The school forum exploded before first period even started.
I walked through the double doors of the main hall, and a wall of glowing screens greeted me. Every student held a phone. Every screen played the exact same three-second loop.
Me, falling down the stairs. Kyle catching me. Our lips crashing together.
"There she is," a junior muttered, pointing a manicured finger at my chest.
"Shameless," another girl whispered loudly. "Did you read the new thread? Someone dug up her middle school records. They say she faked a heat cycle just to get close to an Alpha in eighth grade."
"That is a complete lie!" I yelled at the group.
They just laughed and turned their backs.
"Hey, homewrecker," a heavy-set Beta sneered, stepping directly into my path. "I read your file online. Kicked out of two packs already?"
"Move," I told him, keeping my chin high.
"Or what? You will throw yourself at me too?" He barked a laugh, looking over his shoulder at his friends. "Sorry, Iloen. I prefer my Omegas without a criminal record."
"I prefer my Betas with a working brain," I replied. "Now get out of my way."
He scowled and shoved his shoulder into mine as I passed. I stumbled against the lockers, my books rattling in my bag.
A sharp voice echoed from the far end of the hallway, silencing the whispers.
"I want the video deleted from the servers immediately."
Kyle Mercer stood by the trophy display. A crowd of eager students and self-appointed school reporters surrounded him. He scrubbed his hands vigorously with a sanitizing wipe, his face twisted in absolute disgust.
"Alpha Kyle, is it true you and Iloen have a secret arrangement?" a sophomore with a notepad asked.
"Do I look insane?" Kyle snapped. He tossed the used wipe into a nearby trash can and pulled out a fresh one. "I have no arrangement with that stray. I refuse to even breathe the same air as her."
"But you caught her," the sophomore pressed.
"It was a reflex." Kyle’s voice turned to ice. "A body falls, you put your arms out. It means nothing. The second I realized who it was, I dropped her."
"What about the kiss?"
"An assault," Kyle corrected instantly. "She ambushed me. It was repulsive. I already scheduled a full infectious disease screening for this afternoon."
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
I stood frozen by the lockers, my nails digging into my palms.
Kyle played the victim perfectly. He painted me as the desperate, dirty Omega clinging to his status. He told them exactly what they wanted to hear.
But his body language told a completely different story.
He was looking right at me.
Despite his cruel words, his gray eyes were locked onto my face. He tried to look away. He turned his head toward the reporter, but a second later, his gaze snapped right back to me.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He gripped the edge of the trophy case, his knuckles turning stark white against the glass.
The fated mate bond was punishing him.
He wanted to hate me. He wanted to banish me from his sight. But the magic tethering us together demanded his attention. It forced his eyes to track my every movement.
He was drowning in it, and no one else noticed.
"She is a stalker," Kyle told the crowd, his voice straining slightly. "A desperate, scheming Omega trying to trap an Alpha. I want a restraining order filed by third period."
"Will you press charges?" a girl asked.
"If she comes within fifty feet of me, report her to the headmaster," Kyle answered, ignoring the question.
He finally managed to rip his gaze away from me. He marched down the opposite corridor, his posture rigid, his fists balled tightly at his sides.
The crowd dispersed, leaving me alone against the cold metal lockers.
"Rough morning, Iloen?"
Vivian Thorne stepped into my line of sight. She wore a pristine white sweater and a halo of fake sympathy. Two of her loyal followers flanked her, phones already recording.
"What do you want, Vivian?" I asked.
"I want to help," she said softly.
She stepped closer, projecting her voice so the lingering students could hear every word.
"We all know you made a terrible mistake today," Vivian continued. "Throwing yourself at Kyle was desperate. It shows a severe lack of morals. But I believe in second chances."
"Is that right?" I crossed my arms.
"Yes." Vivian held out a glossy red flyer. "The Christmas musical needs a stagehand. It involves sweeping the stage, moving heavy props, and painting backgrounds in the dark. It is hard, dirty work. But if you do it, it will show the school you have some humility."
"You want me to sweep floors for your play."
"I want to clean up your reputation, sweetie," Vivian smiled, her eyes flashing with malice. "Take the job. Prove you aren't just a scheming, attention-starved Omega."
A small crowd gathered again, watching the exchange. Vivian played the gentle, forgiving princess to perfection. Everyone looked at me, waiting for me to bow my head and accept her charity.
I stared at the flyer. Then, I let out a loud, sharp laugh.
Vivian’s smile dropped instantly. "What is so funny?"
"You," I said. I stepped right into her personal space, ignoring the cameras. "You actually think handing me a broom makes you a saint."
"I am trying to save you from yourself!"
"You are trying to secure a photo op," I shot back. "You cornered me in the locker room last week and poured bleach on my gym clothes. You told Chloe to push me down those stairs. Now you want me to paint props for you?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Vivian gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.
"Drop the act. We both know exactly who you are." I slapped the flyer out of her hand. The glossy paper fluttered to the linoleum floor. "Keep your fake charity. I refuse to be your prop."
Vivian’s eyes narrowed into terrifying slits. The sweet facade vanished entirely.
"You are going to regret that," she hissed, leaning in close so only I could hear. "By tomorrow, you will be begging to scrub my floors."
"I doubt it."
I shoved past her followers and marched down the hallway. My heart hammered against my ribs. The adrenaline pushed me forward, but the fated mate bond pulled me backward.
It dragged my attention toward the west wing. Toward Kyle.
I turned the corner, desperate to escape the crowded halls.
A hand shot out from the shadows of an empty alcove.
Fingers wrapped around my wrist like a steel vise. The electric shock of the mate bond flared instantly, burning up my arm and seizing my chest.
I slammed back against the brick wall.
Kyle Mercer loomed over me.
His breathing was ragged. His gray eyes were completely blown out, the pupils swallowing the irises. He looked furious, feral, and completely out of control.
"I told you to stay away from me," he growled.
"You grabbed me!" I yelled, trying to yank my arm free.
His grip only tightened. He leaned down, his face inches from my neck. He inhaled sharply, his chest expanding against mine.
"Meet me behind the old library at midnight," Kyle whispered, his voice vibrating with a dangerous edge. "Or I will make sure you are expelled by morning."
Before I could answer, he released me and vanished down the corridor, leaving me gasping for air.
Midnight.
What was he planning to do to me in the dark?
