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“You’re not interrupting anything important,” he says, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. “Just grading papers and trying to remember why I thought teaching was a good idea. Please, sit.”

I slide into the booth gratefully, and a tired-looking waitress appears almost immediately with a menu and a coffee pot.

“Coffee, honey?” she asks.

“Please,” I say, turning over the mug in front of me.

“You’re out late,” Professor Benson observes after the waitress moves away. “Everything all right?”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Is anything ever really all right?”

He studies my face with those perceptive eyes. “That sounds like the voice of experience. Rough night?”

“Rough life,” I correct, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “Do you ever feel you’re stuck in the wrong story, Professor? Like everyone around you is playing by the rules you never learned?”

“Jude,” he says quietly. “When we’re not in class, just call me Jude. And yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

The simple admission breaks something loose in my chest. “How do you do it? How do you live as an Omega in a world that seems designed to diminish us?”

Jude is quiet for a moment, considering the question. “Carefully,” he says finally. “And with the understanding that most people will only see what they expect to see. They see an Omega and they make assumptions. The trick is not letting their assumptions become your reality.”

“But what about connections? Real connections?” I lean forward, desperate for answers. “How do you find someone who sees you as a person first, and an Omega second?”

“That’s harder,” he admits. “Alphas are taught from birth that they’re entitled to Omega attention. Many of them never learn to see us as anything more than biology wrapped in convenient packaging.”

“So what’s the point?” The words come out more bitter than I intended. “Why even try if we’re just going to be reduced to our designation every time?”

Jude’s expression grows thoughtful. “Because occasionally, you find someone who surprises you. Someone who sees past the biology to the person underneath.”

“And when you find that person? What then?” I can’t keep the pain out of my voice. “What happens when they decide you’re still not worth the complications?”

“Then they weren’t the right person,” he says gently. “And you keep looking.”

“I’m tired of looking,” I whisper. “I’m tired of hoping and being disappointed. I’m tired of offering everything I have and being told it’s not enough.”

Jude reaches across the table, covering my hand with his. “Who hurt you, Jolie?”

The gentle question breaks down the last of my defenses. “Someone I thought was different,” I say, tears finally spilling over. “Someone who made me feel seen and valued, right until I offered him everything I had. Then suddenly I wasn’t worth the risk.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “He told me he wasn’t ready for an Omega. Like I’m some burden to be undertaken rather than a person to be loved.”

Jude’s grip on my hand tightens. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair to you.”

“None of it’s fair,” I say, my voice steadying with anger. “But I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt. I’m done being grateful for scraps and making excuses for Alphas who can’t see past their own selfishness.”

“Good,” Jude says firmly. “You should be angry. You deserve better than that.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of shared understanding settling between us. Finally, Jude speaks again.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

I nod.

“I used to think if I was just good enough, accomplished enough, perfect enough, then Alphas would see me as more than just my biology. I thought I could earn respect through achievement.” His voice grows quiet.

“But even the kindest Alphas carry assumptions about Omegas that they’re not always aware of.

They can care for us deeply and still not fully see us as equals. ”

“How do you live with that?” I ask.

“By finding my worth in myself first,” he says. “By building a life that doesn’t depend on Alpha approval. And by cherishing the connections that do transcend biology, even if they’re rare.”

Something in his tone makes me look at him more closely. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Jude’s smile is sad and knowing. “We all have our stories, don’t we? Our moments when we realized that love and respect aren’t always the same thing.”

The confession hangs between us, loaded with implications I’m not sure I’m ready to examine. But there’s comfort in knowing I’m not alone in this struggle, that even someone as accomplished as Professor Benson wrestles with the same questions about worth and recognition.

“I should get back,” I say finally, though the thought of returning to the cottage fills me with dread. I’m scared that the show Romeo made was for my benefit and he is waiting to see if I run.

“Should you?” Jude asks. “Or do you just think you should?”

I meet his eyes, seeing my loneliness reflected there along with something warmer. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking if you want to come home with me,” he whispers. “Just for tonight. Just to not be alone.”

The invitation sends warmth spreading through my chest, but I force a laugh. “Isn’t that forbidden? Student-teacher relationships and all that?”

“Probably,” he agrees, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Does that matter to you right now?”

I study his face, seeing the same need I feel reflected in his expression. Not for sex or biology nor the complications of Alpha-Omega dynamics, but for simple human connection.

“I can’t give you a knot,” he says softly, “and you can’t give me one either. But we can share something we both need.”

“To be held,” I finish, understanding washing over me.

“To be held,” he confirms. “To be seen. To not be alone.”

The honesty in his voice breaks something open in my chest. Here is someone offering exactly what I need without demanding anything I can’t give. Someone who understands the loneliness of being reduced to our designation, and the exhaustion of always having to prove your worth.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’d like that very much.”