Page 8 of Broken Omega

She was never happy, and I’d always wondered how she ended up with someone as cold and distant as my father.

Maybe it hadn’t been her choice.

God, that’s so fucking awful.

What’s worse is how likely it is to be true.

He didn’t cry when she died. He didn’t show any emotion at all. I doubt he ever loved her.

What would make a woman marry a man who didn’t love her?

I pick my fork up as the server steps back into the room.

He sets down a wine glass and proffers a bottle.

I nod, managing a hollow, “Thank you.”

He leaves the bottle once he’s half-filled my glass.

I finish the dessert and drink until my emotions are dulled.

Picking up the bottle, I leave the dining room.

BROOKE

The first drop of scarlet liquid that lands on my sheets is completely accidental and reminds me that I’m still wearing heels. I hold the bottle upright as I kick them off my feet. The expensive shoes hit the side of the closet with a clatter. Sounds like I might have scuffed the delicate material. Too bad.

I probably already stained them with the wine on my stumble up the staircase anyway.

On a normal day, I’d be horrified at my complete lack of concern.

But my twenty-fourth birthday is extra special, because it’s the day I learned my own inherent specialness has an expiration date.

Apparently, twenty-five is the age when Omegas are no longer seen as desirable by Alphas.

I might as well be a scuffed-up pair of velvet designer heels with wine stains on the toes.

None of those assholes from Goldcrest want me as their mate, and I don’t want any of them as mine, either. So, what does it matter if I age another year and that situation never changes?

Being alone is better than being married off to someone I can’t stand.

I yank off my dress and toss it to the floor.

Then, I sit on the bed and take another gulp of wine before I look at the present in front of me.

My father never gets me anything. This is the only present I’ll get from anyone.

I take my time untying the bow. It’s a deep emerald green, because we both decided that was my color, a while back, when we were in high school, and we almost went to prom in the same dress.

It was pretty funny. The memory makes me smile.

Zelena immediately told me she had to change because I looked way better in the dress than she did. That was a lie. She looks better in anything than I do. But she saw the emerald necklace around my neck, one of the only things I own that belonged to my mother, and she instantly decided she was the one who should wear something else.

“I miss you so damn much, Zey,” I whisper, as I start to unwrap the box.

I push the wrapping aside and lift the lid to find a framed picture of us from prom night.

Just the two of us, before we picked up our “popular guy of the hour” dates.

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