Page 11 of Broken Omega

I’m not sorry about it, so I don’t bother to apologize.

“I must have had another blackout,” I tell him, shrugging it off.

“You haven’t been keeping up your therapy appointments.”

“They haven’t been getting me anywhere.”

He scowls. “Have you had a blackout since you started going to them?”

Way to make me see your point, Dad.

“Last night is the first blackout I’ve had in a while.”

“And how long has it been since you last went to therapy?”

Ugh. I hate it when he’s right. Of course, I’d bet my platinum credit card that I wouldn’t have had a blackout at all if he hadn’t given me a messed-up ultimatum that’s going to negatively effect the rest of my so-called-life.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, trying to count back. “Six weeks, maybe.”

“Well, clearly something was working. You’ll start going back next week.”

It’s not the worst thing he could make me do. He’s already decided to push an Alpha I don’t want on me. That’s more horrifying than making me go back into therapy. Hell, I’ll need more sessions than ever once I’m married to a fuckboy Alpha I’m expected to have children with.

“Yes, sir,” I tell him, fighting against the urge to sneer. “Can I leave now?”

He takes in a breath and nods. “Straight back to the academy, no detours. Doctor Prentice has been told to let me know if you stop going to appointments again.”

I’m surprised she didn’t tell him this time. All she seems concerned about is doing what my father wants. Geraldine’s the same. Men who have money make people jump to tend to them.

It fucking sucks.

“No detours,” I mumble under my breath.

“I’ll see you when you’ve chosen your mate.”

So, never.I nod like a good girl, and he leaves me in the hall while he fetches his live-in driver.

Peter has a life of his own that he escapes to when my father doesn’t require his services, but when he’s working, he’s supposed to remain on site. Heaven forbid my father might ever have to drive himself out of the estate like a regular rich guy.

If I’d been a little smarter this morning, I might have plotted to have an Uber pick me up outside the gates in the early hours. Of course, that would have required not getting hammered last night and remembering to set an alarm on my phone.

It doesn’t matter. He’d find me if I did that, and I know it.

I don’t have anywhere to run to, and I’d have to avoid using my credit card to pay for stuff which would be kind of hard considering I don’t have any cash and the card won’t allow for cash withdrawals. I’ve always been told I can spend whatever I want, but it’s got to be trackable.

It means I have no real way to escape.

But there’s also no way in hell I’m going to choose an Alpha out of the fuckboy assholes that attend the academy socials. Granted, there might be some new ones since we’re onto a new year, but I doubt they’ll be any better than the likes of Colby Summers, that threesome-obsessed idiot who started attending socials last semester, basically right after he turned eighteen.

I don’t think he’s been successful in his quest yet, but I know a couple of the younger Omegas fell for his questionable charms in fairly quick succession, before his vile personality made them change their minds about him.

He’s a definite no, and there are a whole bunch more just like him to varying degrees.

There are a few softboys among the fuckboys, too. I think I hate them even more, because they’re pretending to be better than the other guys, but the truth is there’s no real difference between them.

Of course, there are worse options than fuckboys among Goldcrest’s “available” bachelors. There are also some real creeps that no Omega wants to find herself left alone with. Creeps like Lachlan Darvish, the guy who’s somehow still allowed to walk into the socials like he isn’t a vile piece of shit despite mounting evidence that shows, clearly and unequivocally, that he’s a predatory rapist.

I don’t even want to think about that guy. The others are bad enough.

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