Page 21 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“I promise it won’t happen again.”

“We need more than a promise.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Griffin cuts me off by sliding a folder across the table toward me.

“We’re putting you on another mission. Ever heard of Pack Cavill?”

I frown, searching my memory. The name is vaguely familiar, glossy magazine covers, gossip columns, the kind of alphas who get photographed at society events and yacht parties. “What, those billionaire playboy alphas who run that company that makes sex toys?”

Declan snorts out a laugh. “Yep, that’s them.”

“Synthera produces medical devices for heat and rut management,” Nolan clarifies, though his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Suppressants. Regulation tools. It’s legitimate pharmaceutical work.”

“Someone broke into their facility a couple of days ago,” Griffin continues. “They need to find out who’s behind it and why. They’ve hired us to investigate.”

A cold dread settles in my stomach.

“You seriously can’t mean me.”

“We seriously mean you.”

“You can’t put me on that mission.” I stare at him, incredulous. “So now I’m supposed to figure out who’s breaking into some alpha’s office to steal their vibrators? This is beneath me, Griffin. I’m your best agent⁠—”

“Which is exactly why you’re on leave.” Griffin’s voice goes flat. “You’re burned out, Sophie. You’ve been running missions back-to-back for a decade without so much as a weekend off. You made a mistake that could have gotten you killed, and you’re standing here arguing with me about it instead of asking yourself why it happened.” He holds my gaze, unflinching. “This is non-negotiable. Either you take this assignment and prove you can follow orders again, or you’re off active duty for the next year.”

“A year?”

“You haven’t taken a break in ten years. Consider it mandatory recovery time.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep it level. “I’m the best operative you have, and you’re putting me on glorified security guard duty?”

Declan snorts again. Nolan actually laughs, a short, rough sound that earns him a sharp look from Griffin.

“Pack Cavill is willing to pay a significant amount to solve this,” Griffin says, ignoring them both. “Money we need to fund operations here. And you’re perfectly suited for the job.”

“How?”

“You’ll go undercover as their personal assistant. Live in the staff quarters on the estate. Observe their employees, check for listening devices, monitor communications. Find out who’s leaking information and to whom.”

“A personal assistant.” I repeat it slowly, feeling slightly sick. “You want me to be a personal assistant.”

Griffin looks back at me, unmoved. “I want you to find the mole.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes to identify the mole. Once you do, you’re back on active rotation.”

I let out a slow breath, running through my options. Refuse and spend a year climbing the walls of my apartment, going slowly insane. Accept and spend God knows how long playing assistant to three arrogant billionaire alphas who probably think omegas exist to fetch their coffee.

Neither option is appealing. But at least one of them ends with me back in the field.

I try to picture Pack Cavill. I only vaguely remember what they look like. Three alphas, obscenely wealthy, disgustingly handsome. The kind who smile for cameras and probably have omegas throwing themselves at their feet.

Arrogant twats, the lot of them.

“Fine.” I hear myself say it before I’ve fully decided. “When do I start?”

“In two days.” Griffin’s expression is unreadable, but I could swear I see the ghost of satisfaction in his eyes. “They want this resolved quickly, and so do we. Report to the Synthera estate at nine AM. Your cover identity has already been established. You’re Sophie Dysart, a temp from an executive staffing agency.”