Page 6 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Daisy

T he explosions started at dawn.

I jolt awake in my pristine bed, silk sheets tangled around my legs, heart hammering against my ribs. The sound echoes across the city like thunder, but the sky outside my window is clear. Another blast, closer this time, rattles the crystal chandelier above my head.

The chanting follows. Hundreds of voices, maybe thousands, rising and falling like an angry tide. I can't make out the words from here, but the tone is unmistakable. Fury. Desperation. The sound of alphas who have nothing left to lose.

My hands shake as I pull on my robe and move to the frosted window.

I can barely make out the shapes of the manicured gardens below through the distorted glass, and the high walls beyond are just shadows.

I can't see what's causing the explosions, can't see the source of the chanting that drifts over the walls like distant thunder.

But I can feel it. Something terrible is happening out there.

And Uncle's voice from last night echoes in my head: "Your placement has been finalized. The Fairburn pack. Old money, excellent breeding lines. They've requested the contraceptive implant remain in place for several heat cycles before breeding begins."

Several heat cycles. Like I'm livestock being prepared for optimal production timing.

Two weeks until I'm handed over to strangers who've already decided when they want to use my body. Who've planned out my heats like they're scheduling business meetings.

Another explosion shakes the house, and I press my forehead against the cool glass. My reflection stares back, pale and wide-eyed, looking every bit as terrified as I feel. The walls that are supposed to protect us suddenly feel like they're trapping us instead.

What's happening out there? What if whatever it is reaches the Omega House?

What if we're not as safe as they tell us we are?

Breakfast is a disaster.

Half the omegas don't show up at all, too frightened by the sounds outside to leave their rooms. The ones who do make it to the dining room pick at their food with shaking hands, jumping every time the distant chanting grows louder.

Veronica moves between us like a hurricane in heels, her usual composure cracked around the edges. "Girls, please. A little decorum. These... disturbances will pass. The authorities have everything under control."

But her voice is too bright, too forced. Her beta scent carries notes of anxiety that she can't quite mask with her usual lavender perfume.

"What if they come here?" whispers Camelia, one of the younger elite omegas who only arrived at the house a few months ago. At sixteen, she's still adjusting to life here. Her fork clatters against her plate as another distant boom echoes through the walls. "What if they try to... to free us?"

"Free us?" Veronica's laugh is sharp enough to cut glass.

"From what, dear? From safety? From the finest accommodations?

From futures with the most prestigious packs in the city?

" She gestures around the elegant dining room with its crystal and gold.

"You are not prisoners. You are precious assets being prepared for your proper places in society. "

Assets. Not people. Assets.

I push my untouched eggs around my plate, my stomach too knotted to eat. Through the tall windows, I can see the beta guards patrolling the grounds. More than usual. Their movements are quick, efficient, but I catch the tension in their shoulders, the way they keep checking their radios.

They're scared too.

I wonder about the alpha guards stationed outside the walls. Are they holding their positions? The thought makes my chest tighten with worry I don't fully understand. Those guards put themselves between us and whatever chaos is happening in the city, and I find myself hoping they're safe.

"But what if..." Camelia starts again, her voice barely a whisper.

"What if nothing," Veronica snaps, all pretense of maternal warmth gone. "You will finish your breakfast, attend your deportment classes, and prepare for your futures like the well-bred omegas you are. These riots have nothing to do with you."

But they do, don't they? The chanting outside, the smoke in the sky, the rage that's been building for months. It's all connected to us. To this system that treats us like commodities.

I think about Storm barking at me in the common room, the fierce defiance in her gray eyes.

About Violet's empty smile and Rose's tired acceptance.

About how I used to watch Harley try to scale the outside garden wall.

I thought she was crazy brave, attempting escape when the rest of us just accepted our fate.

Part of me had always wondered what it would feel like to have that kind of courage.

Another explosion, close enough that the windows rattle in their frames. Several omegas gasp, and Camelia starts crying quietly into her napkin.

