quiet, broken.
“Ok. Ok…” She exhales shakily. “Ah… everybody has so little faith in me…”

She wipes her cheek, sniffing again, the sorrow still etched across her face.

A moved woman from the audience yells “I love you Hazel! I have faith in you!”

Another woman “Hazel don´t cry, it breaks my heart!”

Then more women start screaming, declaring their love for her.

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“Nova! Hazel’s on the screen—she’s crying!—Ah…”

The omega’s words falter the instant she realizes what she’s walked into. One Moonbeam is bound, a sock stuffed in her mouth, while the others sway in the middle of a strange ritual.

Nova freezes. Her eyes snap toward the intruder.

“Crying?!”

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Hazel steps toward Blue. The influencer blinks, caught off guard, unsure what to do. Hazel extends her hand.

“May I?”

Blue hesitates, then places the mic in her palm.

Hazel lifts it, her voice steady though her eyes still glisten.
“Thank you, Blue, for being honest… I hate that anyone thinks they have to pay others to lose against me.” She frowns, her tone sharpening. “I hate that this is what powerful families are known for ...that this is how we do things.”

The crowd quiets, leaning in.

“So I’ll come clean too. The reason I’m fighting… is mainly because I want my girl back.”

A ripple moves through the audience. Many women sink back into their seats, sadness softening their faces.

“Her name is Nova. She’s a Moonbeam.”

“The pet of the omega?!” someone shouts.

“Hey!” Hazel snaps back, her voice cracking with emotion. “So she was with an omega—so what?!”

The audience stirs, whispers running hot.

Honey’s eyes shine as she turns to her stream.
“Are you seeing this, bees? Hazel is breaking stereotypes and calling out her own family in front of everyone!”

Comments flood the livestreams:

Wow, she cried. That’s so brave for an alpha!

Alphas suffer too! Hazel is so brave!

Yeah! Hazel wants to do things right! She’s different, see?

Woohoo! Hazel isn’t against omega-omega love!!! She’s so forward!!!

 

“She and I broke up… and…” Hazel exhales, shoulders heavy. “I never apologized. She… started dating an omega, I guess.” She paces a few steps, her voice low but carrying. “And yeah… I felt bad. But they’re not together anymore, and I want her back.”

She lifts her gaze, eyes shining. “She made me feel things… you know?”

The crowd melts. Soft awws and sighs ripple through the arena. The Moonbeams lean forward, watching her with unusual intensity.

Hazel’s cheeks flush. Realization hits ...she’s oversharing. She swallows, steadying.
“Anyway… I’ll fight for her. And… and I’ll fight to make things right. No tricks. No scams.”

Her eyes turn to Blue, earnest and unwavering. “It’s an honor to fight you in a clean fight, Bluery.”

Blue stares, her breath caught. Her pupils dilate, admiration flickering in her gaze.
Wow… Hazel is… she’s so pretty…

Gramms speaks into her mic “Ah… haha… ah…”

“Booooh!” the crowd boos her.

“Hey hey hey! It’s the Astorès!! I had to— ouch!” Another bracelet to her face.

“Ugh! No biting, no undressing the opponent, no punching or kicking the groin, you know the drill! Fight!” Gramms yells into the mic and runs away into hiding.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Hazel lifts her fists, sliding into a stance. The confidence in her posture makes it clear: she does know how to fight.

Across from her, Blue mirrors the movement, settling into her own stance. She looks steady, experienced.

“Hazel,” Blue says, voice carrying through the mic, “it’s an honor. I didn't know much about you before this fight… but I’m glad we’re meeting.”

Warmth flickers through Hazel’s chest. Praise, real praise, not mocking, not doubting. She smiles, almost shy.
“T-thank you…”

Blue’s cheeks flush, but she masks it with focus.

Hazel springs forward, throwing a clean swing. Blue slips aside just in time, Hazel’s fist grazing her cheek as she passes.

The crowd roars.

Blue retaliates, quick and sharp. Hazel ducks low, then surges upward, her knuckles skimming Blue’s jaw.

“Agh!” Blue gasps, stumbling back a step before grinning. “Girl, you’re good!”

Hazel blinks, her heart stuttering. “Y-you think so?”

Blue lunges in, closing the distance, and locks Hazel into a chokehold from behind. Her breath brushes Hazel’s ear as she whispers, low and charged:
“Yes… you’re so good…”

The crowd erupts, half cheering, half fawning, the intimacy of the move as electric as the strength behind it.

Hazel grunts, her body straining as Blue tightens her grip, forearm digging into her throat. Hazel claws at the arm instinctively, but the hold only cinches tighter. Her chest burns, her vision narrowing.

No… don’t panic… think.

She shifts her weight deliberately, stomping hard on Blue’s foot. Blue gasps, loosening slightly, but not enough. Hazel bends her knees suddenly, dropping lower than Blue expects, then snaps her head back into Blue’s chin.

“Agh!” Blue reels but doesn’t release.

Hazel twists her body sideways, slipping her arm between Blue’s and wrenching it just enough to create space. Then, with a sharp pivot of her hips, she spins out of the hold entirely, twisting free and stepping back into open space.

Blue blinks in surprise. “Huh?! How…?”

Hazel steadies her breath, a proud little smirk tugging at her lips.
“Lyra trained me. And she loves putting me in holds like that. So yeah… I’m good at getting out of them.”

The crowd cheers loudly, some even whistling in approval.

Blue smiles, her eyes shining. “Ah… I see.”

They begin to circle again, measured, careful, both in defensive stances. Hazel feints a strike, stopping short. Blue mirrors her, testing, measuring.

The fight has become a dance.

“Blue, I love you!” screams a woman from the stands.
“I don’t care if you’re alpha, omega—whatever—I love you!” shouts another, voice cracking with passion.

Hazel chuckles, breathless. “Wow… you’re popular.”

Blue flashes her a quick grin. “Not as much as you.”

She suddenly sprints forward. Hazel spots an opening and snaps her leg up for a kick—

—but Blue ducks low, seizing the momentum. With a sudden surge, she lifts Hazel clean off the ground.

“Whoa—!” Hazel yelps as Blue carries her, then slams her down hard onto the mat.

“Ouuuch! That’s gotta hurt!” Gramms cries into the mic from behind the barred commentator’s box.

Blue hovers over Hazel, eyes locked, her breath sharp. “Ha… give up?”

Hazel coughs, grimacing, then smirks through the pain. “Never.”

Blue lifts a leg and stomps down into the mat, but Hazel rolls clear, springing to her feet in one smooth motion. She lashes out with a punch—blocked. Another—deflected. But Hazel doesn’t relent.

Blue braces, arms raised, covering her face as Hazel presses forward.

A thrill courses through Hazel’s chest. I’m not being beaten down. I’m not fighting a bully. I’m fighting someone who respects me. The realization sparks joy, sharp and electric.

She channels that joy, that raw happiness, into her next strike. Her fist slams into Blue’s guard, shattering her defense.

Before Blue can recover, Hazel drives another punch straight into her face.

“Ugh!” Blue cries, staggering as she topples to the mat.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Round one is over!” Gramms bellows.

The crowd erupts—roaring, stomping, cheering with wild abandon.

“Oh my bot, bees! Who’s this Nova everyone’s talking about?! And—OH MY BOT! BLUE IS ONE TOUGH BETA!” Honey shrieks into her mic, her voice crackling with excitement.

Her chat explodes. Messages stream past in a blur of emojis, exclamation points, and all-caps hysteria.

Blue’s stream is no quieter. Followers and paid subscribers skyrocket in real time. Merch designs are already in the works. Artists, quick and opportunistic—just like when Ari’s popularity first spiked—begin sketching the fight and posting their pieces before the round is even over.

Other channels can’t ignore it anymore. Some mock the spectacle, others treat it like a joke, but the coverage spreads. The ripple is undeniable.

Back at Lyra’s, Ari sits glued to the screen.
“Hazel…” she murmurs softly.

Beside her, Gina munches on a slice of pizza. “Go Hazel!” she cheers around a mouthful.

Ari frowns faintly. “I guess she’s… not that bad.”

Gina swallows and points at her with the slice. “Ari, aren’t you worried about yourself? You’re the omega who ‘stole’ Hazel’s omega now.”

Ari arches a brow. “Uh, that’s not what happened…”

“What I mean is—there are more eyes on you now.”

Ari blinks, dismissive. “Nah. I don’t think so…”

 

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Who’s this Ari girl?

The one “fated” to Gabriella? Lyra’s omega. Wtf is "fated" anyway?

Wait… isn’t she the one who stole Nova from Hazel?

Such a bold omega!!

That’s a sin, you know?!

Who the hell invited a Moonbeam into this chat?!

Ban

Ban

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“Round two!! Fight!” Gramms voice echoes faintly through the concrete walls.
Lyra leans against the locker room door, listening.
“Sounds like all’s going good,” she says.

Behind her, Noura still lies stretched out on the massage bed, one arm resting on her stomach.
“Do you want another shot?” Lyra asks, holding up the injector.

“I don’t want it… but I think I need it,” Noura says, her voice low, resigned.

Lyra crosses the short space between them, her steps soft on the tiles. She leans over until her shadow falls across Noura’s face. From the bed, Noura tilts her head back to look up at her. The angle makes Lyra’s features stand out—the strong line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, those black eyes as enigmatic as ever.

Noura swallows hard. The noise of the crowd outside fades. All she sees is Lyra.

Lyra catches it, the way Noura’s gaze lingers, and allows the faintest smile to curve her lips. That subtle expression alone sends warmth to Noura’s cheeks.

She lowers the injector, presses it firmly against Noura’s abdomen, and with a hiss, the dose is delivered.
Noura exhales sharply, a small whimper escaping her throat as her body tenses, then relaxes.

“Done,” Lyra whispers, pulling the injector away, her smile still lingering as their eyes hold.

Lyra then goes to an old vending machine at the end of the locker room, giving Noura space to breathe.

Oh my bot… this isn’t right. I can’t be her therapist if every time she looks at me I feel like this…

Lyra buys a bottle of something hydrating from the vending machine, twists it open, and downs it in one go. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand, then glances back at Noura.

Noura is sitting upright on the massage bed now, trying to compose herself.
“Better?” Lyra asks.

Noura nods, forcing herself not to meet her gaze.

But Lyra doesn’t let her hide. Her eyes travel through her body, slowly, deliberately, and Noura feels it, heat prickling across her skin. Her body trembles.
“What?” she blurts, her voice tighter than she means it to be.

“You reminded me of someone, just now…” Lyra says casually, though her stare is anything but casual.

Noura swallows, fighting to remain calm.

“Say,” Lyra continues, leaning back against the vending machine, “those therapy sessions you recommended… the ones about leadership. Would those be extra hours? Would they take place at the office?”

Noura gulps. “Ah, yes.”
Oh bot… I already recommended that… but I can’t…

“Aira pays you extra hours?”

Noura nods quickly. “Yes, I’m on an hourly pay plan and I can request extra hours.”

Lyra’s gaze sweeps over her again, slow and unhurried. Noura shivers, her pulse spiking.
Ah… why is she looking at me like that?

“You know what, Lyra?” Noura stammers, reaching for distance. “I just remembered—I have my hours full. Maybe I could recommend someone else—”

But Lyra is already closing the space, pushing off the vending machine and stepping toward her. She leans against the massage table, close enough that Noura can feel the warmth of her breath. Their faces close.

“I want to have those sessions,” Lyra whispers, her voice low, velvety. “Maybe they could be… at my place.”

Noura’s breath hitches.

“But I’ll have to tell Ari,” Lyra adds smoothly, “and a contract has to be drafted. These would be outside your arrangement with Aira. Would that be okay?” Her tone is professional on the surface, but laced with something undeniably sensual.

Noura feels her cheeks burn. “Ah… you would pay for those yourself?”
Why did I ask that?!

Lyra chuckles softly, the sound rumbling low in her throat. “Yes. What do you say?”

Noura loses her breath. Her words stay trapped inside her chest as the room grows smaller, hotter, with Lyra so close.

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Back in the ring, Blue has Hazel locked in a grappling hold. The position looks more intimate than technical. Hazel’s body pressed tightly against Blue’s, her breath hot against her shoulder. Blue’s muscles are taut and defined, her body gleaming with sweat, the lines of her strength carved clear under the unforgiving lights. She looks like a statue of raw power brought to life. Hazel, in contrast, melts against her with the pliancy of a lover, her back arched, lips parted in exertion that could be mistaken for ecstasy. Her outfit clings to every curve, dark fabric stretched against damp skin, outlining her form so sharply it seems sculpted. The two of them together look less like opponents in a fight and more like a living, breathing sculpture, power and surrender fused into one sensual, trembling shape.

“Ah… give up,” Blue whispers.

“Never…” Hazel mutters.

The crowd is attentive, murmurs rippling through the arena. Some laugh nervously, others lean forward, eyes fixed on the two women as the hold borders on something more than combat. Every shift of muscle and every gasp of breath carries a charge. Even Gramms stays silent, trying to get a good look.

Hazel twists, trying to free herself, but the struggle only makes the scene more provocative. Blue’s grip tightens, her body sliding against Hazel’s in a way that draws out stifled cheers and hushed commentary from the stands.

The spectacle hovers between violence and something almost indecent, and no one in the arena dares to look away. The silence of contained tension presses in, broken only by the rasp of breath and the squeak of skin against canvas.

Hazel feels it, Blue’s grip is unyielding, her strength impossible to match. If she doesn’t break this hold, she’ll be crushed. But Hazel knows another way. She softens her body, lets her breath slip out in a sigh, her voice turning honey-sweet.

“Blue… ah… your scent is nice…” she whispers, her lips grazing Blue’s ear as though by accident.

Blue stiffens, a flush spreading under her skin. Her arms falter, grip loosening as heat rushes to her face. The distraction works, her focus wavers.

Hazel seizes the opening, exploding with sudden motion. In a blur, she twists free, rolling her hips and swinging around with feline grace. Before Blue can recover, Hazel presses her down into the mat, their bodies tangling again, but now Hazel is the one on top.

Her thighs straddle Blue’s waist, pinning her, the position looking far more like an embrace than a counter. Hazel’s palms press against Blue’s shoulders, holding her flat, while her body arches forward, hair falling like a curtain around her flushed face. 

The audience gasps, some take pictures, Honey is recording everything. The new hold looks less like a reversal and more like a lover’s claim.

“Goddess… is this… legal?”

“Oh my…”

“I don´t know if I should be watching this…”

Hazel leans in closer, her lips almost brushing Blue’s cheek as she exhales, steadying her control.

Ah… I don´t want to hit her!! Is this part of her strategy? Blue wonders. But fights back anyway.

She writhes under Hazel’s weight, her muscles straining as Hazel presses her down, thighs tight around her hips like iron. The crowd can barely breathe …every motion looks like an embrace.

But Blue knows she can’t stay there. Hazel’s mount is strong, but not unbreakable.

Oh my bot, does this girl only do hip thrusts at the gym or what?! Ok… she won´t expect this then…

She plants her feet firmly against the mat, feeling Hazel’s balance shift ever so slightly. With a sudden thrust of her hips, Blue bridges upward, trying to throw Hazel forward. Hazel leans in to stay on top, but that’s what Blue was waiting for.

The women at the audience gasp, some half cover their faces, some are already flushed.

Blue snakes one arm under Hazel’s, trapping it, then twists hard to the side. Hazel lets out a gasp as her body is rolled off-balance. The movement is quick, explosive. Blue using raw power to turn the intimate hold into an escape.

Hazel’s grip slips, her palms sliding across Blue’s slick shoulders, and in that instant Blue shoves her off, freeing herself.

They scramble apart, sweat-slick bodies glistening, breathes uneven. Blue pushes up to her feet in one smooth motion, chest heaving, strands of hair clinging to her damp skin. Hazel rises too, more slowly, a flush across her face, her outfit still hugging her curves like a second skin.

The audience erupts, half relieved, half disappointed at the break of the sensual tableau. For a heartbeat, the fight is back to what it should be: distance, danger, eyes locked, waiting for the next clash.

The Moonbeams exhale in relief, though many are still blushing, eyes wide from what they just witnessed. Honey lets out a dramatic sigh and fans herself with her hand.
“Wow… that was… tense… Right, my bees? Ha-ha…”

Blue’s channel spikes, the follower count climbing by the hundreds of thousands in seconds.

On the sidelines, Gramms blinks, suddenly remembering she’s supposed to be moderating instead of gawking.
“Oh! Ahm—”

Ding! Ding! Ding!
“End of round two!!”

 

The fighters retreat to their corners. Gramms rushes to Blue first, crouching low.
“You okay, kid? Can you continue?”

Blue nods, chest heaving, sweat dripping from her chin. “Yeah… all good.”

Satisfied, Gramms gives her a quick pat on the shoulder and jogs across the ring to Hazel’s side.
“You good, kid?”

Hazel fixes her with a glare so sharp it makes Gramms flinch.
“Old lady… who was it? Who told you to pay Blue to throw the match?”

Gramms hesitates, her eyes darting around as if the answer might be hiding in the crowd. “Ah… eh…”

“I’ll pay you more,” Hazel cuts in, her tone low and dangerous. “Just tell me who it was.”

Gramms exhales, shoulders sagging. “Ah… fine. Whatever. One of your cousins.”

Hazel’s eyes widen. “What?! Who?!”

Gramms gives an awkward little laugh, scratching her head. “Would you believe me if I said I forgot her name?”

“C’mon, old-timer!” Hazel snaps.

Gramms shrinks back under the heat of her glare. “They’ve got those similar names! I really don’t remember!”

Hazel growls, fists tightening on the ropes.
Ugh… I’ll have to pay them a visit.

Ding! ding! ding!

 

Ready for Round three?!

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Author's notes:

wiwi.

Chapter 57: Breathe again

Summary:

The end of the fight!
Someone's loosing Nova, someone's gaining something, I guess...

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There’s silence in the locker room.
Noura is almost fully recovered. Lyra too, though she is still sitting in nothing but her black top and pants, sipping her third bottle of electrolyte drink.

The vending machine hums quietly near Lyra. Noura is thirsty, but she doesn’t dare approach it. Her nerves keep her rooted in place.

Finally, she blurts out, trying to soften the silence.
“Ah… say, why don’t you carry med-tech when you’re out on errands for Aira?”

Lyra looks up, surprised.
“Huh? Why do you ask that?”

“It’s just… it’s mandatory for fighters. And for employers too, if you’re doing jobs where you could get hurt. Those errands are paid, right? And they do put you at risk, so…”

Lyra cuts her off.
“These errands must not be traceable. They’re not exactly legal. Med-tech is regulated. Tracked.”

“Oh.”

The silence deepens, heavier now. Noura regrets opening her mouth.

“…Hazel’s lasting longer than us, huh? Ha-ha…” she says nervously, forcing a smile.

Lyra’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Yeah. That’s good, I guess.”

