Beautifully Broken Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance, page 16
We arrange ourselves around her on the floor, creating a circle of protection, of warmth, of alpha presence that says without words: nothing will hurt you here.
I reach out carefully, my fingers finding the pulse point at her wrist. It’s racing, fluttering like a trapped bird beneath her skin, but the contact seems to ground her somehow. Her breathing starts to slow, becoming deeper and more controlled.
“Good,” I whisper, stroking my thumb across her wrist in soothing circles. “That’s so good, Kit.”
Gradually, the terror in her eyes begins to recede, replaced by exhaustion and something that looks like shame. The careful composure she usually wears like armor has been completely stripped away, leaving someone raw and vulnerable and utterly broken.
It takes nearly ten minutes before her breathing returns to something approaching normal. Even then, she sits perfectly still, as if afraid that any movement might shatter this fragile calm we’ve managed to create around her.
Once her breathing stabilizes, she closes her eyes and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
The words gut me completely. Sorry. She’s apologizing for having a panic attack, for being human, for whatever hell she’s just lived through.
“Don’t apologize, Kit,” I say firmly, my voice carrying more emotion than I intended. “Not for this. Never for this.”
She opens her eyes and looks at me with such profound pain that it takes everything I have not to gather her in my arms and promise to hunt down whoever put that look on her face.
For a long moment, she just stares at us, fear and uncertainty flickering across her features. Her mouth opens, then closes, as if the words are too dangerous to speak aloud.
“Tell us what happened, Kit,” I say gently. “Whatever it is, we can help.”
“I...” she starts, then stops, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t understand. You’d think I was crazy, or broken, or—”
“Kit,” Nolan interrupts softly, his voice filled with conviction. “There is nothing you could tell us that would change how we feel about you. Nothing.”
“He’s right,” I add, leaning closer so she can see the sincerity in my eyes. “From the moment we met you, we’ve felt this overwhelming need to keep you safe. We don’t fully understand it ourselves, but it’s there.”
“We’re here for you, Kit,” Declan says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Whatever happened to you, whatever you’re running from—we’ll face it together.”
“You can tell us anything,” I promise, my voice rough with the depth of my feelings. “And we’ll shield you from whatever comes. I swear it on my life, Kit.”
She looks between the three of us, tears gathering in her eyes as she sees the truth written in our faces. The absolute certainty that we mean every word.
Then she takes a shuddering breath and speaks words that change everything.
“I used to be an omega.”
My heart slams against my chest as everything starts to make sense. The vanilla scent that shouldn’t exist in a beta, the way she affects all three of us, the protective instincts she triggers without trying.
Nolan’s shoulders visibly relax, as if a weight he’s been carrying for weeks has finally lifted. Declan nods slowly, understanding dawning in his green eyes.
“We suspected,” I say gently. “Your scent, the way you respond to us—we’ve been wondering for a while now.”
“I was Katherine Lawson,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “I worked as a paralegal at Morrison, White & Associates. I lived with my mother until I was thirty because that’s what good omegas do—they stay protected until they find the right alpha.”
The words taste bitter even in the retelling, and I can hear the echo of someone else’s voice in them. Someone who taught her that her worth was measured by how well she could disappear into an alpha’s shadow.
“I met Roman Slater at a charity gala. He was... charming. Successful. Everything my mother said I should want in an alpha.” Her laugh is hollow, brittle. “She was so proud when he started courting me. Finally, her disappointing daughter had found someone worthy.”
My hands clench into fists at the pain in her voice, but I force myself to remain still, to let her tell this story at her own pace.
“I moved in with him for the traditional six-month period before bonding. That’s when everything changed.” Her breathing hitches slightly. “Within a week, he wasn’t the man I thought I’d fallen in love with. He was controlling, critical, cruel. And my scent... it started changing.”
The three of us exchange dark glances. Scent changes aren’t normal—they just don’t happen, especially not in healthy omegas.
“My omega scent began fading, replaced by chamomile,” she continues, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “Roman hated it. Said I was broken, defective, that no real alpha would ever want something as disgusting as me.”
White-hot rage floods through my veins. I keep my expression carefully controlled, but inside I’m burning with the need for violence. The urge to find this bastard and make him pay for every cruel word, every moment of fear he put in Kit’s eyes.
“My heats stopped coming,” she continues. “I stopped producing slick. My body just... shut down. Roman said it proved I was never a real omega to begin with.”
“He was wrong,” Declan says fiercely, his voice thick with emotion. “So fucking wrong, Kit. What he did to you—that’s not how an alpha should treat their omega. That’s abuse, pure and simple.”
“One night, Roman crossed a line,” Kit whispers, her voice barely audible. “He’d been hitting me for months, but it was always where others couldn’t see. That night was the first time he hit my face—somewhere visible. I called my mother afterward, told her I was scared, that I needed help.” Her voice breaks slightly. “She told me to go back to him and try harder to be a better omega.”
