I stared at it.
He didn’t push it toward me. Didn’t tell me to take it. Just left it there.
My fingers twitched. Not from desire. From confusion. Because I didn’t know how to want something that wasn’t survival.
And I didn’t know how to accept something that wasn’t earned. But the book stayed there. Waiting. Like he wasn’t asking me to read it. Just to exist beside it.
“You are welcome to take it to your room later.”
When I still didn’t reach out to take it, Alpha Harris shrugged, like it wasn’t a huge deal if I took it or not. Maybe, it wasn’t to him. But to me, the simple act of offering me a book of all things, meant more than words ever could express.
“What do you do in your free time?” Again, his voice was open, as if he really wanted to know.
Didn’t he know, though, that Omegas didn’t have free time? That each waking moment was filled with something, some sort of chore or appointment?
“You must do something. Have a hobby, at least?”
“No, Sir. I am always perfecting my ability to serve an Alpha.” A robotic response, like most answers were when asked by anyone these days. Just as I had been trained to do.
Alpha Harris hummed. His gaze was questionable, but whatever he thought he didn’t speak of it. Instead, he once again changed the subject. “I remember the first time I met Adrian. Moore was already headfirst into the relationship with the boy. He wasn’t timid or fearful of the world.”
He’d also not been hurt like I have,I thought.
“He was reserved, but spoke his mind.”
Something he’d been punished for many times.
“Obedient, of course, like every Omega I’ve met. But he’s the best match for Moore.”
Of course Adrian would be. We were trained to be whatever an Alpha wanted. We were trained to become whatever version we needed to be to please the Alpha we had to tend to.
And apparently, I wasn’t doing a good enough job in my role, since Alpha Harris seemed to be comparing the two of us.
“How may I serve you, Sir, while I’m in your care?” The words came out smooth, practiced, like a line I’d recited too many times to forget.
He didn’t answer right away and I kept my gaze down, afraid that his expression might reveal more than I was ready to act on. Because if he wanted something, I’d have to give it. Even if it broke me.
After a long, deliberate pause, he reached out. His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, gentle, careful, like he was touching something fragile.
“What I want,” he said, voice low, “is conversation, Charles. Just that.”
I looked up, cautious.
Conversation.
It sounded simple. But it wasn’t. Talking had never safe. My thoughts didn’t fit the mold Omegas were trained to wear. They were jagged, misaligned—too sharp, and too honest. So I learned to silence them. To speak only when the words were pre-approved. To choose carefully. Because the wrong sentence could cost more than correction.
As a trained Omega, I had no options but to do as the Alpha wanted. That was my entire purpose.
“What do you want to talk about, Sir?” It took concentration not to stutter over the words.
“Many things.”
I took the moment to look at him, to gauge his thoughts and emotions. Vincent Harris was content, sitting with one leg bent at an angle over the other. His shoes were off, showing black socks that matched the rest of his attire.
“But we’ll start with something easy. I want you to answer with the first thing that pops into your mind. No robotic response. I want to know the real you.”
“Yes, Sir.” Not a promise I could keep, but I’d try. Or at least mentally have a thousand replies ready to answer with.
