Page 102 of Pack Plus One

My throat tightens. Is that what they think of my independence? That I’m rejecting their care?

“She needed us,” Mason says quietly. “That’s all that matters. But now she doesn’t. And we need to be prepared for that reality.”

“A normal omega would be nesting by now,” Liam observes. “Settling in. She’s still sleeping in Caleb’s room because she won’t even enter the nest we built.”

Normal. They don’t see me as normal. But that shouldn’t surprise me. I’mnotnormal. I know that. So why do his words hurt so bad?

“Because it’s not who she is,” Mason says with a sigh. “We need to accept that.”

You’re not pack material, Leah. You never will be.

“So what do we do?” Caleb sounds frustrated. “Just let her walk away?”

There’s a heavy silence, and I can almost feel the tension.

“I don’t know,” Jude admits finally. “I just know letting her leave feels wrong.”

“It’s not about what feels right to us,” Liam points out. “It’s about what’s best for Leah. For her goals. Her life.”

“And a pack of overprotective alphas might not be it,” Mason concludes.

The simple truth of it settles on me like a weight. They’re right. All of them. A traditional omega would be thrilled with the attention, the care, the protection these four offer. Would be happily nesting, settling in, finding her place in their established order.

Not running a business. Not guarding her independence. Not bristling at basic protective gestures.

Eric was right. I’mnotpack material. Not because there’s anything wrong with me, but because what I want from life doesn’t align with what packs need from their omegas.

These four deserve someone who fits naturally into their world. Someone who doesn’t require them to change everything about how they operate. Someone who can give them what they need without fighting it every step of the way.

And I deserve to pursue my dreams, my independence, my bakery, without feeling like I’m constantly falling short of pack expectations.

My stomach drops, the cold reality washing over me like ice water. This connection between us, intense as it is, can’t last. Not without someone fundamentally changing who they are.

And I won’t ask that of them. Won’t disrupt the beautiful harmony they’ve built together. Won’t make them question their instincts every time I insist on doing something myself instead of letting them care for me.

I back away from the door, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. I need to go before this gets any more complicated. Before hearts get involved more than they already are. Before I start to believe I could be what they need, if only I tried hard enough.

The truth is simple and painful: no matter how much chemistry exists between us, some things just aren’t meant to be.

Dawn finds me dressed in the clothes I arrived in—now laundered and folded in the closet. I’ve been careful, quiet, listening for any sound of the pack stirring. But the house remains silent, the four males still asleep after their late-night conversation about the fundamental incompatibility between what they need and who I am.

I make my way downstairs, my heart a leaden weight in my chest.

In the kitchen, I pause, allowing myself one last look at the space that has, against all odds, begun to feel like home. The coffee maker Mason programs each night. The color-coded spice rack that made me laugh with Liam. The ridiculous novelty mugs Jude collects, each one more inappropriate than the last.

My eyes fall on the white ceramic mug Mason always sets out for me, the one with the tiny chip in the handle. Without overthinking it, I take it, wrapping it carefully in a napkin before tucking it to my chest. A small piece of this place to take with me. A reminder of what might have been, in some other life where I was different. Where I fit.

I’m about to leave when I pause, struck by the realization that I can’t just vanish without a word. Whatever else has happened between us, they’ve been kind to me. They deserve... something. Some acknowledgment.

But what can I possibly say? “Sorry, I’m not the omega you need”? “Thanks for trying to make it work with someone fundamentally incompatible with your lifestyle”?

In the end, I take Mason’s dark blue button-down—one I’ve been sleeping in—and fold it neatly on the counter. I leave Liam’s borrowed sweater beside it, perfectly folded the way he likes things. The gesture feels both like gratitude and acknowledgment of what can’t be.

I find a notepad by the phone and hesitate, pen hovering over the paper. What can I possibly write that won’t sound bitter or self-pitying?

Thanks for everything. You deserve an omega who fits.

Simple. Honest. A recognition that they’re not the problem. I am.

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