Chapitre 3 : An Alpha Whisperer

 

The utility closet on the ground floor of A&B’s North building doubled as a spare laundry room. It was always immaculately clean, its linoleum floors scrubbed to a pristine shine, the air tinged with the floral scent of fabric softener. Near the ironing board, wooden shelves lined the walls, stacked with neatly folded towels, pressed handkerchiefs, spare uniforms, and crisp shirts.

 

For the staff, it was a quiet retreat—a place to rest between shifts, sometimes even settling onto the small sofa tucked in the corner.

 

But unbeknownst to the faculty, it had long served a far more illicit purpose.

 

For a select few students, it was a sanctuary for forbidden games, whispered secrets, and stolen moments. Only the privileged, the daring, the ones who truly ruled A&B had access to a key.

 

And, of course, the Queen of A&B was one of them.

 

Ava whimpered, pleasure coursing through her at the talented mouth working between her thighs. The sensation made her dizzy, but she kept herself steady with one hand against the wall, her leg draped over the broad shoulder of the man kneeling before her. Strong hands gripped her hips, keeping her exactly where she needed to be. She tangled her fingers in thick brown hair, pulling insistently, silently demanding more.

 

Her head fell back, a deep moan escaping her lips as the heat of a skilled tongue continued its relentless torment. She loved the way those alphas worshiped her—how easily desire, pleasure and the taste of a Pure Omega turned the strongest into obedient creatures.

 

“Fuck… that’s good,” Ava breathed. “Yes… oh… just there… yes.”

 

 “Do you mean it, Ava?” The voice, eager and hopeful.

 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Nick…”

 

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, and she could hear him lick his lips, savouring her on his tongue.

 

She pulled him back into place, guiding him wordlessly. Ever the obedient idolater, Nick didn’t hesitate, diving in with renewed fervour, eager to please. Ava sighed, enjoying his enthusiasm. She really should encourage her poor puppies more often.

 

Then she felt a hand leave her hip.

 

“Tsk, tsk… what did I say?”

 

"Ava, please," Nick rasped, his breath uneven. "I can’t help it… you drive me insane. Just let me—" He cut himself off, groaning in frustration, hand clenching against his thigh as he fought not to disobey her command.

 

Ava smirked, dragging her nails lightly against his scalp. "No touching yourself, Nick," she murmured, "or I’ll make sure this is the last time you ever kneel for me."

 

“Ava that’s cruel…,” he murmured, the need in his voice almost pitiful.

 

“Those are the rules, if you can’t respect them…” She pretended to move.

 

‘No…Okay.” In silent penitence, he pressed fevered kisses to her inner thighs, wordlessly begging for forgiveness.

 

Ava sighed, content. He’d be punished later, of course. She hated it when they didn’t behave. Let him enjoy this while it lasts—she wouldn’t be letting him near her again anytime soon.

 

She was lost in pleasure when her phone vibrated on the shelf where she’d placed it. She reached for it, lazily checking the caller ID. Few people were allowed to interrupt her in a moment like this—unfortunately, this was one of them.

 

She immediately answered.

 

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle Lauren,” Ava greeted, breathless.

 

“Don’t mademoiselle me, Ava—where the fuck are you?”

 

Ava bit her lower lip, stifling a moan. “Choir practice?”

 

“It ended thirty minutes ago. I know because my brother is home.”

 

Ava glanced down at Nick’s adoring, smitten expression, his lips glistening, his eyes filled with adoration. She ran gentle fingers through his hair, a lazy gesture of indulgence.

 

“I’m… in the middle… of something.”

 

“Ava, I swear, if you’re late like last time, I’ll kill you. I need to have my grand entrance.”

 

“Hmmm… I won’t. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

 

“Forty-five minutes. Tell your pet to get you off—now.”

 

Ava smirked. “Will do.”

 

She hung up and glanced down.

 

“I need to be… somewhere… so it’s time to wrap this up.”

 

Two minutes later, Ava came undone, her loud moans filling the closet, pleasure ripping through her in waves. Her body trembled, and she let Nick press lingering kisses to her quivering flesh, basking in the aftershocks.

 

She stepped away on shaky legs, exhaling, completely satisfied. Her gaze drifted downward, amusement sparking at the visible wet mark on Nick’s slacks.

 

“I enjoyed our little interlude,” she murmured, watching his face light up.

 

“Where’s my skirt?”

 

Nick obediently handed her the discarded white panties and pleated skirt, watching as she buttoned her shirt, adjusted her tie, and smoothed her uniform blazer back into place.

 

Damn A&B and their uniform policy.

 

Nick stood up and handed her, her bag, and Ava went up on tiptoes, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to his cheek.

 

“See you later.”

 

“Ava, when can we do this again?” Nick asked, still buzzing with afterglow, his lips still glistening eyes dark with longing.

 

Ava winked as she walked away. “In your dreams, for now.”

