Monday, 2:17 p.m.
Location: Saint Gabriel's Prep, Third-Period Math (Hell on Earth)
Mr. Hall was doing that thing again.
The thing where he reads directly from the textbook and then sighs dramatically like we're the reason he didn't become a famous jazz musician. (I checked. He plays saxophone in a band called Denominator Breakdown on weekends. He's that guy.)
"So," he droned, "if triangle RST is congruent to triangle LMN, then angle S corresponds to…"
He trailed off, staring at me like I owed him child support.
"Ms. Ricci?"
I blinked. "Uh…"
What even is a triangle?
"Angle M?" I guessed.
He frowned like I'd just stabbed geometry itself. "You've been off lately."
Great. Here it comes.
"You used to be one of my strongest students. Now, your last quiz was a C minus. Do you need to come in after school?"
Noah made a noise like a dying animal behind me.
I didn't turn around, but I knew his face: part sympathetic, part secondhand embarrassment, part please don't cry, Sophia, I can't handle girl emotions.
I forced a smile. "Just a rough week, Mr. Hall."
He looked like he wanted to push harder, but then the classroom door creaked open.
And in walked Liam Connolly.
Of course.
"Sorry," he said, not sorry at all. "Had to talk to the counselor. Transferring credits."
He handed Mr. Hall a slip of paper and took the empty seat directly to my left.
Like, directly.
Noah coughed. Izzy shifted in her seat. I felt the entire room tighten with Alpha awareness, that weird scentless tension that only happens when someone new tries to take territory they haven't earned.
And me?
I pulled my hoodie tighter and stared at my worksheet like it was going to save me.
"Need help?" Liam whispered, leaning in like we were already best friends or something worse.
"I'm fine," I hissed.
"You got angle M wrong."
"Thanks, I noticed."
He chuckled. "You're interesting, Ricci."
I turned slowly. "You're in my personal space."
"You're in denial."
I stared at him.
He stared back. His eyes were green—not fake emerald, but stormy green. The kind that made you think about bad ideas and worse consequences.
I hated him.
Or at least, that's what I told myself as I felt my pulse spike.
"You're wasting your time," I whispered. "I'm not one of those Omegas who melts when a new Alpha breathes near her locker."
"I know."
"Then what do you want?" I asked, keeping my voice low and my vibe aggressively disinterested.
Liam leaned closer, just enough for me to feel the heat of him, like he hadn't heard the memo that Betas don't get flustered.
"I like your perfume," he said, and I swear to God my pen twitched in my hand.
I blinked. "I'm not wearing perfume."
His smile widened just a little. "Exactly."
I hated him immediately. Again. More.
"I'm a Beta," I said. "No scent. That's kind of our thing."
"Doesn't mean you're not… memorable."
Nope. Nope. No thank you. Rejected.
I turned sharply back to my worksheet and nearly carved through it with my pencil.
"I really don't have time for games," I muttered.
He didn't back off. Just casually gestured to my triangle diagram like this was a normal tutoring session and not a flirtation bomb wrapped in smug Alpha confidence.
"You said angle M," he said, tapping lightly next to my messy notes. "But triangle RST mirrors triangle LMN. So angle S matches N, and R matches L. Meaning…"
"M corresponds to angle T," I sighed.
"Exactly," he said. "See? Told you I was helpful."
I refused to look at him. Instead, I wrote it down fast, my handwriting veering dangerously into angry-cursive territory.
Just as I was re-labeling angle T with passive-aggressive precision, a voice hissed from two rows back:
"Oh my God, Sophia, did you see Emma's vlog this morning?"
Izzy. Of course it was Izzy.
I groaned. "Can we not—"
"She said—and I quote—'Sophia Ricci has math nerd energy and a closet crisis.'"
I dropped my pencil.
Liam blinked. "Who's Emma?"
I slumped forward. "An Omega with too many ring lights and not enough boundaries."
"She was her best friend in middle school," Izzy added helpfully. "Now she thinks she's a fashion prophet because she owns three corsets and a TikTok."
"'I'm an Omega. I know fashion,'" Noah muttered, quoting the vlog with a painful imitation voice.
"I will literally burn all of you," I said without lifting my head.
"Oh, and she also said," Izzy continued, checking her phone with the glee of someone delivering premium gossip, "'Sophia could totally be hot if she, like, leaned in. Right now, she's giving beige Beta realness.'"
"I am beige," I snapped. "That's the point. Beige is safe. Beige doesn't get murdered in alleys."
Liam smirked. "I don't think beige's working out for you, Ricci."
I glared at him. "Don't help."
He leaned back in his chair like he hadn't just set my social life on fire.
"I wasn't," Liam said, still leaning back like he belonged here. Like he hadn't just tossed gasoline into the middle of my reputation.
And then—
"Oh my GOD, stop walking so fast—Mark, seriously, I need the angle right or it's going to make my shoulders look tragic—wait, is that Noah?"
I didn't even have to turn around. The volume, the vocal fry, the glitter-scented doom… it could only be one person.
Emma Dante.
She swept into the room like the human equivalent of a filter you didn't ask for. Long platinum waves, glossy lips, camera held high, sunglasses indoors, and trailing poor Mark Montgomery, who looked like he hadn't slept since 2006.
"Okay, starting again," she said, lifting the phone with her signature bright-white smile. "Hey besties! Today we're at Saint Gabe's, and look who I found—my boyfriend."
She grabbed Noah's arm and pulled him into frame like a handbag.
Noah, stunned, blinked slowly. "Wait—what?"
Emma beamed at the camera. "This is Noah. We're not, like, Facebook official yet, but… he gets it."
Izzy made a sound that may or may not have been her soul leaving her body.
Emma turned her attention to us—finally—and her eyes landed on me like I'd stepped on her shoe.
"Oh. Sophia. You're still sitting here." She smiled sweetly. "How's that geometry tutorial? Need a tutor and a stylist?"
Liam let out a very quiet huh sound.
"I'm fine," I said flatly.
"Because," Emma continued, twirling a strand of hair like she hadn't just publicly declared Noah her property, "I did say in my vlog this morning that a Beta rebrand could be kind of iconic. Like, you have the bones—just no vision."
Mark coughed behind her. "You also said she looked like someone who eats crackers for dinner."
Emma turned to him. "Mark, sweetie, stay in your lane."
Izzy stood up. Just stood. And the air changed.
Emma noticed. Her smile didn't drop, but her grip on Noah's arm definitely did. "Anyway," she said lightly, backing toward the door. "We're doing a behind-the-scenes shoot in the senior lounge. Noah, text me later, kay?"
She winked.
At Liam.
Then me.
Then she was gone.
And I, Sophia Ricci, sixteen years old, Beta, math nerd, and freshly-appointed mob payroll manager… wanted to scream into my hoodie and never come out.
"Are you okay?" Noah whispered.
Izzy was still radiating murder.
Liam? Still smirking.
"I'm going to kill her," I muttered. "And then vlog the trial."