All Chapters of The Omega's Choice : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The steering wheel is cold beneath my white-knuckled grip, the fine leather a stark contrast to the burning ache in my shoulders and the persistent throb behind my eyes. The long drive has been relentless, but compared to the storm brewing in my mind, the aches in my shoulders is a welcome distraction.Every mile that vanishes in the rearview mirror feels like a deliberate act of defiance, leaving behind the suffocating chaos of Lior’s fractured reality. But with each mile, another truth asserts itself: I’m driving myself back to the place that nearly destroyed me, the pack that tore me apart. My eyes are heavy, my limbs scream for rest, but I keep pushing, the engine’s hum a monotonous mantra. The windows are down, the air heavy with the sweet, humid scent of dusk and pine, a stark reminder of the wildlands I’m slowly re-entering.Away from the city... finally.Earlier today, a desperate, almost primal urge for a clean slate, a shedding of the false skin Lior had adorned me with,

"Maybe a bottle of whiskey can help?" Cyan suggests like a devil in my head.Tempting, but I don't give in. I've made up my mind to combat my mother and Zara, take back my seat in the pack and find my true mate to make things right.To do that, I have to be sober and clear thinking, not the drunk that I wound up being. My body has recovered from the poisoning that my mother fed me with, but not entirely.I'm still lacking flesh and muscle, but who cares about that now? My position has been usurped. The last thing I need to care about is my preening.I’m wandering through the woods near town, seeking the elusive peace of solitude, but finding only the stupid temptation and agitation of Cyan. He’s been a storm inside me for months now, a tempest of frustration and longing. Ever since Tamsin left. Ever since Zara, with her smug authority and manufactured Luna aura, somehow managed to take over the pack, twisting everything into a grotesque imitation of order.And well, alcohol was our

The air outside the pack house is thick with a suffocating stillness, a silent witness to the turmoil raging within me. The crowd that had gathered before I went in have dispersed now.The confrontation with Zara has left me raw, exposed, and utterly furious. I stride away from the pack house, my steps deliberately quick, my jaw clenched. I can feel Nox behind me, recovering the confusion of my ignoring him, his gaze a burning weight on my back.“Tamsin, wait!” His voice cuts through the quiet, edged with a pain that makes Kira whimper in my head. "He sounds so lost, Tamsin. Please, just talk to him."But I push Kira’s plea away, burying it beneath layers of anger and shame. How can I face him? How can I look into his eyes, knowing Zara is carrying his child, knowing the depths of the manipulations that led us here? Knowing I played a major role in it all.The humiliation is a bitter taste on my tongue. It’s too much.I reach my car, the luxury vehicle now feeling like a burden,

The scent of Zara’s cloying perfume assaults my nostrils the moment I step into her — no, my — study. The room, once a sanctuary of quiet authority, now feels tainted, too soft, too… Zara. She’s perched on the edge of the large, ornate desk, not behind it, in a display of casual dominance. Her dress, a silky emerald green, drapes around her rounded stomach, emphasizing her pregnancy, though she's not too far gone.She looks elegant, yes, but there's a sultriness, a manipulative gleam in her eyes that makes my skin crawl.“What do you want, Nox?” she asks, her voice a low purr, smooth as the silk she’s wearing. She takes a deliberate sip from a delicate teacup, her gaze never leaving mine. It's a challenge, a taunt.“What happened when Tamsin came in yesterday?” I demand, my voice raw, urgency overriding any semblance of civility. “What did you say to her? Why did she leave so abruptly?” The image of Tamsin walking past me, her eyes empty of recognition, still burns in my mind.Zara

The rain has settled into a steady drumming against the cabin roof by the time we reach Silas’s place. The scent of damp earth and growing things is strong here, mixed with the faint, comforting aroma of herbs and aged wood that always clings to Silas. His cabin, unlike mine, feels lived-in, cozy, a true haven. Nox follows me closely, his presence a warm weight at my back, but he keeps his distance, waiting for me to lead.I push open the wooden door, and Silas, perched on a stool, meticulously grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle, looks up. His eyes, usually sharp and knowing, widen in surprise, then soften with a mixture of relief and something else—disappointment, perhaps. “Tamsin,” he breathes, setting down his tools with a gentle clatter. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re really back.” He stands, his gaze sweeping over me, then lingering on Nox, who has positioned himself just inside the doorway, like a protective shadow.“Silas,” I say, a small, weary smile touching my lips.