Page 69 of Run Wild Omega

If she had a proper Alpha, this never would’ve happened.

Unbonded Omegas are a danger to themselves and everyone around them.

My tax dollars paid for that helicopter rescue. Disgusting.

She almost died because she wanted to feel alive. Typical Omega behavior.

Do us all a favor and stay in the kitchen next time.

My hands are shaking. The phone trembles in my grip, the screen blurring as my eyes fill with tears I refuse to let fall.

“They’re saying I did this on purpose,” I whisper. “They’re saying I⁠—”

I can’t finish the sentence. My throat closes around the words.

“They don’t know you,” Mara says fiercely. “They don’t know the first thing about you. They’re opportunists and bullies, and they’re using your accident to push a narrative that benefits them.”

“But people believe it.” I look up at her. “Four million views, Mara. Four million people watched me get pulled out of that snow, and half of them think I deserved it.”

“No one thinks you deserved it⁠—”

“Read the comments.” My voice breaks. “Read them. They’re saying I should be on a leash. They’re saying unbonded Omegas shouldn’t be allowed to work. They’re saying⁠—”

I stop. Because a new thought has surfaced, cold and sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade through ice.

If they keep digging… If the media keeps poking around, looking for a story, looking for more dirt on the reckless unbonded Omega who almost died on a mountain⁠—

It’s only a matter of time.

Marcus.

My stomach drops so fast I think I might throw up. The room tilts. I grip the sheets, my knuckles white, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

No one outside my immediate family knows about Marcus. No one else in Sweet Creek knows. When I came back from Denver, I buried that entire chapter of my life so deep I convinced myself it had never happened. The pills, the therapy, the slow, grueling process of rebuilding myself—I erased him from the narrative.

But if reporters start digging into my past—and they will, because that’s what they do—they’ll find it. The professor. The secret relationship. The power dynamic. The way he used me, kept me hidden, made me feel like I was the problem. They’ll frame it as more evidence of Omega instability. More proof that I can’t make good decisions. More ammunition for the leashes-and-kitchens crowd.

And Marcus—he’s still out there. Still teaching. Still polished and respected. If they contact him for comment, he’ll spin it. He’ll make himself the victim, or he’ll deny it, or worst of all, he’ll confirm it in a way that makes me look like a desperate, clingy Omega who threw herself at her professor.

My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. The monitors start beeping faster—my heart rate climbing, the numbers on the screen ticking upward.

“Tess, you need to calm down,” Mom says, her hand on my arm. “Your heart rate⁠—”

“I need to leave.” I’m pulling at the blankets now, trying to swing my legs off the bed, but the cast is so heavy and the pain is so blinding that I barely move an inch before I’m gasping. “I need to get out of here. I need to⁠—”

“You can’t move that leg,” Dad says firmly. “Tess, stop.”

“I can’t stay here.” I’m crying now, the tears hot and furious, streaming down my cheeks. “Everyone out there thinks I’m… They’re going to find out about… I need to go. I need to go home.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Wyatt’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.

I look up. He’s moved to the door. He’s standing with his back against it, arms crossed, his body a physical barrier between me and the hallway. His expression is unyielding.

“Move,” I say.

“No.”

“Wyatt, I swear to God⁠—”