 

She cracked the door open, checking the corridor. Empty.

 

With one last glance back at the eager Alpha, she stepped into the hallway, moving with her usual confidence. At this hour on a Friday, only a handful of students remained in this part of campus. But even if people wondered, who would dare question the queen?

 

Ava walked to the parking lot, where her black Mercedes-Maybach Pullman was parked. Rupert, noticing her arrival, immediately opened the door.

 

“Hello, my lady. Did you have a good day at university?”

 

“I did, Rupert. I can even say that I found the last hour truly enjoyable,” she replied, settling into the car.

 

Rupert took his place behind the wheel. “Where to, my lady?”

 

“Home first. I need to get ready for the event, then we’ll pick up Lauren.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

Ava checked her messages and notifications. “We’ll be late, and you know whose fault that is, don’t you?”

 

“Mine entirely, my lady,” the driver replied with a small smile.

 

“Obviously.”

 

“I’ll apologize to Miss Harris, of course.”

 

“See that you do. Being late is a deplorable habit, Rupert—one you should try to rid yourself of.”

 

“Certainly, my lady.”

 

During the short ride to Ava’s home, her phone vibrated repeatedly. She glanced at it once before ignoring the calls, messages, and inevitable emails that had come through.

 

***

 

When they reached her home, Gilford, the family butler, greeted her and informed her that her parents had already left. He also reported that she had received flowers and gifts, which had been placed in her private quarters.

 

“The aesthetical team is having refreshments, my lady. They’ll be ready whenever you are.”

 

Ava shook her head. British people. Aesthetical? Who said that instead of glam squad?

 

“Send them in fifteen minutes, Gilford.”

 

Even in a hurry, Ava ignored the elevator, choosing instead to take the grand staircase to the third floor, where her personal wing awaited.

 

She entered her sitting room first, where a huge white tulip bouquet stood elegantly on a marble-topped console. She didn’t need to check the card—she already knew who had sent it. Without pausing, she headed for her bedroom, her private refuge, and closed the doors behind her.

 

Unlike the rest of her wing, which she had left to her mother’s discretion, this space had been entirely her own creation. She loved the silk wallcoverings and the gilded paper on the ceiling, both meticulously chosen. At eleven years old, she had already known exactly what she wanted.

 

Her mother and the interior decorator had taken her to De Gournay, the heart of the design district, where she had spent hours with artisans, ensuring they understood her vision.

 

The room was also filled with pieces she had collected from her travels—a chair from Nice, a rug from Firenze, lamps from Marrakech.

 

Ava let herself fall onto her custom-made king-size bed, her fingers gliding over the soft silk coverlet. She closed her eyes and sighed, utterly content.

 

After a moment, she reached for her phone, scrolling through the flood of messages she had received. A slow smile of triumph curved her lips as she read how desperate they became and the begging tone used by the sender.

 

Then, she came across another message from Lauren—and one from Toni, lecturing her about punctuality.

 

Ava groaned.

 

Without further delay, she headed into her spacious en-suite bathroom for a quick shower, skincare routine, and the necessary steps to refresh herself before the night ahead.

 

When she emerged, wrapped in a plush dressing gown, her glam team was already assembled in her sitting room, waiting.

 

Mario, the makeup artist. Sue, the hairdresser. Kevin, the manicurist. And Calie, the stylist—whose attention to detail bordered on madness.

 

The air was thick with the scent of expensive products, perfumes, and heated styling tools.

 

The massive vanity mirror, framed by glowing Hollywood bulbs, dominated one side of the room. Ava had always marvelled at how quickly the team transported and set it up, as if by magic. Luxury beauty products—gold-capped lipsticks, glass jars of high-end moisturizers, setting powders in sleek compacts—were carefully arranged in order of use.

 

Nearby, a plush velvet lounge chair held her evening essentials—a bejewelled clutch, and two pairs of Louboutin stilettos, each resting atop its signature shoebox.

 

A clothing rack stood close, showcasing two evening gowns—the one she was supposed to wear and a backup in case of emergency. The final choice, a stunning couture Givenchy gown, hung prominently, waiting for its moment.

 

Calie was already at work, meticulously steaming the fabric, her expression one of concentrated devotion. She despised wrinkles, and in her world, even the slightest crease was an unforgivable crime.

 

Several jewellery cases, all belonging to Ava’s family, lay open on a side table, lined with diamonds, emeralds, and gold, waiting for the final touch—a choice between understated elegance or dazzling opulence. They were guarded by Sophie which took her duty very seriously.

 

Sue handed her a glass of lemon water with a straw, while Mario gestured toward the chair. “If Her Highness could grace us by placing her royal assets on it.”

 

Ava grinned, sat down, and so it began.

 

Mario already knew the vision and went straight to work, first blending concealer and foundation into her flawless skin while keeping her entertained with the latest gossip in town.

