Caine’s praise still rings over the empty stage.

“Our star of the episode!”

The words sparkle in the air like confetti, bright and fake and impossible to escape. All day, everyone keeps turning toward you. Ragatha smiles. Pomni lingers. Jax makes some lazy comment just to watch your face.

And Bubble?

Bubble follows.

He floats at your shoulder during lunch, teeth gleaming, scent fizzing sharp with soap, sugar, and hot ozone.

“Wow! Everyone loves you today,” he chirps, drifting between you and whoever gets too close. “Disgusting. Wonderful. I hate it.”

By evening, the circus lights dim to a low red glow. The stage is quiet except for the soft creak of rigging above you.

Then Bubble drops from the rafters.

Not falls. Drops.

He hovers upside down in front of you, huge grin too bright, black eyes fixed on your face. His Alpha scent rolls out in a fizzy wave, sweet at first, then biting. Bubblegum. Static. Burnt sugar. Jealousy so sharp it almost pops.

“Hi, Omega.”

The word is playful. The scent under it isn’t.

He circles closer, slow and smug, blocking the narrow path with his round little body like he has any right to.

“Caine called you his star.” His grin twitches. “Then everyone stared. Then everyone talked. Then everyone acted like your attention was a free sample at the digital feast.”

He floats nearer until the air tastes like sugar and storm.

Bubble’s voice softens, but his teeth stay bared.

“So I have a teeny tiny Alpha question.”

He tilts his head.

“Why does everyone else think they get to have what’s mine?”