“Do you think she’ll win?”

Lyra blinks, raises an eyebrow, then pushes to her feet.
“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Ah, ok.”

Noura watches her disappear. A moment later, water echoes from the showers.

Lyra’s voice drifts through the steam.
“Don’t you want to shower too?”

Noura shivers.
“I’m… I’m going to check how Hazel’s doing!” she blurts, then bolts from the room.

She exits the locker room in a rush.

She wasn’t inviting me to shower with her… was she?

…and…when she told me to go to her place… it was just for therapy was it?

Her steps quicken. She reaches the arena.

The audience cheers, but the energy feels oddly muted, thinner than it should. Noura scans the stands, then looks toward the ring.

“Oh my…”

Hazel and Blue are tangled together in another grappling hold …one that looks far too intimate, their limbs locked in a position that could be mistaken for something else entirely.

Noura’s face burns. She squeezes her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose as she exhales slowly. Then, reluctantly, she dares to look again.

Oh bot! Why is everythingsosexyallofasudden?!!!

“Hazel!” Noura calls out.

Hazel struggles against Blue’s hold. “I’m a little busy here…”

Noura marches over to Gramms.
“Can I use your mic?”

Gramms arches a brow, then hands it over with a shrug.

Noura lifts the mic, her voice carrying across the arena.
“Hazel, you… you look like you’re being intimate with that girl up there. That’s not great for your reputation…”

“Don´t tell her!” Yells someone in the audience.

“Oh my bot!” Hazel flushes crimson and immediately tries to wrench herself free from Blue.

Blue only laughs, tightening her grip. “Ha! Works for me!”

Hazel squirms harder. “No! Time-out! Time-out!”

Noura lowers the mic, leaning close to Gramms.
“She said time-out…”

“There’s no time-out,” Gramms whispers back.

Noura pleads in a hushed voice.
“Couldn’t you make an exception…?”

“Graaah!” Hazel sets herself free and slaps Blue.

“Yeeouch!” Blue puts a hand on her cheek “That hurt…”

Ding! ding! ding!

“To your corners, ladies!” Gramms calls.

 

Noura rushes to Hazel’s corner.

“Hazel, how are you feeling?”

Hazel spits blood onto the mat. “Like shit…”

Noura studies her, eyes sharp.

“You’re doing great. I can see Blue’s tired and hurt.”

“Well… so am I.”

“Hazel! Stop with the defeatist crap and listen!”

Hazel blinks. It’s rare to hear Noura so commanding.

“You’re closer to winning than you think. Forget the pain. Stand your ground and give her one decisive hit—no grappling, no wrestling. Just one clean strike!”

Hazel frowns. “Where’s this fire coming from?”

“I’m just noticing how close you are to victory. You got this.”

Hazel mutters, almost to herself, “Someone paid her to lose, you know.”

“What?! Seriously?” Noura pinches her brow, exhaling hard. “Fucking Astorès…”

She catches herself, glancing at Hazel.

“Not you, obviously. Anyway—”

Damn, Lyra’s got me so distracted…

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Hazel blurts, “It wasn’t Lyra, was it?”

“What?! Oh—you mean the bribe? Absolutely not. She’d have told me.”

Hazel smirks, pushing herself up. She throws Noura a grin over her shoulder.

“You and her are getting pretty close, huh?”

Noura flushes. “Uhm, we’re… friends, I guess.”

But Hazel’s already striding back to the center of the ring.

Noura lingers, lost in thought.

Damn… Lyra was flirting, I know it… But what does this mean for Ari? I can’t hurt her…

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Ari watches while drinking water like a maniac.

Taylor’s voice cuts the silence “Ari, Nova is at the door with…”

“Nova?! Let her in!!”

Gina lifts her brows, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“You… really like her now, huh?”

 

Ari jolts upright, heart pounding. She dashes from the bed to the living room, just as Nova steps through the doorway.

“Nova!”

“Ari!”

They collide in a tight embrace, Ari’s relief spilling over as she presses her lips to Nova’s.

From behind, Gina lets out a startled gasp.

“Whoa—what?!”

But Ari doesn’t hear. Nova melts into the kiss, surrendering to Ari’s desperate energy as Ari sublimates her anxiety against Nova’s lips.

“Mmmm… ah…mmmm”

“Goddess, Ari… you’re so intense right now… I love this…” Nova whispers against her lips.

The other Moonbeams drift in, stopping short. The kiss goes on, its weight falling hardest on Mary, who can’t tear her gaze away.

Ari and Nova slowly part, eyes half-lidded, breath mingling.

“I missed you…” Nova exhales, voice trembling with relief, fingers brushing her lower lip slowly.

Ari clutches her tighter, a soft whine slipping out as she leans in for another kiss—

—but Gina suddenly wedges herself between them.

“Heeey… uh, hi…” she says, awkward smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, everyone. Welcome…”

The Moonbeams exchange uneasy glances, returning the smile with their own hesitant ones.

“Ari… what the fuck…” Gina whispers, eyes wide.

Ari freezes, finally noticing the others gathered around them.

“Oh…” Her cheeks burn. “H-hey…”

Gina goes to the Moonbeams.

Nova holds Ari again, her voice low.

“We escaped. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go…”

Ari softens, a smile breaking through.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came.”

Nova’s lips curve into a faint smile, her eyes flickering with the barest invitation. It’s subtle, but Ari doesn’t need more—her gaze is already drawn helplessly toward Nova’s mouth.

Just as Ari leans in, Gina slips between them again.

“Do y’all want pizza?” Gina asks.

The moonbeams gasp.

“Gina, they can't…”

“What? Eat pizza? Seriously?” 

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It doesn´t take much convincing for them to agree to sin with pizza. They jump to Lyra’s bed with one slice each.

 

“Not without a plate and napkins!” Ari insists, darting off to grab some. She hands them out with a little flourish, double-checking each one has a napkin like it’s the most important ritual in the world.

 

Nova doesn’t take a slice. She sits toward the back, her eyes fixed on the screen, Ari can tell her gaze follows Hazel.

 

As Ari settles down with her own plate, Gina hooks a hand around her wrist and pulls her gently aside. “Hey. Can we talk? Somewhere else?”

 

They head to the kitchen, the hum of the fridge filling the silence.

 

Gina exhales, folding her arms. “Ari… I care about you, so I think it’s time to be honest. I think you’ve got unhealthy ways of coping with stress. One is food…” she gestures at the plate still in Ari’s hand, “and the other is… Nova.”

 

Ari frowns, half-laughing in disbelief. “What? How? We’re just… it’s fine.”

 

Gina shakes her head. “It’s not about whether it feels good in the moment. It’s about what it does to you — and to her. She’s not your pet, Ari. She’s not a stress ball you can squeeze whenever you’re anxious or lonely. She’s a person.”

 

She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Every time you treat her like an outlet …like a fix… you blur the line between care and dependency. And if she’s letting you do it because she wants to please you, or because…” Gina lowers her voice “ …she loves you… then it’s even worse. Because you’re using her need for you as a coping mechanism, instead of facing your own.”

 

Ari bites her lip, uncomfortable.

 

Gina sighs, her tone soft but firm.

“Look, sex isn’t bad. Wanting comfort isn’t bad. But when you use a person to soothe your stress the way you use food, it stops being about love or intimacy. It turns them into a habit. A release valve. And that’s not fair to either of you.”

 

Ari swallows, shifting uneasily. “But… Lyra and I also decompress with sex…”

 

Gina tilts her head, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah… but that’s different. When it’s a committed couple, it can be grounding, even healthy. You both know what you are to each other, where the boundaries are.”

 

She meets Ari’s eyes, steady. “But Ari… the way you kissed Nova just now? That wasn’t casual. That was a lot for someone you’re not committed to.”

 

Ari’s cheeks flush. She drops her gaze, fumbling for words.
“She has Hazel… we’re… uhm…” Her voice trails into silence, the uncertainty pressing down on her like a weight.

Gina is right… bot dammit… what is wrong with me?! What’s happened to me?! I’m not who I was… I’m unstable, needy… selfish…

She sighs.
“Gina, thank you. I think I needed this.”

As much as I hate to admit it.

Gina softens, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Back in the room, Mary can’t look away from Nova, while Nova’s eyes are locked on Hazel’s fight playing across the screen. Hazel ducks, strikes, recovers.

Mary edges closer, her voice low.
“Nova… she’s Ari, the apostate meant for a Seligman, isn’t she?”

Nova nods, still watching the screen.

Mary swallows. “Do you… love her?”

Nova finally turns, meeting her gaze.
“I care about her. But Hazel is my alpha, no doubt about it.”

Mary falls quiet, eyes dropping, but her thoughts keep circling.
That’s not what I asked…

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Ding! Ding! Ding!
“To your corners!”

Round three ends. Hazel doubles over, her abs aching from the last flurry of punches. Across the ring, Blue’s arms sag, her face smeared with blood.

“I don’t think I can keep up…” Hazel mutters.

From outside the ropes, Noura leans forward.
“Just one more round, Hazel. I can see it, she’s tired.”

“I don’t know…” Hazel mumbles.

“Okay, alright… then focus on her face.”

Hazel blinks. “Her face? Why?”

“She’s an influencer. If this drags on and med-tech isn’t injected soon, she could scar. That alone would be devastating for her, right?”

Hazel’s expression twists.

“What is it?” Noura presses.

Hazel exhales. “I don’t want to hurt her face…”

Noura stares. “What?! You’re in a fight!”

Hazel glances away. “But… she’s cute.”

Noura nearly falls over. She has no way of knowing, but in Blue’s corner, the girl is saying the exact same thing about Hazel.

“Huuuh?!” Gramms snaps at Blue. “You’re pulling your punches? You still thinking about throwing the match?!”

“Bots, no! It’s just… she’s pretty. I don’t want to hit her face anymore.”

“You should’ve just taken the bribe, girl…”

“Shut it, old woman!” Blue fires back.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Round four begins.

Hazel refuses to grapple again—she can’t risk more indecent pictures floating around—but she won’t punch Blue’s face either. She keeps aiming for the stomach, throwing cautious shots.

Blue mirrors her hesitation. She avoids Hazel’s face too, trying instead to slip inside and land blows to her midsection.

But neither of them commits. Their punches fall short, slow, almost careful—more like sparring partners than fighters.

The crowd notices.

“Booooooh!”

“Hey! Are you fighting or what?!”

“What the bot happened to the heat?!”

 

Hazel’s pulse spikes. The noise rattles her, makes her second-guess herself. And in that split-second of distraction, Blue lunges.

She closes the distance and grapples Hazel, locking her arms tight. Hazel thrashes, but Blue hooks around her neck and drags her into a chokehold.

Hazel gasps, panic rising. She knows exactly how to break free, one solid punch to Blue’s face. But her fist hangs back, trembling. Instead, she pounds at Blue’s stomach, soft thuds that don’t loosen the hold.

Her vision starts to blur at the edges. The crowd roars.

Finally, instinct takes over. Hazel rears back and smashes her fist into Blue’s face. The chokehold breaks instantly. Hazel stumbles free, gasping for air.

But then she sees Blue, staggering, blood dripping from her nose, wide-eyed.

Hazel’s chest tightens. Regret washes over her, plain on her face.

Blue steadies herself, reading her in an instant. She sees the hesitation, the guilt. And instead of fury, a strange, almost tender recognition flickers in her eyes.

Aw, girl… can you be any cuter?! Blue thinks, just before her body gives out.

She crumples to her knees, face bowing toward the mat.

“Ohhh! Blue has fallen!” Gramms bellows into the mic. “One!... Two!... Three!... Come on, Blue—four!... five!…”

Hazel’s eyes widen. She looks around in shock, the crowd is a storm, some chanting her name, others shouting, screaming, roaring.

Blue lifts a trembling hand. “I… I can’t go on… I give up…”

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

“The winner is—” Gramms stretches it out, voice booming—
“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…”

Ugh, stop screaming my name! … Wait—did I win?!

“…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazel Astorè!!”

Hazel gasps as realization floods her. She won. She actually won.

A rush of joy explodes inside her—better than any drug, better than most orgasms she’s ever had. The grin breaks free, unstoppable, as she throws her arms up.

“I wooooon!!”

The crowd roars, her name echoing like thunder, wrapping around her in waves.

Back at Lyra’s, the Moonbeams erupt in cheers.

 

“Wooohoo!”

“Oh my Goddess!”

“Nova! Hazel won!”

 

Nova beams, eyes sparkling. “I knew she’d win.”

….

Lyra steps out, already showered and dressed, just in time to see Hazel crowned victorious. Med-tech is being injected into Blue’s arm, and Flower appears to give Hazel her own shots.

Lyra smiles faintly. From the ring, Hazel spots her.
“Lyra! I won!”

Lyra’s gaze softens, almost tender. For a moment, Hazel looks like a proud kid seeking approval. Lyra gives her a single nod, and Hazel feels another rush of elation flood her veins.

Noura sidles up beside Lyra, smiling soflty.
“See? A mother figure…”

Lyra groans. “Oh, bot… don’t.”

Blue’s and Honey’s social feeds explode, their follower counts skyrocketing. Merch sales spike. The crowd keeps chanting, their energy electric.

Gramms surveys it all. A single tear slides down her cheek.
This is what I dreamed of… for this ring, for this dying sport... I guess I can retire.

Meanwhile, Flower slips into the locker room early, hedging against Gramms backing out of her promise.

When Lyra and Noura return, they find her waiting.

“Oh… right,” Lyra mutters. “Now Noura has an omega.”

Noura frowns. “I can’t have… a human being.”

Flower blinks, confusion flashing across her face.
“But… didn’t you literally fight for me?”

Noura falters. “Yes, but… I fought to free you, not to own you.”

Flower’s eyes widen, desperation spilling in her voice.
“But… I don’t have a home. I don’t have a last name. I don’t even have money… If you don´t take me, where will I go?”

Noura goes pale as the realization hits, she didn’t free Flower into a life. She freed her into nothingness.

Oh my bot…

“Uhm… okay… I’ll—I can take you to my place. At least until…” Noura stammers.

“Until what?” Lyra cuts in, folding her arms. “How are you planning to get her into the system?”

“I’ll… think of something!” Noura snaps back, more defensive than confident.

Before she can say more, Flower throws her arms around her.
“I can clean your house, cook dinner—whatever you need.”

Noura stiffens at the sudden embrace. She doesn’t like this arrangement, not one bit… but what choice does she have?

“Anyway, where’s Hazel?”

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“Hey… I just want to say, you’re not what I expected,” Blue murmurs, caging Hazel sweetly against the wall outside the other locker room.

Hazel arches a brow. “And what did you expect?”

“An airhead. Detached from reality.” Blue’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “But you’re… an actual human.”

Hazel scoffs. “Thanks, I guess…”

Blue tilts her chin gently, guiding Hazel’s eyes up to meet hers.
“Are you and that omega still talking? Are you committed to each other?”

Hazel exhales, shoulders sagging. “I don’t even know if she’ll take me back.”

Blue’s smile softens, faint but loaded. “So… you’re single now, right?”

Hazel narrows her eyes. “Why are you asking?”

Blue leans closer, her voice low and husky. “Because I want to take you out. Right now. Or better yet—come to my place.”

A flush creeps across Hazel’s cheeks. Blue is gorgeous, her body sculpted, her confidence magnetic, her voice deep and velvety ...alpha-like. Hazel feels her pulse quicken. She likes that, she looks at the snake on her abs, follows it until it's lost down her shorts.

She bites her lip. “How about we go to my car instead?”

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Author's notes:

Hello, remember how a while ago I had a health thing and had to stop writing for a week? I had the same thing but less terrible, again, yesterday, so I might take a pause for another week. I have chapters written for the important parts, I just need the in-between chapters. Anyway, I want to finish thisss fic!

Your comments keep me going, hugs!

Chapter 58: 🖤One last selfish fuck

Summary:

One more selfish fuck to say farewell.
Being with an omega is different than being with an alpha.
The way Hazel misses an omega is different to the way she might miss an alpha.
The way we miss a friend can be as deep as the way we miss a lover.

This chapter features only two characters and happens inside Hazel's car.
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Blue still can’t believe it. They’d showered—separately—gotten dressed. Hazel even forgot her jacket, but she didn’t care. She just grabbed Blue and led her straight to the car.

Now Blue sits in Hazel’s Syrena Levana, Taylor at the wheel, while Hazel stretches out beside her.

“Med-tech is amazing, isn’t it?” Hazel says lightly, then glances at Blue’s face. “I’m really glad you’re okay…”
I’m glad your face isn’t going to scar…

Blue swallows. “W-where are we going?”

Hazel shrugs, casual. “I wasn’t going to have sex in this car while in that neighborhood…”

The words slam into Blue.

Have sex. No date first?

She blinks, pulse racing. She suddenly remembers Hazel is an alpha.

And Blue… she’s only ever been with omegas.

They roll into the fancier part of town.

“So… you live here?” Blue asks, voice tight.

“Sometimes,” Hazel replies, her tone unreadable.

Blue gulps.

They descend into an underground parking lot, empty, silent. No other cars. Just them.

“Ah… are we…?” Blue begins.

Hazel doesn’t answer. She straddles Blue instead. The seats recline in a slow, seamless motion, while a padded panel slides over the controller’s screen on the right side, transforming the interior into something sleek, intimate, like a leather-clad bed.

So this is really the last one, one last selfish fuck before I commit...  Hazel thinks.

The overhead lights dim, leaving only the golden indirect glow. That glow catches Hazel’s caramel eyes, turning them molten, half-lidded. Her faint smile curves, sensual and dangerous, full of promise.

Blue’s breath hitches. In that moment she realizes, she’s about to discover a whole new side of Hazel Astorè.

“Are you an A-type or an O-type Beta?” Hazel asks, her voice low.

Blue swallows. “A-type…”

Hazel takes her hands and guides them up to her breasts. Her breath grows ragged as she makes Blue fondle her, rolling her hips against her.
“And you love to give, don’t you?” Hazel murmurs, her tone dripping with heat.

Blue’s pulse spikes. Being with an alpha feels completely different than being with an omega, Hazel's more commanding, more overwhelming. She can feel Hazel stiffening, her own nerves tangled with a rush of excitement.

But Hazel… Hazel is still beautiful. Striking, radiant under the golden light, every line of her body demanding attention, even if it's an alpha, Blue wants her.

Blue squeezes her breasts, then, with a sudden spark of dare, slides her hands to Hazel’s waist. In one motion she flips her, pressing Hazel down beneath her, settling between her legs.

“Hazel…” Blue breathes, leaning in.

Hazel tilts her head up to meet her.
“Mmmm…”

Their lips crash together.

“Fuck, you’re so hot…” Hazel whispers between hungry kisses.

Even if you're a Beta you have that something...

