AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 70: Empty apology

Clara flinched at Mrs. Gray’s sudden rise, nearly smudging her freshly applied lipstick.

"Gal, what’s going on? You scared my fragile soul," she said, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest.

Mrs. Gray stood frozen for a second, phone still clenched in her palm. The music outside swelled, applause erupting as Tracy hit a high note, yet inside her head everything rang hollow ,like sound echoing in an empty corridor. She swallowed hard.

"I-I... I gotta go somewhere," she managed, voice thin and uneven.

Clara’s eyes widened in instant alarm. "Wait, what’s going on? Is it a fashion emergency?" Her tone shifted from playful to urgent in half a heartbeat ,the kind of urgency reserved for broken heels and public wardrobe disasters.

"Wait wha—"

"Argh, don’t tell me the pendant you bought last week was fake. I knew it was suspiciously cheap for my taste," Clara continued, spiraling dramatically. "Or wait , is it the shoes? I told you they were off-season but you insisted on wearing them everywhere. Now you’re having a fashion crisis, aren’t you?"

Mrs. Gray blinked at her, disbelief briefly cutting through her panic. For a split second, Clara’s ridiculous assumptions almost grounded her , almost. But the phone in her hand vibrated again, a silent reminder that this was no trivial embarrassment she could laugh off later.

This was exposure.

Reputation.

Family.

Everything.

She turned without another word and started toward the exit, heels clicking too fast against the polished floor.

Behind her, Clara called out, utterly unfazed by the gravity she failed to notice. "Don’t worry, gal, I got you on the shoes! I’m already texting someone for you... you’re welcome!"

She leaned toward a nearby guest, whispering with theatrical pride, "Yeah, I know. I’m a very supportive friend."

The guest nodded politely, clearly unsure what crisis had just been solved.

Meanwhile, Rebecca’s smile had long vanished.

Each step down the corridor felt heavier than the last, as if the past itself were pulling at her ankles. The laughter, the music, the bright lights of the VIP section faded behind her, replaced by the cold hum of hallway air conditioning and the relentless glow of her phone screen.

Somewhere in this building, someone held a truth powerful enough to shatter the life she had carefully constructed.

And while Clara worried about shoes and pendants...

Rebecca was walking toward a storm that could strip her of her title as mother and possibly as a wife altogether ,with a single sentence.

Mrs. Gray moved through the corridor like a shadow that didn’t belong to its own body, her eyes darting from face to face, corner to corner. Every passer-by felt suspicious, every laugh too loud, every whisper too intentional.

But who am I even looking for? 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

The question echoed inside her mind, louder than the music vibrating through the walls.

How will I even recognize them... when I don’t even know what they look like?

Her breathing grew shallow. Each accidental brush of a stranger’s shoulder made her flinch. A simple "sorry" from someone walking past sounded like an accusation. She was no longer walking, she was searching for a ghost with no form, no name, no certainty... only fear.

Her palms dampened around the phone. The message thread glowed like an open wound she couldn’t close.

She realized then that the most terrifying enemy was not the person hiding somewhere in the venue.

It was the uncertainty.

Back inside the arena, the atmosphere was the complete opposite ,bright, roaring, alive.

Tracy’s final note lingered in the air like glitter slowly falling after an explosion of fireworks. The crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, applause rolling like thunder across the stadium.

"Now that was truly marvelous!" the presenter boomed, stepping back onto the stage with exaggerated enthusiasm. "A breathtaking performance from the one and only Tracy Meadows!"

The lights danced across the audience, capturing smiling faces, raised phones, and teary fans mouthing lyrics. For them, this was entertainment ,an unforgettable night filled with adrenaline and glamour.

"Now let’s welcome onto the stage... our finalists!" the presenter continued, voice swelling with anticipation.

Behind the curtain, Tracy exhaled deeply.

The smile she wore for the audience softened the moment she stepped out of the spotlight. Her shoulders dropped, the tension finally escaping her muscles. Stage confidence melted into quiet relief. She could still hear the applause behind her, but it already felt distant , like waves fading as one walks away from the shore.

She walked backstage, heels echoing against the narrow hallway floor. Assistants buzzed around her, congratulating, adjusting microphones, offering water. She nodded politely, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

For a brief second, she wondered if Hunter had watched her performance.

Then she quickly brushed the thought aside, as if it were something fragile she wasn’t allowed to hold for too long, he wouldn’t have bothered, that’s all I know

"Well that was a hell of a show."

Daryl’s voice cut through the hum of backstage noise as he handed Tracy a bottle of water and a neatly folded face towel. His smile was wide ,the kind managers wore when numbers, charts, and headlines were already forming in their heads.

"Your performance is already climbing the top charts," he added, scrolling rapidly on his phone. "Hold on one sec—" His tone shifted instantly as he answered a call and stepped away, his voice turning all business, all excitement, all opportunity.

Tracy exhaled slowly once he was gone.

The water was cool against her throat, but it didn’t quite quench the dryness she felt inside. The towel dabbed at the shimmer of sweat on her temple, yet the tension in her shoulders refused to loosen. Applause still echoed faintly in her ears, but here, behind the curtain, the glamour felt strangely hollow, like confetti after the party was over.

Then she saw him.

Timothy stood at a distance down the hallway, helmet tucked under his arm, jacket half unzipped. He had clearly just come from the arena. For a moment, the world narrowed into a thin corridor of silence where only the two of them existed.

Their eyes met.

It wasn’t dramatic.

There were no gasps.

No music swelling.

Just recognition.

And history.

Tracy was the first to break it. Her gaze shifted to the floor, then to the wall, anywhere but him. The act was subtle, but it carried the weight of a closed door.

Timothy inhaled through his nose and resumed walking. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the distance between them wasn’t measured in meters but in unresolved moments and unsaid sentences. He passed her, their shoulders nearly brushing, the air between them thick with something neither dared to name.

Then he stopped.

"...I just—" His voice came out rougher than intended. He didn’t turn around. Neither did she. They stood back-to-back like two people sharing the same space but living in different timelines.

"I want to apologize for what happened that time," he said. The words felt foreign on his tongue, like he had rehearsed them a hundred times yet never believed he would actually say them. "Trust me when I say... I don’t remember myself losing control. That was poor judgment on my side."

He swallowed, jaw tightening.

"I’m an alpha. I should’ve known better." The admission stung his pride more than he expected, but it also felt oddly necessary ,like cleaning a wound that had been festering too long. "And don’t worry... I’m not that evil enough to ruin your marriage. Me and the Dastins surely have beef, but I wouldn’t treat you the sa—"

Footsteps.

She walked away before he could finish.

No anger.

No acknowledgment.

No forgiveness.

Just departure.

Timothy finally turned his head, watching her figure grow smaller with each step until she blended into the blur of backstage staff and flickering lights. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t chase after her. The apology hung in the air like smoke with nowhere to settle.

A part of him felt lighter , he had said what needed to be said.

Another part felt hollow ,because apologies, he realized, were not receipts for redemption. They were simply offerings... and the other person was never obligated to accept them.

He straightened his posture and continued walking, telling himself it was for the best.

For her.

For him.

For the fragile balance of lives already intertwined with too many complications.

Yet as the cheers from the arena swelled again in the distance, Timothy couldn’t help but feel that victories on the field were far easier to claim than victories within the heart.