Chapitre 1 : Last Day on the Mediterranean

Ava checked herself in the mirror and pushed a lock of blonde hair back. She placed her straw hat on her head and went down the yacht’s stairs to the lower deck, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. She settled onto the large, comfortable sofa under the covered deck. Her friend Olivia was lying on her stomach on one of the couches, buried in a sea of throw pillows, engrossed in yet another eBook.

Ava gazed at the sunlit sky and inhaled deeply, savouring the briny scent carried by the warm sea breeze. A French flag fluttered at the stern, snapping in the wind. She had no idea where she had left her sunglasses, so she shielded her eyes with her hand, watching as seabirds left their refuge in the creek, crying loudly as they searched for another haven.

She had barely been enjoying the sun on the upper deck for ten minutes before she began to feel the heat on her fair skin. Even with sunscreen and an ankle-length, long-sleeved transparent dress over her bikini, it hadn’t been enough to prevent the sun’s bite. What did she expect? The Mediterranean sun was still high and strong, even after 4 p.m. She was cursed, like anyone with fair, delicate skin—the sun burned her. The best she could hope for was a little glow.

A crew member in an impeccable white uniform approached with the cocktail she had ordered earlier, balancing it on a tray.

“Votre cocktail, mademoiselle, avec glaçons,” she announced, handing over the drink.

Ava glanced at her name tag. “Merci, Élodie,” she said with a sweet smile, and the girl beamed. The crew had been aux petits soins for them during their stay—attentive, respectful, and diligent, often anticipating their needs before they could even voice them.

Ava stirred her cocktail with the black straw, making the ice cubes clink against the glass, then took a sip of the cool drink.

“Désirez-vous autre chose, mademoiselle ?” Élodie asked.

“Non, je n’ai besoin de rien, je vous remercie.”

“I took the liberty of bringing your sunglasses, miss. You left them upstairs,” she said, handing over the Viktor & Rolf shades.

Ava accepted them gratefully and slipped them on. “Thank you! I had no idea where they were—you’re a lifesaver, Élodie.”

She lowered her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and turned toward her friend. The wind whipped Olivia’s already dishevelled curls, but she didn’t seem to mind, her eyes locked on her iPad.

Ava plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the tray and moaned as she savoured its sweetness and freshness. “What are you reading with such intense focus? An obituary?”

“Austen,” Olivia replied.

Ava grimaced.

Sensing her friend’s disdain, Olivia briefly glanced up before diving back into the 19th century. “This is fascinating,” she murmured.

“Nothing happens in her novels. It’s just people sipping tea and gossiping,” Ava said. “And the endless countryside walks—so boring.”

“You don’t get it, do you? It’s not gossip—it’s gathering information about their neighbours or someone they’re infatuated with. And those aren’t just walks; they’re courtship rituals, with nature as the silent witness,” Olivia countered.

“How many of her books have you read?” Ava asked, suspicious of how invested Olivia had suddenly become in Austen after reading Sense and Sensibility—the only book on her professor’s summer reading list.

“This is my third. I saved the best for last,” Olivia said, raising her tablet to show the title page.

Ava snorted.

They heard her before they saw her—as usual. Toni emerged from the staircase, a glass of white wine in one hand, her most prized possession, her iPhone, in the other. She was blasting XS by Rina Sawayama from her new speaker, dancing along. Their friend had been obsessed with the artist’s album, forcing them to listen to it for hours.

Toni had tied her long black-and-pink braids into a bun and wore a short white cotton-gauze mini dress. Her caramel skin gleamed from the oil she religiously slathered on after swimming. The Blasian goddess twerked in front of Ava, who laughed and playfully slapped her bottom. Toni switched off the music and plopped down beside her, and Ava wrapped an arm around her.

Toni let her head fall onto Ava’s shoulder, and Ava kissed her hair.

“What are you two up to?” she asked.

