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I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. Live music floated through the air, a string quartet positioned on a central pavilion playing a melodious piece that added an air of sophistication to the atmosphere. The sound wove through conversations and laughter, creating an almost cinematic backdrop to the scene before me.
As I wandered deeper into the galleria, I felt like Alice having tumbled down a rabbit hole into a wonderland of wealth and opulence. Every store was an alcove of high-end fashion and luxury goods. Mannequins adorned in couture posed elegantly behind pristine windows, their ensembles more art than attire. My fingers itched for my sketchpad as inspiration struck with each new display.
Around me, patrons drifted from shop to shop with ease and grace, their arms laden with bags branded with names I had only ever read in magazines. They moved with an air of entitlement, their laughter light and carefree, a world away from my own worries and wants.
My mind flashed back to the sleek corporate offices of Sterling Enterprises and to Colton and Jaxon Sterling—the embodiment of power and prestige in human form. Here in this galleria they owned, I felt closer to them somehow, as if walking these halls brought me into their orbit once again. It was unsettling but also exhilarating.
I passed by a café with aromas that beckoned me closer, a blend of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries that reminded me of work but promised a more luxurious experience. I paused outside, watching people inside chat over delicate china cups and flaky croissants.
Resisting temptation, I continued on my wayward path until I stumbled upon an outdoor courtyard nestled within the galleria’s walls. It was an oasis amidst the opulence, a garden designed for reprieve with benches tucked between manicured hedges and blooming flowers.
Sitting down on one of these benches, I took a deep breath. This place was intoxicating but also overwhelming for someone like me, an omega used to watching pennies and making do rather than indulging whims or chasing desires without consequence.
A young couple caught my eye as they passed by. They were laughing over some shared secret while their shopping bags swayed rhythmically with their steps. They looked so happy, so untouched by any concern other than which boutique to visit next.
Watching them made my chest ache with longing, not for material possessions or status symbols but for that ease of existence where every choice didn't feel like a gamble against tomorrow's needs.
I sat there for who knows how long, lost in thought, lost in this sanctuary of wealth, before reality nudged me gently. The art supplies store wouldn't wait forever, nor would daylight linger until my whims were sated.
With one last glance around at all that surrounded me, the evidence of lives so different from mine, I rose from my seat and ventured back into the heart of Sterling Galleria, determined to find what I came for without getting distracted by what could never be mine.
I navigated through clusters of shoppers and past more storefronts than I could count before finally spotting my destination, an art supply store nestled between a designer shoe boutique and an upscale home decor shop.
My eyes lit up at the rows of sketchpads, drawing pencils, pastels, and paints. This was my oasis amidst the desert of wealth. My fingers brushed over pencils with rich leads and sketchbooks bound in faux leather so soft it almost felt real.
After much deliberation, and an internal pep talk about financial responsibility, I settled on supplies that promised practicality over prestige. I selected a new sketchpad along with some graphite pencils, splurging a little since inspiration seemed to be flowing these days.
Exiting the store with my modest haul cradled against me, curiosity drew me toward the window displays of nearby clothing shops. Mannequins posed in luxury beyond my reach wore dresses that flowed like rivers of silk and satin and intricate beading. In my mind's eye, I imagined redesigning it with a deeper neckline and less embellishment.
I traced patterns on the glass with an absent finger, redesigning each piece in my mind, nipping waistlines here, flaring skirts there, until they matched visions only seen behind closed eyes.
My phone buzzed against my thigh, a reminder that reality awaited beyond these panes of wishful thinking. But for just a moment longer, I let myself indulge in a world where money was no object and every design could leap from paper to parade without second thought or compromise.
With a smile lingering on my lips, I headed home, satisfied with how I had chosen to spend my rare day off.
colton
Colton woke to the unwelcome embrace of fatigue, muscles tense and mind churning. Despite the silk sheets and plush pillows that surrounded him, sleep had been a battleground, his dreams an unrelenting siege by a face that haunted his waking hours—Delcy's.
Ever since he had caught a whiff of her scent at the coffee shop, he couldn't get her out of his head. He had never reacted so strongly to an omega before, except for that one time seven years ago when his own pheromone had already been out of control. Usually, he could ignore their sweet pheromones, but something about Delcy's scent had gripped him, sinking its claws deep.
With a grunt, he disentangled himself and rolled out of bed, each movement a testament to his restless night. The cold shower did little to tamp down the heat that seemed to simmer under his skin lately. He toweled off briskly and threw on workout clothes before heading down.
The gym offered no solace. As he lifted weights, each rep was mechanically executed, his thoughts ensnared by Delcy.
Jaxon bounced around the gym with his usual enthusiasm, unaware of Colton's internal tumult.
“Come on, Colt. You're dragging today. Where's that Sterling fire?”
Colton grunted in response, unwilling to admit that his fire was being stoked in directions he didn't dare explore.
Breakfast was a silent affair in Colton's penthouse, Jaxon helping himself to eggs and toast as if he owned the place. Colton's appetite eluded him. Instead, he found his gaze drifting to his hand that had held the coffee cup from Brewed Dreams, the coffee Jaxon had placed on his desk. He had known the brother had gone to that café, undoubtedly, to see Delcy.
He remembered how it smelled faintly of her scent, sweet and unsettlingly familiar, an aroma that had both soothed and irritated him. It was ridiculous how a simple cup could bring her image so vividly to mind.
He showered with the efficiency of someone who had places to be and people to command. The suit he chose was one of power, a charcoal gray tailored to perfection, a silent ally in the boardroom battles ahead. Yet as he knotted his tie, the silk slipping through his fingers like liquid shadow, Delcy's image infiltrated his mind once more.
In the car, his grip on the steering wheel was firmer than necessary as he navigated through the city's arteries toward Sterling Enterprises. Driving to work should have been routine, but an impulse seized him—an impulse so foreign it could have belonged to someone else entirely. Before he could second-guess himself, he found his car parked outside Brewed Dreams.
