The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 330

Sally follows a step behind me, fingers moving on her tablet, eyes sharp.

“Destination still not disclosed,” she murmurs.

“Noted,” I reply.

We reach the junction where the corridor splits toward the lifts and the stairwell, and without discussion the officers angle toward the lifts.

“No,” I say.

The lead officer stops. “Ma’am.”

“Stairs,” I repeat calmly. “You said protective reassignment. Isolation contradicts that.”

He hesitates, and I see the calculation happen again, the brief weighing of obedience versus complication.

“Stairs,” he orders finally.

We descend slowly, the sound of boots echoing against concrete, and I focus on the mundane rhythm of movement, step after step, because grounding keeps panic from becoming spectacle.

Halfway down, Ben glances back at me. “They’re trying to pull me out of your orbit.”

“Yes,” I reply. “And they think distance equals control.”

He almost smiles at that, but it fades quickly.

At the bottom landing, the officers stop again, and the lead one lifts his wrist, listening to a silent update that tightens his expression.

“Change of plan,” he says. “Vehicle is waiting.”

“That was not cleared,” Sally says immediately.

“It is now,” he replies.

I step closer. “Where.”

“Off site.”

“No,” I say, and the word lands clean and immovable.

The officer exhales sharply. “Ma’am, please.”

“You will keep him on compound,” I continue evenly, “or you will name the authority that overrides my standing jurisdiction.”

He looks at me, really looks, and for a moment I think he might push, but then his comm chirps again, and whatever he hears makes his shoulders drop a fraction.

“On site accommodation,” he says finally. “Temporary.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

Ben meets my gaze. “This is containment.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why we’re letting them show it.”

They move again, redirecting toward a secured wing I recognize immediately, not because I have used it, but because I have deliberately avoided it, auxiliary housing repurposed so many times it has become a legal grey space.

When they stop outside the door, the officer finally looks uncomfortable.

“This will be logged,” he says.

“It already is,” Sally replies.

Ben turns to me then, fully, and the officers give him just enough space to do it without touching, which tells me they know they are being watched.

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