Chapter 2: The Barrage Never Stops

I forced myself to tune out the swirl of comments and chaos in my head and did what I’d always done—held him through the end of his rut, giving what little comfort I could. I was so tired that by the time he finally calmed, I felt hollowed out, my limbs heavy as lead.

Exhausted, drifting on the edge of sleep, the words from the barrage scrolled through my mind like ticker tape:

[Just wait till the real one shows up—she’ll chill him out with a single look.]

Honestly, I’d never cared about chemistry numbers or compatibility reports. I just wanted to carve out a little peace and quiet with Jackson, a corner of normal in the chaos of our world.

But now, the barrage had shattered whatever illusions I’d built. It felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under the only home I had.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting bars of gold across the sheets. Jackson was already up and gone, back to his usual routine—a ghost in the house, cool and aloof, as if last night hadn’t happened at all.

He was a workaholic, always running out the door before dawn. While I was still half asleep, I caught a faint brush of lips across mine, and the clean, cool scent of cedar drifted in the air—his cologne, crisp and sharp as a new dollar bill.

After a night tangled together, the cedar clung to my skin, layered with my own peachy scent, so ordinary it might as well have come from a grocery store candle. I was a low-grade Omega, with a scent so common it could get lost in a crowd.

Breathing in the faint sweetness, I let myself drift back to sleep. When I finally woke for good, it was well past noon. The house was silent, except for the distant whirr of the Roomba and the quiet clinking of the cleaning lady in the kitchen, humming along to an old country station.

But in the corner of my vision, the barrage was blowing up:

[OMG, the main guy finally met his real match!]

[First meeting and she lets out a little scent—he goes right back into rut!]

[Now that’s what I call chemistry—100% perfect.]

I caught the key words—Jackson had entered rut again. That meant something big had changed. Whenever an Alpha is in rut, he’s on edge, his whole world wired and raw.

A surge of worry cut through me. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and dialed Jackson, pacing circles across the living room rug. No answer. I tried again, biting my lip until it hurt. Still nothing.

The barrage kept rolling:

[Real match and main guy are at the hospital. He’s about to find out she’s 100% compatible!]

[Can we get the placeholder out of here already? Let the real romance start!]

I stared at the phone, at the barrage, at the pale sunlight crawling across the hardwood floor. My chest felt squeezed tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

It was almost dusk before I finally got a call—from Jackson’s assistant, his voice quick and polite but careful, like he was breaking bad news:

"Hello, may I ask, my husband—"

He cut me off, sounding flustered, “Ma’am, Mr. Carter said he won’t be coming home tonight. You don’t need to wait for him.”

I pressed the phone to my ear, trying to sound steadier than I felt. "...Okay."

The room felt colder, even with the A/C humming. I barely registered the barrage anymore, the words swimming past like fish in a tank I couldn’t touch.

I looked around the house, tracing the edges of our life—his shoes by the door, my mug on the counter, the family photos we’d never bothered to update. Six years: three spent loving him in secret, three more married. Only now did the truth sink in like cold rain—our compatibility, just 9%. The math didn’t lie. We weren’t meant to be, and everyone else seemed to know it before I did.