I could hear the soft tapping of keys, the occasional shift of paper, the low hum of the Alpha’s concentration. It was background noise as much as a reminder that he could need me at any time.
I stayed where I was at his feet, legs folded beneath me, book open in my lap. The words began toblur a little at the edges, not because the story wasn’t good, but because part of me was still listening.
Then a small shift happened. His leg moved slightly closer to mine, not touching, but near enough that I could feel the warmth through the fabric.
He didn’t speak. Just let me be there. And somehow, that felt louder than words.
I turned a page, letting the story pull me back in. But I stayed aware of him. Of the quiet way he made space. Of the fact that, for once, I didn’t feel like I had to earn it.
As I read the pages, flipping each one carefully, Alpha Harris’s typing slowed. The clicks grew further apart, and the glances at me increased.
Was I doing the right thing? Sitting at his feet, waiting for an order? Did he want his space?
I was slowly starting to enjoy his quiet moments, even though there hadn’t been that many hours in his house.
I could already feel it; how easily this kind of stillness could become something I craved. Not the silence of Lockswell House, where quiet meant tension.
But this.
Moments like this.
Reading at the feet of an Alpha who didn’t demand, didn’t correct. One who just allowed this.
When his hand landed gently on my head, fingers threading through my hair, I nearly flinched. Not from fear. Just from surprise. But the touch was steady. Familiar. Like before, it didn’t ask anything of me. It simply existed.
My eyes slipped closed, the book forgotten for a moment. I found myself wishing I’d known this kind of peace existed. A space where my mind could drift somewhere soft. Somewhere safe. Instead of always clawing its way out of the dark.
I hadn’t leaned into him, but I hadn’t pulled away either. And that was enough.
After a long moment, his voice broke the quiet. It was low, steady, like it had been waiting for the right time.
“You settle well.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how.
He let the silence stretch again, then added, “You don’t have to earn this, Charles.” His thumb brushed lightly against my temple. “This peace. This quiet. It’s yours, even if no one ever taught you how to hold it.”
I kept my eyes closed. Not because I was tired. Because I didn’t want to lose the moment.
Vincent didn’t speak right away. His hand stayed in my hair, steady, unmoving. Then, after a long pause, he said, “I had a brother once.”
The words were soft. Not fragile—just carefully placed.
I didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just listened.
“He was younger. Quiet. Too quiet.” His voice didn’t waver, but something in it shifted like he was walking across a memory he hadn’t touched in years. “He didn’t know he and I were so different, being so young. But I knew. I knew the instant he was old enough to talk.”
I felt his thumb brush lightly against my temple again.
“He wasn’t the first kid to be born in the house after me, but he was the one that I thought would stay.” Another pause. “My parents, mostly my father, thought Omega children weren’t worth keeping. When the blood test came back, my brother was only seven. He was supposed to be at least a Beta, so I could have a friend, a buddy. But it was Omega, and Father was furious.”
He exhaled, low and steady.
“I begged. The only time I ever asked to keep something. But Father did what he always did. Sent my baby brother to a boarding house, where I’d never be able to see him again.”
I opened my eyes, just barely, and looked up at him. He was staring ahead, not at me. But his hand hadn’t moved.
“He was the best parts of me, and when my own mother stood back and let it happen, I wasn’t sure I could live a life like that.”
