Page 136 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

The words hit somewhere deep in my chest, in a place I don’t let people reach.

“What are they working on?” I ask. “The compound—what does it actually do? All I’ve seen are the adverse event logs. All I know is that omegas are getting hurt.”

Marcia regards me for a long moment, as if she’s deciding how much to tell me.

“How long have you been on suppressants, dear?”

The question catches me off guard. “Over a decade.”

She just nods, slowly, as if I’ve confirmed something she already suspected.

“So you know what it’s like. The daily pill. The constant vigilance. Knowing that one missed dose, one bad batch, and your scent breaks through, your heats come back, and suddenly you’re a target for every alpha in the room.” She holds my gaze. “Current suppressants hide and mute what you are. They don’t change it. Underneath the chemicals, you’re still an omega. Still one mistake away from being in danger.”

I don’t respond. She’s describing my life—every single day of the last decade.

“What they’re developing here isn’t a better suppressant.” Marcia leans forward slightly. “It’s something that would give an omega the choice to erase her designation completely. The scent and the heats—not masked. Gone. As if you were never an omega at all.”

I stare at her. My tea is untouched, cooling in my hands, and I’ve forgotten it exists.

“That’s not possible,” I hear myself say.

“They’ve spent twelve years proving otherwise.”

Twelve years. The number echoes in my head, colliding with everything I thought I knew about Synthera and the men I’ve been working alongside for weeks. Hidden all this time behind a company that manufactures heat management tools and knotting devices.

I’ve spent more than a decade tethered to a fragile chemical leash. This would cut it completely. For once, being an omega wouldn’t make me a target.

It would mean freedom. Real, permanent, irreversible freedom.

“Why would they do that?” The question comes out barely above a whisper. “They’re alphas. A compound like that would change everything. The entire power structure. Why would three alphas spend years building something that takes away their own advantage?”

Marcia picks up her tea again and takes a slow sip. When she sets it down, her expression is softer, tinged with something that looks almost fond.

“You’d have to ask them that,” she says. “But I can tell you what I’ve seen.” She settles deeper into her chair. “I’ve been at Elaine House for eight years. When I arrived, this place was barely standing. Leaking roof, a heating system that gave out every winter. They were talking about closing the doors.”

“What happened?”

“Pack Cavill happened.” A small smile. “They didn’t just donate money, Sophie. They rebuilt this place from the ground up. Then they hired a counselor and a nurse and set up a fund that covers housing, medical care, and job training.”

I stare at her.

Pack Cavill did all of this?

Marcia takes another sip of tea. “And this isn’t the only one. There are Elaine Houses in four other cities.”

Everything in me stops.

Four other cities.

I think about the shelter I stayed in almost eleven years ago.

“Are they all connected?”

“They are.”

My fingers tighten around the cup.

“Pack Cavill funds all of them?”