Page 10 of Lavender and Honey

Maybe it was time to step beyond these four walls, to let people in… and try to move on from the past… but it wasn’t always that easy.

"Maybe," I whispered to no one, tucking away the possibility like a secret note in the back pocket of my jeans. A tiny spark of something akin to hope— or perhaps just curiosity— fluttered within me at the thought of the market's vibrant tapestry, so full of life and light.

Chapter Six

One Year Ago

The pine scent mingled with the musk of aged leather, its familiarity doing little to comfort me. My gaze fell upon the grandeur of my family's estate sitting room, each ornate detail a testament to the tradition that bound us. The heavy drapes, drawn tight, shielded us from the world outside and seemed to squeeze the very breath from my lungs. The fire's light played across the room, casting flickering shadows over my parents' stern features as they watched me with an expectancy that felt more like a sentence.

"Lydia," my father's sharp tone sliced through the quiet, his voice the sound of finality. "It's time you stopped this nonsensethat you have with your art and accepted your role. You are an Omega. It’s high time you behaved like one."

His words hung in the air, resonating with the weight of generations who had never dared challenge the status quo. I stood frozen for a moment, my paint-flecked fingers concealed within the folds of my scarf, the soft fabric offering me the scantest illusion of a shield against their steely gazes.

"I am not just an Omega," I whispered, lifting my chin ever so slightly, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance. Each word was a step on treacherous ground, a declaration that I knew could shatter the fragile peace within these walls. "I am a person. I have dreams, aspirations—"

The sound of my mother's bitter laugh cut through the tension, chilling me to the core. Her elegance belied the harshness of her spirit, her hair and dress meticulously styled to portray the image of perfection expected of an Alpha's mate. Yet it was her heart that remained untouched by any warmth, as cold and unyielding as the marble beneath our feet.

"Dreams?" she echoed with scorn dripping from every syllable. The firelight flickered over her features, casting shadows that seemed to mock my pain. "Your place is in a home, caring for a pack, bearing children. That is what Omegas do." Her gaze fell upon the canvas and paints I had carried in with hope, her hand waving dismissively at them as if they were nothing more than dust. "This..." Her voice was laden with contempt as her eyes swept over my art supplies, "this foolishness ends now."

The words surged from me like a fierce current, my voice louder than I had intended. "It's not foolishness," I snapped, the emotional dam within me breaking open as I clutched the edge of a paint-smeared easel for support. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing closer with each heartbeat, yet in thatmoment I couldn't help but not like my art room usually was my sanctuary.

"It's my passion, my life." My hand swept over the scattered brushes and tubes of oil paint, a mosaic of my innermost self laid bare upon the canvas. "I won’t give it up just to fit into your outdated expectations." I stood there, my stance defiant. I knew what I wanted with my life and it wasn’t to be a babymaker.

Across from me, my father rose slowly from his seat, his broad shoulders casting an ominous shadow across the polished floor. His eyes, dark pools of disapproval, narrowed until they were mere slits, assessing my rebellion with cold calculation. I could feel the instinct to submit to him, but I held his gaze, not willing to give in.

"You will do as you are told." His voice was steel wrapped in velvet, a whisper that carried the weight of a command, leaving no room for challenge. "The head Alpha from the Greene pack has already visited." He paused, each word measured and heavy with implication. "He found you…acceptable. That is way more hope than we could have ever expected for someone like you."

"Acceptable." I tasted the word, bitter and sharp. The memory of the head Alpha’s visit flickered before me— the way his eyes had lingered, appraising and possessive. My flesh crawled at the recollection, a primal instinct to flee or fight simmering beneath my skin.

"Acceptable is not enough." My voice was a soft murmur, a slight tremor in my voice as I continued to speak, "Not for me." I locked eyes with my father, seeing in his gaze the reflection of every Omega who had ever been forced into silent submission. But I would not be one of them.

"He looked at me like a prize cow at an auction," I spat the words out, unable to contain the venom in my voice. My hands shook, no longer from fear but from a rising tide of anger and indignation. "He’s a monster. He doesn’t respect me, or anyOmega. I won’t belong to him. HeAlpha ordered me…" The words dyed on my lips as I kept the tears that threatened to fall at bay. I wasn’t going to cry in front of them. I couldn't.

"Respect?" My mother's voice cut through the thick air, cold and sharp as a winter frost. Her contempt fell upon me like an icy shroud. "You don’t need respect. You need stability. A pack to protect you, to provide for you. That is your role, Lydia." She made no comment on the Alpha order, but I could see that it didn’t matter in her eyes.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “That’s your idea of my role. Not mine. I deserve to be more than just someone’s property.” The words hung in the air, a declaration of war against the only life I had been taught to lead.

My father’s face darkened, his eyes turning into storm clouds ready to unleash their fury. He rose from his chair, a monolith of anger, the vein on his temple throbbing with each beat of his enraged heart. “You will do as you are told, or you will no longer be welcome in this family.” His voice was low and menacing, a growl that seemed to shake the very foundation of our home.

A chill swept through the room as I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking solace where there was none to be found. My father's words echoed in my mind. The heavy drapes did nothing to shield me from the coldness emanating from my parents' hardened hearts.

“So that’s it?” I whispered, each syllable a shard of ice in the charged air. “You’ll just throw me away because I won’t bend to your will?” My well worn scarf felt like a lifeline as I clutched it, the only comfort in this gilded prison.

My mother’s steps were silent on the plush carpet, but her presence was as menacing as a looming thunderstorm. She drew close, so close I could see the fine lines of disapproval etched into her face. A scent of roses and disappointment surrounded her, suffocating me more than the pine and old leather ever could.

“You are bringing shame upon us,” she hissed, her voice slicing through what remained of my resolve. Her eyes, once soft pools of maternal love, now bore into me with the sharpness of obsidian. “You will ruin our family’s name with your selfishness.”

The accusation hung in the thick air, a tangible force pressing down on my shoulders. I searched her face for any sign of the mother who used to cradle me when storms raged outside, the same mother who now stood before me as an unyielding pillar of archaic values. But all I found was a stranger wearing her skin.

The laughter that spilled from my lips was a stranger to me, a haunting reverberation that mocked the silence of the sitting room. "Shame?" The word twisted into a sneer as I met my mother's gaze with newfound disdain.

"The only shame here is how you see me— as less than human." My voice fractured, the pieces laced with bitterness. "I’d rather be alone forever than be part of a pack like that." Disbelief flared in her eyes, but it was the shadow that loomed behind her that drew my focus. My father stepped forward, the air around him bristling with silent fury that I could almost taste it in the air. His stance was predatory, an unspoken threat that tightened the space between us.

"You are ungrateful," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, a tremor of contained rage vibrating through the room. It was the tone of a man accustomed to obedience, to the subservience of those around him.

"Everything we've done for you," he continued, his words coated with a venomous edge, "this is how you repay us?" The accusation hung in the air, heavy with expectation.

My hands trembled, yet my voice found strength from a wellspring of suppressed defiance. "Everything you've done for me?" I shot back, the words sharper than I'd intended, fueled by years of quiet acquiescence. My gaze locked ontohis, unflinching despite the quiver in my voice. "You mean controlling every aspect of my life? Forcing me into a mold I never fit? Making me learn to be basically a slave?” A stunned silence followed my outburst, broken only by the crackling whispers of the fire. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with tension and unspoken threats.

---