Page 1 of Daisy
Chapter 1
Daisy
The mirror shows me someone I don't recognize.
Porcelain skin without a single flaw, dark eyes that look so much smaller than they feel, hair that falls in perfect waves because it's been brushed and pinned into submission. The omega they've spent nineteen years creating stares back at me.
Delicate. Valuable. Everything I'm supposed to be.
I wish I was looking at someone else. Anyone else.
"Arms up, darling." Ms. Harlow moves around me with practiced efficiency, her fingers adjusting the pale blue silk that probably costs more than most people see in a lifetime. The dress fits perfectly, of course. Everything about tonight has to be perfect.
I lift my arms obediently,my chest tightening.The familiar weight of performing settles on my shoulders.Ms. Harlow adjusts a pin.She's been preparing me for this day since I was fourteen. Tonight isn't my real Choosing Day, that's still at least eight weeks away. But it's my presentation to Crescent City's elite alphas.
A preview of what they might bid on.
The thought makes my stomach clench so hard I have to swallow down bile.
"Perfect," Ms. Harlow murmurs, stepping back with satisfaction. Her beta scent—crisp efficiency with undertones of lavender soap—fills the space between us. Neutral. Unthreatening. Exactly why she was chosen for this role. Nothing to trigger an omega's instincts, nothing to make me want to run or submit.
"You look exactly as you should, dear. Your uncle will be so proud."
I try to smile, but my face feels like porcelain too. Fragile. Ready to crack. "Thank you, Ms. Harlow."
She's right, I suppose. I do look exactly as I should. Like an omega. Like someone's future prize.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering what it would be like to be born a beta instead. To blend into crowds, to have choices, to not have everyone's eyes on me the moment I walk into a room. Beta girls get to decide their own futures. They get to fall in love, to choose their own paths.
They don't get put on display for alphas who can afford the lottery fees.
I touch the silver locket at my throat, a gift from my mother the day I presented as omega at fifteen. The last time I saw her before she retreated to her nest for good. Inside is a pressed flower from the mansion gardens, from the one time I managed to slip away from my lessons. For ten minutes, I sat under a cherry tree and pretended I was just a normal girl.
Just Daisy. Not the Governor's niece. Not an omega whose very existence seemed to remind her mother of everything she hated about her own life.
Mother stays in her nest now. Has for years. Uncle says she's "resting," but the staff whispers about the bottles they bring to her rooms. She was Uncle's first political victory. His ownsister, married off to my fathers before she was even twenty. I remember hearing her cry sometimes when I was little, and once she screamed that she never wanted children, never wanted any of this.
The nannies hushed us away quickly after that.
She never really raised us. That was always the nannies' job. Mother would drift through the halls like a ghost, barely looking at us. I think we reminded her too much of the life Uncle had forced on her. Three omega daughters, proof that his plan had worked, that he could control even his own family.
I wonder sometimes if she ever thinks about us. If she knows tonight is my presentation.
If she misses my sister and I like we miss her.
"Hands at your sides, dear," Ms. Harlow reminds me gently. "Remember what we practiced."
I drop my hands, clasping them in front of me to hide how they shake andI count the marble tiles beneath my feet.The rules are simple. Small steps. Soft voice. Eyes down but not closed. Never look an alpha directly in the eye unless given permission.
Sometimes I wonder if my sisters felt this scared before their presentations. Violet and Rose always make it look so easy now, so natural. They're content with their packs, their children, their lives.
Maybe something's wrong with me that I can't feel that same acceptance.
But I remember when we were little, before they left for the Omega House. We used to share the big bedroom at the end of the hall, all three beds in a row. Violet would braid my hair before bed and tell us stories about brave omega princesses who saved kingdoms. Rose would sneak cookies from the kitchen, and we'd eat them under the blankets, giggling when the nannies walked by.
Violet was so different then. Fierce. She'd stand up to Uncle when he criticized our posture or our voices. Once, when I was nine and spilled juice on my dress at a family dinner, Uncle started scolding me in front of guests. Violet stood up and said it was her fault, that she'd bumped my elbow. She was sixteen then, just about to leave for the Omega House, but she still winked at me when Uncle wasn't looking.
"We stick together," she used to whisper to us at night. "Always."
