Page 27 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“I see.”

Does he? I doubt it. I doubt he has any idea what that night actually was, a mission gone sideways, a mistake I’ve been paying for ever since. He probably thinks I was just some omega playing games, who changed her mind at the last second.

But what does any of it matter anyway?

He’s a billionaire alpha. Part of a pack that probably has omegas throwing themselves at them constantly. I was just another face at a gala, another pair of lips in a long line of forgettable encounters. He probably barely remembers that night.

I straighten my spine and lift my chin.

“Well,” I say briskly, “that’s in the past. I’m here to do a job. I assume you want the same thing, to find whoever broke into your facility and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He looks at me for a moment without answering.

“Of course,” he says. “That’s exactly what we want.”

The door opens behind me, and I turn to see two men enter.

Jesus Christ. As if one insanely good-looking alpha wasn’t enough.

The first is tall, as tall as Finn if not taller, with dark hair that’s nearly black and green eyes so piercing they feel like they’re looking straight into your soul. He’s looking right at me, right into me, like he’s already dissecting everything I am and taking me apart.

He’s dressed casually, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, no tie, no jacket, but somehow that just makes him more intimidating. Like he doesn’t need a suit to signal to everyone that he’s in charge.

My pulse goes up a notch, and I resent being an omega more than ever.

This has to be the pack alpha.

My eyes shift to the second man, and my breath hitches.

He’s the tallest of them, with light brown hair that’s artfully messy, like he ran his hands through it one too many times. Gray eyes behind dark-framed glasses flick over me with quiet focus, assessing but not aggressive. He tilts his head slightly as he studies me, and there’s something almost restrained in the way he holds himself. He doesn’t crowd the space the way the other one does.

The three of them stand there, arranged in a loose triangle that probably isn’t intentional but speaks to years of instinctive pack dynamics, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back.

It’s like God made three perfect men and thought, sure, that seems reasonable. Might as well make them obscenely rich while we’re at it. Give them a billion-dollar company and stupidly chiseled jawlines. Why the hell not.

I hate them on principle.

“You must be Sophie.” The dark-haired one speaks first. He doesn’t offer his hand. “I’m Max Cavill. Griffin speaks highly of you.”

“I hope to live up to his recommendation.”

“I’m Ethan.” The one with glasses steps forward, his voice warmer than Max’s. “Welcome to Synthera. I understand you’ll be helping us with our security issue.”

“That’s the plan.” I look between the three of them.

“Why don’t we sit?” Ethan gestures toward the leather seating area near the windows. “We have a lot to cover.”

We settle into the seats, the three alphas on one couch, me alone on the other. It feels like a job interview. Or an interrogation.

I reach into my bag and pull out a tablet. “I’ll need full profiles on all your employees, access levels, any performance issues or personal conflicts. I’ll also need access to your security footage from the past month, not just the night of the break-in.”

“Griffin mentioned you were direct,” Max says.

“I don’t see the point in wasting time.”

“Good. Neither do we.” Max leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Someone got into our facility, disabled our climate control, and nearly destroyed years of very sensitive research.”

What, temperature-regulated dildos? I keep my expression neutral.