Page 13 of Happy Valentine's Day, Omega
The first night back in my dorm room is wracked with nightmares and a never-ending whirlwind of thoughts.
I can't turn my brain off even if I wanted to.
It irks me there's nothing I can do. I can't pay the academy for my education, but indulging in this archaic courtship feels alien and wrong.
I've already had an unscheduled meeting with the headmistress when I burst into her office demanding to know why I was on the hook to repay 'school fees.'
It'd been like arguing with an unfeeling, insipid wall.
I toss and turn, twisting the crisp white bedsheets into a coil at the bottom of my bed. I flop onto my back for the seventh time in the last hour.
Why wouldn't this Alpha just approach me outright?
The secret gifts and going behind my back to arrange our courtship with my family, without even speaking to me. It feels shady. Like this Alpha is manipulating me from afar.
I can only assume this person knows I'd never say yes in a million years.
Why else would they hide behind some outdated courtship rules?
A sharp rap at my dorm door me makes me jack-knife with a small shriek.
"For the love of saggy balls," I mutter, pressing the palm of my hand to my chest to still my rapidly thrumming heart.
It's 2 am.
One of the Beta handlers stands at my door with a scowl, like it's my fault they knocked on my door at such an unholy hour.
I take an envelope from them, and they walk away before I can speak.
Returning to the warmth of my nest, I burrow back under my blankets to get warm.
The paper is thick and feels expensive, its texture far nicer than the usual scrap I use for my notes in class. Settling so the bedside light illuminates the page, I skim the contents, my frown deepening with each word.
Dearest Natalia,
I've wanted to write to you at least a dozen times in these past months, but tradition and propriety demanded I not communicate with you directly. Instead, I hope you haven't minded the small tokens I've left you.
Tonight I heard a rumor you'd returned to the academy unexpectedly. I couldn't sleep without making sure you were okay.
Are you? Okay, that is?
I've recently been informed you weren't aware of my suit, or that your father had accepted. I truly hope it hasn't caused you distress, but I expect it has. I know this must be disconcerting and undeniably uncomfortable.
Please know I have only honorable intentions.
Yours,
A Concerned Friend
"What in the blazing, ever-loving hell is this?!" I screech, slamming the letter down onto the mattress.
Huffing in irritation, I fight the urge to tear the letter into tiny little pieces of confetti. Instead, I stomp to my desk and pull out a spare piece of parchment. It's poor quality with an ink blot already marring the upper corner. I feel a small slice of satisfaction over responding to the elegant letter with the scraps from the bottom of my desk drawer.
This posh Alpha is an idiot if he thinks I'm going to play nice. He's in for a world of hurt.
Dear Concerned Dickbag,
I agree with your notion – I am distressed.
