Torin Pov

Of course he had to appear before me now. I know that pink‑haired devil of destruction is planning something really bad, I can feel it in my blood. The way she looked at me earlier was the look of someone who has already won, someone who knows the game is rigged in her favor.

"Mr. Spade, are you still there?" Masintosh asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

"Oh, I’m still here," I reply with a small laugh, forcing myself back into the moment.

Masintosh just nods, smiling. That smile. I’m really growing to hate it with a passion. It’s too perfect, that smile is something you’d see just before you do, it’s like a mask for him that he never takes off.

"Umm... can I just have five minutes? I have something to do," I say, trying to peek past his shoulder, searching for the faint glimmer of pink hair. It should be easy to spot, but he leans sideways, deliberately blocking my view, his damn smiling face filling my vision.

No," he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I want to meet your pack, the one you spoke so highly about." His eyes move across my pack, assessing each of them like pieces on a chessboard that he will play with later. "Introduce me, please."

I nod, wanting to get this over with. "This one right here is my second, Oril."

I take a couple of steps toward Oril, who nervously looks up from his plate at the sound of his name. "Hi," he greets, wiping cream from the corner of his mouth. Goodness, this is embarrassing.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you in person," Masintosh says smoothly. "I was quite the fan of your music when I was at university."

Seriously? Someone still remembers Oril used to sing? That’s surprising. He only released music in high school and stopped right before graduation. If this guy was in university when Oril was in high school, he must be really old, but he doesn’t look old at all. Goodness, did I really sign a forever‑binding contract with people I know nothing about? Maybe he was one of those late listeners who only discovered Oril’s music long after the fall.

"Thank... you," Oril stammers, his eyes glowing in disbelief and amazement at being acknowledged. Great. This guy has just reignited Oril’s spark for music. That I will have to diminish later.

"This is Keion and Oracle," I say quickly, moving on before Masintosh can encourage Oril any further. Kei and Oracle greet him with simple nods, and he returns them all the same.

"This is Augustus," I continue, gesturing toward him.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am a huge fan of you and your team," Masintosh says. That has to be nonsense. No way this guy watches hockey, let alone being a fan of Augi of all people.

"And then this one is Walter, our omega," I say finally, arriving at Walter.

"It is great to finally put a face to the name. I have heard so much about you," Masintosh says, offering Walter an even brighter smile than the one he gave me.

"Oh, no need to be so kind. How did you hear of me? You don’t seem to be from here. I don’t think my name has much outside the continent," Walter says, laughing, clearly proud but trying to play it down.

"If I were to tell you how hearing your name—and your pack members’ names—has become a common occurrence in my circles, I would be lying. And I don’t like lying when it’s not needed," Masintosh replies smoothly. Then, he pulls out a hard candy from his pocket, it’s exactly the same as the one he gave me. "Sweet. It’s sugar‑free." He hands it to a stunned Walter.

"Oh... thank... you?" Walter stammers awkwardly, staring at the candy in his hand.

By the corner of my eye, in the distance, I catch the faint glimmer of Arabella’s pink hair and my pulse quickens. This is my chance. While they are busy talking about sweets, I’ll get Lorali back in my line of sight.

I carefully, without being detected, slip into the crowd, weaving between bodies, dodging shoulders and skirts, my eyes scanning for that untrustworthy pink‑haired devil. And then—there she is. Arabella. She stands with Vanya beside her, both of them looking far too composed, as if they’re up to no good. Lorali is nowhere to be seen with them.

"Where is Lorali?" I demand, grasping Arabella’s wrist. Her eyes travel up and down my frame before she yanks her hand away, her sneer sharp enough to cut.

"How am I supposed to know where your mate is?" she answers back, her voice dripping with venom.

"What do you mean? You left with her. You said, ’Us Alma omegas need to catch up.’" My words spill out, my tone rising with accusation.

Arabella mirrors my confusion, her brows furrowing, and even Vanya looks baffled. "I have not spoken to you this entire night," Arabella replies, her tone firm, her expression annoyed. "When would I have said that?"

"You took my omega," I snap, my voice trembling with rage. Is this girl trying to gaslight me?

1

Arabella tilts her head, her lips curling. "Oh, I see. You’re crazy. All those hours in the office must have made you lose your mind."

"I’m not crazy. Where is Lorali?" My voice cracks, desperation bleeding through.

"I don’t know! I told you, I haven’t spoken to her this entire night. You’ve been hogging her."

"Lies. I saw you, you spoke to her right in front of me."

"Mr. Spade," Arabella says, her tone mocking, "perhaps instead of harassing me, you could actually go looking for your omega. Because I don’t know where she is."

Oh, she’s actually trying to gaslight me. What is her game plan here? Deny knowing or seeing Lorali forever? How far can that take her?

"Ms. Waterfront, please," I say, turning to Vanya, my patience nearing its end. "Inform Mrs. Masintosh that she was, in fact, with Lorali."

Vanya’s expression hardens and her lip curves looking at me like I’m crazy. "Mr. Spade, please seek help. Pretending that something which never happened is real is not healthy. I will pray to the goddess to grant you a speedy recovery."

With that, she takes Arabella by the hand, and together they walk away quickly. A crowd forms around them almost instantly of people eager to speak to Vanya, to get a picture or to bask in her presence. The press of bodies makes it impossible for me to follow them.

I stand frozen, my breath shallow, my thoughts spiraling. Honestly, what just happened? And how on earth did it happen? How the fuck did it happen?

My hand rises to my forehead, pressing hard, as though I can force clarity into my mind. But all I feel is the sting of confusion, the burn of frustration, and the gnawing suspicion that Arabella is playing a game I cannot yet see the rules of.

I really just got bested by an Omega, one with pink hair at that!