Chapter 2

Dagny Myers POV:

I stepped off the top of the stairs, walked down the quiet hallway into the empty second-floor guest room, and stood in the dark as pale moonlight stretched my shadow across the carpet.

Pushing my suitcase into the corner by the wall, I left the zippers locked; this house was no longer my home, and there was no point unpacking.

I walked over to the vanity mirror, staring at the pale Omega looking back at me as my fingertips traced the cold silver edge of my Neck Cuff.

I have never known what I smell like.

No Omega does. The receptors adapt to their own signal — the textbooks call it self-blindness, and every Omega's first honest description of her own scent comes out of somebody else's mouth.

Mine came from a Registry clerk reading off a form when I was sixteen: white tea, cold linen, a little green at the edges.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I pulled out my phone and looked at the red circle around tomorrow's date on the calendar—my twenty-sixth birthday.

I reached into my handbag and took out a small velvet box holding the custom platinum cufflinks I had ordered for Frazier months ago.

After staring at the velvet box for a long moment, I walked to the corner and dropped it straight into the trash can with a dull thud.

The next evening, I sat alone at the far end of the long dining table downstairs, a small strawberry cake with a single unlit candle sitting on the porcelain plate in front of me.

The dining hall was dead silent except for the antique grandfather clock ticking against the wall.

My throat felt dry, so I stood up and walked toward the kitchen for a glass of water, slowing my steps as I passed the half-open door of the family sitting room.

Grayce sat on the thick rug stacking wooden blocks, tilting her head up to look at Charlsie.

"Auntie Charlsie, I wish you were my real mom," Grayce said in a sweet, clingy voice. "Your pheromone scent smells like warm peaches, and I love it."

She could not actually smell it. Five years old, gland shut, no signature of her own — what Grayce had was a child's ordinary nose and a word she had heard adults use.

She loved the peaches because Charlsie had told her, forty times, that she smelled like peaches.

That is how a five-year-old learns to prefer one person's air to another's: somebody hands her the vocabulary.

Charlsie stroked Grayce's hair and let out a soft laugh.

"Good girl, Grayce. Auntie Charlsie will always stay right here with you."

Grayce's small face twisted with distaste as she tossed a block aside.

"Mom is the worst. She always forces me to eat green vegetables, bans candy, and makes the doctor check my gland schedule. Plus, she never smells nice—she's always cold and boring."

She never smells nice. She smells like nothing.

Standing outside in the corridor, I felt as if someone had struck me hard across the face, my fingernails digging into the wooden doorframe to keep my knees from buckling.

I took a slow, freezing breath, turned around, and walked back to my seat at the dining table just as heavy footsteps echoed from the front foyer.

Frazier walked into the dining room wearing a dark bespoke suit, unbuttoned his jacket with one hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

I looked up at him, forcing my voice to stay flat.

"Dinner is ready. Do you want to eat now?"

Frazier stopped a few feet away, his cold gaze sweeping over the small strawberry cake with open impatience.

"Dagny, I don't have time to play house with you tonight."

My fingers tightened around my water glass until ripples shook the surface.

"You gave me your word we would have dinner tonight. Are you breaking it again?"

Frazier looked down at me, his S-class Alpha aura pressing heavy and cold across the table.

"Charlsie's car had a minor scrape on the way back from town, and she's shaken up. Grayce is crying to go check on her at the city hospital, so I'm taking them into town."

Staring at his unapologetic face, a sharp laugh almost tore from my throat.

"Charlsie gets a scratch on her bumper and needs your company, so what about my birthday?"

Frazier let out a cold scoff, his eyes narrowing with disdain.

"Dagny, you're a grown adult. Stop throwing jealous tantrums over every little thing like a child begging for candy."

He turned his back on me without waiting for an answer, striding into the sitting room to scoop Grayce up into his arms.

Charlsie followed right behind him, pausing by the dining room entrance to give me an apologetic smile that did not reach her gleaming eyes.

"I'm so sorry to ruin your birthday dinner, Dagny. Frazier just gets way too nervous whenever anything happens to us."

Her collar was still at Level I. She was standing in my dining room, in my house, with her gland open, broadcasting warm peaches at my husband's daughter, and every Omega in the room knew exactly what she was doing.

Betas, of course, would only have seen a kind woman with a nice smile.

That was the thing about Betas. They could not smell the cedar rolling off my husband.They could not smell my pain in the entryway.

I watched the three of them walk out together, the heavy oak front doors slamming shut and dropping the manor back into silence.

Sitting alone at the table, I watched the single candle burn down until red wax dripped onto the strawberries and hardened into ugly lumps.

I picked up the silver cake server, slid it under the cake, and scraped the entire thing straight into the trash bin beside the table.

Standing up, I walked to the entryway Scent Buffer Room, took my coat off the rack with steady hands, and headed back upstairs to the guest room.

I pulled a printed legal document from the bottom of my handbag—the Bond Severance and Separation Agreement I had drafted with my lawyers weeks ago, waiving all claims to Hodges assets and sole custody.

Uncapping my fountain pen, I signed "Dagny Myers" on the final page, the nib scratching sharply against the crisp paper.

I slid the signed agreement into an unmarked kraft envelope and sealed the flap with red wax.

Picking up my unopened suitcase, I walked out of the guest room, pulled the door shut, and went down the stairs to Frazier's first-floor study.

I walked up to his wide mahogany desk and placed the kraft envelope dead center on the polished wood so he would see it the moment he returned.