Blue’s heart pounds. Nerves twist through the heat.
Is she going to… try to do it to me? Am I supposed to give... myself... to her?… maybe be the one to…?
No, she’s an alpha. Of course she wants to be inside me… Oh bot, how do I even prepare for this?

Hazel pauses, sensing something off.
“Hey, Bluery… you still with me?”

“Huh? Yes!” Blue blurts, too fast.

Hazel caresses her cheek gently, eyes searching.
“You seem nervous… but you were so confident back in the ring.”

Blue forces a smile. “I am… I— I was just…”

Hazel’s hand trails down, soft across her face, gliding to her arm, her waist… until it cups her ass. She squeezes, slow and deliberate.

Blue gasps, arousal sparking, tangled with nerves all over again.

“Ah… I see…” Hazel murmurs knowingly “You don’t think you can do it?” she teases, voice husky.

Blue frowns, flustered. “I so can do it…”

Shit!  Blue answered automatically without thinking  She’s got me now… no turning back… ah I'm going to be fucked in the ass, oh my goddess….......................................... I might like it…

Hazel grips her harder, pulling Blue against her with sudden force. Blue whimpers, caught in the heat of it.

“I can feel you, Blue…” Hazel whispers, before catching her mouth in another kiss.

“And I want to feel you deeper…”

Huh?! That’s not what Blue was expecting.

“I want you inside me, Blue…” Hazel whispers, certain and unashamed.

Blue blinks, staring at her. “Wait, For real?”

Hazel chuckles. “Seriously? That’s your answer? Don’t you love to give? Isn’t that just code for topping?”

Blue swallows. “Ah… yes, but… you’re… an alpha. And… an Astoré.”

Hazel exhales in mock exasperation. “C’mon, Blue.”

She turns over on the leather seat, arching her back, glancing at her over her shoulder with a smirk.
“Would you help me with the unzipping… and undoing?”

Blue freezes, nerves tangling. Hazel sighs, playful but impatient.
“Okay, if you’re not gonna—”

“No! Wait! I am.” Blue blurts, shifting closer on the reclined seat.

She presses herself flush against Hazel from behind, hands sliding over her waist. She grinds forward slowly, hips rolling, and Hazel feels her harden against her.

"Ah... yeah... I'm not letting you get away, Hazel..."

Hazel’s breath catches, lips curving into a faint, hungry smile.

Blue nuzzles closer, murmuring, “It’s just… Hazel, you’re full of surprises.”

“Please,” Hazel repeats, her voice husky. “Unzip me…”

Blue’s hands tremble as she pulls down Hazel’s zipper. Hazel shimmies out of her clothes, lowering her pants with unhurried confidence.

I can’t believe this is happening… I ca—

Then Blue sees it. From behind, the reveal makes her freeze. Hazel’s cock, thick, heavy-looking, certainly bigger than hers.

Oh my bot… I’m going to disappoint her. If that’s her standard, mine won’t measure up…

Hazel glances back, catching the look in her eyes.
“Are you nervous again?” she teases “is it because of my cock?” smiling. “Do you like it?”

Blue shakes, nerves flaring all over again.
“Hazel… ah… in all honesty, I… I’m a beta…”

Hazel scoffs, then bursts out laughing.
“C’mon, Bluery!!”

Blue shivers at the sound of her actual name on Hazel’s lips.

Hazel grins, tone softer but still playful.
“I know, oh my bot. I’ve been with a few betas before. I know your cock is smaller—whatever. That just means less lube is needed. That’s it.”

Blue stays frozen, hesitation thick in her chest.

Hazel sighs, glancing back. “Ugh… I really liked your confidence, how you took me on in the ring. But if you’re not actually like that, then…”

Something snaps inside Blue. She strips off her top, unfastens her pants, and presses one strong, dominant hand against Hazel’s nape, holding her firmly.

Her voice drops, rough with hunger. “This is amazing… it’s a fantasy come true… I’m not going to miss this chance.”

Hazel smiles, arching her back deeper, lowering her underwear with a teasing slowness.

Blue pushes her neck and skull down farther, making her arch more.
“I love this…” she growls.

Hazel shivers, murmuring, “The lube… in that compartment over there…”

“I fucking love this…” Blue repeats, almost to herself.

She frees herself, cock springing into her hand. Hazel looks back, eyes flickering down.
“That’s actually a decent si—”

Blue silences her, pushing her harder against the seat.

“Hazel…” Blue breathes, rubbing herself along Hazel’s curves, sliding over her skin. Her hands roam greedily across Hazel’s body, squeezing, fondling, exploring. Her mouth finds Hazel’s neck—kissing, then biting just enough to sting.

“Ahhh… yeah…” Hazel moans, voice breaking into a smile. “That’s it, Bluery…”

Blue keeps moving, savoring every inch of her. She licks hungrily at Hazel’s skin, her hands roaming, fondling her breasts, squeezing with greed, until one daring hand slips lower and closes around Hazel’s cock.

“Tonight you’re mine, Hazel Astorè…” Blue growls.

Hazel gasps, melting under her touch as her cock stiffens, swelling larger.

Blue pumps her hand along the shaft, steady strokes.

“Ah!” Hazel moans, head tipping back. “That’s it, baby… ahhh…”

Blue bites down on her shoulder. “Shut up.”

She slicks her own cock with lube, then positions herself at Hazel’s entrance.

“Uhn! Ah… oh, Goddess…” Hazel moans as Blue pushes in.

Blue groans, clinging to Hazel’s ass with one hand, but pleasure overwhelms her and she has to use both hands, starting slow, testing, teasing, sliding in and out, watching Hazel’s body shiver in response.

“This is amazing… you’re… ahhh… so ready…” Blue pants "You know exactly how to do this..."

Hazel’s eyes go half-lidded, rolling back, almost white. “Fuck me, Bluery… fuck me hard…”

The words ignite something wild in Blue.

“Fuck!” she snarls, hips snapping faster, harder.

She pounds into Hazel, thrust after thrust, the rhythm brutal and hungry. “Ah! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

It’s unreal, a fantasy made flesh, her, a woman with no last name, who clawed her way up through a sketchy Vyre channel, now fucking an Astorè. And not just fucking, topping.

Her ultimate dream. Her ultimate high.

Hazel takes her, smiling through panting breaths, body shuddering with each thrust. But in the haze, her mind drifts …back to Suzie, to those wild nights and lazy mornings at Harrowgate, when an AI-powered cock had filled her just like this. Her best friend had been the one giving, her hunger and rawness, just unforgettable. The biting, the kissing, the swearing and laughing, she couldn't deny the influence that had on her.

Ah… maybe it’s not so great to be thinking of her now… not while I’m with somebody else… what would Noura say?---- Ah... better not think of Noura either...

Blue, meanwhile, is lost in her own dream. She stares down at Hazel submitting, arching, surrendering. An Astorè, a beloved one, untouchable in the eyes of the world, beneath her, taking her.

It makes her pound harder.

“Fucking delicious…” she growls, sinking her teeth into Hazel’s shoulder again.

Hazel moans, trembling. “Yes! Hard… please!”

Blue obeys, driving into her with ruthless rhythm. Her hands roam, one gripping Hazel’s breast, squeezing rough and needy; the other sliding down, wrapping around Hazel’s cock again, stroking in time with her thrusts.

“Oh bot yes… Yes! Blue you fucking beast!” Hazel moans.

Blue loves it, being praised like that by Hazel, being inside her, being rough. An omega would never take that kind of heat, alphas are something else.

I wish I could post this bot dammit! Ah… Oh Goddess! I love this… I love this so much!

Hazel can´t help but think of Suzie again.

Oh bot, she's so into me... so into the rough stuff… this is kinda like her… oh my bot… Suzie fucks just like this!… like she has something to prove… oh bot... she actually DID have something to prove! How did I not realize it?!

One tear slips free. It trails down her cheek, falling onto the cool leather seat beneath them.

Blue notices. Her rhythm falters for just a moment, she lets go of her cock, chest pressed to Hazel’s back, her breath ragged. She doesn’t stop fully, but she leans closer, her lips brushing Hazel’s ear, suddenly aware she might be holding something far more fragile than she expected.

“Hey… are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Was I too rough? She seemed to enjoy it...

Hazel shakes her head quickly, her voice breaking between gasps.
“No. Yeah—ah—I’m… I’m okay. It feels… amazing…”

Blue exhales a shaky laugh of relief, her lips brushing Hazel’s shoulder. She smiles, the edge of her teeth glinting as she whispers with a teasing growl:
“Is this your first time? You know… from behind?”

Hazel, still trembling, shakes her head faintly. “No. Does it really look like it's my first time?”

Blue clicks her tongue, mock-disappointed, giving Hazel a deeper thrust that makes her whimper.
“Ah… that would’ve been too good to be true.”

I knew it wasn't… but... anyway...

She chuckles low in her throat, amused and aroused, before biting gently at Hazel’s ear, resuming the thrusting with renewed intensity, like she wants to brand this moment into Hazel’s memory anyway.

Blue’s breath is hot against Hazel’s ear, her thrusts are now slow but deliberate, each one sinking deeper. Her voice trembles between grunts and whispers.

“I want you to remember this, Hazel… ah—” Her teeth graze Hazel’s skin as she rumbles again, “I want you to come back to this moment in your mind… every time you touch yourself, every time you think of me.”

Her hand slides down again to Hazel’s stomach, slipping lower until it wraps firmly around Hazel’s cock. Blue starts stroking her in rhythm with her thrusts, hard, deep, relentless. Hazel gasps, her whole body arching, caught between the pounding inside her and the grip on her length.

“Oh goddess—Blue…” Hazel whines, her voice thin, trembling, needy.

Blue grunts into her ear, her serpent tattoo flexing across her slick abdomen as her body moves like a wave.
“That’s it, baby Astoré… take it all… ah, you’re mine tonight. I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll never forget me.”

Hazel’s thighs shake, her breaths come in broken sobs of pleasure. She’s right at the edge, clinging to the seat, surrendering to Blue’s hand and cock both driving her over.

Hazel’s body trembles, every nerve pulled taut, teetering on the edge. Blue thrusts deep, her hand pumping Hazel’s cock, her lips pressed hard to Hazel’s ear.

Her voice breaks into ragged, feral whispers, spilling without restraint:

“Your ass is mine… mine… mine… ahhh—so sweet,—mine! ”

She grunts, her words tumbling in rhythm with her movements, sweat dripping down her rippled abdomen. The serpent tattoo twists with every wave of her body, as if alive, marking the moment.

“It's yours... yourss!”

Suzie it's yours!! Yours!!

Hazel whimpers, arching back into her, tears pricking her eyes again as she surrenders completely. Blue’s voice, rough and desperate, seals it, branding her as thoroughly as the thrusts do.

She slams, moaning into Hazel’s ear as she empties herself inside her, her whole body shaking as she cries out in raw ecstasy.

Blue’s body jerks, every muscle tensing as the wave overtakes her. Her thrusts falter, driving deep, and her mind floods with a single, dizzying thought she can’t hold back:

I’m coming inside Hazel Astoré… goddess… oh goddess, I’m filling her good…

Her lips press to Hazel’s ear, her voice cracking into broken moans, her breath hot against her skin.
“Oh goddess… Hazel… I’m filling you—ahhh—so good, baby, so good…”

Her abdomen ripples, the serpent tattoo writhing across her sweat-slicked torso as she empties herself inside Hazel, every shuddering release punctuated with another feral grunt.

Hazel whines, soft and open, her body quivering as she feels Blue spill into her. The mix of sensation and Blue’s voice pushes her over too, she clutches her own cock, stroking herself desperately as hot seed spurts into her hand, catching it before it stains the seat. Her climax breaks her into whimpers, her hips jerking back into Blue’s thrusts even as they both collapse.

The car is filled with their gasps, their sweat, the smell of sex, two bodies collapsing into each other, conquered and conquering at once.

Blue slumps forward, her body collapsing over Hazel’s back, chest heaving, face buried against her shoulder. A low, shaky laugh tumbles from her throat, breathless and disbelieving. She loves it, the victory, the intimacy, the way Hazel gave herself so completely.

For one night, Hazel Astorè was hers.

For one one night, the slums conquered Gangnam.

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The car is quiet now, save for the hum of the electric engine and the sound of their ragged breaths. The windows are fogged, the leather damp with sweat. Hazel lies back against the seat, her body trembling, still open from the intensity.

Blue shifts, pulling her close, cradling Hazel against her chest. Her arms are strong but gentle, holding her like something precious. She presses her lips to Hazel’s damp hair, still breathless, still drunk on the moment.

“Hazel…” she murmurs, a low chuckle lacing the word. “You... ahm... prefer to be on the receiving end don´t you?”

Hazel exhales, eyes fluttering half-shut, her lips curving into a faint, exhausted smile. She doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t need to. The truth of it lingers in her body, in the tear-damp trail on her cheek, in the way she had given herself so completely.

I do… Suzie…

Blue squeezes Hazel tighter, her earlier grin fading into something softer, more fragile. She slides down, buries her face in Hazel’s neck, breathing her in, unwilling to let go just yet.

Her voice comes out low, almost a plea.
“Ah… Hazel… are you really sure you want an omega by your side? I don´t think you'll be doing much receiving with an omega...”

Hazel chuckles gently, the sound warm against the tension in the air. She tilts her head, brushing her cheek against Blue’s temple.
“I want to be with Nova, Bluery…”

Blue exhales, half a groan, half a laugh, the fight leaving her shoulders.
“Damn it…” she mutters, the word caught between longing and resignation.

Hazel chuckles softly, brushing her lips near Blue’s ear.
“Are you sure you want to be with omegas though?”

Blue blinks. “Huh? I mean… I could have another beta, or maybe… a certain alpha… as my girlfriend.”

Hazel smirks, her tone teasing.
“But you’re so rough. Omegas don’t like it like that.”

Blue frowns, pulling back just enough to see her face.
“I don’t do that with omegas! I go slow… I have to get creative, more imaginative…” She huffs, crossing her brow. “I won’t excuse myself for being rough with you. You asked!”

Hazel bursts into laughter, holding her tighter.

“Are you mocking me?” Blue asks, half-offended, half-insecure.

Hazel shakes her head quickly, still smiling. She kisses Blue’s temple.
“Oh, bots, no! You read me perfectly. I like it rough. I like it just like that.”

Blue’s eyes widen a fraction, surprise softening into relief, and then, something more dangerous, something almost tender.

“You did exactly what I asked and I loved it, Bluery.” Hazel whispers.

Blue loves hearing Hazel say her name like that, she sighs, her chest tightens. She had expected Hazel to tease her, maybe even to brush it off as just another one-night indulgence and kick her off of the car. Instead, Hazel is smiling, soft, open, her arms wrapped around her, her voice steady in its honesty.

Blue swallows hard, the usual smirk tugging at her lips but failing to cover the rawness in her eyes.
“Damn it, Hazeyyy…” she murmurs, almost under her breath.

She buries her face in Hazel’s neck again, holding her tighter, inhaling her scent like she wants to trap this moment inside her forever. Her hand slides down, gripping Hazel’s ass again possessively, but the gesture isn’t just lust, it’s aching, almost desperate.

“You can’t say things like that,” Blue whispers against her skin, voice rough. “Not when we’re both single and we just fucked... we're so compatible it hurts...”

Hazel gazes at her, eyes soft with amusement. She finds Blue’s mix of bravado and vulnerability almost unbearably endearing. With a gentle touch, she slips her hand under Blue’s chin, lifting it until their eyes meet.

She leans in and kisses her lazily, slow, before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips:

“Want a second round? Wanna be the omega this time?”

Blue’s eyes go wide, she panics.
“Huuuuh?!” she blurts, her voice cracking.

Hazel bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she presses her forehead to Blue’s. The sound is warm, teasing, and full of fondness.

I think it’s because we both felt like we had something to prove… that’s why we fit so well together…

Suzie.

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Author's note:

Did you like it? Leave a comment! 

Chapter 59: Regulation 🌘

Summary:

What is sex beyond an act of reproduction? So much more isn't it?
What does sensuality do for us humans?
When we see a beautiful piece of art, it does something to our minds and bodies.

We need it in our lives.

Ari needs it, that space for release, beauty, warmth.

Intimacy can be a form of healing, but also means of control.

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The way she’s being cradled by Nova is a whole new sin by itself. Ari presses her lips against her neck from time to time, she doesn't kiss her, it's meant to go unnoticed by everyone else, but she knows Nova notices, and smiles slowly and subtly. And Nova, she caresses Ari’s head, long strokes, pretending to be only consoling her while secretly inhaling her scent, as Ari tells everyone her story, pretending that she's not encouraging the press of her lips against her neck, collarbone, jaw. Pretending like nothing is going on, like there's no subtle giving and taking happening right there, in front of a crowd of omegas.

“And I feel like…”

All the moonbeams lean in, their attention fixed on Ari. Nova holds her gently, while Gina lingers at the edge, watching with caution, still uncertain if she should let Nova cradle Ari like that.

“…like whenever I complain about something, she finds it cute and… and she invalidates it, or she…” Ari’s voice falters. The memory flashes, being thrown onto the bed after calling Lyra out, and how it ended in sex, tangled with Nova. Her cheeks warm. “…or she fixes everything with sex and… and… Ugh, she knows I love how she does it!--- but also, I’m upset! She doesn’t listen! I wasn't like this I swear! I was more …mature? …maybe?… I was regulated… but now I feel like I need constant regulation from outside sources…” subtle brush of the lips to Nova’s neck, Nova smiles, strokes, inhales.

Constant regulation…

The moonbeams murmur and nod in agreement, small sounds of solidarity filling the room. Nova strokes Ari’s hair tenderly, soothing, Ari's lips press against her neck, slowly, Nova exhales subtly to not whimper.

Goddess… you need ‘regulation’ don't you? Ari… you’re craving it so bad, aren't you? …if we were alone I'd give it to you… 

Gina observes, listens, still hesitates. But…According to Ari’s own story… Lyra did tell her she couldn’t just walk away from her deal with Aira. She is trying to solve the problem. Ari knew how Lyra is… she chose her like that. Gina doesn’t voice it, not with the consensus so clearly tilting in Ari’s favor, not with the daughter of Regina Seligman having given Ari her full support.

“Alphas can be like that sometimes…” Nova says softly.

Ari sighs and sinks her head against Nova’s collarbone. The moonbeams echo her, sighing in unison. Gina doesn’t catch the faint press of lips or the fleeting curve of smiles …but she senses something passing between Ari and Nova, and the feeling unsettles her.

Taylor’s voice cuts through the calm:

“Lyra is here. She’ll be entering the house soon, Ari. You’d better clean those plates.”

Ari groans softly, still nestled in Nova’s arms.

Nova glances at her moonbeams, a subtle but firm signal. At once they scramble, stacking plates, tossing napkins, rushing to wash their hands in the kitchen sink or slipping into bathrooms to tidy themselves.

