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Chapter Thirteen

Lilianna

After they had shown me the last of the house I had quickly retreated back to my room. I curled up into the bed, letting myself just relax in the blankets around me.

The bed was softer than anything I'd ever slept on, yielding to my body like a gentle embrace.

I burrowed deeper into the plush comforter, inhaling the fresh scent of laundered linens that carried no trace of the sterile, clinical detergent my mother had insisted upon.

This bed smelled like... comfort. Like safety.

I hadn't meant to retreat so quickly after the tour, but the sheer volume of new experiences had left me feeling raw and exposed. Not in an unpleasant way—more like a plant suddenly moved from shade to sunlight, overwhelmed by possibilities I'd never been allowed to consider.

The violin case sat on the window seat where I'd left it, catching the late afternoon light.

I studied it from my nest of blankets, still hardly believing it was mine.

In my parents' home, gifts always came with expectations attached—strings that bound me tighter and tighter with each expectation that came with those gifts.

But this violin felt different. Julian had said instruments were meant to be played, even badly at first. Christopher had insisted the room was mine to arrange however I pleased.

Miles had given me permission to fail spectacularly.

These weren't the conditional gifts I was accustomed to—they were invitations to discover parts of myself I'd never been allowed to explore.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. I sat up quickly, smoothing my hair and checking my appearance in the mirror across the room before answering.

"Come in," I called, expecting Christopher with tea or perhaps Julian checking on my adjustment.

Instead, Nicolaus stepped through the doorway, his tall frame filling the entrance as he paused respectfully at the threshold.

His dark red hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and his blue eyes carried that analytical intensity I was beginning to recognize as his default expression.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said, his deep voice carrying through the room. "I wanted to check if you needed anything before I head out for my evening swim."

Unlike the others, Nicolaus maintained a certain distance that was neither cold nor unfriendly—just careful, measured. His presence made me sit up straighter, though I wasn't sure if that was from the ingrained response to an Alpha or something specific to his analytical demeanor.

"I'm fine, thank you," I replied, then hesitated before adding, "The room is perfect."

He nodded once, his gaze sweeping over the space with the attention of someone who notices everything. "You haven't unpacked much," he observed, his eyes landing on my suitcases still partially filled.

"I..." I trailed off, uncertain how to explain that part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'm…taking my time," I finished lamely.

Nicolaus studied me for a long moment, his analytical gaze seeing far more than I was comfortable with.

"Unpacking makes it real," he said finally, his voice matter-of-fact rather than judgmental.

"Putting your belongings in drawers, hanging clothes in the closet—it's an acknowledgment that this is your space now. "

I blinked, surprised by his directness. "Yes," I admitted quietly. "I suppose it is."

He stepped further into the room, his movements controlled and deliberate.

"In my legal practice, I work with many Omegas who've been in situations similar to yours.

The transition from controlled environment to autonomous living is rarely linear.

" He paused beside the window seat, his fingers barely grazing the violin case. "May I?"

I nodded, watching as he sat carefully on the edge of the seat, his tall frame making the space seem smaller, more intimate. He didn't open the violin case, just rested his hand on its surface.

"The others tend to approach emotional matters with intuition and empathy," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I find direct information often provides its own form of comfort. Would you prefer I speak plainly about what you might expect in the coming weeks?"

The question caught me off guard. No one had ever asked my preference for how information should be delivered—it was simply given in whatever manner the speaker deemed appropriate, usually with an expectation that I would receive it gratefully.

"Yes," I said after a moment's consideration. "I think I would prefer directness."

Nicolaus nodded, seemingly pleased by my response.

"Good. Then I'll be straightforward. The first few weeks will likely be disorienting.

You may experience mood swings as your body adjusts to an environment without constant stress hormones.

Sleep disturbances are common. So are moments of unexpected emotion—crying or laughing without clear triggers. "

His clinical tone was oddly comforting. There was no judgment in his description, just facts presented clearly.

"You may also find yourself testing boundaries," he continued, his blue eyes steady on mine. "Small rebellions to see if our stated permissions are genuine. This is normal and healthy, though potentially confusing for you."

I twisted the edge of the comforter between my fingers. "How do you know all this?"

"As I mentioned, my legal practice specializes in Omega rights cases.

I've worked with many individuals transitioning from controlled environments to autonomy.” His words settled something tight in my chest. There was comfort in knowing my experiences weren't unique, that whatever I might feel in the coming days had been felt by others before me.

"What about the courtship itself?" I asked, surprising myself with my boldness. "What should I expect from... from all of you?"