“I’m trying to convince Ava of Jane Austen’s brilliance, but you know how stubborn she is.” Olivia’s finger moved across her tablet. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune must be in want of an omega,” she read aloud.

Toni laughed. “Wow, you sound so much like our old professor, Bosworth—it’s scary.”

Olivia, pretending to twirl an imaginary moustache, continued, “However little known the feelings or views of such an alpha may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered the rightful property of one or another of their omega.”

“Oh, stop it,” Ava groaned. “It’s my last day on the Mediterranean—I’m trying to forget that in two weeks, we’ll be back at uni.”

Toni pouted. “It’s a shame you have to leave so soon.”

Ava’s aunt was in Paris for a few days, and she wanted to see her before heading back to Geneva. She adored Aunt Maureen—a free spirit who always did whatever she wanted. She floated between Geneva, Paris, New York, Milan, and London, doted on Ava, and considered her favourite (and only) omega, niece.

“When are you leaving?” Olivia asked.

“Tomorrow morning—Cannes to Paris, then the Hamptons, where Mother Dearest is eagerly waiting for me. Then it’s back to home, sweet home and uni.”

“Senior year, finally!” Toni exclaimed.

“Please, you love that place,” Olivia pointed out. “You and Ava can do no wrong in Mrs. Thornbridge’s eyes.”

Mrs. Thornbridge ruled what people called A&B—the oldest, most elitist, and most expensive international university in New York and in the country. Pupils were taught in multiple languages and expected to speak at least three fluently. It educated the children of the nation’s most prominent families and foreign dignitaries. A stood for Ambrose, the private university for omegas and betas, and B for Barrington, the private university for alphas.

Toni and Ava were likely Mrs. Thornbridge’s favourites. Both were top students, involved in multiple activities. If Ava was the queen of A&B, Toni was the vice-queen—respectively president and vice president of the student council ad vitam æternam. Even the alphas, who studied in adjacent buildings and shared the refectory and other controlled spaces with the omegas, didn’t dare challenge their authority. No one wanted to be on their bad side.

“Of course, I love it,” Toni admitted. “But I need a change of scenery.”

“What about you, dear sovereign?” Olivia teased. “Ready to leave your kingdom?”

“I am. There are other kingdoms to conquer, territories to rule, and—” Ava began.

“And plebeians willing to serve Her Majesty,” Toni interrupted with a smirk.

“I’m bored at A&B,” Ava confessed. “I need a challenge.”

Olivia shook her head and smiled. “I understand. Worship gets old after a while.”

Ava groaned. “It’s worse than that—I’m getting older and wiser.”

“And getting married soon,” Toni added.

“That too,” Ava said.

“Still focused on working for the Everett Foundation?” Olivia inquired.

“It’s my first choice. I need to stay in New York. H. has to stay put for a while for the family business,” Ava explained.

Olivia pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Ha! Not ready to give up your kingdom just yet.”

“I rule A&B, not New York,” Ava retorted, then grinned. “Yet.”

“H. could go into politics, and in a few years—who knows? Mayor of New York,” Toni speculated.

Ava sipped her cocktail, then sighed. “His paternal grandfather would love that. He wants him in the Senate, but politics stink. H. isn’t a deceitful man; he doesn’t have an ounce of trickery in him. He wouldn’t survive that world. And I’d probably make enemies left and right, thanks to my complete lack of self-restraint when it comes to voicing my opinions.”

She rolled her eyes. “That old man thinks it’ll help his businesses, but he’s mad if he thinks I’ll let him use H. as a puppet for his own gain. I want a peaceful life. And to have that, we need to stay as far away from the Hill as possible—and from that pestilence called politics.”

“As the daughter of a congressman, I concur,” Olivia said dryly.

Olivia’s father was never home. He mostly ignored his children–except for photo ops–and was either working or busy with his second family. He had fathered a child with a nineteen-year-old intern. Only recently had he started paying attention to Olivia—because he wanted to marry her off to one of his colleague’s sons to solidify his influence.