And then… when the moonbeams aren't looking… Ari's lips press slightly tighter, her tongue sticks out a little bit and tastes Nova’s skin. Nova inhales and closes her eyes.

Goddess… Ari… I'd give it to you as if I had a cock… Nova widens her eyes in surprise at her own thoughts.

By the time Lyra steps inside the living room, the scene looks almost ordinary. But she catches sight of a moonbeam rinsing her mouth at the sink in the open kitchen, another hurriedly sweeping the floor.

Lyra stops dead.

“What the… who the fuck are you?” she demands.

The moonbeams scatter instantly in a panic and retreat toward her room.

Lyra shuts the door behind her, scanning the house with narrowed eyes before heading straight toward her room.

When she pushes the door open, the sight makes her pause. Ari is cradled up in bed with Nova, semi sitting against a pile of pillows, moonbeams scattered everywhere, some lounging on the mattress, others curled on the floor. Gina, sitting cross-legged by the nightstand, gives Lyra an awkward smile and a small wave.

“Hello, Lyra…” she offers weakly.

Lyra’s gaze sweeps the room, her tone edged with annoyance.

“Ari. What is this?”

Ari flinches, caught. “I was worried, and Nova came in, and…” Her words falter. But the second she locks eyes with Lyra, her restraint shatters. She springs from the bed and rushes into her arms.

Lyra catches her instinctively, arms circling her.

Nova sighs.

“Lyra, you fought Gabriella!” Ari blurts, her voice breaking.

That name makes Lyra stiffen, the tension sparking across her face.

“Thank you! I was so worried about you!” Ari cries, burying her face in Lyra’s neck.

Lyra holds her tighter, her jaw clenched, torn between annoyance, relief, and something heavier at hearing that name aloud.

“Aw… Ari…” Lyra sighs, pressing her cheek to Ari’s hair. “I told you it would all be alright. But… I guess I can’t blame you for worrying. Especially after seeing that fight.” Her arms tighten around her, steady, reassuring.

Ari tilts her head back, eyes searching hers. “Are you done with the dangerous stuff now? Can we just… live in peace?”

Lyra’s lips curve into a small smile, equal parts tender and tired. “Yes. As soon as I pay the debt. And now… I finally have the money.”

Relief softens Ari’s face, her smile blooming. “I’m glad.”

Lyra kisses her forehead, holding her close as if sealing the promise.

“Awww…” the moonbeams exclaim, gazing at the pair with soft, adoring eyes.

Lyra turns her head, startled. “I forgot we had an audience…” Her gaze sharpens as it lands on Nova. “And you…”

Nova only smiles, sly and mischievous.

Lyra frowns at her, irritation flickering in her eyes.

“I lost you in a bet, to Hazel, so you can't stay…”

Gina muffles a laugh.

“Hey! She helped me, she kept me together,” Ari protests quickly "And she's special to us... don't be mean.'

Lyra’s expression hardens, her tone dry. “Yes, she has this special quality… she does seem to magically appear every time you need contention, doesn’t she?”

Nova’s smile lingers, but her eyes glitter knowingly, daring Lyra to push further. Lyra remembers what Gabriella said and it bothers her.

“Lyra, don’t be mean to her!” Ari scolds gently, still clinging to her.

Nova’s mischievous smile fades; she straightens, her tone suddenly serious.

“Lyra, you know I like Ari, I mean, like her like her—but I’m Hazel’s omega. It’s different, okay? It’s a different relationship. Don’t feel threatened.”

Mary’s eyes fly to Nova, wide and alarmed.

Lyra 's jaw tightens. “I don’t…” she growls, her voice low, unconvincing.

Fuck… it’s still sexy… Lyra thinks, remembering their threesomes. She makes an effort not to look at Nova in case blush creeps up her face.

But dangerous.

From the floor, Gina stares at the exchange in disbelief, wide-eyed at how casually such confessions are being tossed around, she searches for Ari’s face, her reaction, but Ari’s face is buried in Lyra’s chest, slightly blushing maybe, silent.

“Ah—Lyra, congratulations!” Gina says quickly, trying to break the tension. “You’re free from Aira now, so maybe we could celebrate?”

Lyra nods, her voice calm and steady. “Yes. As soon as I deposit the money… we’re free and we sure will.”

“That’s amazing, Lyra!” one moonbeam exclaims.

“Yes, well done!” another adds brightly.

Suddenly all the moonbeams are looking at her with wide smiles, chiming in with soft cheers and nods.

Gina watches them, incredulous. Just moments ago they were all agreeing with Ari that Lyra wasn’t so great… and now they beam at her like loyal fans.

Lyra feels the warmth of it anyway, the shift in their energy seeping into her chest. She exhales, a small, almost shy smile curving her lips.

“Ah… thanks,” she murmurs.

Nova slips out of the bed, brushing off her dress. “Well, we’ll be going now.” She grabs her coat from a nearby chair and puts it on.

“Huh??” the moonbeams blink at her. “Where are we going to go?”

“To Hazel,” Nova replies with certainty. “She’s going to take me back. I know it.”

Lyra shrugs, her tone casual. “Well, yeah, she did declare her undying love for you or something before her fight.”

Nova freezes, eyes going wide. The moonbeams all gasp at once.

“What, you didn’t see that?” Lyra asks, genuinely surprised.

“No… I was running away…” Nova says, her voice small.

“Oh,” Lyra mutters.

Then Nova breaks into a radiant smile and darts forward, throwing her arms around Lyra.

“What?!” Lyra stiffens, caught off guard, Ari feels Nova’s hug, eyes widening.

“Thank you, Lyra!” Nova beams, squeezing her tight. “You’ve just given me the best news.”

Lyra blinks, awkward, before raising a hesitant hand to pat her back.

Nova releases Lyra from the hug, turning toward her companions with bright determination. “Let’s go, my moonbeams! To Hazel’s!”

The moonbeams immediately spring to their feet, falling in line behind her.

“Goodbye, Lyra! Bye Gina! Bye Ari!” one chirps.

“Bye Ari, bye Lyra! Bye Gina!” another echoes.

“Byeeeee!” a third adds, waving enthusiastically.

The other moonbeams wave.

Lyra lifts a hand in a small wave, Gina follows suit, and Ari smiles warmly at them all.

“Taylor,” Lyra says evenly, “open the doors and please escort them out.”

Taylor obeys, unlocking the doors with a soft click as the lights along the hallway brighten, guiding the moonbeams on their way out.

Once the door shuts behind the last moonbeam, Gina exhales sharply.

“Wow. That was… something. Nova likes you? Like—what the fuck?!”

Lyra meets her gaze evenly. “We used to have an arrangement. It’s complicated.”

Gina raises her brows. “No, yeah, we all know you used to sleep with both.”

Ari bristles, a low growl slipping out. “No! Lyra is my alpha. She just… allowed Nova to be with me, while Lyra was… also with me. It 's different. It was therapeutic…? Maybe?”

Gina blinks, cheeks flushing as she realizes how defensive Ari sounds. She lets out a nervous laugh and forces a smile.

“O-kay…”

Geez, Ari…

“You want some tea?” Lyra offers politely.

Gina shakes her head with a soft laugh. “No, it’s okay, it’s getting late, and I don’t want to end up in a threesome, haha!”

The joke falls flat. Silence hangs for a beat.

“Ah …anyway,” Gina recovers quickly, glancing at Ari, “this was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. Just, you know, without all the moonbeams maybe.”

Ari stands to hug her, smiling warmly. “Bye, Gina. Thank you for the advice… and for everything.”

Gina returns the hug with a small squeeze. “Hey, what are friends for?”

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With Gina gone, the house is theirs again. Steam curls from the tea cups as Lyra stares at Ari, black irises fixed on her until Ari shivers under the weight of that gaze.

“Gina is a good friend. Those are the friends you keep close.” Lyra says.

Ari struggles to not forget what she wants to say to Lyra, so she just nods and tries not to look at her too much yet. She goes through her lines

Lyra… I need you to pay that debt as soon as possible and promise me that no more dangerous stuff– like… that you won't do more dangerous stuff! Also… I can tell you about Gabriella if you want… yes… that’s fair I guess… And… And even if we’re ok I want you to know how I felt, like… like you just didn't listen to me…

“Come here, Ari. I need you close.” Lyra pats her lap.

Oh Goddess… that’s so hot…

Ari rises, legs unsteady, and walks to her. Another pat on Lyra’s thigh: “Sit here.”

Ari settles into her lap. Lyra’s arms close around her, a long sigh escaping her chest.

“Ah… I’m so happy…” she breathes.

On the glossy wall, Ari catches the reflection of Lyra’s smile, soft, relieved, vulnerable again. It makes her heart ache.

“You were worried too, weren’t you?” she asks quietly.

Lyra grunts, squeezing her tighter. “Of course. About you. I just wanted this to be over.” Her voice softens. “And now it is. Now you can be at peace.”

Relief melts through Ari, her body relaxing into Lyra’s warmth. She wanted it over, just like me. Goddess, she’s the best.

“Lyra…” Ari whispers, leaning against her.

She exhales. “I didn’t want to stress you out. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Gabriella. I’m sorry…”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Lyra hushes her gently. “I don’t want anything to spoil this moment.” She kisses her cheek, then turns her chin to capture her lips.

“We’re free,” she whispers, before kissing her again, slower, deeper, sealing the words in Ari’s mouth.

Lyra slips her arms under Ari and lifts her easily.

“Woah!” Ari squeaks, clutching at her shoulders.

“Gina was right, we should celebrate this…” Lyra murmurs, carrying her toward the bedroom.

“Lyra… I… Lyra…” Ari’s voice falters. A strange feeling tugs at her chest, as if she’s forgetting something important.

Maybe it’s just that she always makes me forget I’m mad at her when she touches me… maybe there’s nothing to remember at all… or…

Lyra lowers her gently onto the bed.

“I want you, Ari…” Her voice dips, eyes shifting away. “The truth is… I hated what Gabriella said.”

Ari flinches.

Ah… there it is… its did affect her…

Lyra’s jaw tightens. “I hated how sure she sounded about you being hers.”

Ari shakes her head, reaching for her hand. “The ‘fated’ thing, it’s just Covenant nonsense. A way to couple people up, make more babies for the Covenant. It’s not real, Lyra. It’s just an excuse.”

Lyra looks back at her, eyes burning despite the explanation. “I hated it anyway. And Nova…” She exhales sharply. “If she could, I think she’d steal you from me too.”

Ari chuckles softly, trying to ease her. “Nova is just… Nova.”

But Lyra moves closer, caging her in with arms braced on either side. Her voice lowers, steady and fierce. “No, Ari. From now on, if we ever bring anyone into our lives, I want our partners to be reliable. Mature. Not manipulative or sneaky like Nova …even if they’re omegas, they can't be trustworthy if they are like that.”

Ari blinks, startled.

“Our partners?”

Lyra nods without hesitation. “Yes. Our partners.”

Ari’s thoughts stumble, her mouth opening before she can stop herself.

Wait… what?

“Are we… are we going to look for a third? Like… actively look?” she asks, her voice half-shocked, half-curious.

Lyra looks at her, eyes wide and dilated “I think you need it… you… you seem to be calmer with someone else… more regulated.”

Ari cups her face “Lyra… I… that was circumstantial.”

“So you don´t want this to keep being our dynamic…”

“Uhm, it’s not like we need it… right?”

Do we need it?

Lyra smiles, plants a quick kiss on her lips, and murmurs,

“Ok. I guess I’ll cancel with Noura then.”

 

Ari’s eyes widen.

Hold on… Noura?! …hold oooooooooooooooonn!!!

She swallows hard.

Lyra notices, her smile shifting.

“Oh…”

Ari blinks. “You… you invited her to be our… partner?”

Lyra cups her face, voice low and tender.

“Not directly. If you want, I can pretend I didn’t. She’ll just think she misunderstood me.”

Ari frowns, pouting a little. “Hey… that sounds mean. And she’s been so good to us.”

That's gaslighting, Lyra…

Lyra’s lips curl into a sly grin.

“So… if we don’t include her now, we’d be mean to her, huh?”

Ari narrows her eyes with a playful frown.

“I’m just saying… let’s not be mean.”

Leaning close, Lyra whispers against her ear, voice dripping with mischief:

“The truth is… I felt sorry for making you feel bad. And I know she wants me… so I thought I should get her as an apology to you.”

The dark, sexy tease in her tone sends a shiver down Ari’s spine.

“I'm giving her to you as an apology…so, do you forgive me?”

Ari’s lashes lower, her eyes turning half-lidded as she gives a slow, very aroused nod.

Lyra claims her lips in a slow, deep kiss, savoring the forgiveness she’s been granted, though it tastes more like desire.

“Thank you, baby,” she breathes against her mouth.

They kiss.

Ari clings to her, Lyra feels her yearing.

First Nova and now the thought of Noura, Ari is overstimulated, she needs release.

“Nice talk, right baby?… Now we can celebrate. All been said, right baby?”

Ari nods.

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Ari is already trembling with arousal by the time Lyra takes the black satin ribbon and binds her wrists behind her back. The silk holds her snug, not harsh, but enough to remind her that she has given herself over completely. She lies on her belly across the bed, cheek pressed to the sheets, her body soft, surrendered.

Lyra kneels behind her, running her palms over Ari’s back, down her sides, savoring every curve as if mapping her all over again. The sight of Ari bound and waiting makes her chest ache with hunger.

When she leans in, Lyra takes her time. She parts Ari gently with her hands, lips brushing first in feather-light kisses, a tease of breath against sensitive skin. Then her tongue moves in long, deliberate strokes slow enough to make Ari whimper, deep enough to make her hips tremble.

Lyra knows exactly what she’s doing. She lingers where Ari is most sensitive, then pulls back to circle and tease, reading every gasp, every shiver, adjusting her pace to what Ari’s body begs for. She doesn’t rush. She takes her time.

Ari moans into the sheets, wrists tugging against the satin ribbon, not to escape but to feel more helplessly hers. The helplessness only sharpens the pleasure, every stroke of Lyra’s mouth rocking through her like waves she can’t stop.

Lyra hums softly against her, adding warmth and vibration to the sensation. One of her hands squeezes Ari’s thigh, grounding her, while the other caresses her lower back in slow, possessive strokes. She eats her out the way most omegas long to be touched, with patience, attention, and reverence, drinking in every reaction as if nothing in the world matters but Ari’s pleasure.

Ari’s body arches despite the tie, her voice breaking into a sobbed moan. She melts further into the sheets, undone, overwhelmed, surrendering entirely to the devotion of Lyra’s mouth.

Lyra parts from her sweet omega’s lower lips and rises, towering over by the bed.

She drinks in the sight, Ari’s body trembling, arching, begging without words.

Just the mention of Noura made her react like this?

Tch… it almost makes me jealous.

“Ari…” her voice drops, rich with hunger,

“you’re irresistible when you’re like this.”

Her hands slide to Ari’s hips, lifting them slightly. She positions herself, the tip of her cock brushing Ari’s entrance.

Ari gasps, a moan spilling out at the mere touch.

“Lyra… please—I need it.”

Lyra’s mouth curves into a pleased smile.

“Yes, baby… yes…”

She presses forward, slowly, deliberately, sliding in with ease.

Ari is drenched, her body yielding, relaxed, her mind dissolving into a haze of pleasure.

All she wants is Lyra—deeper, now.

“I love it when you beg…” Lyra murmurs.

“Lyra, I beg of you… please…” Ari’s voice breaks, desperate, sweet.

Ah… fuck… so hungry… Lyra’s thoughts burn as she watches her.

Is this what stress does to you, baby?

A dark chuckle escapes her.

I ought to stress you out more… make you beg like this again…

She thrusts in deep, slow, then out, then in. 

“Harder!” Ari yells.

“Yes…” Lyra loves the intensity in Ari’s moans.

Ari bites the bed as she is rocked by Lyra’s thrusts. 

Ahhh… is it wrong to feel this good?

Her mind flickers, tangled between faces and names, whispers that shouldn’t mix with this heat, yet all of it coils back to Lyra. Always Lyra.

Goddesss… it’s because of her… because it’s her… ahhh… Lyra seduced Noura, Lyra threw Nova on our bed… Lyra … Lyra …Lyra!

“Lyra!” she whimpers, her body breaking as release overtakes her, a sudden squirt marking the peak.

Lyra stills, watching in awe.

“That’s it…” she murmurs, voice low and reverent.

 

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Author's notes:

I'm traveling again omgggg. Did you like this chapter? Tell me about it! Your comments feed meee, metaphorically speaking. Lol.

Hugs!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 60: Not chapter, its a pause

Summary:

Just to let you know, I need to pause for a month aprox.

I'm going good to be busy with work and other stuff and I need to oause this story for about a month. But I already have the ending in my mind so I will finish it!

Thanks everyone see you in a month!

Chapter 61: When the Past Walks In 🚪

Summary:

Camille struggles with growing restlessness as she waits for a long-delayed job opportunity, while Suzie becomes increasingly uneasy about Camille’s new social circle and habits. Both women try to maintain harmony, but jealousy and misunderstandings quietly build between them. Meanwhile, Hazel’s unexpected public appearance stirs complicated emotions in both Camille and Suzie.
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Some time ago, before Hazel’s fight and just when Nova had started to rebel, Camille was already feeling uneasy.

She sat alone in her new and luxurious home, waiting.

"Another strange instrument…" she murmured.

They arrived every month now, musical instruments native to the Materia Territory. At first, Camille had been thrilled. She had free time, she was waiting for her job offer to materialize, and the idea of experimenting with new instruments in her brand new studio inside her brand new almost mansion felt like a dream.

But the months kept passing. And the job offer never came.

She opened her Hype Channel.

"Wow... I really posted a lot of videos already…"
The realization hit her. She wasn't posting out of passion or vocation. She was posting because she was bored. And the number of videos only reminded her of how much time she had spent waiting, with no work and no news.

The bell rang. Another delivery.

Inside the package she found yet another instrument. On top of it was a note:

"Enjoy your new toy, love. Suzie"

Camille let out a long breath.

"Ugh..."

She dropped onto the beanie chair, letting her body sink into it, heavy and exhausted.

This is not the life I imagined for myself…

This wasn't good. She posted out of boredom, not passion, not vocation. Th3 amount of videos posted only reminded her of the time she had spent without a job and without news of a job offer.

And now, a new instrument arrived.

 

‘Enjoy your new toy, 

Love, 

Suzie’ 

 

said the note.

 

Camille sighs.

 

“Ugh…”

 

She lets herself fall on the beanie.

 

This is not the life I imagined for myself…

She scrolls down and taps on one of her own videos, posted weeks ago, maybe months.

"Huh?"

This one has a surprising number of views.

Before she can process why, a notification pops up.

Bing!

"Hazel got a makeover or something!"
A message from Suzie, followed by a link.

"Hazel is on Hype?"

Camille clicks.

