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“That man was gorgeous!” Anna exclaimed, her cheeks flushing red and her eyes bright. “Did you see him? The one in the fancy suit who came in earlier?”
Blair shook her head, amused. “Can't say I did. I was in the back doing paperwork.”
“He must be super rich or something. I saw him get into the nicest car after. A Rolls-Royce!” Anna sighed dreamily.
Rick scoffed. “That wasn't just any Rolls. Looked like a La Rose Noire Droptail. Those run about thirty mil.”
Anna's eyes went wide, her mouth in the form of an O. “Thirty million dollars? For a car?” She whistled. “Man, must be nice.”
The extraordinary price tag was unfathomable to me. I could live the rest of my life comfortably with that, and getting Grandpa's surgery would be a breeze.
Blair chuckled, shaking her head at our reactions. “If you've got it, flaunt it,” she said with a wry smile.
Anna laughed. “If I had it, I’d flaunt it, too.”
I busied myself with cleaning the espresso machine, letting their conversation wash over me, my thoughts drifting to the man Anna described. It had to be one of the two from yesterday. The two who left me shaken.
Ever since that incident seven years ago, I had closed myself off at the mere smell of an alpha, and with those two last night, it was no different. My rules were simple—no eye contact, no looking at their faces, and stay clear of them as if they were the plague.
My thoughts drifted back to that fancy car. What must it be like, having so much money that a thirty-million-dollar car seemed reasonable? I couldn't even comprehend that kind of wealth. Maybe one day, if my dress designs took off, if I could get investors for my own brand... but that was just a fantasy. My bank account barely covered rent and Grandpa's care costs. There was no room for dreaming right now.
The rest of my shift passed in a blur of steaming milk and grinding beans. At five o'clock sharp, I hung up my apron and bid Blair and Rick a good evening before slipping out the door.
The drive to Sunrise Elder Care Center where Grandpa Sid resided was short but always felt like crossing worlds—from my work life into something much more personal. Kate, the receptionist, greeted me with a warm smile as I entered. “Evening, Delcy! How's today treating you?”
“Same old,” I replied with a small smile of my own. We exchanged pleasantries before I made my way down the quiet halls to Grandpa's room.
“Hey there, Grandpa,” I greeted him softly as I stepped inside.
He looked up, his eyes lighting up despite the tired lines etching his face. “Delcy! My girl,” he beamed. “Come here. Come here. Look.” He waved me over.
I set my bag aside and settled next to him on the compact couch.
“Look at how cute you were,” he said.
My attention shifted to the album on his lap. These were our family pictures, and tears welled up in my eyes at the sight of Mom and Dad.
It seemed as if it was only yesterday when I last saw them, yet it's been a decade since their passing. Without Grandpa's shelter, despite his own financial struggles, I would have ended up in foster care, and the outcome for an omega like me could have been dire.
I'd heard the horror stories—how dreadful it was for omegas to fend for themselves in a world that didn't care, that reduced you to nothing more than a bearer of children, a creature succumbing to mindless estrus monthly like a beast.
I didn't want to know, nor did I wish to dwell on it. The mere thought terrified me, especially after the ordeal I suffered seven years ago. That terror still plagued me—the vague shapes that encircled me, the fever of my body. All I had craved was for men to take me, devoid of sense, and that terrified me. I had lost all self-command. My body seemed to operate on its own volition, yearning to be claimed.
And one did claim me, leaving his scent and mark upon me.
I nestled against Grandpa, laying my head on his shoulder while my fingers outlined the image of Mom and Dad.
They loved me unconditionally, the unexpected product of them as beta parents who carried the omega genes, and the revelation had been a delightful surprise.
Yes, they were delighted, not overwhelmed with shock or fear at having an omega child. Dad would often exclaim his luck in having an omega daughter, whom he considered tender angels.
I recall how they, along with Grandpa, had acquired a plethora of omega-related books for insight and understanding. One evening after work, Dad had come home deeply disturbed, venting about the injustices faced by omegas, about the discrimination. The reality of this discrimination didn't hit me until I exhibited my omega traits—the appearance, the pheromones, and eventually, the heat.
I spent the evening by Grandpa's side, chatting about little things and trying not to dwell on how frail he seemed or how his health was slipping through our fingers like sand. We talked about my day, his physical therapy, and the terrible food here. I noticed his breathing seemed more labored than normal and that he wheezed slightly even at rest. The doctors said his heart was failing, that he needed surgery we simply couldn't afford. Watching his decline was agonizing, knowing I was powerless to stop it.
It was late when I finally left for home—my cramped apartment feeling even smaller after being in Grandpa's room. After showering away the scent of coffee beans and disinfectant, I slipped into bed with an exhausted sigh.
My phone pinged, and I checked to see a message from Lydia.
