Page 3 of Unbreak Me

To my surprise, Nolan returned my smile, his just as ironic. "Well, Mr. Sanderson… you’re right, in a way. But then again, isn’t it better if all parties win? Wouldn’t that be the most satisfying outcome?"

I hesitated, biting back an even ruder response. After taking a deep, calming breath, I admitted with dangerous honesty, "All I want is to leave this fair with a full bank account. There’s no chance it will work." The moment I said it, I regretted it. He didn’t need to know I wasn’t giving this fair a real shot.

Storm Nolan fell silent for a moment, drumming his fingers on the desk absentmindedly, pondering over my words.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost a whisper.

"Maybe your priorities should shift. I’m quite optimistic about it, Mr. Sanderson. Please keep an open mind about the potential candidates. I think, despite everything, luck will be on your side… Call it a hunch."

I didn't bother to comment. His optimism was meaningless, and I didn't care about his stupid ‘hunch’.

And once again, my gaze flickered to Star Daniels, whose cold eyes were, interestingly, fixed not on us but on a small window in the corner. His face—still like a mask—and yet, on some level, I could sense he shared my sentiment, distrust radiating off him. He and I were almost certainly in the same boat, forced to be here at the last minute, skeptical about Storm Nolan’s empty promises and vague intuition.

Suddenly, he turned toward the icy omega and said, "Mr. Daniels, please forgive me, but I’ll take Mr. Sanderson to the hall first. It’s better to join Section A as late as possible, even a little after the gates open. There’s a bit of commotion at the front right now, and I’d rather save you any unnecessary nerves."

Star Daniels responded with… silence. Not a word, not a blink. What a friendly guy. Sure, I was a bitch, but at least I knew how to keep a conversation interesting, right?

With nothing more to do, Nolan nodded, and we left the small office, heading toward the main hall where the fair was taking place.

As we walked, Nolan’s phone rang.

"Hello? Mr. Ferro, I was worried you might be late—" he paused, listening. The surrounding noise drowned out the caller’s words.

"Okay, but the fair is about to start," he continued. "Once the gates open, it’ll get chaotic. Please call me when you arrive, and I’ll lead you to one of the staff entrances. It’ll be safer that way."

He ended the call with a sigh.

"Sorry, another client of mine is on his way."

"How many clients exactly do you have here today?" I asked, more out of boredom than genuine interest.

"Four," he replied. "One is already in his booth in the beta sector. I’m only waiting for one more, but he’s late due to traffic."

"Four poor souls? Let me guess, all their deals come to an end very soon and still no sweet matches?"

Nolan didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to; I could guess that much. Four unlucky guys came here today hoping for a miracle… Screw Fate’s Choice!

There wasn’t much left to do here. My annoying case guardian guided me toward the hall entrance. After passingthrough a small side security checkpoint, we stepped into the main hall.

This place was massive—overwhelming, almost. The organizers had divided it into three sections, separated by high metal barriers. The largest area was for omegas, while smaller sections housed the betas and alphas wanting their contracts to be bought.

We bypassed the side sections without a glance. Indeed, some wealthy omegas, betas, and alphas bought contracts here, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I had enough on my plate—like calming my racing heart and not throwing up.

Finally, Nolan and I entered the omega section—it was gigantic. Hundreds of glass booths filled the space, a demeaning cattle market vibe hanging in the air. This was my fate for the next two days: sitting in a booth, being judged, ogled, and probably laughed at.

Attentively, I scanned the space. The youngest omegas, who had never been contracted before, were in Section A at the front of the hall. Star Daniels would almost certainly be there; he didn’t look a day over twenty-two. This section would be the busiest, swarming with eager alphas, their wallets thick, their hopes high.

Section B housed omegas aged 25 to 30, and Section C—my section—was for omegas aged 30 to 35.

Beyond that, there were three other areas for older omegas: Section D for omegas over 35, Section E for omegas past 40, and the sixth—and last—section for omegas beyond 50, marked with the letter F. These were the smaller parts of the hall but still fairly frequently visited.

Older alphas sometimes came there looking for a companion for their golden years—or perhaps, more practically, for nurses and caregivers. Although it was more common to purchase betas’ contracts for that purpose because older omegasoften had children whom the buyer would usually be obligated to support. Yet, some alphas still stuck to omegas regardless. Lucky us.

Those who wanted to start a family rarely ventured beyond Section E. While omegas could naturally bear children until around the age of 60, the odds of successful fertilization decreased considerably, along with the likelihood of a healthy pregnancy.

Nolan and I walked along the long rows of glass booths. It felt like a walk of shame for me.

Some cubes were still empty; latecomer omegas were just gathering, and visitors hadn’t been given access to the hall yet.

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