The video opens. It is shaky, recorded from a distance. There are giggles in the background, the kind of giggles that belong to girls who think they’ve spotted something unusual.

“It’s an Astorè…” one of them whispers, half in awe.

More giggles.

The camera zooms in slightly, and Camille instantly recognizes the figure standing in front of a Syrena Levana, parked near Morph CO’s headquarters. Hazel.

Hazel is wearing tailored wide-leg trousers in a cool taupe tone, perfectly falling over pointed black shoes. She has on a fitted charcoal waistcoat that shapes her torso, layered under a long dark blazer with structured shoulders and a clean line. Beneath the vest is a soft white turtleneck that brightens her silhouette and sharpens the elegance of the whole look. Her hair is tucked neatly behind her ears, not as wild as usual. In one hand she holds a dark structured handbag, minimal and expensive-looking. The entire outfit gives her an intellectual, refined, almost aristocratic presence.

Her style has certainly changed but its her expression, her aura, what’s more surprising, her posture straight but her expression soft. Her face looks… sad. Or no, not sad. Nostalgic. As if the building holds something she is not ready to let go of.

The girls recording keep whispering.

“Why is she just standing there? She looks like an ad for the Syrena Levana.”

“She looks like she’s gonna cry…”

Camille’s stomach tightens.

Hazel’s gaze remains fixed on the entrance. The wind catches a strand of her hair. She does nothing to fix it. She just… looks.

Camille leans closer to the screen.

Hazel never stands still like that.
Hazel never looks lost.
Hazel never looks vulnerable.

But there she is.

On Hype.
In front of Morph’s doors.
Dressed beautifully and looking like someone who is remembering something important.

Or someone.

Hazel looks like a woman who has just realized she wants to go home… but can’t.

Or am I projecting?

Hazel suddenly shakes her head, swiftly gets in her car and starts it.

“She’s getting away!”

And the Syrena Levana drives away from Morph C.O.

“Aww nooo!”

“She’s so… like… she’s like… pretty and… like…”

Camille stops the video.

Am I worried about Hazel?

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Suzie is blushing.
“She’s hot!” a woman suddenly exclaims, far too close to the back of Suzie’s head. The loud comment makes Suzie jolt in her chair.

Suzie frowns and instantly locks her phone, placing it face-down on her desk.
“Hey! D-don’t spy on other people’s phones!”

“Is she your girl? Camille?” the scientist asks with a teasing smile.

Another scientist walking by glances at the screen’s reflection.
“You know that’s not Camille,” she says casually.

“How would you know? You’ve never even seen Camille,” Suzie mutters under her breath.
Her cheeks get colder. “Camille’s even hotter…”

The two scientists exchange a quick look, subtle but loaded.

“Ah… you’re right,” one of them says. “I wouldn’t know.”

“So… Do you know that woman? Or is she famous or something?”

Suzie sighs.

“Yes to both. She’s… Hazel Astorè.”

Both scientists blink and look at each other in perfect sync.

“Oh.”

Suzie pushes her chair back abruptly.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She gets up, gathers her things, and walks away.
Her steps echo through the hallway as she heads to her office, closes the door, and finally allows herself to breathe.

She checks that no one is around. Then she pulls out her phone again.

Hazel’s image fills the screen.

But this Hazel is different…
Softer somehow. Sadder.
More human than Suzie has seen her in years.

Suzie keeps staring, unable to look away.

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“Welcome home, baby.” Camille calls out lazily from one of the long futons in the living room, a guitar resting across her lap.

Suzie steps inside and immediately notices…
People. Camille has invited people.

Two alphas and five omegas are spread across the spacious living room. A couple of them hold instruments. Plates and cups clutter the central table.

“Hey, babe… who are your friends?”

“These are Hype friends. We’re jamming.” Camille grins.

“I’m Riley. Nice to meet you!” one of the girls says.

“I’m Aanya!” another waves.

“My name is Kavya.” One of the alphas gives a confident nod.

“I’m—”

Suzie tunes out the rest of the introductions. She doesn’t care. She is annoyed that strangers are in her house, touching her things, leaving their glasses everywhere. But she hides it behind a practiced smile.

“Oh hey! Nice to meet you, girls. Have you had anything to drink?”

Of course they have. She can see the half-empty cups and smudged lipstick stains all over the table.

“Yes, thank you!” one of them replies politely.

“We might have had a little too much, hihi!” an omega giggles, leaning against the alpha beside her.

Suzie’s jaw tightens.

She forces a soft laugh.
“That’s great.”

She takes a step back.

“I’ll be in our room. I actually have some reading to do, for work.”

She heads toward the hallway, her smile vanishing the second she turns away.

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Camille’s friends stay until late. It is already 1 a.m. A few more minutes pass before Camille finally walks through the bedroom door.

“Hey,” she says softly, smiling.

Suzie looks up at her. Camille’s calm blue eyes slowly lower, becoming half-lidded as she focuses on Suzie. Her smile grows in that way Suzie knows all too well.

“Oh no… not tonight…” Suzie thinks.

Camille climbs onto the bed and stretches out beside her. She reaches out, gently caressing Suzie’s cheek, leaning in close enough to make Suzie’s face warm with a blush.

“Why?” Camille’s voice is a melodic little plea, warm and coaxing.

“I… honestly, seeing all those dirty dishes was very unsexy…”

Camille chuckles. “I knew you were bothered by them.”

“Ah… yeah. A bunch of strangers in my house…” Suzie mutters.

“Uhm… our house,” Camille corrects gently. Her smile falters just a little.

“Yes, our house… I mean it’s also my space, and seeing a bunch of strangers—”

“Aww, come on…” Camille cuts her off softly, curling even closer.

“Like… at least let me know. Write to me or something.”

“Ok, baby.” Camille leans in and gives her a quick, sweet peck.

.

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But it happened again, only two days later.

“Ugh…” Suzie mutters.

“What? I wrote to you. You knew they were home,” Camille says from the bed.

“Yeah but… I don’t know, I just don’t like it.”
Suzie runs a comb through her hair, standing in her pajamas in front of the mirror. She looks at Camille through the reflection instead of turning around.

Camille watches her quietly. Her expression softens, then tightens into a small frown.“So what should I do? Stay at home alone all day?”
There is a thin line of annoyance in her voice. Not loud. Just enough for Suzie to hear it.

Suzie freezes for a split second. Panic rises in her chest.

“No! Baby, no… I’m sorry. You’re right. I just…” She flounders.

Camille sits up slightly, eyebrows still slightly pulled together.

“By the way,” Camille says, as if deciding to change the subject, “since we’re talking about all that… did Devika say anything about me? Anything about a job for me?”

Suzie instantly feels her stomach drop a little.

She feared this question.

“Uhm… no…”
There’s a small pause.
“But I’m sure she’s on it.”

Camille sighs.

“Tell you what, I’ll press her on it,” Suzie says, finally turning around to face her. She forces a bright smile, hoping it will soften the mood.

Camille just stares for a moment.

“Baaabyyyyy…”
Suzie crosses the room in two steps, practically pouncing on her. She peppers Camille’s face with tiny, chaotic pecks.

“Hahaha! Baabee—” Camille tries to shield herself, laughing.

“I’m sorry, babe. I’ll talk to Devika, I promise. And you can bring your friends over. I’m sorry.” Suzie blurts it all out in one breath.

“Don’t worry, Suz. I get why it annoyed you. Thanks.” Camille’s voice is warm again.

Suzie melts with relief.

They wrap their arms around each other and hug, Camille sinking into Suzie’s chest, Suzie tightening her hold.

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But more time passes, and still no job comes. And Camille’s unease grows slowly.

“Babe! Did you see? Lyra and Hazel are going to fight! Like… in a ring, and in public!” Suzie blurts the moment she walks into their bedroom. That makes her forget about her unease for a second.

Camille’s eyes widen instantly.
“What?! Lyra will crush her!”

Suzie shakes her head quickly.
“No, no! I mean they’re not fighting each other. They’re going to fight other fighters. I think it’s because of all the recent drama… you know, the videos of Lyra beating up people, and those incriminating recordings of Aira.”

“Oh, right…” Camille taps her lip, thinking. “Do you think this is them doubling down? Or trying to distract everyone?”

Suzie lifts her hands in a small shrug.
“I try not to know too much about Astorès territory. Gets annoying fast.”

“When’s the fight?”

“In about a week.”

“Oh my bot, we have to watch it!” Camille sits up, suddenly energized.

“Shiva, put it on our calendar,” Suzie says.

Shiva replies instantly, “Yes, Suzie.”

Camille blinks.
“Hey… you activated Shiva? When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh. I forgot.”

“…Oh.”
Camille’s smile fades just a little, a tiny crease forming between her brows. She doesn’t say anything, but that detail annoyed her.

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The day of the fight arrives.

“You purchased a ticket? We can’t go…” Camille says, confused as she adjusts an earring.

“It’s an online ticket, from this influencer. We basically have front-row seats through her camera,” Suzie explains as she combs her hair in front of the mirror.

“Oh! Nice.”

Suzie turns around and sees Camille, she’s dressed up. She’s wearing an extraordinary ensemble: a luxurious ivory gown with sweeping golden embroidery that looks almost ceremonial. The fabric glows softly under the lights, the intricate gold patterns forming elegant leaf motifs across the sleeves and the front of the dress. A structured golden belt cinches her waist, ornamented with an ornate circular clasp that catches the light whenever she moves. The outer panels of the dress fall in long, dramatic layers of warm amber-gold, also embroidered with rich baroque flourishes. The entire outfit flows around her like liquid gold and ivory, regal and impossibly graceful, giving her the appearance of a high-ranking official or a noble woman native to Materia’s territory.

Suzie stares at her for a moment, completely speechless.
Camille simply smiles, radiant in her golden-ivory attire.

“Uh… when did you buy that?” Suzie asks.

“It’s a gift from a fan,” Camille replies casually, brushing a hand over the embroidered sleeve.

A small stab of annoyance flickers through Suzie’s chest.

“Oh.”

“Yep. It’s pretty, huh?” Camille twirls a bit, the golden panels of the dress swaying elegantly.

Suzie nods.
“More than pretty. It looks… expensive.”

Camille studies the fabric more closely, thoughtful.
“Yes. It definitely is.”

A brief, weird silence settles between them.

“Does that annoy you?” Camille asks, her tone gentle.

“No. I… I just wonder why you’re wearing it now,” Suzie says.

“Oh, I’m going out.”

Suzie blinks.
“Out? You didn’t tell me…”

“I did. I sent you a message…”

Suzie checks her phone. There is a message, but it’s in her Hype notifications.

“Hype? I never watch that.”

“We’re going to karaoke. Me and the girls.”

Suzie feels her jaw tighten.
She is definitely annoyed.

And Camille can see it.

“Wanna come with?” she asks carefully.

Suzie takes a moment before responding.
A long moment.

“Oh no… no, no. It’s fine.”

Camille doesn’t push, but her eyes lower slightly. She can tell Suzie is still unhappy. The air between them tightens, soft but noticeable.

“Have fun, babe,” Suzie says at last, the smile she puts on clearly forced.

Camille hesitates for a second… then nods.

“I’ll be back in time for the fight. And don’t eat the shawarmas before I get here,” she says, giving Suzie a small, playful smile.

Suzie smiles back.
“Bring that green stuff—the lemonade thing—if you can.”

“Got it, babe.”

Camille heads to the door.
They both keep smiling…

But the moment Camille steps out, and the door closes behind her, the smiles on both of their faces fade almost instantly.

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“You’re late! Lyra is kicking that woman’s ass and… wait—are you drunk?”

Camille steps into the bedroom a little wobbly, cheeks flushed, movements loose and soft.

“I’m… I didn’t know that drink had alcohol. It’s so sweet,” she mumbles.

Camille, you’ve never been the type to get drunk… what kind of people are you hanging out with?

Suzie sighs, already standing up from the bed in her pajamas.
She walks over and slips an arm around her alpha to steady her.

“Ugh. There is so much alcohol in this city,” Suzie mutters while helping her walk. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you smelling like not-booze again, ok?”

She guides Camille to the bathroom.

Suzie helps her wash her face, wiping away makeup and smudged eyeliner, while Camille brushes her own teeth with clumsy determination.

“Shiva, make two green juice glasses,” Suzie orders.

A moment later, two glasses appear in their room dispenser.

“Have them both if you need,” Suzie says.

And Camille does. She drinks obediently.

“Can you believe I had to type the recipe into Shiva myself? Apparently these juices aren’t common here,” Suzie complains.

Camille smiles faintly.
“Materia Territory is very different from Astorè Territory.”

Suddenly the screen flashes, switching to a new angle of the fight.

Lyra’s face fills the display, livid, intense, predatory, as she kicks a massive blonde fighter across the ring.

Camille freezes.

Her eyes widen.
Locked on the screen.
Breath caught.

“Lyra…” she whispers, almost to herself.

Suzie notices.

Lyra is angry, she doesn´t let that other alpha even get up, and at the end she makes a menacing gesture, as if she’s pointing a gun at her.

Lyra! What has gotten you this angry?! Camille wonders.

Then she hears her.

“If you ever come near her or my house—” Lyra growls, “...bang.”

The crowd gasps, a wave of shock rippling through the hall. Gramms looks around at the frightened faces.

Camille gasps as the screen shifts again.

“Near my house? What is going on? Is Lyra in danger? Or Ari?!” she blurts out, panicked.

Suzie keeps watching the fight, but her eyes narrow slightly.

“You still care about her,” Suzie says.
There is mild jealousy in her voice, soft but unmistakable.

Camille turns to look at her.

“I mean… yes. I’m not going to pretend I don’t care about her. As a friend…”

The answer hits Suzie in the wrong spot.
Her jaw tightens, her stomach twists, but she forces herself to stay calm. She tries not to let it show.

She exhales, slow and shaky.
“I… understand…”

Camille suspects she doesn’t.
The silence between them is suddenly heavier.

“When’s Hazel’s fight?” Camille asks, redirecting the topic.

“Apparently it’s the last one,” Suzie replies.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, gives us time to buy more shawarmas. I… ate them all.”

Camille snaps her head toward her.
“Seriously?!”

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“Oh my fucking bot, that was intense!”

“Right?! Like… Rainy is ripped and also a bit insane…” Suzie says, still buzzing.

“And… Ari has an omega? That has to be a lie.”

Suzie gives Camille a mischievous grin.
“I don’t know… I always felt that girl was freakyyy.”

Camille chuckles.
“I mean… maybe.”

Suzie chuckles too.

“Ah… I kinda miss her,” Suzie murmurs.

“Me too…” Camille replies, with just a bit too much emotion for Suzie’s comfort.

Suzie’s annoyance rises—
But before it can settle, the screen pulls their attention away.
Hazel’s fight is about to start.

Suzie leans forward instantly, eyes glued to the screen.

The noise in the arena spikes. A figure emerges.

Blue.

“Cam! That’s our influencer! That’s us! She’s recording from her eyes— she’s got Materia tech in her eyes!” Suzie grabs Camille’s shoulders and shakes her excitedly.
“We get to see Hazel’s fight from the other fighter’s POV ohmybooot!”

Camille smiles through the shaking, happy to see Suzie so hyped.

Blue walks with smooth, effortless confidence, climbing into the ring.

“WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”
The crowd explodes in wild cheers.

The elderly hostess seizes the moment, voice booming:

“IIIIN THE LEEEEFT COOORNEEEER!!! The rising influencer! The heartthrob! The beloved! The one who loves to give—Blllluuuuuuuuue!!!”

Blue lifts a hand.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Blue.”

The arena shakes under the applause, a thunderous wave of adoration.

She waits for the sound to settle.
Then, steady and sharp:

“I just want to say… Rainy is right. This is a sham.”

The crowd gasps. Boos slam into cheers.

Suzie’s smile freezes.

“I was paid to lose against Hazel Astorè.”

Suzie’s heart drops.
Oh no.
Oh no… this will destroy Hazel…

Camille notices how Suzie instantly tenses, shoulders curling, breath hitching.

“But ladies—!”

Blue raises her hand. Silence falls again.

“Rainy was inspiring. And if I’m going to stand here, in front of all of you, I have a moral duty to say something.”

“Fucking asshole! She’s doing this to throw Hazel off! Playing dirty… motherfucker!” Suzie shouts at the screen.

Camille’s eyes widen at the sudden outburst.

“Uhm… maybe. Or maybe someone really did pay her to lose,” Camille says carefully.

Suzie frowns.
“Whatever…”

On-screen, a bitter laugh escapes Hazel’s lips.
Soft at first, then sharper, echoing eerily through the arena.

Suzie hears it and her chest tightens painfully.

“No… Hazel…” she whispers, instinctively clutching her own arms.

Camille watches her omega closely. Very closely.

Blue tilts her head. “Hey… are you laughing?”

Hazel doesn’t look up.

“Hey! —oh…”

A tear drops quietly onto the mat.
Then another.

The lights catch them—tiny, glistening truths.

The crowd goes silent.

Hazel finally lifts her face. Her eyes—wet, luminous—capture the entire moment like a tragic portrait.
Her beauty, carved by grief and betrayal, looks almost unreal.

Her voice is barely steady:

“Who paid you… was it Lyra?”

And the realization hits Suzie like a punch to the chest.
That heartbreak on Hazel’s face…
It makes her want to run into the ring, hold Hazel, shield her, destroy anyone who hurt her.

Anything to make that look disappear.

Camille observes her.

They watch as Hazel drops a few more tears, each one falling heavier than the last.

“So I’ll come clean too,” Hazel says, voice trembling but resolute. “The reason I’m fighting… is mainly because I want my girl back.”

A wave ripples through the arena.

Women sink back into their seats, sadness softening their faces.
Some murmur. Some clutch their chests.

Suzie’s eyes widen.
Her heart slams against her ribs.

What?!  is this…?!
… could it be?…

“Her name is Nova,” Hazel continues. “She’s a Moonbeam.”

Suzie’s entire body goes cold.

Oh… that girl.
Of course…

“The pet of the omega?!” someone in the crowd shouts.

“Hey!” Hazel snaps, voice cracking with pain more than anger.
“So she was with an omega—so what?!”

“Hahahahaha!” Camille bursts out laughing, loud and sudden, snapping Suzie out of her emotional trance.

Suzie jerks toward her.
“Hey! Why are you laughing?”

Camille wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling.
“Ari took Hazel’s girlfriend! Isn’t that hilarious?”

Suzie looks visibly bothered, her jaw tightening.

“Hey… sorry… it’s just that it is funny!”

Suzie sighs, hurt simmering beneath the surface.
“… don’t mock her…”

Camille exhales, rolling her eyes slightly.
“Ok, alright… since you love her so much.”

Suzie’s cheeks flush instantly.
Camille sees it, a faint shade of pink rising to the surface.

And she does not like it.
Not one bit.

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Author’s Note:

Hellooooo!!! I’m back from my trip!

