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Resolved to complete my task and irk the oncoming woman, I stood firm and nudged the door open.
Inside, the office lay empty, exuding a sense of gravity even without its occupant. I scanned the room, taking in the lavish décor befitting the CEO of a global titan.
I approached the polished mahogany desk and placed the coffee, bearing his name, on its surface. Just as I was about to exit, I hesitated. After a quick look around, I picked up one of his pens, plucked a sticky note from the pad, and scribbled a message. Your coffee from Brewed Dreams. Hope this brightens your day! Enjoy and thanks for your patronage. On impulse, I doodled a whimsical bunny enjoying a coffee encircled by tiny hearts—hoping it might coax a smile from someone as important as him.
Finished, I raised my gaze and retreated a step, inadvertently nudging the chair behind me and causing the draped suit jacket to tumble down. I quickly scooped it up, brushing off any potential dirt, and then carefully replaced it over the chair's back. Afterward, I made my way to the exit.
Once outside, I could feel the scrutiny of onlookers, particularly from the woman who had tailed me, now returned to her workstation. They likely pondered my business in the office. Merely delivering coffee, naturally. And I had one more delivery to make.
I headed to the office next door—Jaxon Sterling.
Stepping inside felt like trespassing into another world. This room had more personal touches but still carried that same weight of significance. I left the coffee next to an impressive array of gadgets on the desk and added a note with his, too. Your coffee. Hope this brightens your day! Your friends at Brewed Dreams. This time I drew a little hamster lying flat with a mug balanced atop its round belly, with little hearts floating about as well. They always appreciated my doodles back at the café. Hopefully it would make these powerful men smile, too.
Finished with my deliveries, I made my way back through the sea of desks under curious gazes until I reached the relative safety of the elevator. The descent felt longer than before, maybe because now those names—Colton and Jaxon—carried palpable presences for me.
As much as part of me hoped that those sketches might make someone's day just a little brighter, another part worried about how presumptuous it might seem for someone like me—an omega—to leave such personal touches for men like them—powerful alphas, because it was a given they would be alphas, considering their positions as CEO and COO of a worldwide corporation. Such was the order of society.
* * *
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, brushing my eyelids with the promise of a rare, unhurried day. With no alarms to obey, I rose when my body felt ready, the clock's hands inching toward midmorning. I stretched beneath the warmth of my comforter, my limbs languid and content. Sundays were a sacred reprieve from the breakneck pace of the rest of the week, and I cherished every second.
I finally rolled out of bed. In the kitchen, I took my time preparing breakfast, savoring the sizzle of eggs in the pan and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee—perks from working at Brewed Dreams and Café Serenity. Usually, I scarfed down food standing over the sink, but today I sat at the tiny table in my kitchenette and savored every bite. With no rush to get ready for work, I lingered over a second cup of coffee.
As I ate, my sketchpad lay open beside me. My pencil danced across the paper, coaxing fabric and form from simple lines and shading. The dress that emerged was daring yet elegant, something I'd imagined a thousand times but could never afford to bring to life.
Fashion design was my passion, though I rarely found time for it while working two jobs. These sweeping skirts and off-the-shoulder necklines represented pure fantasy for someone like me. But I loved dreaming up these designs, losing myself in an imaginary world of beauty and artistry.
When the last pencil strokes were complete, I held up the sketchpad to admire my work. I lingered over the last page of the sketchbook, its edges worn from constant use. It held all my dreams in graphite and eraser shavings—a silent gallery of designs waiting for their debut. A sigh escaped me as I considered buying a new one while I traced my fingers over the textured paper. Money was always tight.
I grabbed my phone and went online to check my bank account. The digital numbers drew me back to reality—my balance blinking back at me with a bit more resilience than usual. Enough to cover bills with some left over? It felt like finding treasure in an old coat pocket. I decided right then I'd buy some art supplies today.
After cleaning up from breakfast, I headed out to do my grocery shopping for the week. I picked up the usual staples, taking advantage of sales and coupons to stretch my limited budget. At the register, I held my breath as the cashier rang up my purchases, exhaling in relief when the total was just under what I had budgeted.
With the grocery shopping done, I drove over to visit Grandpa. The care home smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers when I walked in—a sharp contrast to the scent of fresh produce still lingering on my skin. When I arrived, I found Grandpa sitting in the common room looking cheerful. His eyes lit up when he saw me.
“Delcy, my girl! Come give your old Gramps a hug,” he said, stretching out his arms, his eyes sparkling with an energy that belied his years.
I embraced him gently, inhaling the comforting scent of talcum powder and his favorite cinnamon candies. We chatted for a while about inconsequential things—the weather, what was on TV last night, which nurse at Sunrise was his current favorite. After some time, one of the nurses pulled me aside for a talk.
“It's about your grandfather's heart condition,” she said softly.
I nodded, steeling myself for what came next—the talk about surgery options we couldn't afford.
“I know it's expensive, but you should really consider it for him.”
The weight of financial impossibility settled on my shoulders. “We can't,” I said. “It's just not within our reach.”
She sighed, her expression folding into one of shared frustration. “It's a shame how broken our health care system is. In some countries, health care is free.”
“Yeah,” I said in agreement. “If only it were free here, it would lift such a burden off omegas like me.”
The conversation shifted as we talked about daily struggles that seemed designed to keep people like us pinned down—never quite drowning but never able to swim freely either.
After a simple lunch with Grandpa, I gave him a kiss goodbye and left the care home with a heavy heart but forced myself to focus on something brighter—the art supplies awaiting me at the mall.
As I approached Sterling Galleria, the imposing structure seemed to rise from the cityscape like a beacon of luxury. The building's exterior gleamed, reflecting the afternoon sun in a dazzling display that could likely be seen from blocks away.
I took a deep breath before stepping through its doors, the cool air—perfumed with lavender and money—greeted me. The grand atrium stretched before me, bathed in natural light that cascaded from the glass dome above. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, refracting the afternoon sunlight across the polished marble floors. My eyes widened at the sight. It was like stepping into another realm.
