Page 32 of Broken Omega

Within seconds of meeting his gaze, I could tell he wasn’t the same as the Alphas who still come to the socials. Yet there was no attraction there.

This guy only has eyes for his Omegas.

He isn’t interested in meeting single women like me.

A little stab of jealousy hit me, then, and I’m sure I was mean to him to push him away.

Geraldine wouldn’t like it, but there was no way in hell this guy was ever going to take me as a mate.

This whole meeting was a waste of time and energy.

And that’s the last thing I remember before I woke up on top of my covers.

I don’t know what happened next. I could guess that I behaved myself well enough until Geraldine left us alone, and then I probably told him to go do what he really came to the academy for.

No. I probably told him to get Secret and Dylan out of here.

But I guess I’ll never know that for sure, since it seems I had another blackout.

Clearly, my psyche is crumbling under the weight of my father’s expectations.

He’s the trigger for my blackouts. He always has been.

The only way they’ll ever stop is if I can get away from here, get away from him.

I get up and take off my dress, inspecting it carefully before I hang it up to be cleaned.

It’s not the first time I’ve passed out cold in my clothes, and it won’t be the last either.

Though hopefully next time it’ll be because I’ve had too much wine.

I get under the sheets when I go back to bed.

My father already ruined my Saturday. He doesn’t get to ruin Sunday, too.

KELLAN

Goldcrest’s application process for potential Alphas is a pain in the ass. They have computerized systems, but they only accept postal applications … and they respond the same way. It always takes about a week for them to receive and respond to it. This time when my rejection comes through in the post the Monday morning after I sent in my application, I’m ready for it.

Something in me knew it would be another rejection, and I’m not willing to accept it this time.

I know when I pick up the phone that I’m not calling to hear my friend’s commiserations.

Dialing the number, I realize I know it by heart. I’ve called so many times over the years that I memorized it without noticing.

“Good morning, Goldcrest Academy! How can I direct your call?” an unfamiliar voice answers.

The woman has a cheerful tone, but it’s not the one I’m used to.

“Hello?” the stranger asks when I don’t answer her first greeting.

“Hi, who is this?” I ask.

“This is Paula. How can I help you?”

I wrack my brain, but I can’t remember Lana mentioning someone called Paula.

“Are you in reception, because it’s usually Lana …”

---