The accuracy of his assessment made my stomach churn. I could already imagine the headlines, the whispered conversations, the way people would look at me—and at them. Poor little omega, manipulated by older alphas. It was exactly the kind of story that would spread like wildfire.
"This is my fault," I whispered. "I should have known she wouldn't just let this go."
"Hey." Julian's voice was sharp enough to make me look up. "Don't you dare blame yourself for her actions. This is what she does—she twists everything good into something ugly."
"But if I hadn't left, if I'd just—"
"You'd be miserable and trapped," Nicolaus interrupted, his blue eyes looking into mine with hard eyes and tone leaving no room for argument. "And we'd never have found you. Your mother's vindictiveness is not your responsibility."
I wrapped my arms tighter around my knees, trying to hold myself together. "What do we do now?"
Julian's hand found mine again, squeezing gently. "We fight back.” He gave me a sharp grin, one that was filled with cold promises of pain.
"How?" My voice cracked slightly. "She has resources, connections. People who will do anything for the right price."
"So do we," Nicolaus said quietly. “We have not wanted to retaliate unless you asked but she is now messing with our lives. We won’t stand for it and our families will all be behind us, helping.”
I wanted to argue, to find some way this could be my fault so I could fix it, but the conviction in his voice stopped me.
"We need to get downstairs," Julian said gently, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Miles and Christopher are waiting, and we need to coordinate our response."
I nodded, though the thought of facing the others with this hanging over us made my chest tight. "Give me ten minutes to shower?"
"Of course." Nicolaus stood, his expression softening slightly. "Take your time. We'll be right outside."
As the bathroom door closed behind me, I leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing. The hot water helped wash away some of the anxiety I was feeling. I quickly dressed in a pair of shorts and a soft long sleeved shirt before making my way down the stairs barefoot.
The scent of lemon and garlic greeted me as I descended, a gentle reminder of the care these men showed even in crisis.Christopher was setting plates at the table while Miles and Nicolaus huddled over a laptop, speaking in low, urgent tones.
Julian appeared at my side, his hand finding the small of my back. "You okay?"
"No," I admitted quietly. "But I'm here."
Miles looked up first, his expression softening when he saw me. "There she is. Come sit, Lili. Food's ready."
The normalcy of the gesture—dinner together, as we did every night—felt like a lifeline I desperately needed to grasp. I slid into my usual chair, and Christopher immediately placed a plate of pasta in front of me, the creamy sauce steaming gently.
"Eat," he encouraged, his voice gentle but firm.
"I'm not hungry," I whispered, but took a small bite anyway, knowing they'd worry if I didn't at least try. The familiar flavors—normally so comforting—felt dull against my tongue.
Christopher sat beside me, his steady presence a silent anchor. "Small bites. You'll need your strength."
Miles joined us at the table, tablet in hand. "I've traced the source of the leak," he said without preamble. "It wasn't hard to follow the money."
"Who?" Julian demanded, his fork suspended midair.
"Your mother's personal assistant," Miles replied, looking directly at me. "Karen Charles. She's been working for your family for what, five years now?"
My stomach dropped. "Seven. She knows... everything." I set my fork down, my appetite completely gone. "She was there for all my medical appointments. She scheduled them, kept my schedule organized and made sure I was doing what my mother wanted me to be doing at all times.”
"She handled all of your personal correspondence," I continued, my voice growing smaller as the full scope of the betrayal sank in. "She knew about my heat cycles, mysuppressants, when I was struggling with the arranged matings my mother kept pushing for..." I trailed off, feeling nauseous.
Miles nodded grimly. "She's been shopping a detailed timeline to various outlets. Medical appointment schedules, your emotional state leading up to leaving, even transcripts of conversations she claims to have overheard between you and your parents."
"Transcripts?" Christopher's voice was dangerously quiet.
"She apparently recorded an argument with your mother," Miles continued, his jaw tight. "Nothing illegal—she was present for the conversations—but definitely unethical."
