Page 83 of Heat Clickbait
"It's strategic," Nova said, finally stopping his pacing. "Food segments create positive associations. The audience willbe relaxed, dopamine elevated. We're more likely to receive favorable reception."
"You really do research everything," I said with fondness.
The waiting was agony. Through the monitor, we watched the host, Rebecca Sterling, America's sweetheart with a surgeon's precision for finding weak spots, chat with a celebrity chef about holiday appetizers. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes held the calculating sharpness of someone who'd climbed to the top over countless bodies and stabbed anyone who got in the way with her perfectly pointed stilettos.
"Remember," Nova said, pulling us into a quick huddle. "We stick to talking points. Modern pack dynamics. Conscious choice. Mutual respect. Don't let her bait you into discussing heat specifics or bonding details."
"And if she does?" Crash asked.
"I handle it," I said firmly. "This was my mother's nightmare. It's my stage."
The assistant returned, ushering us toward the set. The studio lights hit like a physical force, bright enough to eliminate shadows and any hope of hiding. The audience, fifty carefully selected people representing America's demographics, watched with hungry eyes.
Rebecca Sterling stood to greet us, her handshake firm and her smile practiced. She smelled like expensive perfume layered over beta blockers, the chemical tang making my nose itch.
"The famous Bond Pack," she said, voice carrying that false warmth perfected by years of practice. "And Callie Cross, the Omega who changed streaming forever."
I wanted to correct her, tell her that was Kara Quinn, but we didn't have time or an opening as we carefully arranged ourselves on the couch. I was positioned in the center with the others flanking protectively but not possessively. Every position had been discussed, analyzed, optimized for optics.
"So," Rebecca began once the cameras rolled, settling into her chair with predatory grace. "Let's address what everyone's thinking. Five Alphas, one Omega. The math alone raises questions."
There it was. Fifteen seconds in and she'd already implied I was either greedy or victimized.
"The math is simple," I said, matching her false warmth. “Six people who chose each other. No different from any other relationship except we're honest about our dynamic."
"But surely the biological aspects complicate things? We all saw the footage from StreamCon. That seemed less like choice and more like..." She paused delicately. "Biological imperative."
The footage. Of course she'd bring up my public heat response, my complete loss of control in front of cameras. The exact thing that had destroyed my mother.
"Have you ever been in love, Rebecca?" I asked, tilting my head with practiced innocence.
She blinked, thrown by the redirect. "I'm married, yes."
"Was your first kiss with your husband calculated? Planned? Or did biology play a role in that attraction?"
"Well, naturally there's physical chemistry?—"
"Exactly." I smiled, showing teeth. "Biology and choice aren't opposites. They're dance partners. We experienced intense physical compatibility, yes. But we chose what to do about it. These five Alphas spent three days refusing to permanently mark me during heat because they wanted me to choose with a clear head."
The audience murmured, some looking surprised. Rebecca's smile tightened.
"That's quite a claim. Most Alphas would struggle with that level of restraint."
"Most Alphas aren't like our pack," Blitz said, his usual sunshine energy carrying steel underneath. "We're not 'most' anything. We're us."
"And yet you eventually marked her. All of you." Rebecca's eyes tracked to my visible bite marks. "Some would say that's excessive. Greedy, even."
The word hung in the air like a slap. In my peripheral vision, I saw Ghost's hands clench, Crash go still, Nova's jaw tighten.
"Some would say monogamy is limiting," I countered. "Some would say traditional marriage is outdated. Some would say a lot of things about relationships they're not in."
"You came from a background of independence," Rebecca pressed. "Your brand was built on not needing Alphas. Don't you think your young Omega viewers might see this as betrayal?"
There it was. The heart of it. The accusation I'd been fighting since day one.
"My brand was built on choice," I said, leaning forward slightly. "On Omegas having agency. I chose independence when I needed it. Now I choose connection. The power to choose is what matters, not what we choose."
"But can you really choose when biology is involved? Your mother?—"
