Page 11 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

Oh. He thinks it’s hideous too.

“Beautiful,” I agree, deadpan.

The corner of his mouth twitches. Neither of us looks at the sculpture.

Up close, he’s striking. Sharp jaw, warm eyes, a mouth that curves like he finds everything quietly amusing. A face that is very easy to look at and trust.

“I’m Finn,” he says.

Finn. An interesting choice of nickname for Frederic, like he thinks it makes him seem harmless. More trustworthy. Whatever.

“I’m Sylvie.”

“Sylvie.” He says it slowly, like he’s savoring each syllable. His eyes haven’t left mine. Blue, I notice. Very blue. The kind of blue that makes you think of summer skies and swimming pools and other things that I know are meant to mess with a woman’s mind.

“So, Sylvie.” He shifts slightly, creating space between us that feels more respectful than distant. “Are you here alone, or did you come with friends?”

“Alone.”

The word lands exactly the way I want it to, like an invitation and a vulnerability all at once.

His smile widens, and that’s when I see the dimples.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Good,” he says quietly.

He’s beautiful. So beautiful that for one dangerous second, I almost forget my own name and every warning I’ve ever learned, and I’m no longer a trained operative on a mission, just an omega who’s been starving for touch for a decade.

But I know better.

I know so much fucking better.

“What about you?” I ask, letting my voice go soft and breathy. “Did you come alone?”

“Guilty as charged.” He glances around the ballroom with an expression of mild suffering. “Truth be told, this isn’t really my scene. But my packmates refused to come with me, and I suppose it’s a small sacrifice for a good cause.”

He’s good, really good, pretending to be humble and a bit self-deprecating, making himself seem approachable instead of intimidating.

Classic predator behavior.

“I know what you mean.” I smile like we’re sharing a secret. “These things can be a bit of a drag. But like you said, good cause.”

“If you weren’t here,” he asks suddenly, “what would you be doing right now?”

Sharpening my knives. Running combat drills. Practicing the chokehold that dropped an alpha twice my size last month.

“I don’t know.” I tilt my head, pretending to think. I bite my lower lip, slow, the way that always makes them look. “Maybe reading a book? What about you?”

That smile again. Those fucking dimples. “Same, actually. What are you reading right now?”

Twelve Ways to Incapacitate an Alpha Without Leaving Evidence.

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” I say instead. “I’m rereading it.”

“A classic.” His eyes light up with what looks like genuine pleasure. “It’s one of my favorites, actually. I must have read it a dozen times.” He pauses, his features softening into something almost wistful. “Everyone remembers Atticus, the big hero speeches. But the part that stays with me is Tom Robinson. He’s... I don’t know. I like the quiet dignity of him. The way he’s trying to hold onto himself in a world determined to strip that from him.”

I blink.