Space to think and take in everything and how different it all was.
I knew a little about how the Lockswell House was ran, and how the Omegas were schooled to become so well behaved. Not enough by any shot, but a little bit to go off.
I wasn’t a fan, and still wasn’t.
I didn’t want a robot as a partner. Nor did I want an Omega who feared my every move.
Charles was a mix between those two. He was better than he had been hours ago, and I knew it’d take time to get him to realize that the world was a safe place to explore. Especially with me by his side.
I’d never let anyone hurt him if I had the power to do so.
Keeping an ear out towards the kitchen, I made a note that Charles hardly made a single sound as he cooked up the pork meat. I could only hear the sizzle of the pan.
Were all Omegas taught to be this quiet? To swallow their thoughts before they ever reached the surface?
I’d only known two from that place, and they couldn’t have been more different.
Adrian kept his mind open, always asking and talking when he felt the need to. He knew how to play the game, and worked it to his advantage.
Charles wasn’t like that. His silence didn’t feel strategic. It felt conditioned. Like someone had taught him that speaking came with consequences.
And now, even when he had space to breathe, he didn’t seem sure he was allowed to fill it.
It’d take time to show him that it was okay. That it was okay to breathe and become something that wasn’t a part of Lockswell House.
Chapter 13
Charlie
Chopping potatoes always seemed to relax me, at least a little. With each knick of the knife against the cutting board, each piece was nearly the same size. Perfect for bites that would soak up the goodness of the juice once they were added to the stew.
The store had been…a lot. It was brighter than I expected, and nothing like the pantry we had at the boarding house. There were too many options, too many brands, to choose from.
I had chosen the cheaper items, unsure if Alpha Harris wanted to spend more money than he needed to on something. He obviously had money; his house spoke of it despite the lack of décor. But that didn’t mean he wanted to waste money on something that I talked about.
It was probably bad enough that he was feeding me.
The kitchen sink overlooked the back yard and wooden porch. The yard was lined with a few row of trees, far enough apart to see a field beyond it. But, there were no flowers.
I briefly wondered what it’d look like if there was a row of sunflowers and other wild flowers out by the trees. Not enough to block the view, but to bring some sort of color to the yard.
It was green, as though Alpha Harris had automatic sprinklers that kept it nice and neat. I bet he even had someone come out and mow it weekly, because it looked too perfect.
Everything felt too clean, too curated, here. Like the house had been staged for someone else’s life.
The fridge barely held any leftovers. The freezer was sparse—just a few frozen meals. The pantry wasn’t much better. Shelf-stable snacks. Cans. Nothing that suggested someone cooked here, lived here, lingered here.
It was the kind of space that looked lived-in from a distance but fell apart under close inspection. And I couldn’t shake the question pressing against my ribs. Why was I here? I didn’t belong in this kind of quiet. Didn’t match the polished surfaces or the untouched corners.
Alpha Harris’s life felt too smooth, too intentional. And I was anything but that.
I was used to cleanliness and order, but this place took that to an entirely new level. Everything had a place, but it was as though it were ready for a picture perfect scene.
Slipping the potatoes into the crock pot with the au jus and other veggies, I turned back to the meat. It was almost ready to be added, cooked to crispy perfection on the outside.
I made sure to clean up the counters while the pork finished, making sure that there was no trace of crumb or spill left in my wake.
Minutes later, I added the meat to the pot, gave it all a stir, then washed the pan. I made sure not to make more noise than I needed, since being invisible was better than being heard.
