Page 102 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

The tightness in my chest loosens. Or tightens differently. I can’t tell.

“Plus,” Evie adds, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur, “I think they like their variety.”

“Variety?”

“You know.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Different women. They go out pretty regularly, there’s a club downtown they like. And it’s never the same person twice. At least not from what I’ve heard.” She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Can’t really blame them, can you? When you have that many options, why limit yourself?”

“Good for them, honestly,” I say, and I make it come out light and a little amused, the voice of a woman who finds all of this entertaining and not remotely personal.

Evie laughs, delighted. “Exactly. So just enjoy the view, Sophie. That’s what I do.” She grins. “It’s one of the best perks of the job.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Underneath, something has gone quiet and cold.

They like their variety.

I picture it before I can stop myself. Finn at some club, that warm smile aimed at a woman who isn’t me, those dimples deployed like weapons. Max in a darkened booth, his hand on someone’s jaw, that controlled intensity focused on someone beautiful and willing and uncomplicated. Ethan leaning close to someone, his voice low, explaining something with that quiet focus that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

Stop.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. They’re my clients. That’s all they are. That’s all they’ll ever be.

Then why does your chest feel like this?

“I should get going,” I say, standing. “Long day.”

“Of course.” Evie jumps up, all sunshine again. “I’ve got so much to show you tomorrow. The filing system alone will take an hour. And wait until you see how Dr. Yoon organizes her sample logs. It’s a work of art. Or a war crime. Honestly, it could go either way.”

I rinse my mug, and I do what I always do. I focus on the only thing that matters: finding the mole.

CHAPTER 27

Sophie

Diana finds me at my borrowed workstation the next morning, a tablet tucked under her arm and something close to excitement in her eyes.

“Change of plans,” she says. “I need an extra pair of hands in the clinical wing this morning. We’re doing user trials. We run weekly feedback sessions with our volunteer panel—omegas who test our products and report on efficacy, comfort, side effects, that sort of thing.” She smiles, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s actually really exciting stuff. You’ll see.”

“I’d love to,” I say. “Lead the way.”

I follow her through two badge-controlled doors and a corridor I haven’t walked before. The clinical wing is in the east section of the fourth floor—separate access logs and the kind of infrastructure that tells me Synthera takes its trial protocols seriously. Diana badges us through the final door and holds it open for me.

I step through.

The room is very bright, with white walls and observation glass along one side, a row of partitioned stations with medical-grade reclining chairs and monitoring equipment. And in the chairs—in the stations—there are omegas.

Six of them. Women, mostly, and one man. Sitting in clinical chairs with wires attached to monitoring pads on their wrists and temples, surrounded by equipment and observation glass and people in lab coats with clipboards.

Omegas being observed and tested on.

The fury hits me like a wall of cold water, radiating from my chest outward until my jaw locks and I can feel the muscles in my neck pulling taut. Because I’ve seen this before. In a facility in Baton Rouge that I still can’t think about without my hands shaking.

I know what it looks like when omegas are treated as test subjects. I know what it smells like. I know⁠—

I take a deep breath, forcing my shoulders down, and make myself take a better look.

The omega nearest me—a woman in her thirties with short red hair and paint-stained jeans—is reclined in her chair with a coffee cup balanced on her knee, the monitoring pads stuck to her wrist with the casual indifference of someone who’s done this many times before, and she’s laughing at something the woman in the next chair said.