I stormed out of the penthouse, the slap still ringing in my ears like a gunshot. My palm stung, but the satisfaction was short-lived. Devon didn't even flinch—just stood there, that cool, infuriating smirk frozen on his face, grey eyes glittering with something dark and hungry.
The elevator doors that always took me to his office closed on his voice, low and amused.
"Run all you want, princess. You'll come back."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because the worst part? My thighs were shaking, and it wasn't from anger.
Two days later, every Omega in the pack was ordered to the main hall for a "special address." Mandatory. No excuses. I walked in with Brielle, shoulders squared, dressed in a cutton skimpy dress with very slim sleeves and clevage out, telling myself I could handle seeing him again. I was wrong.
He was already on the stage.