…And of course, life greeted me with terrible news.
My client bought my entire dev team and left me floating in the air… so now I have to find a new main source of income. Quickly. Ha… ha…

The company that hired me is looking for a solution, but still—what a mess.
I had a full meltdown, then immediately jumped into applying for every job I could find, and only after that did I finally sit down to reread the latest chapters to make sure the story still made sense.

Honestly, writing this takes me out of my stressful world for a little while. I’m so, so glad I started this story.

And truly, thank you to every reader, especially those who leave comments. You have no idea how much you brighten my day.

See you in the next chapter!

Chapter 62: Her terms

Summary:

Ari and Lyra begin their day feeling close and peaceful...
Meanwhile, Hazel and Noura navigate their own chaotic day, and Devika receives alarming news that hints at deeper trouble. By the end, Ari is left facing unexpected consequences, overwhelmed and heartbroken.
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Monday begins sweet. Ari and Lyra feel lighter than ever. After a warm kiss and some lingering cuddles, Lyra finally slips out of bed.

 

“Are you staying home today?” Lyra asks, stretching.

 

“Yeah… I feel like I deserve it.” Ari yawns, nestling deeper under the blanket. I’ve been so stressed… feels like my body is finally relaxing.

 

Lyra smiles softly. “Yes, baby.”

 

She showers, eats a light breakfast, gets dressed. Through it all, Ari doesn’t stir much, still curled in her pajamas. Lyra glances at her omega and shakes her head with affection.

 

“You make me want to go back to bed and bite you.”

 

Ari sends her a playful flying kiss.

 

“Stop it, or else…”

 

Ari giggles.

 

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Lyra parks the black Rivian in the underground lot. Nearby, she spots Hazel’s car …except it looks different.

 

Is that a Syrena Caracalla Dark Wing edition? Did Hazel upgrade?

 

It must be hers; the Astorè family crest is painted faintly across the cape like a watermark.

 

Inside Morph C.O., the building feels off, too quiet, tension hanging in the air. On the second floor, she reaches her office, enters and stops.

 

Aira is there, lounging on the couch.

 

“Oh!”

 

“Hello, Lyra.”

 

She looks a little worn, dark circles under her eyes.

 

“Hey, boss. How are you?”

 

“Been better.” Aira yawns, stretching lazily. “These trials are such a hassle… fucking betas and their noise.” Her gaze sharpens, raking over Lyra. “I saw your fight. Keeping it deadly, huh?”

 

Lyra shrugs. “I don’t train like I used to. I just go to the gym upstairs.”

 

Aira chuckles. “Ah… Lyra doing what Lyra does.” She stands, smoothing her suit. “How’s Ari? Is she downstairs?”

 

“She’s alright,” Lyra answers simply.

 

Aira sighs. “Anyway, I hear you’re ready to settle the rest of your debt.”

 

Lyra smiles. “Correct.”

 

Aira exhales, almost wistful. “Do you really want to get away from me that badly?”

 

Lyra shakes her head calmly. “I just want to be debt-free. Besides …it’s better for my omega’s mental health. I’m sure you understand.”

 

“Aah…” Aira sighs dramatically. “Omegas are so fragile.” Then, sly: “Tell you what, forget the debt for now. I’ll buy you and Ari a villa in New Wonders. Sunshine, sea, luxury. Tempting, no?”

 

Lyra hesitates, then answers gently, “New Wonders is beautiful, but I’d rather earn that later. Once the debt is paid.” She quickly transfers the last payment before Aira can press again.

 

“Aw. Damn…” Aira clicks her tongue.

 

Lyra steps closer. “Aira. Thank you for everything. Seriously.”

 

For a moment, their eyes lock, Lyra’s sincerity laid bare. Aira looks almost caught off guard.

 

“You really are a straight arrow,” Aira laughs softly. Just like Noura’s reports say. That’s why…

 

“It was my pleasure,” she murmurs, almost tender. … it’s going to be sad to see you go.

 

“Welp. Since you’re debt-free now, I suppose there’s very little binding us together, huh?”

 

Lyra smiles, steady. “We’ll still see each other here. Office projects. And I’ll always be thankful …for my mother … for everything.”

 

Aira tilts her head, studying her. “But without the debt, and now that you’re a proper citizen, with a last name and all… you don’t really need me anymore, do you?”

 

Lyra opens her mouth, but is interrupted.

 

“And you,” Aira says, voice low, “have a lot of dangerous information about me…”

 

The air shifts. Danger sharpens like a blade. Aira’s red irises gleam, menacing.

 

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

 

“These are tough times,” Aira smiles coldly. “I’ve suddenly gathered a lot of enemies.” She walks from side to side like a predator.

 

Lyra gulps.

 

“I’m not your enemy, Aira.”

 

“Powerful people. Unexpected people… suddenly they're against me.”

 

The aura of danger swells from her small frame, filling the room.

 

“You’ve been a good influence on Hazel, and I’m thankful. But that fight? All that beta-revolution noise? Suspicious… was that part of your plan? And Hazel suddenly popular while the rest of us Astorès are vilified among the wealthy? That doesn’t work for me, Lyra. It’s working for you since you’re on team Hazel now though”

 

Lyra tenses. “What are you implying? Be straight with me.”

 

“I’m just saying… You're in the middle of all of it. You’re like, popular now…”

 

Lyra studies her, she's not listening, her mind is set.

 

Aira's finally lost it… I have to get out of here…

 

“I can’t trust anyone who isn’t bound to me. Especially someone holding so much… incriminating information.”

 

“I am bound to you.” Lyra insists as she walks slowly towards the exit door.

 

“By what?” Aira scoffs. “Loyalty? Gratitude?”

 

“Of course.” Lyra assures her.

 

“The thing is… everyone has a price. And I have some very wealthy enemies now. Your loyalty and gratitude have a price even if you don´t know it.”

 

“Let’s talk when you’re sober…”

 

Aira frowns, her hand moves. Lyra catches the gesture a second before Aira raises the gun. She dodges, slips out, and runs.

 

“Taylor, lock all doors!” Lyra barks.

 

“Sorry, Lyra. Your access has been revoked. So sad to see you go.”

 

Lyra growls as she bolts down the hall, pushing her body faster. No one chases her, but she doesn’t risk slowing until she’s back in her Rivian, engine roaring, tearing away, back to Ari, worried that she might be under attack too.

 

Aira remains in the office, gun still in hand. She lowers it onto the desk and exhales sharply.

 

“Taylor, erase that last recording.”

 

“Erasing. Erased.”

 

Aira paces, muttering. I can’t trust her. I can’t trust anyone. Lyra isn’t stupid …and with an omega, she’s more unpredictable. Better my bullet than my enemies’ offer.

 

She moves to the balcony overlooking the first floor. Designers, marketers, accountants busy at their stations. No Ari.

 

Two suspicious alphas wander the design area, scanning the floor like hunters. Her hunters, they were supposed to get Ari, to keep her as leverage.

 

How did she know not to come?

Fucking omega…

 

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“Aaahh…” Ari sighs satisfied.

 

Now THIS is the life!

 

She thinks to herself as she logs into her virtual workstation using Lyra’s visor while still laying in bed.

 

She tries logging in… denied.

 

“Huh?”

 

She tries typing the password instead… denied.

 

Did I type my password wrong?

 

She types again. Denied.

 

“What?”

 

She deletes and types again. Still denied.

 

“Taylor, I'm unable to access, what's happening?”

 

Seems like you don't have access to this system, Ari.

 

Ari sits on the bed, takes the visor off of her eyes.

 

“But I do!”

 

“Lyra is coming. Maybe she can help with that.”

 

“Aren't you supposed to be the helper, Taylor?” Ari scolds the AI.

 

“I'm sorry…”

 

Lyra enters walking fast.

 

“Ari.” Her voice is tense, hurried.

 

“You're home way too early! I'm not complaining…”

 

“Ari… I paid Aira… and…”

 

“You sound worried… Lyra, if you paid her, why are you worried?” Ari’s nerves get slightly on edge.

 

“Aira is insane. We have to get out of town.”

 

Ari’s body tenses again. It suddenly hits her, the login… if Aira went crazy as Lyra says, she probably just fired them, probably revoked all access from them… she's suddenly jobless, and Lyra too.

 

Her mind goes blank.

Lyra throws clothes on the bed.

 

“Taylor, pack our bags, essentials and electronics.” Lyra orders.

 

“Yes, Lyra.”

 

“Buy two tickets to Ankara city.”

 

Ari sniffs.

 

Lyra turns to look at her, eyes wide with worry. “Ari?”

 

Ari is sobbing, sitting on the bed, still in her pajamas.

 

This is not the life I wanted… I did not want to live like this!!!

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Hazel finally pulls into Morph C.O. and spots the Syrena Caracalla gleaming in the underground lot.

 

“Ugh…” she mutters, rolling her eyes at the sight.

 

Her own Syrena Levana is spotless, freshly washed and perfumed, but that’s not what has her chest lifted today. She inhales deeply, savoring the rush of triumph still burning through her. She won. She dominated in the ring and got dominated in the sheets, actually, in her car. The scent of it is so clean and floral that one could never tell that Blue and her were fucking hard in there last night.

 

Ah… what a fuck… she thinks, dreamy eyed.

 

By the time she strides onto the first floor, she’s still riding the high, scanning for Lyra. Instead, she finds Noura at reception.

 

“Oh! Miss Noura! The mystery fighter…” Hazel flashes a grin.

 

Noura smiles faintly, almost shy. “Ha, ha… ah… I’m just glad that’s over.”

 

Hazel sweeps her into a sudden hug.

 

“Oh!” Noura stiffens at first, surprised, but then melts into it. She quietly notes it as progress.

 

“You’re in a good mood today.”

 

“Yeah! We won!” Hazel beams. And I had a great night after.

 

She pulls back, eyes bright. “Where’s Lyra?”

 

“I was actually looking for her myself,” Noura replies.

 

“Probably in her office…” Hazel shrugs, then suddenly grins wide. “Anyway, Noura! You have an omega now!”

 

Noura blinks, startled. “No… I— You can’t have a human being, Hazel.”

 

Hazel chuckles, dismissive. “And I won Nova back.”

 

Noura lets out a long sigh. “Have you actually talked to her?”

 

“Not yet,” Hazel smirks, proud. “But I won the fight, so she’s practically mine already. Ha…”

 

Noura quietly marks this as regression.

 

“My dear niece!” A sarcastic voice rings out from the second floor.

 

Hazel looks up and groans. “Ugh…” Aira.

 

Noura glances up too and waves politely.

 

Aira waves back with a thin smile. “And Noura, the mystery …therapist or whatever.”

 

Noura forces a smile but feels her stomach sink. Something’s off.

 

She studies Aira more closely: her hair less polished than usual, dark circles shadowing her eyes, skin pale, movements restless. There’s an anxious flicker behind the weary façade.

 

She leans subtly toward Hazel and whispers, “Hazel… something’s not right with her.”

 

“Psh… like, yeah…” Hazel chuckles under her breath.

 

“I mean it. More than usual. She looks… unstable.”

 

Hazel narrows her eyes, taking a harder look. Then her expression twists. “Oh no… she’s coked up, and perhaps popped up too.”

 

Noura’s eyes widen. “What? In the office?!”

 

Hazel mutters low, “She does this when she’s stressed. She must be veeery stressed, with trial after trial after trial...”

 

Noura presses her lips together, making a quiet mental note.

 

“But I thought she was over with that now.”

 

Hazel shrugs. “Then it must be something else… I don’t know.”

Noura makes a mental note.

 

So this is normal for Hazel, she thinks. I can only imagine what other awful things she had to endure growing up under someone like Aira.

 

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“Mmmm… such a pretty, soft, tight body…” Devika sings in the ear of her omega as she strokes her slowly.

 

The shorter, dark skinned woman is naked and oiled up, laying on the semi- naked body of Devika, caressing her face, her wavy dark hair. The omega's straight white hair is loose, her green eyes glossy with love tears. 

Devika wears an open robe, her hands roaming all over the smaller woman. They both lay on a large red divan with intricate details, the room smells faintly like sandalwood and incense.

 

Devika reaches for more oil to put on her skin.

 

“I love you…” she says sweetly, her voice almost melodic.

 

Her omega shivers “Say it again…” she begs, her voice high pitched, tiny and shaky.

 

Devika slaps her butt with her oiled up hand.

 

“Ah!” the omega cries.

 

Devika grips, squeezes “I… love… you…” she whispers and captures her lips.

 

“Ah…mmmm” the beautiful omega feels like she's burning up.

 

“I love oiling up your body, just for me…” Devika whispers in her ear.

 

“Do whatever you want with me, Devika…” the omega breathes out, she's ready, but suddenly a voice interrupts.

 

“Miss Varma, Aira is calling, says it's urgent.” It 's Shiva.

 

“Uuughhh!” Devika complains “Don’t answer! …I want to make love to my beautiful woman.” she whispers, looking right into her omega’s eyes. The woman shivers, she clings to her, whimpers low, nuzzles in her neck.

 

“You should have set your Shiva to ‘do not disturb’” mutters the omega.

 

“Miss Varma, Aira says it's urgent. If you don't pick up now she says she's going to create AI images of you fucking a cyborg-horse and send them to everyone.”

 

The sentence is so random and ridiculous…

 

“Bwahahaha! Oh my Goddess!”

 

Devika frowns and slaps her omega’s butt again, harder this time.

 

“Yeouch!” the omega yells, redness appearing on her dark and soft cheek.

 

“Bad girl…” she says. After a sigh she answers “Ok… answer. Audio only!”

 

The omega pouts as she rubs herself.

 

“What do you want?…” Devika greets Aira.

 

“Devika! Were you busy?” Aira’s voice sounds sarcastic.

 

“Yes, Aira.” Devika answers flatly.

 

“Hey. Are you like… betraying me?”

 

Devika smiles “Eh… No… what's going on?”

She gulps, she can hear it in her voice, Aira is unstable.

 

“You said there was nothing in Suzie’s leak that could actually affect me, but that's a lie.” 

 

Devika breathes deeply.

“Not that I know of…”

 

“Bullshit! Buuuullshieet!” Aira yells.

 

Devika smiles lightly “Aira… calm down.”

 

“Calm down?! They say I'm stealing from you!! The people trafficking shit I can handle… I have a fucking excuse and it's a damn good one, but stealing?! That shit could actually sink me!”

 

The omega covers her mouth, horrified. Devika hugs her, looks at her tenderly and caresses her face whispering “Hey… shh… don't worry. I got this…”

 

“Who you talking with?!”

 

“Nobody… anyway, I'll send your way whatever Suzie might have so that you see for yourself, alright? You'll be able to trace the origin of everything I send you.”

 

Aira hesitates but finally accepts “Ugh… okay… also send the latest videos from Suzie’s house. ASAP.”

 

“Ok.” 

 

Aira hangs up.

 

Devika sighs.

 

“Devi, are you okay? Is everything ok?” The omega asks, her expression worried and extra sweet.

 

Devika smiles at her, endeared “Yes,” she kisses her, cupping her face “Forget what you heard alright, Kalyani? I'll handle it.”

 

Kalyani nods in Devika’s hands.

 

“Good girl” and kisses her again “So good…” and kisses her lazily, her hands sliding back down to her lower cheeks, rubbing. 

 

Aira’s getting close to the point where I need her to be in. She's about to do something crazy, and that's when I act, that's when I strike.

 

She slaps her butt again, Kaylani moans.

“Ah! …Devi…”

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Work day is almost over. Hazel is ready to go.

No Lyra… No Nova… hmm… how uneventful…

She shruggs

Whatever. I'm ready, I'll call Nova.

Hazel looks at her phone.

15+ missed calls from Nova's phone.

 

Fuck!

Her eyes pop out of her skull.

Oh my bot! I had it on do not disturb!!

Fucking Blue! it's your fault!!!

She rushes to the parking lot while calling Nova back.

Aaahhh!! Answer bot dammit!!!

Fuck!

Shit!

 

She enters her car, the call is transferred to her car. It keeps ringing…

Answer!!! Fucking fuckidy fuck! No… calm down… breathe… Hazel inhales, counts, exhales, inhales, counts, exhales… she answers.

 

“Hazel?”

 

“Nova! I'm sorry, my phone was… uhm… not working well… whatever… where are you? Why are you not at work?”

 

“Hazel, I'm at you place. You weren't here all night, where were you?”

 

Hazel smiles “You went to the beach house? Aww…”

 

“Uhm… do you have more houses?”

 

“Yes, silly. I went to my apartment in Gangnam. I was closer so I went there.” 

Who I went with and why I was close must forever remain a secret.

 

Hazel can already feel Nova’s scent. She longs for it, for her, her body yielding, hot under her own. She can almost taste it.

 

“Hazel, did you hear what I said?”

 

“Huh?? Uh… my phone sucks…”

Ha,ha… I'm so smart.

 

“I said, can I go where you are? Also… I have some friends… uhm… moonbeam friends…”

 

Hazel frowns “No. Come alone…”

Nu-uh… no moonbeam is going to ruin this for me…

 

“Leave them at the beach house. There's food and whatnot, they'll be fine.”

 

Nova covers the phone, turns around and says “She says you can stay here for as long as you want.” Her smile wide.

 

The moonbeams cheer.

 

“Send me the address.” Nova asks.

 

Hazel smiles.

 

Ah… this is like… a great day! Like… the perfectest day ever!!

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“What do you mean… you’re not coming with me?” Lyra asks, crouching in front of Ari where she sits on the edge of the bed.

“I… this is fucked up,” Ari whispers. “This is my first real job in the city and now I… I lost it because of you. My mental health …I worked so hard on it …and now it’s all falling apart because of you…”

Every word hits Lyra like broken glass.
“I…”

She reaches for Ari’s hands, guiding one to her cheek and kissing her palm.
Ari softens, just for a moment, before forcing herself to pull her hand away.

Lyra feels the loss like a slap.

“This is hard for me, Lyra…”

Lyra’s stomach drops. For a second she feels she might collapse under the weight of it. But then something shifts, her desperation twisting into something sharper.

“So that’s it?” she breathes, voice lower. “You don’t want to be with me now? Now, when everything is falling apart? Now, when I need you the most?”

Ari is shaking. Every part of her wants to fold into Lyra’s arms, to give in, to choose her. But she holds still, refusing to look at her. She digs deep for strength she isn’t sure she has because what she’s about to say will hurt them both.

Lyra sees her lips opening slightly, trembling, she sees her hands scrunching the sheets. She senses it, she covers her mouth with her palm and makes Ari look at her in the eyes.

“Don’t…” Lyra says.

She pushes her against the bed and gets on top of her, cages her.

“Think about what you’re going to say and if you want to say it…”

Ari feels Lyra’s stare, she wants to say it, she wants a break, she wants to be alone for a while, she wants to rethink her actions of the past year, she wants to move out…

Ari takes Lyra’s hand off of her mouth and speaks quickly.