 

“Have you heard about the Olympus?” Mario asked.

 

“Nope.”

 

The Olympus Tower, a new exclusive residential complex on 57th Street, had been hailed as the most elegant and modern addition to the Manhattan skyline. Designed by the late Ian Gordon, it had already become a coveted landmark, its luxurious finishes, posh amenities, and record-breaking pre-orders making it the crown jewel of the city. Gordon had been a visionary architect, effortlessly merging New York’s timeless elegance with a modern twist. Ava vaguely recalled a bidding war for the property—it had been a spectacle.

 

Advertised as “the gods’ residence,” the Olympus boasted duplexes, triplexes, and the largest penthouse ever built in Manhattan. Ava had seen the plans and designs and had gushed over them. H. had even tried to secure one of the duplexes as a wedding gift for her, but demand had been insane. The moment the project was announced, a waiting list had formed, filled with buyers from all over the world. H. had been disappointed, he had fallen in love with the architecture, design, luxury and prestige the Olympus offered. 

 

“What about it?” Ava asked. “Is it finished?”

 

Mario, applying a touch of highlighter to her cheekbones, nodded. “It is, but it’s been sold to a private company. No one knows which one yet—the secret isn’t out.”

 

“K.L.C. sold it?” Ava frowned. “Why would they do that after going through months of hard negotiations and a bidding war?”

 

“They didn’t.” Mario’s brush paused for a moment before continuing. “You were in Europe at the time, but K.L.C. got hit with charges—corporate malpractice, permit fraud, and more. Turns out, for the last ten years, most of their projects weren’t even legal. The CEO resigned and was arrested, along with several top executives.”

 

“Have the sales been interrupted?” Ava wondered.

 

Kevin, sitting next to her while working on her nails, chimed in. “For a while, yes. But they’re back on now. The new company seems to be running a tight ship—apparently, more applications are denied than accepted. People are talking about extreme background checks and even interviews.”

 

Sue, who had moved on to styling Ava’s hair, her curling iron hissing as it released another perfect wave, joined in. “I heard a famous singer got denied just because of a couple of DUIs in California. Not even in New York.” The way she said it made it sound as if California were an entirely different country.

 

That meant H. was still on that waiting list. Perhaps Ava should get involved. She possessed persuasion skills when needed, and her newfound fame could be useful.

 

“You mean no one knows anything about this mysterious company?” Ava asked.

 

“No. We only know they’re American. New state laws wouldn’t allow a foreigner to acquire the Olympus.” Mario smirked. “Theories are flying around like crazy.”

 

As they continued working, the conversation shifted to other gossips and a fresh scandal—a prominent businessman caught with his gardener by his furious wife. Normally, these affairs were handled quietly, but this woman had chosen violence. Instead of hushed legal proceedings, she had live-streamed the entire thing, capturing the culprit with his pants around his ankles. The incident had turned them both into memes and punchlines, and they’d been effectively exiled from high society for the season and some time.

 

“Your skin is out of this world, Ava. So luminous,” Mario praised, finishing with the setting spray. He barely had to do anything to her complexion.

 

Ava examined herself in the mirror, pleased with the reflection.

 

“You can tell us if you’ve got a portrait aging in an attic somewhere,” Mario teased.

 

“She isn’t a Dorian Gray. Those pure omega genes are no joke,” Kevin commented, blowing on her freshly painted nails.

 

Ava slapped his arm lightly. “Stop it. I like the idea of being seen as a narcissistic and decadent young woman.”

 

Kevin smirked. “I doubt that reputation would last once people find out about the gifts you send my baby brother and the other children in his hospital ward.”

 

Ava shook her head. “Thank you, everyone. And don’t listen to him—he’s clearly delirious. Go away, Kevin, you’re ruining my reputation.”

 

Kevin chuckled and blew her a kiss. Ava pretended to catch it, then crushed it between her hands, making him laugh.

 

“Okay, let’s go to your closet. I placed the rack there,” Calie said, as the others began packing up.

 

Ava entered her walk-in closet, first she picked her lingerie. Once she was done Calie and Sophie helped her into her evening gown. Calie zipped the dress, smoothing the fabric and adjusting every seam, while Sophie brought her a pair of black Louboutin stilettos. Then, Calie carefully selected a crewneck diamond necklace from Harry Winston, along with matching earrings.

 

Ava moved in front of the full-length mirror, taking in her reflection.

 

Her long hair had been styled into an elegant, sleek updo, complementing the strapless gown and allowing the dress and accessories to shine. Her makeup was classic and glamorous, with a bold red lip—nearly matching her nails—and dramatic eye makeup that enhanced her features.

 

The gown itself was a bold, colour-block design, the visual contrast between black and white both striking and sophisticated. The top of the dress, made of luxurious white satin, seamlessly met the black matte silk bodice, which was fitted to perfection. The strapless cut accentuated her collarbones and shoulders, exuding timeless elegance.

