Page 12 of Omega's Faith

"God." I snort. "Right. I'm sure God's super invested in our government-mandated union."

Something flickers across his face. Hurt, maybe. But he smooths it away so fast I might have imagined it.

"The matching system is part of his plan."

The weight of what we're facing settles between us. "Look." I soften my tone. "I know this sucks for you. Pretty sure I'm literally your worst nightmare. But we can figure something out. Separate bedrooms. You do your thing, I do mine. We'll make it work."

"I don't believe in that kind of marriage."

"What kind do you believe in?"

He looks at me fully then, those whiskey eyes holding mine. "The kind my parents have. Partnership. Love. Children. Building something together."

My chest goes tight. The sincerity in his voice, the quiet conviction.

"I can't give you that. I don’t even know you and even if I did, I’m not the kind of alpha who wants an omega bringing him his slippers every night or making me dinner. I’m definitely not giving up my Sunday lie-in for church. Or whatever."

"I know. But it's what I'll pray for anyway." Those whiskey-brown eyes meet mine. “I’ll pray for you.”

Patronising little shit. A laugh bubbles up, inappropriate andbitter. "Good luck with that, sweetheart."

That muscle jumps in his jaw again. "Don't call me that."

"Why?" I lean forward again, caught by the way his pupils dilate. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He blinks, startled. For just a moment, he looks his age—young, uncertain, in over his head. Then the mask slides back into place.

Sun chooses that moment to return, babbling about next steps and wedding planning and bond consultations. I tune him out, too busy watching Jonah retreat back into himself: eyes down, hands folded, perfect omega posture.

The meeting wraps up with us signing paperwork and not looking at each other.

"The Bureau recommends spending time together before the ceremony," Sun says. "Getting to know each other. Building foundation."

I almost laugh.

We're ushered back to the waiting room where our people have been marinating in awkward silence. Diana rises. Jonah's parents flank him immediately, his mother touching his arm, his father's solid presence at his back.

The contrast hits hard. They love him. They'll protect him however they can, even from his own match.

"How did it go?" Diana demands.

"Spectacular," I deadpan. "We're going to be very happy together."

Jonah's mother makes a sound. His father's hand lands on Jonah's shoulder, and something passes between them. A whole conversation in a touch.

"We should discuss the wedding," Diana continues, already in planning mode. "The Bureau's basic package is... basic. We'llwant to upgrade."

"That's not necessary," Jonah's father says. His voice is deep, careful. "Simple is fine."

"Nonsense." Diana waves dismissively. "A Colborne wedding should have certain standards."

I watch Jonah's family bristle at the implication. I watch Jonah himself go even stiller.

"How about before we leave," I say, struck by sudden inspiration. "let’s take a selfie? Document the big day."