The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 332

The corridor outside is empty, too empty, and my wolf tracks every sound, every shift in pressure, every vibration through the floor, because this building has been my home long enough that I know when it is being used against itself.

We reach the junction where the service corridor branches off, and I stop there, not crossing the threshold, just standing where the cameras can see me clearly.

“Whoever is doing this,” I say quietly, not to the air but to the network, “you’re being recorded.”

Nothing happens.

Then the lights flicker once, not fully, just a fractional dip that makes my skin prickle, because that is not supposed to happen either.

Sally’s breath catches. “They just touched environmental controls.”

“Enough to say they can,” I reply.

Ben shifts his stance subtly, positioning himself half a step behind me, and I do not argue because protection does not always look like control.

My tablet vibrates again.

New message.

This time the sender field is not blank.

Internal user ID.

Redacted clearance.

You should have listened.

I lift the tablet so the camera can see it, my fingers steady despite the heat coiling under my ribs, and I feel my wolf settle deeper, calm and lethal.

“You’re proving my point,” I say aloud, my voice even and unraised.

Ben’s jaw tightens. “Savannah.”

“I’m not talking to them,” I reply quietly. “I’m talking to everyone else watching.”

Sally’s tablet pings sharply. “Multiple viewers just joined the feed.”

Good.

The service door down the corridor shifts again, opening a few centimeters before stopping, metal protesting softly, and the sound is loud enough in the quiet space to feel intentional.

“That’s your line,” Ben says under his breath. “They’re pushing closer.”

“Yes,” I reply. “Because they think proximity equals control.”

Sally nods. “This wasn’t the attempt. It was the rehearsal.”

The corridor remains still now, the service door closed fully, lights steady, systems pretending nothing happened, and I feel the pressure ease just enough to breathe properly again.

I turn away first, because lingering would invite another push, and we walk back toward the operations floor together, our footsteps echoing too loudly in the aftermath.

As we move, notifications begin stacking again, not alerts this time but acknowledgments, internal staff marking the incident, quietly saving copies, forwarding logs, preserving evidence without being told to.

Ben glances at me. “You just widened the circle.”

“Yes,” I reply. “And they felt it.”

When we reach the operations floor, the hum is different, lower and more focused, people moving with purpose instead of confusion, and I understand with a clarity that settles deep in my chest that this changed something fundamental.

They crossed from warning into action.

They failed to stay invisible.

And now they know that the next time they try, they will not be dealing with a single target in the dark.

They will be dealing with a room full of witnesses who have already seen how close the first attempt came.