“I don’t want to leave this city… I don’t want to be a wandering, homeless omega. I had a good life, I was—”

“Ugh!” Lyra shoots to her feet, turns away, punches the wall, and collapses to her knees. Ari goes silent instantly.

“Go to the office…” Lyra mutters, her voice hollow.

Ari slowly sits up. “Lyra?”

“Go to the office and act like nothing happened.” A bitter laugh breaks out of her. “Or better yet…”

She glances back over her shoulder.

Her expression is shattered.

“Act like you’re heartbroken because I broke up with you.”

The words hit Ari square in the chest.

Lyra is letting her go, giving her the out she knows Ari wants, but her voice betrays how deeply it cuts her.

I wasn’t going to break up… I wasn’t. I just needed a break, I…

Ari’s throat tightens. The words won’t come.
Does she want this?
Does she want to break up?
Her mind is screaming, but her mouth stays frozen.

“Lyra…” Ari finally whispers.

“Ari, you might not even be able to stay here. Aira will see right through whatever act you put on…”
Lyra suddenly grabs Ari’s visor and hurls it to the floor. It shatters. Ari flinches.

“If anyone asks, I broke it during our breakup. Go to the office, request a new one and go with Nova… cry to her or something, make her take you to Hazel’s… Aira won't do anything if you’re with Hazel…”

“Lyra! I didn’t want to break up—”

Lyra turns around, pushes Ari back onto the bed, bracing her there with both arms. Her eyes are wild, desperate.

“Shut up! You were about to do it. Maybe you would’ve worded it differently, but you were definitely about to do it.”

Ari trembles.

Lyra crashes her mouth onto hers, deep, consuming. Her hands frame Ari’s face, then slide down her neck, her sides, her waist.

“You had a goodbye face… a fed-up face…” Lyra murmurs against her lips before kissing her again.

Ari feels herself dissolving under her touch.

This is so unfair… I was so sure that I wanted a break… but you had to go and say it first! And worst of all… you broke up… with me… just like that…

“I want to kidnap you…” Lyra whispers against her ear, voice low and trembling. “I want to drag you down with me… I’m planning to hide and I want to take you.”
Ari’s eyes widen, fear flickering through her, and Lyra sees it instantly.

“See? That face again,” she says bitterly.

“Lyra… I—”
But Lyra silences her with another kiss, swallowing her words.

“You want to leave me,” she breathes, her voice cracking with hurt. “You’ve been wanting to for a while…”
She kisses Ari’s neck, her hands roaming along her ribs, her chest, her breasts.

Ari moans softly “Lyra…”

Lyra slides her hands under her top, Ari gasps.

“Ari…” Lyra murmurs, biting softly at her neck.

“Ah—!” Ari gasps.

“Ari… remember me, okay?”

A cold weight drops in Ari’s stomach. She doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

“What do you mean?! Lyra, we’re going to see each other again! Don’t say things like that!”

Lyra growls under her breath, frustration and grief twisting together.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Lyra pulls her pants down, without delicacy, without checking to see if she’s wet, she dives in, she kisses her, her hands clutch her hips and she kisses her deeply and hungrily.

“Ah!” Ari arches her back and moans loudly, her hands make fists against the bed.

“Lyra! it’s too intense!” she breathes out.

Lyra looks up at her, her eyes half-lidded, she cages her again, lowers her pants.

Ari watches, Lyra’s face looks lustful and animalistic.

“Ah— yes…” Lyra goes in, her cock slides in.

Ari arches her back once again, whimpering and trembling.

“Lyra! Ah… Lyra…”

Lyra goes slow at first. But her whispers are intense.

“I still want to kidnap you… tie you up in our room, in one of my hideouts… and fuck you all tied up.”

Ari is utterly aroused, completely at her mercy.

“And keep you there, safe… and mine…” 

Lyra kisses her as she pumps deeper.

“Mine…”

Ari hugs her as she lets herself be consumed by Lyra’s passion.

This woman… oh Goddess… this woman…

Ari’s mind is a haze.

Sex, again… always sex with her… always…

Lyra, still pumping over her, lifts her head and looks straight into Ari’s eyes. The sadness in her gaze is raw and unshielded.

“I’m going to miss you…” she whispers.

Ari’s heart both explodes and sinks, grief, heartbreak, and… relief?
A tiny, shameful flicker of it rises in her chest, and she hates herself for feeling it.

“I love you…” Ari breathes out between pants.

Lyra smiles bitterly. She doesn´t answer, she holds her tighter and pounds deeper, making her moan and shake.

“Ah! Lyra! Oh Goddess!”

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How did this happen?

Where did she go?

After the intensity of the session, Ari had drifted into sleep, and Lyra was simply… gone.

“Taylor… did Lyra fly to An …kara? Ankara, right?” Ari asks, panic edging into her voice.

“I purchased two tickets to Ankara,” Taylor replies calmly. “Lyra did leave the apartment, but she hasn’t used the tickets.”

 

“Fuck!”

Ari jolts to her feet, rushes to the bathroom sink, splashes water on her face, then drinks straight from the faucet.

“Taylor, where did Lyra go?! Can— can you show me…” She swallows hard. “Do you have cameras in this room? Or outside? Somewhere? Where did she go?!”

“I’m sorry, Ari. There are no cameras. And Lyra erased all data from the last thirty minutes.”

Ari freezes. She grips the sink, staring down, trying to steady her thoughts.

I wanted a break… and now I have one… but…

She turns and walks quickly toward the kitchen, her chest tightening.

No. This isn’t fair.

Fuck!

I just wanted a break! Not this!

“FUCKING LYRA! You always want things on your terms!”

Ari’s expression twists, anger, grief, disbelief crashing together. She sinks into the chair where she always has breakfast with Lyra. Her brow tightens, her fingers dig into the edges of the seat, knuckles whitening.

Tears spill before she can stop them. Then the sobbing comes, sharp and uncontrollable.

“Fuck you, Lyra!” she chokes out.

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Author's notes:

Aaaaaaaaahhhhh! 

I got some interviews.

Life... aaaahhhhgg liifeee!!! Maybe I'll turn this into a straight Y.A project so it sells and make me some money and I never have to worry about bills ever again!

aaghhhhh

Anyway

Hope you enjoyed this angsty chapter.

Chapter 63: Feeling homeless

Summary:

Ari, shaken and vulnerable, unexpectedly shows up at Morph C.O., searching for stability and someone she deeply needs to talk to. Her arrival exposes tensions, jealousy, and unresolved heartbreak among those who care about her.
Lyra is gone.
Hazel is about to meet Nova again.
It feels like something is goin to blow up.
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“Ari…” Noura gasps.

Ari stands in the Morph C.O. lobby in her pajamas, hair tangled, eyes red and swollen, looking completely lost.

“Hello, Noura…” Ari murmurs.

Noura steps toward her immediately, gently taking her by the shoulders.
“Ari, sweetheart, are you okay? You look… not well.”

“I… I came because… I need another visor to work from home …mine broke... actually it's Lyra's... Lyra's broke... she... broke it...”

Work from home? Like this?

“Nonsense. Come into my office,” Noura says firmly, taking her wrist.

Before Ari can answer, a voice calls from the second floor.

“Wait— is that Ari? Ari! What are you doing here? Weren’t you staying home?”

It’s Hazel.

“Ah, Hazel!” Ari pulls free of Noura and walks toward her.

“Where’s Nova?”

Hazel bristles at the question. She squints, taking in Ari’s devastated state.

Something’s wrong with the little one… And why is she asking about Nova?

Then Hazel smirks to herself.

Oh, I get it… she’s crushed because she lost Nova, hahaha…

“Uhm… Nova is at my place,” Hazel says with a hint of pride.

“I need to speak to her,” Ari says.

“Ari, why don’t you come with me first? A short session might—”

“No. I need to see her.”

Lyra wanted to protect me by leaving me, right? She wanted me to be protected by Hazel... by being with Nova I'll be protected, right Lyra? Ari thinks, trying to make sense of everything.

Hazel’s smirk widens. “Are you thaaaat desperate to see her? You lost her, move on...”

“Hazel, don’t be like that…” Noura snaps, sharp, uncharacteristic.

Hazel flinches. “Hey— I’m just— ugh— like…” she growls. “Nova is with me now, you got that?”

“Hazel! Can’t you see Ari is hurting?” Noura scolds again.

“Psh… yeah, but… she can’t have Nova just because she's hurting…” Hazel mutters under her breath.

“Hazel!” Noura snaps. Hazel’s shoulders drop a little, chastised.

“It’s not about that…” Ari says softly. Then, with a shaky exhale, “Lyra broke up with me and left… I just… I need someone to talk to…”

A small ripple moves through the nearby designers and staff, heads subtly turning, whispers dying.
Noura’s expression melts into pure empathy.

“Ari,” she says gently, “do you want to go to my place? I can take the day off.”

Ari shakes her head. “No, thank you… I… I need to talk to Nova right now.”

Hazel hesitates. Ari’s words hit her harder than she expected, disarming her defensiveness, though something still twists in her chest.

Am I seriously afraid an omega might steal my omega?
What am I… an omega?! Wait... does that make sense? Whatever!

“You know what? Yeah. Whatever.” Hazel exhales, annoyed but uneasy. “Come to my place. I’ll drive you. You can work from there and… like… talk to my girlfriend… and whatnot…”

Her tone is reluctant, but she’s offering.

“Thanks” Ari says.

Noura sighs.

“Hazel, come down here. This is not something for the whole office to hear,” Noura says, loud and steady enough to make half the staff snap their eyes back to their screens.

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It’s Ari’s first time inside Hazel’s car. She’s completely forgotten how terrified she used to be of Hazel, how much she avoided being anywhere near her. Right now, she only wants one thing: to get to Nova, tell her everything, make her convince Hazel to protect her form Aira somehow.

Hazel notices that Ari is not afraid anymore, and the realization unnerves her.

Damn… Lyra really did a number on her. Who would’ve thought…

She starts the engine.

But I’m sure there were reasons… she tells herself.

“Taylor, drive to home… number two,” she finishes saying.

“Yes, Hazel. Heading to the beach house.”

The car begins to move.

Something gnaws at Hazel.

Ugh… I know Ari’s a wreck because of Lyra… but what if Nova sees her like this, all cute and vulnerable, and just can’t help herself?! Uuuugh!!

Hazel’s jaw tightens.

Sorry, Ari… you’re staying at the beach house until you stop looking this vulnerable. I just can’t risk it. After all, you sort of hated me and wanted me and Nova to not be together so...

Hazel takes the wheel and drives faster. Neither of them speak. And oddly… that silence feels right.

Ari’s thoughts whirl, painful and jagged:

Am I homeless now?
Am I fired?
Lyra is so selfish. Fuck.
She didn’t actually protect me… she didn’t even let me speak. She just assumed what I was going to say… and ran. Like a coward.

The memories hit anyway, Lyra’s hands on her, the fierce way she kissed, that desperate tenderness.

“FUCK!” Ari suddenly cries out.

Hazel flinches, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

Damn… the little one is crushed…

“Uhm… you said your visor was broken?” Hazel offers clumsily, searching for neutral ground.

“Yes. Lyra broke it… it's actually her visor... I never requested one...”

Silence.

“Ahm. I can give you one,” Hazel says.

Ari stares out the window, eyes glassy.

I don’t even know if I’ll need a new one. I don’t even know if I’m still hired at Morph C.O…

“Ughhhh…” she mutters, sinking into the seat.

Hazel gulps.

They reach the beach house.

“Hazel!” Sorelle opens the door, smiling. 

“Hey! Uh …how’s everything going?”

Sorelle nods toward the lounge. “Fine. Your guests are certainly having fun.”

The indoor pool glimmers. A group of women are sprawled on cushions and sofas, legs half-dangled into the water, talking quietly. They look up when Hazel enters, almost startled, then blush.

“Oh, hey!”

“Hi!”

Hazel lifts a hand. “Hey... Nova's moonbeams,” she teases lightly.

They giggle.

Hazel swallows. Ugh. They make me a bit nervous…

Ari barely notices them. She scans the room.

“Where’s Nova?”

Several glances shift.

“Uhm, she’s not here right now… but she will be,” one of them replies.

“What?” Ari’s voice cracks.

“But you can wait here,” one of the women says with a kind smile. “With us. She’ll be back soon.”

Ari turns to Hazel, wounded. “But you told me—”

Hazel rubs the back of her neck, eyes cutting away. “Yeah, it’s just that… she needed to take care of something. She’ll be here soon, okay?”

Ari’s chest tightens.

Will I even be safe here without her?
Her and Hazel are supposed to be my protectors now, right, Lyra? That’s what you wanted, right?
Aira would never hurt Hazel… and Hazel will protect Nova… and whoever Nova cares for… right?

Before the panic can swell, Mary stands and walks over, warm and self-assured. She takes Ari’s hand as if greeting an old friend.

“Hey! You’re Ari, right? We met back at the Covenant.”

That familiar word knocks Ari’s stomach sideways. Fear flickers across her face.

Mary chuckles, not unkindly. “Don’t worry. We’re not dragging you back. We escaped.”

Ari exhales, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

“Nova wanted to share her message with you anyway,” Mary adds. “Good news. New scripture.”

Ari freezes. She doesn’t know if that comforts her… or terrifies her.

“Welp! Gotta go!” Hazel blurts, already spinning toward the door.

“Wait—!” Ari reaches, but Sorelle steps smoothly between them.

The woman’s smile is serene, almost ceremonial.

“Hello, Miss Ari. I’m Sorelle. I’ll be here to tend to anything you need.”

Hazel flashes a small, relieved grin as she slips out of the house.

Well done, Sorelle, she thinks, and is gone.

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This makes no sense. It’s out of nowhere.
I wonder how Ari is doing…
Why didn’t she want to talk to me?
Is it because…?

Noura suddenly remembers Lyra’s offer in the locker room.
If Lyra really meant what she thought she meant when she asked for ...private sessions… Why would she break up with Ari? She specifically mentioned Ari being involved.

A faint blush warms her cheeks remembering that moment.

This is so strange, something must have happened in the morning... something unexpected... I shouldn’t be thinking about this!…

“And I’ve been wondering… what if everyone was right and we’re actually working for an evil corporation?”

“Huh?!”

The beta sitting across from Noura looks mildly annoyed.

“Were you even listening?”

Noura blinks, snapping back. “Of course I was!”

Focus, Noura.

“I just think… if you’re feeling unsure about working here, we should—”

“But like—” the beta interrupts, shrugging, “it pays amazing. I want to stay. And we’re developing some pretty cool stuff. We built Taylor, and Taylor basically runs our daily lives.”

Noura exhales in quiet relief.

Focus… focus…

“And like, Taylor is eeeverything. My mom is so proud of me—”

But Noura’s thoughts drift again, unbidden.

Lyra still has to come to work… right? In fact she was here... 

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The workday ends, and Noura drives home.

I wasn’t as focused as I wanted to be today… she sighs to herself.
Aira showed up… and some designers swear they saw Lyra running out of the building… could that be true?

She pauses just before pushing the glass door of her building open.

Shit. I need to stop thinking about her.

The lobby’s warm glow greets her; she waves at the doorgirl, steps into the elevator.

“Hello, Noura. Going home?” Taylor’s voice asks politely.

“Yes, Taylor. No visits today.”

“Going up.”

She rides to the top floor and breathes out as the doors open.

Finally… home.

In her mind she already sees the evening unfold: meditation on her rug, reviewing her session notes, a mug of chamomile tea, maybe reading a few pages before bed. Her shoulders loosen. She smiles. She’s ready.

“Lyra!”

Lyra is sitting on the mustard-yellow sofa, pressed against the tall window. The city night glows behind the curtains, casting her in shadow, dark and imposing against the soft, uncurated warmth of the room.

Flower peeks over the sofa arm, eyes wide with fear. The moment Noura shuts the door, Flower bolts into her arms.

“You’re back! Thank the Goddesses!”

Noura instinctively shields her, stare fixed on Lyra.

“Lyra, what—”

That’s when she sees it: blood smeared down Lyra’s arm, staining her clothes. The city lights glint against it like cold steel.

“Goddesses…” Noura whispers.

Lyra doesn’t move.
And in the soft, amber glow of Noura’s home, she looks like a fallen warrior who has nowhere left to go.

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Wonderful… now she’s in my bed. I’m tending to her in my bed.

Noura wraps another layer of bandage around Lyra’s arm.

“Can you repeat that, please? I’m having trouble focusing today,” she says softly.

“She shot me. In her office.”

Noura exhales, slow and heavy, securing the bandage in place.

“How… how did nobody hear it?”

“It’s soundproof. My office is fully isolated.”

Across the room, Flower watches from a safe distance, wide-eyed, curious yet cautious.

“This is …this is a crime, Lyra!” Noura blurts. She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, facing the window, hands tense in her lap. “But… you weren’t hit by a bullet, so your arm—?”

“I went to the old ring looking for help. A hideout I used to own.” Lyra’s voice is tired. “But Aira knew I’d go there. She didn’t even follow me home—she just sent her people straight to that place.”

Noura turns toward her, horrified. “What about Ari?! She’s in danger!”

Lyra meets her eyes, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “No. She’ll be alright.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Lyra leans back against the pillows, sighing again.
“She has powerful friends… even if she doesn’t realize it yet”

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“Uuuugh, why is Hazel taking so looong!” Nova groans from the bed, Hazel’s bed, she assumes. The sheets are soft and smell faintly like expensive perfume and clean cotton, warm from the afternoon sun.

She sighs, letting her eyes wander across the room.

It’s beautiful here.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the skyline like a living mural. The city glitters outside, amber lights clinging to the edges of every building. The bed is low and modern, wrapped in layered blankets and furs, facing that endless view. The space feels curated: sculptural lamps, books stacked neatly on floating shelves, candles half-melted on a sleek bedside table. Everything feels purposeful, sensual, elegant, just like post-therapy Hazel.

On the opposite wall, there’s a poster of Suzie’s old band, the one from the days Camille used to play guitar with them. Nova walks closer, smiling at the detail. The poster is disruptive, it doesn´t go with the vibe of the rest of the room.

The city thrum outside makes her heart swell.

I much prefer this apartment to the beach loft…

Soft, quiet, romantic, dangerous.

Hopefully… someday… we get to live here.

Nova smiles to herself, cheeks warm.

Then—

the magnetic click of the main entrance unlocking.

Nova’s pulse trips. She darts out of the bedroom and into the curved living room, her bare feet silent over sleek hardwood floors. As she runs her eyes roam with delight: glass walls, elegant modern furniture, glowing candles reflected in the black night beyond.

Hazel steps inside.

The moment she sees Nova, slightly breathless from rushing, dressed all in white, wide-eyed and impossibly sweet, Hazel feels her brain short-circuit.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuaghhh—!!