Her own mother. The person who should have protected her above all else, and she failed in the most fundamental way possible. My heart aches for her—for the omega who reached out in desperation only to be abandoned by the one person who should have fought for her. The betrayal cuts deep, even secondhand, and I can only imagine how it must have shattered something inside Kit to hear those words from her own mother.
“I ran that night. My friend Becca helped me create a new identity—Kit Ellis. I’ve been hiding for over two years, working cleaning jobs, trying to stay invisible.” She looks up at us with haunted eyes. “But he found me. Roman is here, in this building. I saw him in the lobby with you two.”
Roman Slater. The polished lawyer we just spent an hour with, discussing security arrangements and client protection. The man who shook our hands and complimented our facilities.
My vision goes red at the edges. “That son of a bitch,” I growl, my voice barely recognizable. “He was sitting in our conference room pretending to—”
“We’re going to destroy him,” Nolan says quietly, but there’s steel in his voice that promises violence. “Professionally, personally, completely.”
Kit looks up at us then, her eyes wide with shock at the venom in our voices. For a moment, she just stares, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Then something shifts in her expression—surprise giving way to something that looks almost like relief. As if the idea that someone would finally make Roman pay for what he did isn’t terrifying, but deeply, desperately welcome.
“Kit,” I say, forcing my voice to gentleness despite the rage coursing through me. “We’ll protect you. No one will ever hurt you again.”
“Never,” Nolan adds, his tone carrying the weight of an oath. “We care about you more than we’ve ever cared about anyone, Kit. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her eyes fill with tears at our words, and something extraordinary happens. The vanilla scent that’s been growing stronger around her suddenly intensifies, filling the small room with warmth and sweetness. And underneath it, barely perceptible but unmistakably there, comes the faintest hint of jasmine.
Her true scent. The one Roman tried to destroy, emerging as if in response to our protection, our care, our promise to keep her safe.
My nostrils flare as I breathe it in, and I see Nolan and Declan doing the same. It’s intoxicating, perfect, everything an omega’s scent should be. She smells like home, like belonging, like everything we never knew we were missing.
“I should go,” Kit says quietly, placing her palms on the floor as if to push herself up. “I’ve told you enough. Too much. I should just—”
She starts to rise, getting halfway to her feet before her face goes pale as parchment. Beads of sweat form on her forehead as she sways dangerously.
“I don’t feel—” she begins, her words slurring slightly.
Her eyes flutter, pupils dilating as she struggles to focus on us. “Something’s wrong—I can’t—”
Her words cut off abruptly as her eyes roll back, showing only white. Her legs give out completely, sending her collapsing toward the hard linoleum floor.
I surge forward, catching her before she can hit the ground. Her dead weight settles against me as I pull her into my arms, her head falling back against my shoulder, completely unconscious.
“Kit!” Nolan says urgently, immediately pressing his fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse. “Jesus, is she breathing?”
“Pulse is there but weak,” he reports, his voice tight with worry. “Breathing’s shallow but steady.”
Declan scrambles closer, his hands hovering over her as if afraid to touch. “Fuck, what happened? She was fine a second ago—”
I adjust my hold, cradling her more securely against my chest. She looks so fragile like this, all the fight drained out of her, leaving behind someone heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“She’s burning up,” I say, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. Her skin radiates heat like she’s running a high fever. “Christ, she’s on fire.”
I brush a strand of hair from her feverish face, my touch gentle despite the panic clawing at my chest. “The scent changes, the emotional trauma of reliving everything, her body trying to return to its natural state after years of suppression—her system couldn’t handle it all at once.”
Nolan nods grimly. “Her body’s probably going into some kind of biological shock as it tries to revert to what it should have been all along.”
We settle into tense silence around her unconscious form, our presence a barrier against any threat. Her vanilla and jasmine scent grows stronger with each breath, wrapping around us like a promise of what could be.
She may not know it yet, but she’s found her pack. We’ll keep her safe from monsters like Roman Slater, no matter what it takes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
NOLAN
Iwant to kill someone.
Roman Slater, specifically. I want to hunt him down and tear him apart with my bare hands for what he did to Kit. For trying to break something so precious, so perfect, that she had to abandon her entire life and start over.
I pace the length of our estate’s grand living room like a caged animal, my hands clenched into fists, my jaw tight with barely contained violence. Every few steps, I glance toward the guest wing where Kit lies unconscious, her face flushed with fever that’s been climbing steadily for the past two hours.
Declan sits beside her bed in the guest suite, a cool cloth in his hand as he gently wipes her forehead. His usual easy demeanor has been replaced by the same fury that’s eating me alive from the inside. None of us had hesitated when she collapsed—we’d brought her straight home instead of risking questions or gossip at the office. The last thing she needed was curious employees seeing her vulnerable in our arms.
“Will she be here soon?” I ask Griffin, unable to keep the worry out of my voice.
Griffin checks his phone for what must be the twentieth time. “She’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Sophie. We’d called her immediately, desperate for someone with medical knowledge who could tell us if Kit was okay. Before everything that happened to her—before the trafficking ring, before we found her half-dead in Detroit—Sophie had been a nurse.