 

Ava took a few steps, testing her movement. A high slit on the left side gave the dress a modern edge, offering a touch of allure without sacrificing refinement. The most striking feature was at the back—an oversized white satin bow, adding a dramatic, feminine touch and creating a sense of volume and movement.

 

“Beautiful,” Calie said.

 

Ava smiled, “Not bad, not bad at all for my first event of the season.”

 

The beginning of each season mattered, and her first event wasn’t just about appearances—it was about presence, status, and reminding everyone exactly who Ava Harringdale was.

 

“Lumina?” Sophie called, stepping forward with a diamond bracelet in her hand. Ava extended her wrist, allowing her to clasp it into place.

 

Finally, she turned to her collection of perfumes, selecting one that wouldn’t overpower her natural scent. Calie handed her a clutch, and Ava returned to the main room, where her team applauded her transformation.

 

“Bellissima,” Mario murmured.

 

The Pure Omega smiled and executed a small curtsy.

 

“Bravo, everyone,” Ava said smoothly. “Thank you for your talent. Now, I need to go—I’m late.”

 

“She’s always been a woman of few words,” Sue quipped.

 

Laughter filled the room as Ava headed to her bedroom for a piece of jewellery resting on her nightstand, tucking it into her clutch. On her way out, she grabbed the box she had received earlier.

 

***

Fifty-five minutes later, Ava arrived in front of Lauren’s townhouse on Central Park South. Rupert had barely closed the car door when Lauren appeared, descending the stairs with effortless grace.

 

She was dressed in white, adhering to the black-and-white, old Hollywood elegance theme of the party, inspired by the glamour of the 1930s and 1940s. Her backless gown, with its flowing train, was complemented by long black velvet gloves, a fur shawl, and a white clutch. Ava recognised it instantly as a Stella McCartney creation, if only because Lauren had bored her to death with the details. Her black hair fell in soft curls down her back, and she had accessorised with dangling diamond earrings and Jimmy Choo heels. Her makeup was impeccable—bold red lipstick and long lashes accentuated her almond-shaped eyes, enhancing the timeless elegance of her look.

 

As Lauren slid into the car with Rupert’s help, they exchanged air kisses.

 

“You look exquisite, dear Lauren. Like an old Hollywood movie star,” Ava remarked once she had settled into the smooth leather seat.

 

Lauren smirked. “And you’re glowing. You have that well-fucked look—or should I say, well-eaten one?”

 

Ava smiled broadly. “Thank you.”

 

Rupert took his place behind the wheel. “Miss Harris, I beg your forgiveness for my lateness. It won’t happen again.”

 

Lauren shook her head. “Rupert, if you weren’t so loyal to her, I would have hired you a long time ago. This little brat doesn’t deserve you.”

 

Ava ignored the comment and reached for the bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the ice chest. Rupert had already popped it open, and she poured each of them a glass, then the car pulled onto the road, heading toward Alpine, New Jersey.

 

“Who made you late?” Lauren inquired, adjusting her gown to prevent wrinkles.

 

Ava took a slow sip before answering. “Nick.”

 

Lauren gasped dramatically. “What? Oh, Ava, you evil creature.”

 

Ava turned to Rupert. “Did you hear that, Rupert? She called me evil when I’m nothing but an angel.”

 

“I’m afraid I didn’t, my lady. I consider it impolite to listen.”

 

Ava’s phone vibrated again.

 

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “Is it Mr. Ava?”

 

“Yes, he sent me dozens of white tulips and a gift.

 

 

“He’s asking for forgiveness. How cute and desperate,” Lauren remarked before frowning. “But why is he apologising when you’re the one who behaved like an ass?”

 

Ava set down her champagne flute and smirked. “It’s all part of my process to train an Alpha.”

 

Lauren frowned. “I mean, I don’t get it. The agreement between your families is done, the money matters are settled, and paid in full. You’ve accepted the proposal, the ring, and chosen a date. And yet, he’s still acting like before—like when you hadn’t chosen him, when you barely spared him a glance. I witnessed what you did, but I still can’t figure out how or why it worked. You need to write a book for omegas, Ava.”

 

Ava leaned back, eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s all about planning, timing, and knowing your target, Lau.”

 

She reached for the small gift box beside her, untying the ribbon with a flick of her fingers. Inside, she found chocolates.

 

“Montezuma chocolates. Love them. You could have left some Spanish oranges for me,” Lauren pouted.

 

“Sorry, I can’t resist them.”

 

Lauren wiggled her fingers, still covered by her gloves. “You’ll have to feed me. I don’t want to ruin my gloves.”

 

Ava sighed theatrically. “Yes, princess. Open wide.” She pushed a snowball truffle between Lauren’s parted lips.

 

Lauren moaned appreciatively. “It’s divine.”

