The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 305

I wake before my alarm, the kind of early that feels deliberate rather than accidental, like my body has already decided the day is going to demand more than I’m willing to give it. The room is still dark, the air cool against my skin, and for a moment I stay where I am, staring at the ceiling and listening to my breathing while my wolf shifts restlessly beneath the surface, unsettled in a way that has nothing to do with threat and everything to do with anticipation.

This isn’t fear.

It’s pressure.

Bathroom first, because routine keeps me from thinking too far ahead. I shower quickly, scrubbing my hair and skin with more force than necessary, letting the heat ground me while my mind runs through fragments of yesterday that refuse to settle. I brush my teeth too hard again, rinse, then force myself to slow down, because today doesn’t need me bleeding before it even starts.

When I get dressed, I choose neutral colors, nothing that reads as defensive or soft, clothes that say I belong in rooms where decisions get made without inviting commentary about how I look while I’m making them. I pull my hair back tightly, check my reflection once, then turn away before I can start reading things into it.

The tablet lights up as soon as I pick it up.

Council summons.

Formal.

Immediate.

I stare at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary, then set it down and exhale slowly through my nose, because I knew this was coming the moment the messages started bypassing protocol, and pretending otherwise won’t make it easier to walk into.

In the kitchen, Ben is already there, coffee steaming in his mug, posture alert in a way that tells me he’s been awake longer than I have.

“They called it,” he says quietly.

“Yes.”

“How bad.”

“Bad enough that they want me in the room instead of letting it play out on paper.”

He nods once, jaw tight. “That means they’re worried.”

“That means they’re losing control of the narrative,” I correct.

I force myself to eat something small, toast and protein, even though my stomach doesn’t want it, because skipping meals always comes back to bite me later, and today I need my body cooperating even if my instincts are already pacing.

The walk to the council wing feels longer than usual, the corridors too quiet, the air carrying that strange sense of containment that settles when people are trying very hard not to talk about the same thing out loud. Guards nod as I pass, respectful but watchful, and I catch fragments of conversation cutting off as I approach, the silence following me like a wake.

The chamber doors close behind me with a soft finality that makes my shoulders tense despite myself.

They’re already seated.

All of them.

Faces arranged into expressions of calm concern and controlled neutrality, the kind that pretends this is a procedural discussion instead of a reckoning. I take my seat without greeting anyone, resting my hands lightly on the table and keeping my posture relaxed, because tension reads as guilt in rooms like this.

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