Olivia wanted nothing to do with politics or politicians, and they had argued about it countless times. Her mother opposed the idea, as did her maternal grandparents, and thanks to their support, she could resist his demands—for now. Her father couldn’t afford to anger them—the ones with the real money and connections. The man was probably hoping for the patriarch’s death to free himself from their interference and get his hands on their fortune through his wife.

“What have you planned for Paris, Ava?” Toni asked, changing the subject.

“Time with Aunt Maureen. I also have appointments at Dior and Saint Laurent—a gift from Dad. Le Louvre, bien sûr, restaurants, walks in the Luxembourg Gardens, the usual.”

“What are you getting at Dior and Saint Laurent?” Toni asked.

Ava shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Dad said I had no limit, though.”

Olivia straightened, abandoning Austen for a moment, and sipped his cold rosé. “Ava, you’re so spoiled—it’s indecent.”

Ava threw a pillow at her. “Hey, you’re one to talk! Didn’t you get a third car this summer—when you barely touch the two you already have?”

Olivia tossed it back. “I don’t care about cars. But at least they’re a good investment.”

“Clothes and accessories are great investments too,” Toni asserted. “I could buy a small country with all the bags I own.”

She suddenly clapped her hands gleefully. “I finally managed to get my hands on a vintage Lanvin dress from 1947. You should have seen the auction—a bloodbath. Got it for fifty.”

“Fifty? Fifty hundred?” Olivia asked.

Toni gasped, clutching invisible pearls at her chest, then turned to Ava in horror. “Why does she wish to die on this very fine day?” she wondered.

Ava grabbed her hand. “Calm down. She shouldn’t meet her maker just yet. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s a nerd, ignorant of these things—have mercy.”

“Olivia, are you kidding me? A vintage Lanvin dress from 1947? A work of art made from a sketch left by Madame Jeanne Lanvin herself? It’s fifty thousand, and I would have paid much more,” Toni explained.

Olivia raised both hands in surrender. “Apologies. I don’t know anything about fashion.”

Toni narrowed her eyes at her. “Are you even a real omega?”

Olivia laughed. “We can’t all be fashionistas.”

“Did I tell you I’ll be travelling to New York with April?” Ava said. “She texted me an hour ago. Her father is letting her borrow the jet. We’ll meet in Paris—she’s coming from Barcelona, apparently.”

“I missed her. It’s a shame she couldn’t come with us,” Olivia said.

“Her parents’ divorce messed up her plans—and ours,” Toni complained. “When’s your flight to Paris?”

“Since it was booked according to my mother’s wishes—8:00 a.m. Can you believe that? That’s what I call true indecency,” Ava whined.

They heard laughter coming from the lower deck. Ava recognised Toni’s cousin, Naya–the yacht’s owner–and her friends downstairs, playing poker. Last year, Naya’s husband had forgotten their wedding anniversary. To make amends for this unforgivable offence, he had gifted her a brand-new yacht. Naya wouldn’t have accepted anything less. She had thanked him by not demanding his balls in return, instead taking her closest omega friends on a Mediterranean trip and inviting Toni and her friends along.

The only beta present was Ava’s homme à tout faire, Rupert. He served as a bodyguard, driver, and, of course, chaperone—because Ava, being an unmarried twenty-year-old, apparently needed one. He shared the burden with Ava’s personal assistant, Sophie.

“They’ll be heartbroken when Rupert leaves with you tomorrow,” Olivia remarked.

“That’s for sure. They find his British accent and humour irresistible,” Toni said.

Olivia sighed. “We had such a great time. I don’t want it to end.”

The three of them eyed each other suspiciously.

“What happened in Saint-Tropez stays in Saint-Tropez,” Toni declared, pointing a warning finger at them both.

“The same goes for Saint-Tropez, Napoli, Capri, Nice, Cagliari, and Palermo, obviously,” Olivia added.

“Of course,” Toni affirmed.

