Page 94 of Lavender and Honey

My mother's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise, her lips thinning to a bloodless line. "Sold off? My goodness, Lydia,such dramatic language. This is about your future, about making advantageous connections. Alpha Greene—"

"I don't care about Alpha Greene," I interrupt, the heat in my chest spreading to my face. "I met him exactly once, and in that single meeting, he spoke to Father about me as if I wasn't even in the room. He looked at me like... like I was a prize mare at auction."

"He was being respectful," my mother counters, her voice tight with controlled anger. "Discussing terms with the head of our household, as tradition dictates."

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Terms. That's exactly it, isn't it? I'm just a bargaining chip to you. A commodity to be traded for pack status and social advancement."

"You are being ridiculous." She takes a step closer, her designer heels clicking against the wooden floor like the ticking of a time bomb. "We have given you everything—the best education, the finest clothes, introductions to the most respected packs. And this is how you repay us? By hiding in this..." she waves a dismissive hand at my carefully curated shop, "...this hobbyist's playground, wasting your potential?"

"My potential." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "You mean my breeding potential. My ability to produce pups with the right bloodline. That's all I've ever been to you and Father—an investment you expect to pay dividends."

Her nostrils flare, a rare crack in her composure. "That is not true. We love you."

"You love the idea of me," I counter, my voice rising slightly. "The perfect Omega daughter who knows her place, who follows the rules, who secures advantageous alliances through mating. But you've never lovedme—the real Lydia who paints and reads and dreams of a life where she's more than just an incubator for the next generation."

My mother's eyes narrow, a flash of something—anger? Hurt? Recognition?—crossing her face before her mask of cool disdain slips back into place. "You've always had a flair for the dramatic. This rebellious phase—"

"It's not a phase!" The words burst from me, too loud in the quiet shop. "I am twenty-four years old. This is my life, my choice. Why can't you see that? Why can't you just let me be happy?"

"Because this isn't happiness, Lydia. It's hiding. Playing pretend in a little shop in a town nobody's heard of. How long before the novelty wears off? Before you realize the security and status you've thrown away?" The conversation circles back, a familiar pattern I recognize from childhood—my tentative steps toward independence always countered by reminders of what I'd lose, of how the world would punish me for daring to want more than the narrow path they'd laid out.

"The truth is," I say, the words emerging with surprising clarity, "you're not here because you miss me, or because you're concerned about my wellbeing. You're here because the Greene alliance is slipping away, and Father's losing face with his business associates. You need me back as a bargaining chip."

My mother inhales sharply, her perfectly manicured hand rising to the strand of pearls at her throat—a nervous tell I'd forgotten she had. "That is absolutely not true."

"Isn't it?" I press, emboldened by the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. "Father's pack alliances have always been about business connections, political leverage. The Greene pack influences half the regional council decisions. Without that alliance, how many deals will fall through? How many doors will suddenly close?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she snaps, but there's a defensiveness in her tone that tells me I've hit closer to the mark than she'd like to admit.

"I grew up watching Father build his network, Mother. I saw how pack alliances translated to business advantages, how Omega children became collateral in these arrangements. I was just too young, too naive to realize I was being groomed for the same fate." My voice cracks slightly on the last words, the old pain surfacing despite my best efforts.

"We are offering you a place in one of the region's most respected packs," my mother hisses, abandoning the pretense of calm reasoning. "A position many Omegas would claw each other's eyes out to secure. And you throw it back in our faces like an ungrateful child."

"Respected?" I laugh, the sound harsh and unfamiliar in my throat. "Alpha Greene is known for keeping his Omegas isolated, for controlling every aspect of their lives. His previous mate wasn't seen in public for the last five years of their marriage. Is that what you want for me? To disappear into that mansion and never be heard from again? Did you think I didn’t know he had other Omegas? That I would settle for that?"

My mother's face flushes with an anger I rarely saw as a child—she was always too controlled, too concerned with appearances to let such naked emotion show. "You will not speak of Alpha Greene that way," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "He is a traditional Alpha who understands the proper place of Omegas in pack hierarchy. Something you've clearly forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten anything," I retort, refusing to be cowed by her tone. "I've just decided I deserve better than being someone's possession."

"Better? You think this is better?" She gestures around my shop again, her lip curling with disdain. "Living alone, unclaimed, flaunting your Omega status for anyone to see? Have you no sense of decency, of self-preservation? An unmated Omega without pack protection—do you have any idea how vulnerable you are?"

"I'm doing just fine," I insist, though her words prick at insecurities I thought I'd overcome. "I have friends here, people who care about me for who I am, not what I can do for them."

"Friends," she scoffs. "What good are friends when you're in heat? When rival packs come sniffing around? When you're sick or injured? You need the protection of a proper pack, Lydia. This independent fantasy you're living is just that—a fantasy. And sooner or later, reality will catch up to you."

Her words hit with the precision of arrows, finding all the soft, vulnerable places in my newfound confidence. But before I can formulate a response, my phone buzzes again on the counter—insistent, as if the person on the other end somehow senses I need them. The sound seems to snap something in my mother.

"Who is that?" she demands, eyes narrowing. "Have you been seeing someone? Is that why you're being so stubborn about the Greene alliance?" The accusation ignites something in me—a protective instinct I didn't know I possessed. She doesn't get to know about them. Doesn't get to taint what's growing between us with her judgments and manipulations.

"That is none of your business," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerously quiet register. "My life here, my relationships—none of it concerns you anymore. You made that very clear when you gave me an ultimatum a year ago."

"Don't be absurd. Of course it concerns me. I'm your mother. I have a right to know—"

"You lost that right when you tried to sell me to a pack that treats Omegas like breeding stock!" The words tear from my throat, too loud in the quiet shop. "You lost that right when you chose your social standing over your daughter's happiness!"

My mother's face contorts with genuine shock—whether at the accusation itself or at my unprecedented defiance, I can't tell. "How dare you," she breathes, her voice trembling with rage. "After everything we've done for you—"

"You've done nothing for me!" I shout, the last threads of my composure snapping. "Everything you've ever done has been for yourselves, for your status, was for Father's business connections. I was never a daughter to you—just an asset to be leveraged at the right time!"

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