Page 1 of Unbreak Me

DAY

The first person I saw upon entering the auction-and-fair building was Storm Nolan. He was waiting for me by the VIP gates on the side, like some self-appointed greeter to the gates of hell. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine—elegant, polished, unnecessarily handsome—and my irritation instantly spiked. He was the only reason I ended up in this horrible place, and rightly so I had come here with an attitude.

The employee of the matchmaking agency fixed me with his strange luminescent eyes and a well-practiced smile. He maintained an air of civility, but our last encounter had been anything but warm. Yet here we were, both stuck in this awkward charade of cooperation because my deal with Fate's Choice was circling the drain.

"Good morning, Mr. Sanderson. Pleasure to see you," he greeted me, keeping it official.

"Doubt that," I muttered under my breath. Predictably, his perfect smile didn’t falter. It was like he’d spent years perfecting that exact expression in a mirror.

"I’m thrilled to report that I’ve arranged a nice, secluded spot for you in the hall," he continued, gesturing vaguely toward the area where the freak show—I mean fair—was about to begin.

Instead of peace, I chose war.

"A secluded spot? Is that your idea of helping my case? Hiding me in the back row while your precious, flawless omegas take center stage?" Sure, it was a bit much, but who cared?

This man had practically blackmailed me into showing up, so I wasn’t about to make his day pleasant.

For the briefest moment, I saw a flicker of frustration cross his face. Good.

"That’s not it," he still managed to sound conciliatory. "It’s actually a good spot—just less crowded. More comfortable for you."

I grimaced and looked away. Sure, let’s call it comfort, notdamage control. I still found it hard to believe he genuinely wanted to help me. The guy showed up here because his company was desperate to fix their colossal fiasco of matching me with a partner, not because I mattered to him—all he cared about was salvaging their reputation. And saving them money.

Storm hesitated as if he wanted to add something, then thought better of it. My sour, hostile expression wasn’t exactly an invitation to friendly conversation. With a resigned sigh, he waved me along.

"Let’s… just get the formalities over with," he muttered.

I followed him silently through a side corridor to his office, where I was expected to sign even more meaningless paperwork for my already doomed deal. But Storm was my case guardian, and unfortunately, I was obligated to at least pretend to cooperate.

Outside his office, a line of client assistants attended to a crowd of alphas, betas, and omegas, all of them looking tight-faced with anxiety. No doubt, most of their big dreams of landing the perfect marriage contract were about to collide with reality—except for a lucky few.

We bypassed them and slipped through a side door into a dimly lit office.

As we entered, I flinched slightly under the glare of two sharp daggers—a pair of dark eyes. In the corner, on a small sofa, sat an omega radiating as much hostility as I was, if not more. Unlike me, though, he had something going for him: a gorgeous body, long platinum hair, and flawless features. A walking advertisement for winning the genetic lottery.

We exchanged glances, and I attempted a small, polite nod, only to be met with… nothing. His face remained as unmoving as carved stone. Seriously? Screw this guy.

"Mr. Sanderson, this is Star Daniels, another client I’m assigned to," Nolan explained, clearing his throat. The omega didn’t so much as blink. He seemed more like an ice sculpture than a living person. "Mr. Daniels is waiting here for the fair to start, since he traveled a long way and had to arrive early—"

"Sure, sure, don’t care," I cut him off, refusing to look at the human icicle. He hadn’t nodded back at me, so I didn’t owe him anything. Besides, everything about him annoyed me already—his perfect face, his aloof vibe, and the fact that he could probably sneeze and still look like art. "Let’s just get this over with."

Storm blinked, his eyes darting between me and Daniels, who seemed unfazed by my rudeness. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, he turned to his desk.

There, he bent down to rifle through a drawer, looking slightly ridiculous given how absurdly tall he was. After a moment, he pulled out some documents and handed them tome. I couldn't help but notice that he was wearing super-thin, skin-colored gloves, which struck me as odd.

I signed the papers without a word, making sure to thoroughly wipe my hands on my pants afterward. Who knew why he wore those gloves? Maybe he had a fungal infection on his nails or something—I wasn’t taking any chances.

Storm filed the signed documents neatly into a folder, sealing my fate. Not that I had much choice. My deal with the matchmaking agency was tricky, and without attending this fair, Fate’s Choice could refuse to pay the penalty they owed me. That didn’t change the fact that in six months, they hadn’t found me a single decent match, let alone a husband. And I was furious.

A few days ago, Storm had shown up at my house to deliver an ultimatum: my last chance was to participate in an open marital contract fair they organized monthly. It was clear how ridiculously desperate they were to avoid paying the fine.

The idea of sitting in a glass booth while people gawked at me like a circus exhibit was horrifying. It felt too much like an old-fashioned slave auction. Sure, marriage contracts weren’t the same—they were modern business agreements with rules, expectations, and lawyers to keep everything tidy. Still, the whole setup screamed adehumanizingspectacle.

That said, I took some small comfort in the legal protections. At least I was shielded from mistreatment plus secured financially, and that was the main reason I’d agreed to use their overpriced services in the first place.

At the end of the weekend, if no one showed interest in me, Fate’s Choice would have to pay me a hefty sum. I came here, right? No legal loophole would allow them to wriggle out of paying the fine now. That was the bottom line.

I crossed my arms with an impatient grimace. Storm gave me one of those measured looks that probably came straight from his training manual.

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