Ava raised her cocktail. “I drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses and took a sip.

“Can’t I even mention the twins?” Olivia asked.

“Don’t you dare,” Ava warned.

“Let’s seal the deal with a selfie,” Toni suggested.

Olivia and Ava moved to either side of her, and they made silly faces as Toni snapped a few pictures. But their impromptu photoshoot was interrupted by a notification on Toni’s phone. She glanced at the screen and froze at the sight of a massive ED logo—Elite Daily, a gossip site.

“Breaking news,” she read aloud. ‘Ava Harringdale, who was crowned the most beautiful omega in the world at the beginning of this year, has been spotted on a beach in Capri with a group of friends. But no sign of her fiancé. Does this mean there’s still hope for all the alphas rejected by the stunning omega? Only time will tell.’”

Ever since Ava had been named the most beautiful omega, a strange hunger for her had developed. The world wanted to know everything—what she wore, what she did, what she believed in. Fan pages had sprung up. Brands were begging for partnerships. They had all received terse letters of refusal from the family lawyers, as her parents found such things tacky and so nouveau riche.

She had an Instagram account now, boasting millions of followers. Created and managed by her mother’s assistant, it was strictly curated—used only to promote charity and cultural events she attended. Photos of Ava at galas, taken by the press, her friends, or occasionally herself, were posted there. She had no personal involvement. Despite her generation’s obsession with social media, she simply didn’t care for it.

Her parents hadn’t been thrilled with the exposure. They had doubled down on security, adding bodyguards for special events or international travel. Fear of kidnapping–or worse, forced mating–motivated their concerns. They had also refused all interview requests, and their lawyers ensured her privacy was respected, even threatening to sue foreign media outlets for any violations. Because of these efforts, Ava was left relatively alone—except when she attended events with press coverage.

The pictures accompanying the article had been taken on a private beach. Her parents hated seeing her in the tabloids and had warned her to avoid summer hotspots crawling with paparazzi. Rupert had checked for nuisances, but anyone with a phone could play paparazzo.

Still, these photos were clearly taken by a professional.

One, in particular, caught her eye. She was smiling at two young men.

Ava sighed. H. would love that.

“Oh, they got a picture of the twins,” Olivia remarked with a smirk.

“What happens in—” Toni started.

Olivia comically widened her eyes. “It’s vanished from my memory.”

Her fiancé hadn’t been able to join her on this trip–or even part of it–to Ava’s relief. He was working at his father’s hedge fund company for the summer. She wanted to savour her last solo vacation before officially tying the knot with the alpha, five years her senior.

All her friends had expected H. to forbid her from going. It had taken time and patience to soothe his insecurities–his jealousy–before he finally relented. But Ava had never doubted her victory. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted from him.

“Let’s see the comments before Ava’s parents send in the wolves,” Toni said, scrolling through her phone as Olivia leaned in.

The wolves–her parents’ lawyers–always ensured these kinds of posts were swiftly taken down. Ava had no idea how they did it, but they always managed.

“Okay, well… many want to do very dirty things to you,” Toni stated.

“Yuck!” Olivia shrieked. “Report that one! And block them for life.”

Toni pressed a few buttons. “Definitely. And some people just want to be you.”

“There’s still that rumours about you not being real—possibly an alien,” Olivia commented, turning to her friend. “I think it’s the pale skin.”

Ava grinned and flipped her off.

“Oh, look at that—some death threats for the twins. And plenty of speculation about whether you’re still with H.,” Toni added.

Ava’s phone rang.

“Speak of the devil.” She stood up. “Duty calls, guys,” she declared, walking away to answer.

As she reassured her fiancé, a yacht passed by in the distance. On one of its decks, she noticed a man standing with binoculars, gazing in their direction.

Ava squinted at the name painted on its hull: Delapsus Resurgam.

If I fall, I shall rise.

Peculiar name for a yacht…probably one of those nouveau riche.