Page 5 of Broken Omega

I’d have been happier to skip this dinner, too, but something tells me that was never an option.

It’s an unpleasant but somehow necessary encounter.

The car rolls to a stop in front of my father, and Peter kills the engine.

He gets out of the driver’s seat while I sit in my seat, waiting helplessly to be let out.

I feel like a kid. I always do when I come home.

The dress and heels make me feel like I’m pretending to be a grown up.

Makes a change from feeling like I’m in disguise as a perfect Omega, I guess.

Goddamn. Less than a minute on the estate and I’m regressing.

This night better not last too damn long. I might not have a working brain left by the end of it.

Peter opens my door, and I take a breath before I step out gracefully, painting on a smile.

“Brooke, you made it,” my father says, as if I had any choice in the matter.

“Of course,” I tell him.

“Happy Birthday,” he mutters, like that’s not just the most convenient excuse to drag me out here.

The academy doesn’t typically allow Omegas to come and go as they please, but considering I’ve been there for six years instead of the normal three, and considering my father is the academy’s biggest financial supporter, I get to be special.Yay, me!

“Is dinner almost ready?” I ask, as Peter gets to my side with my overnight luggage.

My father nods slowly and takes a step toward the open door. “You have time to clean up.”

Because clearly, my hands got dirty on the way over in the spotless town car.

I’ve been here a couple minutes and I’m already exhausted by his attitude.

Here’s hoping our chef leaves the wine bottle on the table.

BROOKE

Ilet Peter follow me to my room and place the bag down on the floor by the side of the bed, but only because my father would have chastised me if I tried to carry my own bag. I thank him as he leaves. Closing the door, I glance around the bedroom I spend a single night in every year.

It’s the same room I slept in while I was growing up, and it hasn’t changed since I’ve been gone, probably because I never changed anything about it while I was here.

It feels like a spare room. There’s nothing special about it.

Well, except the wrapped box on the bed that I know is from my best friend. That makes me smile, even if it fades quickly. I never get to see her anymore. Zelena is out in the big, wide world living her dream life, because her parents were supportive when she told them she wanted to go into the creative arts. Now she’s the hottest popstar on the planet.

I get a little burst of pride at the thought of that, like I do every time I see her on TV, or when I hear one of her songs playing at the socials. She worked so damn hard to get to where she is, and she deserves every bit of the success she’s found.

I pick up the card and read it first.

A bundle of concert tickets and backstage passes fall out of the envelope, dated for October.

My stomach twists up when I see them. I’d love to go watch my bestie do her thing onstage, but asking my father to request my absence from the academy would mean owing him a favor, and I know what kind of favor he would ask of me.

I can’t do it. I wish to hell I could, but the cost is too high.

I put them in my purse, so my father doesn’t get the chance to see them.

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