Page 7 of Wisteria and Cloves

Christopher entered next, copper brown hair that was short on both sides but long on the top, his easy smile softening the tension in the room as his grey eyes scanned me over. Unlike Julian's controlled presence, Christopher moved with a loose-limbed grace that suggested comfort in any setting. "The famous Omega Wycliffe," he said, but there was no mockery in his tone—only curiosity.

Nicolaus was the last to join, appearing silently from another doorway. Dark blood red hair had light curls that framed his face and made his blue eyes stick out.

His expression was harder to read than the others—analytical, assessing, like he was solving an equation rather than meeting a person. Without the sociable veneer that Christopher woreor the cautious warmth of Miles, Nicolaus's scrutiny felt more clinical.

"Please, sit down," Julian gestured toward the dining area, where a table had been arranged with an elegant spread—not formal dining but a casual selection of appetizers, fruit, and wine. "We thought something light would be more comfortable for conversation."

I moved to the table with measured steps, careful not to seem too eager or too reluctant. My mother's voice echoed in my head: Not too much spine, not too much submission. A delicate balance.

"May I?" Christopher pulled out a chair for me, his movement fluid and courteous.

"Thank you," I murmured, settling into the seat with practiced grace.

The four men arranged themselves around the table, leaving the chair directly across from me empty. Not accidentally, I noted—they were creating space, avoiding any position that might seem confrontational. Julian took the seat to my right, Miles to my left, with Nicolaus and Christopher completing the circle.

"Wine?" Christopher offered, reaching for a bottle of something pale and expensive-looking.

"Just water, please," I replied, my voice soft but clear.

Julian's eyes flickered to mine, assessing. "Not a drinker?"

"I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate," I admitted.

Miles made a sound between a snort and a laugh. "So you were coached on what to say if offered alcohol too?"

Heat crept into my cheeks despite my best efforts. I kept my expression neutral, but Julian caught the change. His gaze intensified.

"Miles," he said quietly, the warning clear in his voice.

"Sorry," Miles said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely apologetic. "I just think we should acknowledge the elephant in the room. Your parents sent you here with a script, didn't they?"

I hesitated, my fingers lightly touching the edge of the water glass Christopher had just filled. Every instinct told me to deny it, to follow my mother's careful instructions. But something about the way all four men watched me—without hunger or judgment, just waiting—made the rehearsed words stick in my throat.

"Yes," I finally admitted. The single syllable felt dangerous on my tongue.

Julian leaned forward slightly. "What were you told to say?"

I met his gaze, finding it unexpectedly steady. "That I'm honored by your interest. That I understand my role as an Omega is to complement, not complicate. That I've been raised to be the kind of partner a pack of your caliber deserves." I repeated the words mechanically, hearing my mother's voice overlapping with mine.

A heavy silence followed. Christopher exchanged a look with Julian that conveyed volumes without a single word.

"And what do you want?" Julian asked, his voice softer than before.

The question caught me off guard. No one had asked me that before—not my parents, not my tutors, not the specialists who monitored my development.Wantwasn't part of my vocabulary.

"I... don't understand the question," I said honestly.

Nicolaus made a sound—not quite a scoff, but close. "Of course you don't."

"Nico," Julian warned again, but his packmate continued.

"She's been taught that her wants are irrelevant," Nicolaus said, his analytical gaze never leaving my face. "Haven't you?"

I should have denied it. I hesitated, searching for the right answer, the safest answer. But something in Nicolaus's direct gaze made lying feel impossible. "Yes," I admitted quietly. "Wants are luxuries. Duties are necessities."

"Jesus," Miles muttered under his breath.

Julian's expression remained neutral, but I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—not pity, which would have been unbearable, but understanding.

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