Tuesday, 4:22 p.m.
Location: Saint Gabriel's Prep – Library Study Room 3B
I didn't expect Liam Connolly to be good at math.
I expected smug. I expected smirking. I expected a casually unbuttoned collar and the faint scent of ego wrapped in leather jacket musk.
But not trigonometry fluency.
Definitely not that.
He leaned over my notebook, pointing to the sine function I had tragically murdered. Smelling so divine; a bit of leather, a bit of bourbon and bergamot.
"You reversed the adjacent and opposite," he said. "So your tangent ratio's inside out."
"I knew that," I lied.
"Sure you did."
"I did. I was testing your loyalty."
He smiled, not buying it. "Congratulations. I'm loyal and smarter than you."
I didn't bother hiding my scowl. "I should've made Izzy help me."
"Izzy wants to stab me with a compass."
"She'd do it, too."
"Probably," he said. Then, softer: "But she doesn't look at you the way I do."
I paused. The air in the study room suddenly felt… closer.
"Stop that," I said.
"What?"
"That thing. Where you say something Alpha-coded and emotional like we're in a K-drama and then pretend it was casual."
He tilted his head. "You don't like it?"
I picked up my pencil and very maturely jabbed him in the arm.
"Ow."
"Good."
He laughed, and I hated that it made my stomach flip.
For a few minutes, we were quiet—just pencils scratching, calculators tapping, the hum of air conditioning and mutual teenage denial.
Then Liam leaned back, arms crossed, eyes still on me.
"You know," he said casually, "your family doesn't hide very well."
I froze. "Excuse me?"
He tapped his pencil against the desk. "The pizzeria. The laundromat. That weird pawn shop on Jefferson. You guys have tells. You know that, right?"
I stared at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't think you're like them."
I swallowed. "You don't know me."
"Don't need to." He shrugged. "You care about right and wrong. I've seen it."
"You saw me hand in my math quiz. That's not a moral stance."
He tilted his head. "You didn't have to help that kid in the hallway last week. The one who dropped his books. You looked around before you helped him—like you didn't want anyone to see. But you still did it."
I blinked. "You're observant."
He grinned. "I'm a Connolly. It's a survival skill."
I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
"I don't know what game you're playing," I said. "But I'm not part of it."
"I believe you."
That was somehow worse.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.
Izzy:Red alert. Emma just posted. Again.
Noah:Pls check. I'm too emotionally fragile.
EmmaDante:NEW VLOG UP: "Sophia Ricci's Family Ties EXPOSED??"
I groaned. "She did not—"
Liam was already standing. "Want me to walk you home?"
Something I absolutely did not have time for.
Nope.
Nope-nope-nope. I was not about to catch feelings for a rival Alpha with good cheekbones and emotionally manipulative observation skills.
That was how people ended up crying on staircases to Taylor Swift songs.
I stood, grabbed my bag, and forced a smile. "Thanks for the math help."
"You sure you don't want me to walk you home?"
"Yeah," I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "The last thing I need is more problems. And you scream problem."
Liam looked… almost amused. "So what do you need?"
I paused at the door.
What I needed was for Emma to shut up, Midas to get hit by a non-lethal scooter, the FBI to relocate to Nebraska, and my family to stop accidentally committing crimes in broad daylight.
But what I had… was Noah.
An Alpha golden retriever with the attention span of a fruit fly and the emotional durability of a sponge.
And an idea sparked.
An idea so dumb it might actually work.
I turned back to Liam and smiled sweetly.
"I need a distraction," I said. "And a himbo."
He blinked. "A what?"
I was already texting.
ME: hey bestie want to be famous
NOAH: always
NOAH: wait what kind of famous
NOAH: is it shirtless. I'm fine either way.
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"
"No," I said. "But you'll probably see it on TikTok."
And then I walked out, already crafting the caption in my head:
"POV: your Omega ex-bestie thinks she can expose you online. So you turn your emotionally available Alpha friend into clickbait."
Because I might not have Alpha strength, or Omega pheromones, or a viral platform.
But I had brains. Good to almost brilliant Alpha level thinking power. And one very photogenic idiot.
I was already picturing the lighting. The framing. Noah, looking confused in a very flattering hoodie. A perfect loop of him spinning in slow motion, maybe lip-syncing to something ironic and sexy.
The internet would eat it up.
Next to me, Liam tilted his head. Looking at me with his green eyes. I know I wasn't suppose to notice but he's cute with the badboy vibe going for him.
"You're surprisingly dangerous," he said.
"Thank you," I replied. "I try."
He hesitated, just for a second. Like he was debating something.
Then he said, casually: "You know they've been tracking your Wi-Fi activity, right?"
I froze. "What?"
He nodded toward my phone. "The guys in the van. They're not just watching your businesses. They're watching you. Your devices. Your uploads. Especially anything tied to Ricci Pizzeria's IP."
"Wait. How would you even—"
He was already walking away.
I stared after him, pulse spiking. "Are you serious?"
He didn't look back, just tossed over his shoulder:
"Delete your drafts, Ricci. Especially the funny ones. The Bureau hates irony."
And then he disappeared down the hallway like he hadn't just casually dropped a federal surveillance bomb between trig homework and flirting.
I stood there, phone still in hand, heart climbing into my throat.
How did he know that?
Who the hell was Liam Connolly?