Page 42 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

I wonder what she would have done to me if I had been the right guy.

The thought sends a chill down my spine. And yet somehow, it only makes her more interesting.

Which is fucked up.

I try to shake it off, but I can’t.

It seems absolutely insane that the woman who accidentally targeted me at a charity gala a couple of weeks ago turns out to be the same woman Sentinel assigns to investigate our security breach.

The moment I saw her walk into Max’s office yesterday, it was like a punch to the gut. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. Stress and sleep deprivation finally catching up with me. But no, Sophie was real. As real as an undercover agent can be, anyway, when her entire existence is built on playing roles.

That’s the part that irks me most.

She must have done this a hundred times. With a hundred different alphas. The flirtatious conversation, the lingering glances, the kiss that feels like the start of something real. All of them, I have no doubt, fell for it completely.

Just like I did.

I was just another mark. Another name on a list of targets she’s manipulated and discarded. And I hate that it bothers me at all.

Because it means the kiss meant nothing to her. The conversation we had about books, about finding something real, about feeling insignificant under the stars. None of it was genuine. She was playing a part, reading from a script, telling me exactly what I wanted to hear.

And I bought every word like a lovesick idiot.

That annoys the hell out of me. It also makes me angry at myself for falling for it so easily. I’m not some naive kid who’s never been around women. I’m Finn Preston, CMO of a billion-dollar company, part of one of the most sought-after packs in the country.

But this one woman, this one infuriating, deceptive, impossibly beautiful woman, made me feel like I was special. Like our connection was unique.

What a fucking joke.

I check my watch. Five minutes until the meeting in Max’s office.

When I look up again, Sophie is gone. Her desk is empty, Celine already turning back to her own work.

I push myself up from my chair and head for Max’s office.

Max and Ethan are already there when I arrive. Max is behind his desk, reviewing something on his laptop. Ethan is in one of the leather chairs facing him, legs crossed, looking relaxed in that quiet, watchful way of his.

“Finn.” Max nods without looking up. “Close the door behind you.”

I’m about to when Sophie appears in the doorway.

Up close, I can see her blouse is silk, catching the light every time she moves. Fastened primly to the throat, like some kind of Victorian governess. And for one long moment I imagine undoing those buttons. One by one. Slowly. Watching the fabric fall away to reveal⁠—

Fuck. Stop.

I force my gaze away, but it lands on her hair instead. Down today, falling in soft waves around her face. Just like that night at the gala. Is she doing this on purpose? Trying to remind me of what I can’t have?

She moves past me to take a seat, and as she does, I catch a whiff of her scent.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly. There’s something there, faint and clean, like fresh linen. Nothing like the intoxicating scent I caught traces of that night on the terrace, rain and crushed rose petals that made my head spin.

I close the door and take my position behind the couch opposite her, standing while Max and Ethan sit. From here, I have a clear view of her face.

Those eyes. Fuck. Those eyes will be the death of me.

I clear my throat, as if that will somehow clear the thoughts crowding my head.