 

Ava popped one into her own mouth, then wiped her fingers on a napkin. “He displays good taste sometimes, thanks to my guidance.”

 

Lauren took another sip of champagne. “He’ll be there tonight.”

 

Ava smiled and took her glass back. “Of course.”

 

“Let me guess—everything will be forgiven.”

 

Ava swirled the champagne in her glass. “Perhaps. I’m not particularly fond of white tulips, after all.”

 

They both laughed, clinking their glasses as the car drove towards the event.

 

***

After passing through the gated entrance, they reached Wynthorpe’s Manor, a towering testament to the family's wealth and legacy. Its imposing façade was partially veiled by dense ivy. Massive white columns, thick and stately, framed the grand entrance, supporting an ornate balcony adorned with intricate wrought-iron railings. Rows of tall, mullioned windows overlooked sprawling manicured lawns, their perfection mirrored in the sculpted hedgerows that bordered the estate.

 

All the lights blazed against the evening sky, illuminating the long circular driveway as limousines and luxury cars glided in and out. A rich red carpet stretched from the arched entrance, flowing down the wide staircase. Guests, draped in black and white eveningwear, posed and preened under the crackling flashes of photographers’ cameras. The air buzzed with calls for attention—“One more! Turn left! Over here!”—as flashes popped relentlessly, capturing the city’s elite in all their splendour.

 

All of New York’s high society had gathered, ensuring that this was, undeniably, the place to be. Most of them couldn’t recall which charity cause this particular gala supported—many had stopped caring long ago. Why should they? The one percent attended and hosted charity galas with performative regularity, all the time, all over the world to feel less guilty for having too much money and for wanting even more. Their donations were a small price to pay for the illusion of philanthropy. They had paid exorbitant amounts for their tables and would spend even more during the auction, a mere trifle to ease their consciences.

 

As Ava and Lauren stepped onto the red carpet, the photographers immediately lost interest in the couple still posing. Their cameras snapped toward the two young omegas—high-society darlings, objects of endless fascination. Their faces, family names, and love lives were the currency of public obsession.

 

Lauren’s pedigree was undeniable—her mother, the daughter of a Singaporean-Chinese billionaire, presided over the third-largest steel company in the world, while her father, heir to Harris International Holdings Ltd., controlled vast investments in ultra-luxury hotels and exclusive resorts across the Caribbean and the French Riviera.

 

Ava’s name, however, had been in the papers since the day she was born. As the heiress to Harringdale Financial Group, one of the largest banking firms in the United States, she stood to inherit part of an empire spanning asset management, private banking, and life insurance. The Harringdale dynasty had deep political ties—her paternal grandfather, a kingmaker in Washington, had been instrumental in shaping presidencies. On her mother’s side, she carried the legacy of British nobility and historic landowners.

 

Neither Ava nor Lauren flinched at the barrage of flashes and deafening voices calling their names, asking who they were wearing. They had been raised in this world, trained not to blink under the weight of attention. They posed together, then separately—Ava had to remain a moment longer. After all, the title of the Most Beautiful Omega in the World had yet to wear off.

 

Once the cameras had their fill, Ava and Lauren ascended the wide steps toward the illuminated entrance, where Jessalyn and her husband, George Wynthorpe II, awaited them beneath the arched doorway. The entry hall was a masterpiece of grandeur—soaring ceilings painted with Greek mythology, their gilded edges glinting beneath a colossal crystal chandelier.

 

Jessalyn, radiant in a white sheath dress and diamonds, looked elegant but tense. It was her first time planning the Wynthorpe Foundation's charity dinner, and she had been nervous for weeks.

 

A twenty-five-year-old omega, Jessalyn had married George Wynthorpe II the previous year in a lavish three-day Parisian wedding. Thirty years her senior and once thought inconsolable after the death of his late mate, George had been enchanted by Jessalyn’s kindness and optimism.

 

Before him, Jessalyn had been engaged twice, each time ending in disappointment. The first, an imposter; the second, a gambling addict who had lost her engagement ring at a high-stakes table.

 

Ava was genuinely pleased for Jessalyn. At twenty-five, an unbounded omega was regarded with suspicion—society would assume something was wrong with them.

 

She and Jessalyn had met at the Omega Club at the country club, where Jessalyn volunteered as a mentor for younger omegas. They had instantly connected, their shared love of movies, good food, and mocking high society forming a bond that had remained strong ever since.

 

“Bonsoir, chers amis,” Jessalyn greeted them, her voice warm despite her nerves. “You two look absolutely gorgeous.”

 

“Bonsoir, you look beautiful as well,” Lauren replied, air-kissing her cheek. “All of New York is here, Jessa—you did wonderfully.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she doubts me,” George said, before excusing himself to attend to another guest.

 

Jessalyn sighed. “Hopefully, people will be so drunk they’ll give a lot of money.”

