Page 26 of Happy Valentine's Day, Omega
"You're being a little dramatic," he says with a laugh.
I look over my shoulder at the giant red heart taped over the school crest. It's the first of a tidal wave of decorations. Soon, the whole academy will be dripping with red hearts and roses.
I'm trying not to think about love and mates, but it seems the universe wants to constantly remind me.
"No, I'm not!" I say, and then cringe. Okay, yeah. I heard the dramatic whining tone in my voice that time.
I pause.
It's not fair of me to be annoyed with my dad; he's only doing what he thinks is best. He doesn't want me to spend the rest of my life alone, and he solved my financial pickle.
I also have to give him credit for adding the delayed meeting clause to the agreement. It's given me much needed breathing room.
I've actually been enjoying the low stakes of handwritten letters.
I sigh and mumble into the receiver, "Thanks for making the arrangements, Dad."
"Give him hell, but also a chance, ladybug."
"Maybe," I exhale, pulling a face. "I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, 'bug."
I hang up and stare at the common room ceiling.
February fourteenth.
Happy fucking Valentine's Day, Omega.
14
The one thing I'm still determined to do before I leave these not-so-hallowed halls is win the chess tournament.
I'm mostly driven by the shiny wildcard invitation to the International Grande Chess Tournament. It's the only part of my future I'm certain about.
I also need my name engraved on a trophy in the headmistress' awards cabinet. A shining plaque she'll see every day and know she was mistaken about me.
My time here at the academy has to amount to something. If I'm not going to be announced in the newspapers as a freshly graduated, perfect little Omega ready for mating, then I'm leaving a mark in another way.
I push aside thoughts of my impending meeting with the Alpha and focus on the task ahead.
It's coming down to the semi-finals. Four players left in the tournament.
Three Alphas and me, one defiant Omega.
I'm going to stomp on their heads and break their spirits. I clench my fists at my side and study the tournament leaderboard.
"Alpha Novikov will play Alpha Decannon. Alpha Tao will play Omega Alvez," the adjudicator announces in his monotonous tone.
Alpha Novikov is leaning against a bookshelf, his arms crossed with unerring confidence. Of course, the reigning champ thinks his semi-final match is in the bag. He doesn't even use the wildcard invitation.
Pompous prick.
I don't spare him another look, choosing to keep my eyes on the prize.
I take a deep breath and walk confidently to Alpha Tao. He's short for an Alpha, but wicked smart. I've studied his style every match we've played, and think I've got him figured out. I have to come out of the gate strong, keep him off balance from the start. I decide on an aggressive strategy.
The Sicilian Attack.
