Page 2 of A Promise of Forever
“I’m Riley, one of the staff. When you collapsed, I had someone help bring you in here away from some of the chaos. You were just conscious enough to get changed and were very adamant that we don’t touch you. I’ve only just stayed here to make sure that you were okay.”
That makes sense. The only people who have touched me have been my ex-Alphas and I haven’t wanted their touches. I’ve learned to block it out, but now I usually avoid touch if I can help it. Slowly, I wrap my arms around my chest, my ribs protesting the movement. Riley offers me a small smile as he points to the table beside the bed. “I had one of the staff bring you some tea for when you woke up. I thought it might help a little.”
I hum as I reach for it, hissing at the pain that shoots through me. I ignore it, though, in lieu of the warmth that the chamomile provides, my lids fluttering closed the moment the spiced vanilla hits the back of my throat. I don’t completely trust Riley’s generosity, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "How long was I out?" My voice comes out hoarse, like I've been screaming, though I don't remember doing that.
"About an hour. You collapsed pretty hard after you changed. I had one of the medics check you over—nothing broken, just exhaustion and some nasty bruises. They gave you something mild for the pain and to help you sleep."
I sip the tea again, letting the warmth spread through my chest. An hour. Wilson could have found this place by now. He could be waiting outside for me to emerge, but would he expect me to come here? Maybe I should keep going.
"If this were any other night, I'm sure we'd grill you for questions," Riley continues, settling back in his chair. "But you'd be surprised how many people escape to these galas for a betterlife. It's just not advertised." He manages a shrug like he’s used to Omegas just strolling into this building looking for a mate.
"Really?"
"Really. The Night of Scarlet galas have this reputation for being these fancy, exclusive events where only perfect Omegas find their dream matches. But the truth is, a lot of us are running from something. Bad families, abusive ex-mates, situations we can't escape on our own." Riley's expression grows serious as he folds his hands in his lap. "The people who sponsor these events know that. They built in protections specifically for cases like yours. It’s why there’s no fights allowed at the events. None, no exceptions. I came from a situation like that and then immediately signed up to help anyway I could."
I want to ask what they mean by "cases like mine," but I'm afraid of the answer. Instead, I focus on drinking my tea and trying to ignore the way my stomach cramps with hunger.
"I've pulled a few extra suits for you to change into," Riley says, gesturing toward a small rack of formal wear near the door. "Hopefully you find someone who will give you a rose, yeah?"
The suits are all black or dark gray, clearly chosen to help someone blend in rather than stand out. They look expensive, even if they're probably castoffs from previous events. I've never owned anything that nice in my life.
"Why are you being nice to me?" The question comes out more accusatory than I intended, but I can't help it. Everyone who's ever been kind to me has wanted something in return. Riley doesn't even know my name. "I heard that people here..." I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding ungrateful.
"Because we all want a pack," Riley says simply. "Every single one of us. It's part of our biological desire, and the Night of Scarlet provides us that. For the Betas and the Valla too."
The mention of Valla makes my blood run cold. I scrunch up my nose involuntarily, fear racing through my mind. I've only heard nightmares about Valla. Stories of their violence, their complete disregard for anyone weaker than them, their criminal enterprises that leave broken bodies in their wake. The thought of being claimed by one makes me want to crawl back under the covers and never come out.
"I know what you're thinking," Riley says, noticing my reaction. "But the Valla who come to these events... they're looking for mates, not victims. The gala rules apply to everyone, even them. No violence, no coercion, no taking anyone who doesn't choose to go."
I nod, though I'm not sure I believe them. Fear of Valla has been drummed into me since childhood. They're apex predators who see Omegas as toys to break. But maybe Riley is right. Maybe the formal protections of the gala are strong enough to keep even Valla in check.
I look over at the suits hanging on the rack again, trying to imagine myself in formal wear. The midnight one catches my eye, the kind of thing that won't draw too much attention. If I have to play the part of a respectable Omega looking for a mate, I might as well dress the part.
"I thought as much," Riley says when I point at the black suit. "It'll be a little big on you, but we can make adjustments if needed. I'll leave you to get changed." He stands to go, then pauses at the door. "The gala is already underway, so you can come out whenever you'd like. I assume you know how this works?"
I shake my head. I went to a gala once before, years ago, but it was much smaller and I was too terrified to pay attention to the actual process.
"Alphas and Valla give you their rose if they want to bring you on as a mate," Riley explains. "At the end of the night,you approach the Alpha or Valla you liked and give them their rose back. It's an archaic tradition, but it works. No violence is allowed, and if you feel unsafe, there are guards stationed around the entire venue. You can also just find one of us—" Riley points to a small red pin on the lapel of his jacket. “All of the staff have these and we can help escort you away from any situation.”
The process sounds simple enough, but my mind is already racing with complications. What if no one gives me a rose? What if Wilson gets inside? What if I choose wrong and end up with someone worse than what I'm running from?
"Sterling," I say suddenly, realizing I never introduced myself. Riley tilts his head to the side, his brows furrowing with confusion for a few seconds before he catches on.
"Ah, that’s a wonderful name.” He turns to go and then twists back at the last second. “Sterling? Whatever happened to you before tonight—it doesn't define your worth. Remember that."
When he leaves, the silence threatens to set in and ruin the panic Riley managed to chase away. However, I don’t have time to sit here. I take a few more sips of the tea before slipping off the bed, my ankle still tender from my fall outside. The black suit fits poorly, but it's still the nicest thing I've ever worn. If this were a different time, I might laugh at how it looks like I’m wearing my father’s clothing or even an older brother’s, but this is an act of survival. I just need one rose from someone who will take me as their mate. Justone.
One look in the mirror tells me that might be an impossible task, though.
My dark brown curls sit atop my head in a tangled, wet mess, the shaved sides showing off that one tattoo I got with a friend when we graduated high school. Add on the tattoos that line my neck and chest that speak of everything I went through and I look nothing like the cute little Omegas looking to be cherished out there on the gala floor. I look like trouble. I look like ahandful. I look like I won’t submit. The truth is that I want to, but I don’t want someone to make me hurt.
I just want someone towantme.
I run my fingers along the collar, grimacing at the bruises peeking through my tattoos, the lingering purple fingerprints from where Wilson grabbed me. I adjust the jacket higher, hoping it covers most of the damage. There's nothing I can do about the haunted look in my eyes or the way my hands shake, no matter how hard I try to control them. This is my last chance. If I can't find protection here, at an event specifically designed to provide sanctuary for desperate Omegas, then there's nowhere left to run.
I blow out a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves before heading out into the hallway toward the music and conversation. However, the closer I get to the main ballroom, the more overwhelming everything becomes. The ceilings are impossibly high, with crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than most people's houses. The walls are covered in artwork that looks like it belongs in museums, and every surface gleams with expensive polish. I've never been around this much wealth before. The smaller gala I attended years ago was nothing compared to this. It was held in a community center with folding chairs and grocery store flowers. This is the kind of event where billionaires come to shop for trophy spouses, where every detail is designed to impress and intimidate.
I don’t belong here.