 

Ava reached into her clutch, pulling out a check she had prepared earlier. “Here’s my contribution,” she said smoothly, handing it to their host.

 

Jessalyn’s eyes widened as she opened it. “Ava, this is too generous.”

 

Ava’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “I can be. It’s not my money—my fiancé insisted on giving so generously.”

 

Jessalyn laughed. “You have him wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you?”

 

“I’d say around her ass,” Lauren quipped.

 

Jessalyn gasped, feigning scandal. “Lauren, I’m shocked—such language coming from a lady.”

 

Ava smirked. “You were the only one who ever managed to rein in her bad manners, Jessa. You need to come back to the country club.”

 

“I’ve been so busy with the foundation, but I’ll be back soon. Georgie wants to show me Vienna first.”

 

“Lucky you,” Lauren sighed. “We’ll leave you to your host duties.”

 

Jessalyn glanced at the growing line of guests waiting to greet her. “Yes, go mingle. Enjoy yourselves.”

 

Jessalyn smiled as they turned to leave, but Ava still sensed her unease. All eyes would be on her tonight, and most of them wouldn’t be kind.

 

Jessalyn didn’t come from an ultra-wealthy, powerful family, and many believed she had no right to bear the Wynthorpe name. Without the protection of an influential, storied lineage, she was an easy target—her every move scrutinised, her every misstep eagerly dissected.

 

But Ava had faith in her.

 

She had held her head high despite two failed engagements, had ignored the whispered gossip that trailed her at the club, and had stood tall and unyielding in the face of her husband’s family’s thinly veiled disdain.

 

She had something far more valuable than old money—resilience.

 

Ava and Lauren entered the large foyer, where a marble staircase with an elaborate wrought-iron balustrade curved gracefully toward the upper levels. The alphas would be gathered in the study, discussing business deals, or in the smoking lounge, where the most powerful men whispered secrets over rare whisky.

 

The omegas stepped into the magnificent reception room, a space so exquisitely decorated that it felt as if they had stepped through a portal in time, back to the golden age of the 1930s and '40s. The room gleamed with Art Deco sophistication, its gilded mouldings and mirrored walls reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers above. Towering crystal ice sculptures, carved into elegant swans and geometric patterns, stood as centrepieces, slowly glistening under the golden light.

 

An opulent bar, lacquered in black and gold with a sleek mirrored backsplash, stood near the entrance. Bartenders in white tuxedo jackets mixed cocktails in cut crystal coupes. Ava, a frequent guest at the manor, knew it was a brand-new addition to the estate. Ornate marble columns stretched toward the domed ceiling, where tiers of cascading chandeliers—drenched in faceted crystals—bathed the room in a warm, golden glow.

 

An orchestra, impeccably dressed in white dinner jackets, filled the air with the rich, brassy tones of the era—trombones and saxophones blending seamlessly with the double bass, the violins, and the steady pulse of low and high drums. Couples glided across the high-polished dance floor, their reflections mirrored in the sheen of the parquet beneath them.

 

Scattered throughout the hall, ornate cocktail tables, gilded banquettes, and plush velvet armchairs formed intimate pockets of conversation, where guests—draped in diamonds, silk, chiffon, and expertly tailored tuxedos—sipped champagne and murmured in hushed, conspiratorial tones. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, expensive cigars, and aged cognac, a decadent perfume mingling with the clink of crystal and the occasional ripple of laughter.

 

Ava swiped two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, handing one to Lauren. As she exchanged pleasantries with a friend from school, she excused herself and looked for her parents. She spotted them emerging from the gardens, accompanied by one of her mother’s closest friends.

 

Jane Harringdale, the epitome of retro elegance, wore a black velvet strapless dress, undoubtedly Saint Laurent, her blond hair styled in an elaborate bun, her lips and nails painted a striking red. Beside her, Gregory Harringdale, in a tuxedo, projected his usual quiet strength, a trait Ava found lacking in many alphas.

 

Ava made her way toward them, greeting friends and acquaintances along the way while discreetly placing her empty glass on a passing tray.

 

“You’re almost on time, sweetheart,” her mother commented, smoothing her immaculate hair. “You look beautiful.”

 

"Mother,” Ava sighed, air-kissing her mother’s cheek. “Thank you. You look ravishing, as always.”

 

“Thank you. Black suits me," Jane confirmed, as Gregory playfully tapped his daughter’s nose—a gesture he had done since she was a child.

 

Ava groaned but smiled nonetheless. “Father.”

 

“My turn!” Aunt Sylvia exclaimed, pulling Ava into a cautious embrace before stepping back to study her closely. “Look at you! Estás preciosa esta noche, querida,” she said, patting Ava’s cheek affectionately.

 

“Aunt Sylvia,” Ava protested, rolling her eyes. They were impossible—but she still murmured, “Muchas gracias.”

