Page 177 of The Rust in Her Hair

I love this room.

It’s all glass and green. Sunlight pours down through the domed ceiling onto rows of ferns and orchids and a lemon tree in a terracotta pot, and the air hangs warm and thick with soil and citrus. In the middle of it sits a little wrought iron table dressed in white linen. A plate of warmed bread waits at each setting. Cut flowers stand in a low crystal dish, and my mother's good silver is laid out for lunch.

And my father is sitting in one of the chairs.

I stop.

He looks up from his phone, and the sight of me barely registers before his eyes cut past me to my mother. "Are those men gone? The police."

"Gone," Lavinia says, crossing to her chair. "For now. They'll be back, I'm sure. This whole business is going to be a headache for weeks."

Father sets his phone down and starts to rise. "Then I'll leave you to your lunch. I've calls to⁠—"

"Sit down," I say firmly, and both of them go still and stare at me, because I don't think I've told either of them what to do in my entire life. "Please. I want to talk to both of you. Together. It won't take long."

My father’s brows pull together, but he does slowly lower himself back into the chair. My mother stands with one hand on the back of hers, chin tipped up, watching me.

I take a breath. "I'm mated," I say. "But not to one man." I hold my mother's eyes, then my father's, so neither of them can pretend they misheard. "I'm mated to a pack. Three alphas and a beta. They're mine and I'm theirs, and it's already done."

My mother’s eyes go wide and her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I swear the silence rings all around us.

My father's face goes blank, then he frowns, like he’s struggling to understand.

So I show them. I reach up and pull my collar down on one side, and then the other, baring my throat to both of my parents. Three imprinted marks stand out against my skin. Two on one side, Nico and Adrian, and one on the other, Mack.

My father comes up out of his chair so fast, it falls back. "You—" His face floods dark red and a vein stands out at his temple. "You filthy, ungrateful—. Do you have any idea what you've done to this family's name? To mine?"

Lavinia has gone white and rigid, one hand pressed flat to her pearls, and she looks at my throat like I've smeared myself in filth. "Cover yourself," she hisses, before rushing toward me. "God. Cover yourself before someone sees."

I take a quick step back, holding out one hand to stop her, and thankfully she does.

"Here's how this is going to go," I say, and I'm surprised how level I sound. "You're going to leave my mates alone. No more private investigators or demanding I come see you. You will leave my pack alone.” My voice rises, growing firmer. “You won't harass them, fire them, or destroy their careers, because if anything happens to one of my mates. If one of them loses a contract or gets a funny look from a cop." I let my words hang. "I'll go on every news station in this city that will have me. And I'll cry these pretty omega tears you hate so much, and I'll tell the whole world how my loving parents encouraged me to join a pack. How the great Aldric and Lavinia Van Houten are secret pack-lovers who placed their only daughter with four men themselves."

My father splutters. "That—that’s a lie! No one would believe⁠—"

"Wouldn't they?" I tilt my head. "A liberal omega, weeping on camera about how her once monogamous parents are finally ready to come out as progressive. And even if most people don’t believe it, I’m sure it’ll still make your stocks plummet."

Lavinia's lip curls. "You ungrateful little girl." Her voice comes out low and vicious. "We gave you everything. A name, a future, a good life, and you're throwing all of it away to be obstinate. To spite us." She lifts her chin. “This is it, child. Don't you dare come crawling back here when those men are finished using you. There will be no home to come back to."

The rage that's been simmering in my gut boils over.

"I would rather be their whore than your daughter." The words come out steady and clear, and I watch them land. "I would rather have dirt under my nails and rust in my hair for the rest of my life than ever look at either of you again."

Lavinia’s hand lifts, then swings so fast I don’t have time to process it, until she slaps me hard across the face.

The crack of it echoes off all the glass.

My cheek lights up hot, and my head turns with the force of it, and through the doors I feel my mates surge, three separate spikes of fury down our bond. I push back one steady pulse of my own and tell them to wait, that I've got this.

I turn my face back to her. And I smile.

"That," I say softly, "is the last time you will ever put your hands on me."

Her hand is still raised. Her breath is coming hard, and for the first time in my whole life I watch my mother look unsure of herself.

"The two of you are dead to me." I look between them, my mother with her hand in the air and my father gone purple in the face, and I feel zero grief. "I'd suggest you treat me the same way. Pretend I never existed. Because if you come for me or mine, you won't be dealing with your polite little omega daughter anymore." I hold Lavinia’s stare. "You'll be dealing with my pack. And they are not nearly as forgiving as I am."

I turn to my father one last time. He opens his mouth, and then he closes it, and he has nothing. All that money and all that rage, and there's not one thing left he can take from me.