I resume my pacing, my mind churning with everything Kit told us. The way her mother abandoned her. The months of psychological torture Roman put her through.
“She’s been through hell,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “All this time, she’s been carrying this alone. Working, trying to stay invisible, terrified he’d find her.”
“She’s not alone anymore,” Griffin says quietly, his eyes fixed on the bedroom door. “She’ll never be alone again.”
The certainty in his voice mirrors what I’m feeling. Whatever this is between us and Kit—this pull, this need to care for her—it’s not going away. If anything, learning the truth has only made it stronger.
Declan returns from the guest room, his expression grim. “Her fever’s still climbing, but she seems to be resting peacefully.”
“We need to talk about what happened in that meeting with Roman,” Declan says, his voice hard. “What did the bastard want? What was he hiring us for?”
Griffin’s jaw tightens. “Protection services. Said he’s been receiving threats, needs personal security.”
“But why us?” Declan asks, settling into one of the leather chairs. “Why our company specifically? There are dozens of security firms in Cleveland.”
Griffin’s jaw tightens. “He had to know Kit worked here. The question is—what was his endgame? Why orchestrate that whole meeting?”
“Maybe he actually wanted to hire us?” Declan suggests. “Use us to get close to her?”
“I don’t think so,” Griffin shakes his head. “He seemed more interested in the theatrics than the actual contract details.”
“Then what?” I stop pacing, turning to face them. “What kind of sick game is he playing?”
“Power,” Griffin says with certainty. “Showing her he can find her anywhere, even infiltrate her workplace and destroy what little stability she’s built.”
The realization strikes me with sickening clarity. Roman hadn’t just found Kit by accident. He’d orchestrated this entire situation, somehow turning our own company into part of his sick game against the woman we care about.
“Christ,” I breathe. “He almost had us playing right into his hands.”
“There’s something else,” Declan says, his voice tight with emotion. “Something happened between Kit and me tonight. Right before she saw Roman in the lobby.”
Griffin and I both turn to stare at him, and I can see the conflict written across his features.
“What kind of something?” Griffin asks carefully.
Declan looks down at his hands. “We were in the server room. She was helping me with the equipment, and... Christ, the way she smelled. That vanilla scent was driving me insane.” He takes a shaky breath. “I kissed her. And it went much further than it should have.”
The admission hangs in the air, and I feel something warm settle in my chest.
“She was so responsive,” Declan continues, his voice thick with wonder. “Like she was finally allowing herself to feel again. But what if that’s what triggered her collapse? What if her body couldn’t handle finally letting go like that?”
“Declan,” Griffin says firmly, “you didn’t hurt her. If anything, I suspect that being with us—all of us—is what’s allowing her to heal.”
“Griffin’s right,” I add, understanding dawning. “My guess is her omega nature has been suppressed for two years due to trauma. When she finally feels safe enough to let it surface, her body has to readjust. That’s not your fault—that’s her biology trying to heal.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I can’t stop thinking about what that bastard did to her. Every time I close my eyes, I see her terror in that lobby.”
“Same here,” Griffin says grimly. “I’ve never wanted to hurt someone as badly as I want to hurt Roman Slater.”
“So what do we do?” I ask.
“We protect her,” Griffin says with absolute certainty. “Whatever it takes. And we figure out the rest as we go.”
“And Roman?” Declan asks, his eyes dark with promise.
Griffin’s expression turns cold, predatory. “Roman Slater is going to learn what happens when someone hurts our omega.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask, though there’s something dark in my voice that suggests I already know.
“I’m thinking Roman likes games,” Griffin says quietly, his voice carrying a lethal edge. “Maybe it’s time someone played back.”
“The kind where players sometimes... disappear,” Declan says, meeting his gaze steadily.
Griffin’s smile is cold and predatory. “Exactly.”
A silence settles over us, heavy with unspoken promises of violence. We all know what needs to be done about Roman Slater. But right now, Kit’s well-being comes first.
The front gates buzz, and I nearly sprint through the foyer to answer the intercom. Sophie’s voice comes through clearly as security lets her through, and within minutes she’s walking up our front steps, her medical bag already in hand, concern written across her delicate features.
“Where is she?” she asks without preamble.
“This way,” Griffin says, leading her down the hall toward the guest wing.
Sophie immediately rushes to Kit’s side, setting down her medical bag as she begins checking vitals. Her fingers find Kit’s pulse, her other hand pressing against her forehead to gauge the fever. Kit looks so small in the big bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink.
“Pulse is elevated but steady,” Sophie murmurs, pulling out a thermometer. “Breathing is good. How long has she been unconscious?”
“About two hours,” Declan answers, his voice tight with worry. “The fever started right after she fainted.”
Sophie nods, checking the thermometer reading before moving to examine Kit’s neck, where her scent glands would be most active. “Her glands are swollen, but that’s normal with this level of fever.”