 

“And too many alphas seem to think so. I was cornered by the British ambassador tonight,” Gregory remarked. “His son, Nicholas, seems absolutely besotted with you.”

 

Ava suppressed a sigh. Another punishment for Nick—he had made it clear that there was no hope for him. “I don’t understand why. They all know I’m spoken for.”

 

“You can’t stop them from hoping,” Aunt Sylvia quipped. “Your fiancé should buy a gun to protect himself. There are all those stories about alphas disappearing—or worse—over an omega too tempting to resist.”

 

Jane’s eyes widened. “Thankfully, we live in a civilised society.”

 

“Americans aren’t civilised, my dear,” Sylvia countered smoothly. “They’re just good at pretending to be.”

 

“Jessalyn did an amazing job tonight,” Gregory interjected.

 

Ava glanced around. “She would be glad to know that. She outdid herself.”

 

“I understand now why you wanted her opinion for your wedding,” Jane remarked.

 

Gregory leaned in slightly. “Henri has been looking for you. He seemed anxious to speak with you.” His expression shifted, frowning slightly. “Is everything all right?”

 

Ava smiled. She didn’t want them to worry—especially her father, who would probably kick H. first and ask questions later. “Yes, everything’s fine,” she assured them, before reaching into her clutch and slipping the imposing pear-shaped engagement ring onto her finger. From the corner of her eye, she noticed H. approaching.

 

“Hello, darling,” he began tentatively.

 

Ava’s expression remained unreadable. “Henri,” she uttered, her tone deliberately neutral—a subtle shift that made him frown.

 

She never called him that.

 

“Do you mind if I borrow Ava for a moment?” H. asked politely, though his gaze remained fixed on his fiancée.

 

“Not at all,” Gregory replied with an encouraging grin.

 

H. offered Ava his elbow. She wanted to refuse, but she decided he had suffered enough. With a sigh, she slipped her hand through his arm, allowing herself to be guided toward the doors.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

Ava looked at him with an impassive expression. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

 

“Ava, please. I’ll do the talking.”

 

With too many onlookers nearby, Ava relented. She gave a small nod. “Fine. Let’s go somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”

 

The various salons and corridors were already crowded with guests, their laughter and champagne-fuelled chatter filling the air. Ava made a decision, leading them up the double staircase toward the upper levels. She knew Jessalyn’s house well, and without hesitation, she strode into one of the private studies.

The room was empty, its lights dim, casting soft shadows across the mahogany bookshelves and antique furniture.

 

H. followed behind her, closing the door. Then, without hesitation, he locked it.

 

Ava turned, arms crossed over her chest. “I’m listening.”

 

 “Ava, I’m sorry for my jealousy. But at Nala’s party, when I saw you dancing with Vince, I lost it, okay? I’m so sorry. I should have controlled my temper.”

 

Ava bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing a smile. She remembered that party—and that provocative dance with Vince. They had been dancing too closely, her body deliberately brushing against his, when H. had appeared—unexpected. One moment, she had been having fun, and the next, Vince had been violently yanked away from her. Furious, Ava had left, refusing to speak to H.

 

She supposed his anger was somewhat justified, but an alpha who couldn’t control himself had any place by her side. Ava had no patience for violent outbursts and unhealthy possessiveness, and it wasn’t as if she had wanted anything more than a dance from Vince.

 

“Ava? Did you hear what I said? I know flowers and chocolates can’t make up for what I did, but I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”

 

Ava turned her back to him, silently counting to twenty before turning around again, her gaze now watery, hesitant.

 

“I—I forgive you,” she murmured, her voice soft, unsure, not quite meeting his eyes. “But you know how I loathe violence. I don’t like seeing you like that.” She exhaled, letting the words tremble just enough. “You… scared me.”

 

H. cupped her cheek with the gentlest touch, his eyes dark with remorse. “I’m sorry, babe. You don’t have to be scared of me. I would never hurt you—how could I? You’re perfect. I’d rather hurt myself first.” His thumb brushed over her skin, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll do better, I swear.”

 

Then, he pressed a kiss against her lips, lingering before pulling away.

 

Ava expected the usual look of sheer relief he always had when she forgave him his transgressions real or imaginary. Instead, he looked tense—almost apprehensive.

 

Her gaze narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 

“Ava… I kind of—”

 

Her patience thinned instantly. “Kind of what?” she asked sharply, stepping back. If H. had dared to touch another omega, she would make his life a living hell. She would unleash so much terror into his existence, the man would beg for mercy, before she dumped his sorry ass.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

But he hesitated.

 

“Henri Randolph Wentworth,” Ava said coolly, crossing her arms. “What did you do?”

 

He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it already. You’ll find out soon enough.” He sighed. “When you wouldn’t answer my calls, I went to A&B to catch you after choir practice, but you had already left.”

 

“It ended early.” Kind of.

