Page 1 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Daisy

T he mirror shows me someone I don't recognize.

Porcelain skin without a single flaw, dark eyes that look so much smaller than they feel, hair that falls in perfect waves because it's been brushed and pinned into submission. The omega they've spent nineteen years creating stares back at me.

Delicate. Valuable. Everything I'm supposed to be.

I wish I was looking at someone else. Anyone else.

"Arms up, darling." Ms. Harlow moves around me with practiced efficiency, her fingers adjusting the pale blue silk that probably costs more than most people see in a lifetime. The dress fits perfectly, of course. Everything about tonight has to be perfect.

I lift my arms obediently,my chest tightening.

The familiar weight of performing settles on my shoulders.

Ms. Harlow adjusts a pin.She's been preparing me for this day since I was fourteen.

Tonight isn't my real Choosing Day, that's still at least eight weeks away.

But it's my presentation to Crescent City's elite alphas.

A preview of what they might bid on.

The thought makes my stomach clench so hard I have to swallow down bile.

"Perfect," Ms. Harlow murmurs, stepping back with satisfaction.

Her beta scent—crisp efficiency with undertones of lavender soap—fills the space between us.

Neutral. Unthreatening. Exactly why she was chosen for this role.

Nothing to trigger an omega's instincts, nothing to make me want to run or submit.

"You look exactly as you should, dear. Your uncle will be so proud."

I try to smile, but my face feels like porcelain too. Fragile. Ready to crack. "Thank you, Ms. Harlow."

She's right, I suppose. I do look exactly as I should. Like an omega. Like someone's future prize.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering what it would be like to be born a beta instead. To blend into crowds, to have choices, to not have everyone's eyes on me the moment I walk into a room. Beta girls get to decide their own futures. They get to fall in love, to choose their own paths.

They don't get put on display for alphas who can afford the lottery fees.

I touch the silver locket at my throat, a gift from my mother the day I presented as omega at fifteen.

The last time I saw her before she retreated to her nest for good.

Inside is a pressed flower from the mansion gardens, from the one time I managed to slip away from my lessons.

For ten minutes, I sat under a cherry tree and pretended I was just a normal girl.

Just Daisy. Not the Governor's niece. Not an omega whose very existence seemed to remind her mother of everything she hated about her own life.

Mother stays in her nest now. Has for years.

Uncle says she's "resting," but the staff whispers about the bottles they bring to her rooms. She was Uncle's first political victory.

His own sister, married off to my fathers before she was even twenty.

I remember hearing her cry sometimes when I was little, and once she screamed that she never wanted children, never wanted any of this.

The nannies hushed us away quickly after that.

She never really raised us. That was always the nannies' job.

Mother would drift through the halls like a ghost, barely looking at us.

I think we reminded her too much of the life Uncle had forced on her.

Three omega daughters, proof that his plan had worked, that he could control even his own family.

I wonder sometimes if she ever thinks about us. If she knows tonight is my presentation.

If she misses my sister and I like we miss her.

"Hands at your sides, dear," Ms. Harlow reminds me gently. "Remember what we practiced."

I drop my hands, clasping them in front of me to hide how they shake andI count the marble tiles beneath my feet.The rules are simple. Small steps. Soft voice. Eyes down but not closed. Never look an alpha directly in the eye unless given permission.

Sometimes I wonder if my sisters felt this scared before their presentations. Violet and Rose always make it look so easy now, so natural. They're content with their packs, their children, their lives.

Maybe something's wrong with me that I can't feel that same acceptance.

But I remember when we were little, before they left for the Omega House.

We used to share the big bedroom at the end of the hall, all three beds in a row.

Violet would braid my hair before bed and tell us stories about brave omega princesses who saved kingdoms. Rose would sneak cookies from the kitchen, and we'd eat them under the blankets, giggling when the nannies walked by.

Violet was so different then. Fierce. She'd stand up to Uncle when he criticized our posture or our voices.

Once, when I was nine and spilled juice on my dress at a family dinner, Uncle started scolding me in front of guests.

