Page 6 of Unbreak Me

Looking around the hall and noticing it slowly filling with more people, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, disregarding the total smoking ban. Screw them. I wasn’t concerned about how disrespectful I looked to visitors—my mind already tunnel-focused on my goal. This insolent scammer company forced me to be here—so here I was, scamming them!

Besides, with my pheromone suppressants, nobody could smell me anyway—so surrounding myself with a gray cloud of smoke gave me some much-needed comfort.

I laid my head against the headrest and closed my eyes, puffing on my cigarette. I had a long day ahead. Tomorrow would probably be even longer… with diminishing hope for success.

Wait, did I just say that?

What hope?! Scratch that. I couldn’t wait for it to fail! I’d be rich again.

A million dollars was waiting for me.

JAN

Nope. I didn't go to the marital contract auction and fair on Saturday.

I couldn't gather the courage—or maybe I just didn't feel desperate enough to do it—despite promising Uncle Frank. I spent the entire day relentlessly working, laying down agricultural fabric under the young Cornelian cherry trees, trying not to dwell on Uncle’s constant hints that my potential partner might be waiting for me at the fair, and I was missing the chance. The work helped push away the unpleasant anxiety at the back of my mind, and as always, being surrounded by nature calmed me.

By late afternoon, my spine ached, so I packed up the remaining fabric and headed home.

The weather was still lovely—warm golden sunlight streaming down, the air carrying a dreamy, fresh scent. My two dogs trotted alongside me, barking happily. I cherished moments like these—so carefree and peaceful.

My fruit tree and shrub nursery was tucked away in a quiet, wide-open area with few neighbors. The land was calm and idyllic, offering a simple, serene life. I was happy here, though… a little lonely. Still, the solitude had its perks. Out here, no one stared, and that was a benefit I’d come to deeply appreciate.

My house sat on a gentle hill overlooking slopes covered with orchards and fruit plantations—a truly picturesque view. The white building resembled an old Southern mansion. I bought it four years ago with an inheritance from my parents, shortly after finishing my studies—fulfilling my dream of owning a farm.

As it turned out, when I entered the house, Uncle Frank was already there.

He typically visited twice a week, but I hadn’t expected him today—for a very specific reason: he probably thought I was at the fair.

From the door, before I even removed my shoes, he gave me a scrutinizing look, clearly noticing my guilty expression. Yeah, he caught me.

"I knew it! For God’s sake, Jan! I really hoped you'd finally go, especially since you promised like… ten times! You swore it!" he grumbled.

So, the scolding had begun. He was totally right, and I mumbled something under my breath.

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly. "Huh? Jan, look at me! What happened? Why did you change your mind at the last minute?"

Frustrated, I pulled off my gloves and set them on the table. Uncle Frank immediately moved them to the tool cabinet.

With a sigh, I slumped into a chair, feeling exhausted. "I don’t know. I guess it was a last-minute panic attack. Too much stress. This isn't like a real auction where I pick a partner like a fruit from some basket. I'm being chosen too, Uncle. He has to agree, remember? And let’s be real—I’m not exactly a top choice for omegas, for obvious reasons."

Uncle Frank sat next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, his warm eyes locking with mine. "Jan, why do we keep going back to this? How many times do I have to tellyou? You're a good, hardworking guy! Do you think your height is the most important thing? You're handsome, well-built, and really…"

And here we were again—the same discussion, over and over, for years and years.

So I stood up abruptly and took a step back, biting my lip.

Max, my older dog, whimpered softly, sensing my distress. I patted his head. "Sorry, I don't want to talk about it, Uncle. Yeah, we keep rehashing this, and I'm fed up too. But only I know what it’s like when people see me as a beta because I'm lacking a few stupid inches!"

Uncle tilted his head slightly. "Is that really such a big problem? Being a beta isn't a shame…" he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "I’ve managed fifty years as one. It’s not that bad."

"I'm not saying that!" Great, I was digging my own grave. "But that’s not who I am. I hate feeling dysphoric when people misgender me. I hate having to explain myself over and over. It hurts—the more it happens. I feel stuck, helpless. I know it’s irrational, but that's how it feels. Ten years of that… did damage."

His expression showed he didn’t fully understand, but he gave up and returned to the original topic. "There’s a simple solution: find a husband who doesn’t care about your height. But you don't even try anymore. You've given up. You’re depressed and—"

My frustration rose despite knowing he cared. His words were overbearing, especially since I was already scolding… myself for giving up. Lowering my head, I felt tired and dejected.

"I've tried many times, and it always ends the same. You know it. Sooner or later, it comes down to one thing: I look like a beta, they feel awkward by my side, and they want tall, impressive alphas to show off. They don’t want to keep explaining to people: 'No, I’m not into betas,' or 'No, myboyfriend isn’t a beta,' or 'Duh! I don’t swing that way.' Omegas want top alphas with perfect physiques."

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