 

H. hesitated again before exhaling. "I ran into Nick.” He hesitated.

 

Ava’s jaw tensed imperceptibly. “And?” Ava’s voice was calm, but her eyes sharpened.

 

“He started talking shit,” H. continued, his voice hard. “Said you deserved better. That you weren’t satisfied with me. That he was just waiting for me to screw up so he could replace me.” He exhaled sharply. “And one thing led to another…”

 

His right hand slid from his pocket, and Ava immediately noticed his knuckles—bruised and raw.

 

She stepped closer, taking his hand and examining it carefully.

 

“Did you win?” she asked, her expression unreadable.

 

H. looked surprised, then straightened. “Yes.”

 

Ava brought his bruised knuckles to her lips and kissed them.

 

Damn Nick. That fucking idiot couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Damn alphas and their inability to follow simple instructions. Nick was done. She would never let him near her again. He could have ruined things between H. and her. 

 

“Good.” She met H.’s gaze, tilting her head. “Do you trust me?”

 

H. didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Ava. With my life.”

 

Ava wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his ear. “I’m glad you punched him,” she murmured. “I wish I had been there to see it. I would have let you ravish me afterwards.”

 

H. swallowed hard, a soft moan escaping him.

 

Ava took his hand, guiding it under the slit of her dress, pressing his fingers between her legs.

 

“Do you feel that?” she whispered, licking his upper lip. “How wet you make me? It’s all for you.”

 

H. let out a low, choked sound, his fingers pressing against the heat between her thighs.

 

“Do you think I would let just anyone touch me?” Ava continued, her lips hovering over his jawline. “We promised to wait until my first heat. And I’ve never broken a promise. You know that, don’t you?”

 

She had never promised that she wouldn’t let her pets pleasure her.

 

After all, one had to indulge a little before being bound to someone for life.

 

She felt no guilt. H. would still have the honour of taking her virginity. She trusted him, and he would see it for the gift it was.

 

Having sex before a wedding and mating ceremony was hardly scandalous in high society—it wouldn’t even shock the religious elite. Don’t ask, don’t tell, but discretion was paramount. However, a pure omega sleeping with an alpha would inevitably trigger both their heat and the alpha’s rut. And when a couple vanished for a week—perhaps longer—only for the pure omega to return with a noticeably altered eye colour, people took notice. It was a betrayal of secrecy, a silent confession written in their very being. Ava would be damned if she handed the gossiping masses ammunition against her or her family.

 

Besides, an omega’s first heat with their mate was an intense experience—one meant to be savoured. Planned carefully. Ava had heard it could last up to two weeks.

 

Which was why, after their wedding, a private jet would take them to Hamilton, Bermuda, to an exclusive, resort designed for alpha-omega bonding. They would stay there for a fortnight, return home for a week, and then embark on their month-long honeymoon through Europe.

 

H. pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers still tracing along her skin.

 

“Yes, Ava. I know,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with longing.

 

“Do you imagine how it will feel inside me?”

 

“All the time,” H. groaned, his eyes darkening. “It keeps me up at night.”

 

Ava chuckled breathlessly. “We don’t have long to wait.”

 

Then, a phone vibrated. H. swore.

 

“It’s my father,” he muttered. “He wants me to meet some new clients.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her one last time before pulling away.

 

Ava considered H.’s father a nuisance—a man who pushed his son too hard, trying to mould him into the perfect corporate heir. Wentworth Jr. didn’t care about H. as a person—only about his usefulness to the family business. The man liked Ava, at least the connections, her wealth and hr family’s status brought. With the money, the Wentworth family had paid for Ava’s Kerm, he hoped for a return on investment. He hadn’t said that to her in so many words, but it was pretty clear. Ava didn’t like him, but she had to endure him for now. She got a plan.

 

“I have to go,” H. said, his mouth still hovering over hers.

 

Ava smirked, and pressed her hand against his arousal.

 

“And what about this?”

 

H. groaned. “Quick stop in the bathroom.” He exhaled heavily. “Are you coming back with me?”

 

“No.” Ava shook her head. “First, I need a few minutes… to think of the most appalling things ever.”

 

H. laughed before stealing one last, searing kiss, pulling away as his phone vibrated again.

 

He buried his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

 

Ava grinned, pushing him away playfully. “Go. I’ll join you soon—to suffer through another boring discussion about the stock market.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Ava smirked. “I love myself too.”

 

H. laughed and left.

 

Ava quickly straightened her clothes, smoothing out every crease with practised ease. She pulled a mirror from her clutch, reapplying her red lipstick with a steady hand.

 

Then—a slow, deliberate clap echoed behind her.

 

She turned, startled, her pulse quickening. A man emerged from the balcony, his figure still partially obscured by the shadows.

 

Then, he stepped forward, just enough for the glow to catch him, his intense gaze locked onto her.

 

“My, my,” he drawled, stepping into the light. “That was quite a performance.”