Violet stood up and said it was her fault, that she'd bumped my elbow.

She was sixteen then, just about to leave for the Omega House, but she still winked at me when Uncle wasn't looking.

"We stick together," she used to whisper to us at night. "Always."

But something happened to her before she was even claimed.

Uncle called it 'attitude adjustment,' said she needed to learn to appreciate her blessings before any pack would want her.

I was only twelve then, and Rose was seventeen.

Violet had been home visiting from the Omega House, but then she just vanished for those few weeks and we didn't understand where Uncle had sent her.

All I knew was that my brave big sister came back from wherever Uncle sent her with empty eyes and shaking hands. She never told stories anymore. Never winked. Never stood up for anyone.

When she was finally presented to packs, she was the perfect, obedient omega they expected.

Maybe I'm just not a very good omega.

The hallway outside my chambers is all marble and gold, beautiful enough to take your breath away. My sisters wait by the antechamber doors. Violet in deep purple, Rose in crimson. They both look so elegant, so sure of themselves.

Everything I'm supposed to become.

"You look beautiful, little sister," Violet says, embracing me carefully. Her scent—soft lilac—should be comforting, but there's something underneath it now. Something tired. When she pulls back, I notice how thin she's gotten, how her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes anymore.

It's nothing like the smile she used to give me when she'd sneak into my bed during thunderstorms, or when she'd help me practice my letters, or when she'd promise that no matter what happened, we'd always have each other.

"Absolutely lovely," Rose agrees,though her voice sounds forced.She's been pregnant for most of the four years since her claiming, and it shows in the dark circles under her eyes, the way she holds herself like everything hurts.

I miss the Rose who used to dance with me in the garden when the nannies weren't watching.

Who taught me how to braid flower crowns and told me I was her favorite little sister.

.. and Violet was her favorite big sister.

Rose was never as defiant as Violet, but she was warm and bright and full of laughter.

Now they both seem like echoes of themselves.

Looking at them, I feel even smaller. They did their duty. They made the family name proud. They found their place in the world.

Me? I just want to disappear.

"Tonight will be wonderful for you," Violet says,but the words sound like she's reading from a script someone else wrote.

"Such an honor to be presented to the finest packs," Rose adds."You're so fortunate, Daisy."

Fortunate.The word tastes like poison between us.Neither of them sounds like they believe it, but they say it anyway. Like they have to.

The way they speak now, so careful, so practiced.Makes my chest ache like something vital has been carved out.Is that what I'll sound like in a few years? Saying the right words even when they taste like lies?

My sisters kiss my cheeks and glide toward the ballroom, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Watching them walk away brings back the memory of standing in our empty bedroom after Rose left for the Omega House.

I was eleven then, and suddenly I was the only one left in a room that had once been filled with whispered secrets and midnight giggles.

I used to lie in my bed and stare at their empty ones, wondering if they missed me too. Wondering if they remembered our promises to always stay close. When they'd visit from the omega house, they seemed more and more like strangers. Quieter. More careful.

Like they'd forgotten how to be my sisters.

Now I understand why.Maybe this is just what growing up means when you're an omega. Maybe I'm supposed to feel like I'm disappearing.

"Daisy."

Uncle's voice hits me like a physical blow,and I jump.

He approaches with his political smile, though his eyes stay cold.

His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly styled despite the late hour, and there's something unsettling about how healthy he looks for his age.

His alpha scent hits me—bitter coffee and cold metal—and everything in me wants to step back.

But his hand settles heavy on my shoulder before I can move,thumb pressing just above my collarbone like he's marking territory.

His scent makes my skin crawl.

"You understand what tonight means,don't you?"

I nod quickly, not trusting my voice.I can't find the words.

"Twenty-seven of the most powerful packs in the city are here."His thumb presses harder against my collarbone."Twenty-seven opportunities to secure our family's future. Your sisters set the standard. I expect you to exceed it."

He pauses, studying my face. "My presidential campaign depends on the alliances these marriages create. The Bolton banking empire, the old money Whitmore family. These connections will put me in the White House. You understand that,don't you?"