"That's quite enough," Veronica declares, her voice cracking like a whip. "Everyone to your rooms. Now."

I spend the morning pacing my room like a caged animal, listening to the chaos outside grow louder. The elegant space that's supposed to feel like a sanctuary suddenly feels like exactly what it is.

A beautiful prison.

The silk wallpaper with its delicate rose pattern seems to mock me. The crystal chandelier that catches the light so beautifully feels like a weight hanging over my head. Everything here is designed to remind me that I'm valuable property. Precious. Breakable.

Disposable.

I sink onto my bed, wrapping my arms around myself. My whole body feels like it's vibrating with panic, like my skin is too tight, like I might fly apart at any moment.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days until I become someone else's property. Until my body stops belonging to me entirely.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

A soft knock at my door makes me jump. "Come in."

But the door doesn't open. Instead, I hear an unfamiliar voice from the hallway. "Um, miss? I brought you something. If you want to come to the door?"

I move to the door and open it to find a young guard I don't recognize standing in the hallway, looking nervous and shifting his weight. His beta scent is very, very mild—just the faintest hint of fresh mint and cedar, clean and unassuming. He's holding a worn paperback book against his chest.

"I'm Mikey," he says quietly, his voice uncertain. "I'm doing rounds, checking on everyone. Making sure you're all okay with... everything going on outside."

The kindness in his voice surprises me. "That's thoughtful of you."

He shifts awkwardly, extending the book toward me. "I thought maybe you'd want something to read? Help pass the time until things calm down out there."

I take it with trembling fingers. It's a well-worn copy of Jane Eyre. "Thank you."

"It's nothing fancy," he says, ducking his head. "Just something from the staff library. Figured it might be a good distraction."

Looking at his young, earnest face, I realize I don't know him at all. "You're new here, aren't you?"

He nods, looking even more nervous. "Started yesterday, actually. They needed extra hands with... well, with some of the other guards being reassigned."

Another explosion, closer than before. This one shakes the entire building, and I hear glass breaking somewhere downstairs. Shouting. Running footsteps.

Mikey's radio crackles to life. "All units to the gardens. Now."

His face goes grim, and he straightens up, suddenly looking more like a guard than a nervous young man. "I have to go. Stay in your room, okay? Keep the door locked."

He hurries down the hallway, leaving me alone with his book and the sound of my world falling apart outside.

The afternoon stretches endlessly. The explosions have stopped, but the chanting continues, sometimes growing so loud I can make out individual words through the windows.

"Omega choice!"

"Down with the lottery!"

"Freedom now!"

Each phrase hits me like a physical blow. These people are fighting for something I've never even dared to dream about. The right to choose. The right to say no.

The right to be more than a political bargaining chip.

I try to read Mikey's book, but the words blur together on the page. Jane Eyre's fierce independence feels like a fairy tale, something from a world where women can stand up to powerful men and make their own choices without consequences.

Where they get to fall in love.

My hands shake as I turn the pages. What would that feel like? To meet someone and have butterflies instead of terror? To know that whatever happens between you is your choice, not something arranged by men in suits who see you as a commodity?

I think about that night at the presentation. About ice-blue eyes that looked at me like I was a person instead of a prize. About honey and clove cutting through my blockers and making my omega instincts settle in a way that felt... right.

Safe.

But that's just fantasy. Guards are beta-born alphas, deemed unworthy of elite society. Even if he could claim an omega, it would never be me. Uncle would never allow it.

The Fairburn pack has already paid for me. Already decided when they want to breed me. Already planned out my heats like they're scheduling meetings.

My future is set in stone, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Another wave of chanting rises from the streets, and I close my eyes, pressing the book against my chest like a shield. Maybe if I'm very quiet, very still, I can pretend I'm someone else. Someone brave enough to fight.

Someone who gets to choose.

But when I open my eyes, I'm still in my golden cage, counting down the days until I'm gifted to strangers who will own every part of me.

Two weeks.

Thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-seven minutes.

Not that I'm counting.

And I wonder which one of us is really free.