Page 84 of Heat Clickbait
"Is not me." The words came out sharp enough to cut. "My mother's story is about abandonment and shame. Mine is about support and pride. She went into heat on television and was left to suffer alone. I went into heat at a convention and was protected, respected, and given the space to choose my own path."
Nova's hand found mine, a silent support that the cameras definitely caught.
"We're not saying our way is the only way," Milo added, his warmth evident even through television polish. "We're sayingit's a valid way. One that deserves respect like any other consensual relationship."
"And the public nature of it all?" Rebecca asked, clearly frustrated by our unified front. "Everything documented, streamed, shared. Doesn't that feel invasive?"
"You mean like this interview?" Crash asked innocently, earning a laugh from the audience.
Rebecca's composure cracked slightly. "That's different. This is professional?—"
"So is our streaming," Ghost said quietly, surprising everyone by speaking. His voice carried the kind of gravity that made people lean in. "We're professional content creators. We choose what to share. The difference is we're honest about it."
"But surely there are intimate details that should remain private? The public doesn't need to know about your... heat arrangements."
And there it was. The invasive question we'd been waiting for.
"You're right," I said smoothly. "They don't. Which is why we don't share those details. We share the emotional journey, the relationship dynamics, the reality of modern pack life. The rest is ours."
"Yet you profit from the curiosity?—"
"Like this show profits from having us here?" Nova asked, his business voice cutting through her accusation. "We're all in the content business, Rebecca. The difference is we're transparent about it."
The audience was fully on our side now, I could feel the shift in energy. Rebecca sensed it too, her smile becoming more strained.
"Let's talk about the future then. Children? Traditional pack structure? What does happily ever after look like for the Bond Pack?"
"Messy," I said honestly. "Complicated. Real. We'll fight about whose turn it is to do dishes. Ghost will build Lego cities at 3 AM. Crash will set something on fire. Milo will stress-bake enough to feed an army. Nova will make spreadsheets for grocery shopping. Blitz will flex in every reflective surface."
The audience laughed, genuine this time.
"And I'll document what I want to share, keep private what I don't, and continue proving that Omegas can have everything, independence and connection, career and pack, choice and biology."
"That sounds idealistic," Rebecca said, making one last attempt. "Reality is rarely so perfect."
"Who said anything about perfect?" I looked directly at the camera, knowing my mother was watching, knowing thousands of Omegas were seeing this. "Perfect is a lie we tell ourselves to avoid trying. We're not perfect. We're real. We're choosing each other every day, publicly and privately, through good and bad."
The segment ended with Rebecca looking slightly defeated and the audience applauding. As we were ushered off stage, the assistant whispered that we'd broken their social media engagement records.
In the green room, Michelle waited with her tablet and a rare smile.
"#PackGoals is trending worldwide," she reported. "The clip of you asking Rebecca about her first kiss has two million views already."
"How'd we do?" Crash asked, bouncing with post-performance adrenaline.
I thought about my mother, about the young Omegas seeing us refuse to be ashamed, about Rebecca Sterling's frustrated face when she couldn't break our unity, and I smiled to myself.
"We told the truth," I said, surrounded by my pack, my chosen family, my perfectly imperfect everything. "On national television, in front of millions, we told our truth."
"And?" Nova asked.
"And nothing. That's enough. Being ourselves, openly and honestly, is enough."
The drive home was full of Michelle reading positive reactions, sponsors wanting to work with us, interview requests from actually respectful outlets. But the text that mattered came from my mother.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're braver than I ever was. You faced the nightmare and turned it into a dream. I'm proud of you.
I showed it to the pack, watching their faces soften.
