Page 198 of Chosen Beta

She nods. “It’s this place, too. I’m okay with it now, but some part of me still thinks of it like it was. When I was stuck here, and I didn’t think I’d get out without having to marry some asshole my father picked for me.”

“I get it. It’s fucking awful what the academy used to do to Omegas.”

“I’m glad you’re changing it. This place needs you.”

“I think it needs more than me,” I admit. “Actually, it kind of needs you.”

She blinks at me. “Sorry, what? Was that some kind of job offer? Because I’m …”

“I know you don’t need a job. I just … I have to give a speech on Friday. I think it would be good for the Omegas to hear from you, too. You got out of here. You’re an Omega, and you met your true mates when you left. I think that’s the kind of story they need to hear.”

Why the hell didn’t I think of it before?

It’s perfect.

Brooke nods slowly. “I’d like to help. I think you’re right. They should hear from someone who’s been where they are. It might be the only way to help them understand.”

“Thank you so much. I was so stuck with that speech.”

She smiles. “That’s only because you worry way too much.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Do you want to watch some crappy hump day TV?” she asks, leaning forward and picking up the remote.

“That sounds perfect.”

I haven’t watched TV in God knows how long.

It’ll be nice to switch my brain off for a while.

The knock on the door comes halfway through the first reality TV show we put on.

Alpha Island is trash TV at its finest.

I stand up. “I’ll get it. Just let me know if that surfer douche Alpha-hole does anything dumb while I’m gone.”

I walk over to the door, smoothing my clothes down as I go.

Checking out the peephole, I see it’s Marianne with a food tray.

I unlock the door and open it wide.

She smiles. “I’ve got chicken salads and ice cream. Where do you want them?”

“I can take the tray,” I tell her, reaching for it.

“No, sorry. I’m under strict instructions to bring the tray back. We’re low on trays.”

I step back and let her in. “The table will be fine.”

“If you’re watching TV I’ll put it on the coffee table,” she says.

“Okay, sure,” I murmur, watching her put it down.

Brooke shrugs at me.

We can both tell Marianne’s acting slightly weird, but it doesn’t seem sinister.

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