That tiny (Hazel’s perception) omega standing there in Hazel’s space… in those clothes… with that face…

She looks exactly like a fantasy Hazel developed when she heard her pray after sex.

Her mind races, desire almost dizzying…

but then Noura’s voice lands squarely in her conscience:

If you’re serious about her, go slow.

Hazel inhales, grounding herself before speaking.

“Ah… hey.”

Nova’s breath catches.
Hazel looks immaculate in her eyes, sleek city clothes, tailored and sharp, her scent warm and expensive. Nova drinks in the sight of her, heart fluttering wildly.

Uauauaaua… this is the alpha who fought for me. Live. Online. For everyone to see.

“Hey,” she echoes softly.

Silence blooms between them. The skyline glows behind Nova’s silhouette through the vast glass windows, painting her in amber and midnight. Hazel breathes.

“Oh— right. I…” Hazel rummages awkwardly through her tote bag as she approaches.

Nova’s pulse stutters.
Here she comes…

A thought takes hold, Hazel pushing her against the bed, tearing away her clothes, touching her possessively, biting, whispering, entering her hungrily. Nova feels her cheeks flush at the image… then suddenly wonders if she’d even enjoy Hazel being that rough.

If she tries that… how do I tell her I want something softer? Gentler? 

Do I want something gentler this time?

I mean... sometimes I need something gentler...

She thinks of Ari, softly pressing her lips against her neck.

Hazel steps close.

Nova flinches instinctively, unsure.

Hazel freezes, embarrassed.
Offers a small container.

“Here,” she mutters. “Put this… on. On your, um… shoulder. Or… wherever the scar is.”

She doesn’t meet Nova’s eye. Her gaze is fixed on the skyline, the carpet, anywhere else. Shame and shyness cling to her posture.

Nova studies the small container in her hand.

“Uh… how do I put it on?”

It’s sealed. She turns it over, confused.

“Oh! Ah— my bad.” Hazel digs through her tote again and pulls out a sleek injector, shaped like a compact gun.

Nova’s eyes widen. “What?!”

Hazel winces, already defensive. “It’s a new thing. Super expensive, so just… trust me, okay?”

Nova takes it carefully. She slips a hand under her collar, pulling the fabric aside to bare the junction of her shoulder and neck. There it is, still pink, still tender. Hazel’s mark. Hazel’s impulsive bite.

When Hazel sees it, her stomach twists. Two small fanged impressions with a redder color stick out from the oval pinkish bitemark, etched into Nova’s skin. Guilt hits her hard.

“…Do you want me to do it?” Hazel asks quietly.

Nova nods.

Hazel leads Nova to the bedroom, setting her gently on the edge of the bed. She kneels beside her, presses the injector to the center of the scar, and fires.

“Ah! Goddess!” Nova yelps.

“I know it hurts…” Hazel murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“F–fuck!” Nova gasps. The pain pulses like a shockwave, sharp and hot, and then suddenly shifts into an unbearable itch beneath her skin.

She bolts upright, pacing in small frantic steps, fists clenching as she fights the urge to scratch.

“Mother of all omegas!”

Hazel watches her, puffed cheeks, tense shoulders, tiny curses spilling from her breath and can’t help it: a laugh slips out.

“Are you laughing?!” Nova snaps, half furious, half panicked. “AH— it itches like hell!”

Hazel wipes at her eyes, still smiling helplessly.

“I’m sorry— ha— you just look so adorable… But don’t scratch it, okay?”

“Ugh!! Wha—” Nova hisses, but then…
just as suddenly as it came…
the sensation fades. The pain ebbs, the itching dies down, and she exhales with relief.

She pulls at her collar, trying to peek at the scar.
“Hey… how does it look?”

Hazel steps closer. The mark is flat, the pink almost gone. Hazel bends down to inspect it.

“Looks better,” she says with a small smile. “You’ll need to put ointment on it for a few weeks, though.”

Relief softens Nova’s voice. “Th… thank you, Hazel.”

Hazel looks away, cheeks faintly warm.
“Psh… it’s nothing.”

She swallows, nerves bunching in her throat.

Shit. I should apologize…

“Um… actually… I want to apologize. Because I did that to you. I’m… sorry. I wasn’t thinking… sometimes I lose control and... I'm like... working on it”

Her voice shrinks the longer she speaks, getting smaller, as if she wished she could curl the words back into herself.

Nova’s heart jumps against her ribs.
“Ah… okay. No… no worries,” she says softly.

No. YES WORRIES!!! Hazel screams internally …but she only smiles instead.

“I’ll go out for a bit. Let you rest.”

Nova blinks, confused.
“Aren’t you staying?”

“Yeah, yeah. I am. It’s just that—”

It’s just that you look so good right now, and I’m horny as FUCK, and I need to drive somewhere before I lose my mind!

But I can’t say that!!!

Hazel’s pulse kicks up hard. And then Noura’s voice echoes through her memory, calm and steady:

You’re not a bad person, Hazel. Your feelings are valid. You don’t have to express them every time, but if you choose to, be mindful. Careful not to hurt others. And think about how to say only what you truly mean… nothing more.

Hazel inhales.

Right. Slow. Careful. Thoughtful.

She tries again.

“It’s just that… honestly…” Hazel cups Nova’s face in both hands, eyes locked on hers.

Nova feels her knees go weak.
Yes… take me… her mind whispers.

Hazel swallows hard. “I need to cool off, okay? If I don’t, I won’t be the best version of myself, building the best life I could have and… whatever.” She gently lets go, backing toward the door. “So… enjoy the house. I’ll be back.”

She slips out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Nova stands alone in the living room, the city lights washing over her. She can’t decide if she’s touched… or disappointed… or both in some strange, disorienting swirl.

What just happened?

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Hazel drives, tapping the steering wheel with restless fingers.

Ugh, should I call Blue for a quickie just to get this out of my system?
Then—Noura’s voice echoes sharply in her head:

That’s cheating.

Hazel groans aloud. “No fair!”

Another wave of frustration hits her.
AGH! No Suzie. No Blue. How do normal people… chill and exist without a friend to fuck?!

And then, in that calm, steady tone that always slices through her chaos, Noura’s voice returns:

“Well… I did tell you that you use sex to regulate your emotions too much.”

“I know, I know!” Hazel mutters at the dashboard.

“You’re overwhelmed, Hazel. You’re trying to discharge pressure instead of addressing the fear beneath it.”

Hazel rolls her eyes. “Ugh don’t therapize me now—”

“But that’s exactly the problem. You turn to sex when you’re anxious, insecure, or panicked. It gives you a feeling of control… but it’s short-lived.”

Hazel grips the wheel tighter.

“…so what, I’m just supposed to sit here like a ticking bomb? Jack off?”

“No. You’re supposed to slow down long enough to figure out what the feeling actually is.
You’re scared. And that’s okay. Being vulnerable isn’t dangerous. Acting impulsively is.”

“Then what do I do?” Hazel mutters, heat still simmering under her skin.

“Healthy regulation.
Shower with cold water. Breathe. Go for a drive but keep it safe. Exercise. Journal.
And if you’re going to be intimate with someone… don’t use their body as an escape valve. Especially not someone you care about.”

Hazel exhales hard.

“…Fine. Cold shower. Drive. Think.”
She squints at the road.
“Maybe… meditate?”

Noura’s voice softens in Hazel’s mind:

“…or, Hazel… you could come see me.”

Hazel’s lips twitch into a grin.
“Yeah. That’s… actually a good idea.”

She snaps upright. “Taylor, drive me to Noura!”

“You don’t have her address, Hazel.”

Hazel groans. “Then pull it from Morph C.O.’s database or something! You’re the AI, not me!”

A beat of silence.

“I’m sorry… retrieving her address now. We’re on our way.”

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Author's note:

UAUAUAUAUA... What else is there to say?

My life is chaotic right now but I HAVE TO CLOSE THIS FIC SOMEHOW. Also, today I had an interview with an job that could be life changing. If I get it, I want to invest part of my salary hiring someone to draw my characters and help me make a comic. I really hope I get this job. Please send good energy my way, help me with your vibes! I want that job so much!

What day of the week should I post? I'm thinking I have to post once a week at least, choosing one day. Hmmm, Wednesday to cheer people up in the middle of the week? or Monday, to counter the usual Monday sadness? hmmm idk yet. Anyway, thank you for reading. Comment if there's anything on your mind! I enjoy reading your comments.

Chapter 64: Mini chapter - Everybody loves/hates Nova

Summary:

Mini chapter, jumpy and unedited
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Ari doesn’t have the strength to stop Mary from trying to evangelize her, but she also doesn’t have the focus to really listen…

not until Mary mentions that Nova wants to get pregnant with Hazel’s baby.

“She wants a baby?” Ari blinks, then lets out a low, cynical laugh. “Poor Hazel… she’s being hunted.”

She shrugs.

“I guess she deserves it. Hazel still sucks…”

Mary only smiles brighter.

“It’s a holy union. It’s all right here, in Nova’s scripture.”

She lifts a tiny hard drive like it’s a sacred relic.

Ari snatches it out of her hand so fast Mary flinches. Ari looks at the object with slight disgust, then throws it straight into the indoor pool.

Mary gasps, hand flying to her mouth.

Ari grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her.

“Listen to me!”

Mary’s eyes go wide, stunned and frightened.
“Don’t you ever—never, ever—follow someone so blindly that you end up depending on her! Not even a Seligman! I know you think this is the way to be, but… it might not be!”

Mary blinks, stays silent.

Ari suddenly feels her own words echo inside her chest.

She hears them again…

directed at herself.

Related to Lyra.

And Nova, whom she depends on for survival right now…

A Moonbeam strolls casually into the pool, wades down, and plucks the hard drive from the bottom like retrieving a seashell.

“It’s waterproof,” she chirps, beaming as she holds it up.

Ari rolls her eyes so hard her head tilts with it.

Mary rushes over to the Moonbeam. They towel-dry the drive together, whispering, then hide it somewhere Ari can’t see. After that, they sit back down by the pool, calm, serene, smiling like nothing happened.

Ari watches them, her jaw tight.

That calm.

That soft glow in their expressions.

Their absolute certainty.

It’s unsettling.

They’re so sure of their faith…

Her throat tightens.

I used to be like them.

Bot dammit… I was so stupid when I was a Moonbeam…

And maybe… when I was with Lyra.

She sighs and sinks onto the futon, eyes drifting to the shimmering surface of the pool.

I wonder how my moms are…

I wonder…

Her mind drifts—

straight to Camille.

A spark lights behind her eyes. She pulls out her phone and types Camille’s name into Vyre. Compilations, new performances, rising follower counts.

“Wow…” Ari mutters, almost smiling.

“Yoink!”

A Moonbeam snatches the phone from her hands.

“Hey!”

“It’s a tool of distraction and stupidification.”

“Give it back!” Ari snaps.

“Let me give you the antidote to all that damaging content,” a red-haired Moonbeam says, clearing her throat dramatically.

Ari sulks.

“I know this part by heart— ahem…” She recites, “And then I saw it, the way the ocean rose behind the moon and enveloped it in the cosmos, and slammed and slammed, drenching the moon, a wave of cosmic ocean…”

Ari raises an eyebrow.

“That sounds slightly… uhm…”

“What? Slightly symbolic?” Mary asks.

Ari blushes.

“This is like… high-level scripture.” she mutters, not daring say what she’s actually thinking

“That’s because it is. It’s sexual. It’s about you and Lyra.”

Ari’s heart drops. The moonbeam said it, not her.

“Whaaaat?!”

“Nova had a vision during the advanced rituals that she performed with you two.”

“Rituals?!”

“You should be honored, Ari. You’re special. A big part of the new scripture is inspired by you and Lyra.”

Ari can only stare.

“She’s crazy… Nova is crazy…”

 

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“Can you say that?” Lyra asks as she lays in Noura’s bed.

Resting against the pillows with a relaxed, almost effortless poise, especially for a wounded woman. She wears that loose black blazer that hangs open over her body, the fabric framing her instead of hiding her. Under it, a bra and neat bandages wrapped around her stomach. More wraps cover her right arm and her hands, red and white against her skin.

Her body looks strong even in stillness, defined lines along her abdomen, the subtle sculpting of her arms, the calm rise and fall of her breathing. There is something naturally commanding about her posture, something that makes the room feel smaller around her. She doesn’t try to look impressive; she just is.

Noura looks at her without meaning to. Her gaze follows the curve of Lyra’s waist, the shape of her muscles under the bandages, the way her dark hair falls slightly over her eyes.

There is a quiet grace to her, a kind of beauty that feels composed and unreachable.

Lyra notices the way Noura’s eyes linger.

She turns her head a little, her expression soft.

She doesn’t comment.

She doesn’t tease.

She simply lets Noura look. She’s used to being admired.

“Well, I'm officially not your therapist anymore, so I can vent with you… I still shouldn't though… not very niceit’s just not kind…“ Noura lowers her gaze for a moment, but it drifts back to Lyra again, because it’s hard not to. There’s something majestic in the way Lyra occupies the space, even while injured, even while resting. She looks like someone carved from strength and night, someone meant to be seen.

And Lyra, calm and quiet on the bed, seems completely aware of it.

She smiles.

“I won't judge. Nova’s a religious nut, so I get it… but she’s also kind and fun.”

 

Noura gives her a look, half amused, half curious. She remembers the teasing at the office, the tension between Ari and Nova, the way Lyra once called Nova her omega.

 

“Right… you used to have a… relationship with her, didn’t you? You and Ari…”

 

Lyra shakes her head lightly.

“Actually, she didn’t like me that much. She loves Ari, though. And I allowed Ari to have an omega. It made Ari happy.”

 

Noura smiles, but it’s awkward, uncertain.

“I don’t understand how you’re okay with that.”

 

Lyra’s smile widens, relaxed, almost lazy.

“It’s hot.”

 

Noura blushes immediately.

“I mean… I get that. But you say she loves her …like seriously? Love isn’t a word you just throw around, you know?”

 

Lyra nods “Being honest, I think Nova likes omegas more than alphas.”

 

Noura lifts an eyebrow 

 

“Why exactly?”

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“A whole chapter? Just on that subject ?!” exclaims Ari.

 

“It's pivotal!” A moonbeam exclaims 

 

“It's very important,” Mary says.

 

“Uhm… I think I'll regret asking but… why?” Ari asks.

 

The moonbeams look at each other

“Some advanced rituals are only for omegas… and they involve…”

 

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“Sex. She enjoyed it too much with Ari. She’s a Seligman. She can’t help being drawn to an alpha with status and wealth, so Hazel fits. But Ari… with Ari was pure desire.”

Noura is starting to see it.

“Nova had nothing to gain from being with Ari. She was scared of my reaction. She was taking a real risk. If not for love or lust, then why?”

Lyra’s hypothesis begins to feel disturbingly plausible.

“Still… we can’t be sure.”

Lyra smiles.

“What? Is there more?” Noura asks.

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“There’s a part about how you,  an omega, took the spirit of an alpha and did what alphas do…”

 

“Even better, and more exemplary of an alpha than an alpha” remarks another Moonbeam.

 

Ari doesn’t know how to feel.

“You… you all read it?”

 

All the moonbeams nod.

“Only us” says Mary “Because we were chosen.”

 

Ari flushes and drops on the futon face down.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuughhhh!”

 

Nova, you’ll pay for this…

 

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Noura is blushing.
“Oh… wow… uh—”

Oh my bot. I had my suspicions, but…

“But who knows? Maybe that’s also why Nova likes Hazel so much,” Lyra says. “Hazel does have an omega-ish face, and is kinda whiny, like an omega.” 

Noura chuckles softly.
“She is kinda whiny…”

Lyra smiles at her.
“Bad therapist,” she teases.

Noura flushes.
“No! Don’t say that. We’re not patient and therapist anymore… I can vent with you… right?”

Lyra only smiles, teasing.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You look cute when you blush.”

Noura blushes even more.

Lyra blinks and averts her gaze.

What am I doing?! Flirting in a moment like this? When I just left Ari?... 

She keeps her eyes off Noura.

Am I… looking to start something here? 

I shouldn´t… This is not the way to relieve stress right now…

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Ugh!! where’s Hazel?!

Nova almost screams inside her own mind as she changes into something more comfortable and throws herself onto Hazel’s bed. The mattress dips under her weight, familiar, warm, charged with absence.

I wish at least Ari were here…

She exhales slowly.

I have all this pent-up energy from—

The memory creeps in without asking permission. Ari’s lips at her neck, soft and lingering. Ari smiling at her. Those careful hands at her hips, gentle at first, then slowly lowering …lower …until Nova’s breath had caught.

“Ah…” Nova lets out a small, needy sound before she can stop herself.

She rolls onto her belly, burying her face into the pillow.

“Ari…”

Her hands slip instinctively beneath her, trapped between her body and the bed. Pressure. A slow, uncertain movement.

“Ari…”

Her fingers press, hesitant at first, then stroke lightly. And she remembers Ari, hovering above her, stroking herself between her legs.

Oh my …what am I doing?!

She freezes.

Her breath stutters. Her hands pull back at once.

I can’t… I must save this for Hazel…

She curls into herself, clinging to that thought.

She’s my alpha.

UUUUGHH! Hazel come quick!

Nova hugs the pillow and rolls around.

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“Does this hurt?” Noura asks, placing her hand gently over Lyra’s abdomen, right on top of the bandages.

Lyra shakes her head.

Noura presses a little more. “And this?”

Lyra shakes her head again.

“Huh…”
Carefully, Noura begins to unwrap the bandages. Lyra’s stomach is bruised beneath them, darkened with healing marksbut there’s no fresh blood.

“You healed fast,” Noura murmurs. “I swear some of these scratches were deeper before…”

Lyra nods lightly.
“You’re not wrong.”

Noura raises an eyebrow at that, then reaches for Lyra’s right hand. The bandages there are stained red.

“How about this one?” she asks softly.

Lyra flinches almost without meaning to.
“That one still hurts.”

Noura exhales slowly.
“What happened to your hand?”

For a brief moment, Lyra remembers fists colliding, bodies crashing into each other—fighters from Gramms’ ring, mercenaries she once called friends. That ring used to be her refuge. Not anymore.

Everyone has a price.

Aira’s voice echoes in her mind.

She sighs.

Turns out it had been true for the people she grew up with in the slums, too.

“I punched a lot,” Lyra says quietly. “…and I got punched back.”

Noura studies her face.
“Doesn’t look like you took many hits.”

Noura examines her other hand, she removes the bandages. “Still bruised but not that bad.”

“Thank you for everything… for taking me in…” She sighs, closes her eyes for a bit.

“I hope Nova is as kind with Ari as you're with me.”

Noura can´t help but keep looking at the alpha on her bed, her chest warms up slowly. Lyra keeps looking away.

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Authors note:

Miniiii unediteed chapteeer!

Does anybody work with Foundry here?

Anyway, hugs!