Don't Breathe Too Close

JORDAN

“The meeting will be starting soon, young master.”

That’s the first thing I hear this morning. No good morning. No polite knock. Just my assistant’s flat voice cutting through the haze of sleep like a knife.

I sit up too fast. The room tilts for a second, my skin too warm, too tight.

Damn it. Not now.

Heat is creeping in. I can feel it, slow and sharp like a warning. It won’t be long before it hits full force.

I grab a suppressant patch from the nightstand and press it to my neck, exhaling as the adhesive sticks. The familiar chill seeps into my skin, but it’s not enough. It never really is when heat is this close. But I don’t have time to fall apart.

Today’s too important.

I move on autopilot: shower, suit, clean lines, subtle intimidation. Nothing soft. Nothing that gives me away.

Pretending to be an alpha is exhausting.

Even though I am technically an alpha, I’ve never presented like one, not to my father, not to anyone. My body doesn’t give off the dominance he expects. My scent doesn’t match the image he needs.

And he’d never accept an heir who smells like an omega.

So I fake it. I’ve gotten good at faking it.

“Piece of cake,” I mutter, catching sight of myself in the mirror.

My reflection disagrees.

I’m five-foot-seven. Lean build. Soft jaw. Pretty, not powerful. Exactly what they’d expect an omega to look like.

My curls fall loosely over my face, soft waves I haven’t tamed in years. I avoid clean cuts or styled hair. Anything too polished feels vulnerable. My blue eyes aren’t helping either, too bright, too noticeable.

I open a drawer and pull out a small black bottle. Not cologne. Pheromones.

Alpha pheromones. 

I spray it liberally on the chest, neck, and wrists. Then raise my arm to my nose and inhale.

Strong. Sharp. Synthetic. But effective.

Satisfied, I tuck the bottle into my pocket and head out.

By the time I’m in the car, the anxiety is back, coiled low in my stomach like something alive. My palms are sweating. My pulse is fast. I’m about to walk into a room full of alphas again, and I have to make sure not a single one of them smells the truth.

My assistant climbs into the driver’s seat and buckles in. He starts the car but glances at me before pulling out.

“You have to calm down, young master,” he says, his voice low. “It’ll work. Just like always.”

Theodore. My assistant. My bodyguard. One of the only people who knows the truth.

“I know,” I mutter, folding my arms. “Just drive.”

He nods and pulls away from the curb.

I lean against the window and watch the city blur past.

By the time the car stops in front of the company building, I’m already bracing for war. But before I can step out, Theo turns to me, the look of concern still etched on his face.

“Your stepmother is here,” he says.

My eyebrows lift immediately.

My stepmother? That witch.

She must’ve heard from my father that I’m handling the major negotiation today. And being the hater she is, I’m sure she’s here to sabotage it—like always.

I don’t want to get out. I want to stay in the car, lock the doors, and wait for the suppressant to kick in properly. But that’s not an option.

Not when I’ve clawed my way into being taken seriously in this godforsaken company.

Not when one mistake could put him in line for the inheritance instead of me.

So I open the door and step out.

And she’s already strutting my way like she owns the damn sidewalk.

My stepmother, draped in a skin-tight crimson dress that looks two sizes too small, her heels clicking like gunshots on marble. Gold chains tangled at her neck. Hair piled high. Nails long enough to draw blood.

She makes a beeline for me, fake concern painted all over her heavily contoured face. But Theodore moves faster.

He steps between us smoothly, expression cold, body angled to block her completely. Her glittering red nails curl mid-air as she tries to reach around him.

“Excuse you,” she snaps, trying to peer over his shoulder. “I’m family.”

Theo doesn’t move an inch. “Not immediate family. You weren’t cleared for access.”

She scoffs like she’s just swallowed something sour. “Oh, come on. I want to talk to my sweet stepson. Is that illegal now?”

I keep walking. She calls after me, louder now, her voice syrupy with venom.

“You know, you’re almost too pretty to be an alpha,” she purrs, her pitch carrying in the morning breeze. “Honestly, I’ve seen omegas with more bite. Or are you sure you’re not just confused, darling? Maybe someone mixed up your birth record.”

I stop mid-step.

My fist tightens by my side. But I don’t turn around. I won’t give her that satisfaction.

She’s fishing for a reaction. She wants me to lash out, to lose composure, something she can twist into weakness.

I inhale slowly. Sharp. Bitter.

Then I keep walking. Each step is calm. Heels tapping steadily against the marble.

She’s still talking behind me, something snide about how even female omegas don’t get pampered like I do.

I tune her out.

I won’t slip.

Not today.

Not ever.

Because the second I do, her son gets the chance to step in as heir, and I would rather burn this company to the ground than let that bastard take what’s mine.

After a few minutes of walking, I finally stop hearing the sound of her heels behind me and sigh in relief.

It takes all my effort not to snap at her, because the minute I do, I get punished.

Heading for the path to the left, Theo’s voice stops me. “That isn’t the way to the meeting, young master.”

“I know. I have to use the perfume again.”

“Didn’t you use it already?”

I glance at him. Theodore’s a beta, so he can’t smell pheromones or tell when mine are leaking. But that’s exactly why he’s safe. And why I keep him close. The laws of nature won’t make him yearn for me.

“I’ll use it again. Wait for me here.”

He nods, and I head toward the restroom.

Once inside, I take out the bottle and spray it over myself again. That room is full of alphas, and I have to be one of them, even if I stink like desperation.

The alpha pheromones sting my throat, the chemical bite catching in my lungs. I hate the way it smells, cold, artificial dominance, but it does the job.

I stare at my reflection, waiting for my heartbeat to slow.

Then smooth my sleeves, adjust my cuffs, and walk to the conference room with steady steps, Theo following close behind. But the moment I step inside, everything stops, and I smell that scent I always hope not to.

He’s here.

Alaric Wren.

Sitting at the head of the table like he owns it, like he hasn’t spent the last two years tearing me down with that smug, perfect smirk.

He’s not supposed to be here.

Where the hell is his assistant?

Why is it him today?