Nicolaus leaned back slightly, considering his response with that careful precision I was learning to appreciate.

"The others will likely give you space to adjust while expressing interest through small gestures—Christopher will cook your favorite foods once he learns them, Miles will probably invite you to help with garden projects, Julian will ensure you feel protected without being smothered. "

"And you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the first genuine expression of warmth I'd seen from him.

"I observe, analyze, and provide clarity," he replied simply. "I'm not one for grand gestures or emotional declarations. I find honesty more valuable than sentiment."

His directness was refreshing after a lifetime of veiled meanings and hidden expectations. "I appreciate that," I said softly.

"Most do, eventually." His fingers drummed lightly on the violin case. "You should know that while we are pursuing this courtship with genuine intent, none of us will pressure you toward bonding before you're ready. If ever."

I blinked in surprise. "If ever?"

"Yes." His gaze was steady, unflinching. "Bonding should be a choice made from desire, not obligation. If, after getting to know us, you decide this pack isn't right for you, we will respect that decision."

The concept was so foreign I struggled to process it. "But the arrangement... the…” I stuttered out trying to find the right words.

"The arrangement was made between your parents and Julian," Nicolaus interrupted, his voice firm. "Not between us and you. You were not a party to those negotiations, which means you are not bound by their terms."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. "I don't understand. My parents said—"

"Your parents said many things that were either incomplete truths or outright falsehoods," Nicolaus replied, his analytical tone cutting through my confusion.

"Legally speaking, any contract involving your future would require your explicit consent to be binding.

Since you were never consulted during the negotiation process, you retain full autonomy over your decisions. "

The room seemed to tilt around me. "You're saying I could leave? Just... walk away?"

"Yes." His answer was simple, unequivocal. "Though I hope you won't want to, once you've had time to know us.”

The silence stretched between us as I absorbed what he'd just told me. True choice. Not the illusion of options carefully curated by my parents, but genuine autonomy over my own future. The concept was so staggering I felt dizzy .

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Wouldn't it be easier to let me believe I had no choice? That I was... obligated to make this work?"

Nicolaus's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"Because informed consent is the only kind that matters.

Any relationship built on the illusion of no alternatives is fundamentally flawed.

" He paused, his analytical gaze never wavering from mine.

"We want you to choose us, Lilianna. Not because you feel trapped, but because you genuinely want to be here. "

I pulled the comforter tighter around myself, using the soft fabric as a shield against emotions I couldn't quite process. "I don't know how to choose," I admitted. "I've never been allowed to."

"Then that's where we begin," Nicolaus said, his voice gentle despite its directness.

"With small choices that build toward larger ones.

What to eat, what to wear, when to sleep.

Gradually expanding to more significant decisions.

" He stood, straightening his shirt with precise movements.

"It's a skill like any other—one that improves with practice. "

I nodded, feeling both overwhelmed and strangely comforted by his methodical approach. "Thank you for being honest with me."

"Always," he replied simply. "Honesty is the foundation of trust, and trust is essential for any pack bond to function properly." He moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing—your heat."

I tensed immediately, years of conditioning making the subject taboo and shameful. "What about it?"

"The suppressants your parents put you on—they're going to need to be gradually reduced rather than stopped abruptly.

I've arranged for a consultation with a specialist who works exclusively with Omegas transitioning off long-term suppression.

" His tone remained clinical, matter-of-fact.

"Dr. Chen is discreet and experienced. She'll develop a plan that minimizes discomfort while allowing your natural cycles to return. "

My face burned with embarrassment. "I... my parents said my heats were... inappropriate. Something to be managed and controlled."

"Your parents were wrong about many things," Nicolaus said firmly. "Your heat cycle is a natural biological function, not something shameful. When you're ready—if you're ready—we'll help you through the transition. But the decision about timing is entirely yours."

The casual way he discussed something so intimate and shameful in my upbringing left me speechless. He spoke of my heat like it was simply another aspect of health to be managed thoughtfully rather than a source of disgrace to be hidden.

"The appointment is scheduled for Thursday if you're comfortable with that timing," he continued, his professional demeanor never wavering. "But it can be rescheduled if you need more time to adjust."

"Thursday is... Thursday is fine," I managed, though my voice sounded small even to my own ears.

Nicolaus nodded once, his hand resting on the doorframe. "Dr. Chen will meet with you privately first, then with all of us together if you choose to include us in the discussion. Everything will be at your pace, according to your comfort level."

The idea that I would have control over such personal medical decisions felt revolutionary. "My parents always handled my healthcare. I never spoke directly to them.”

Nicolaus's expression darkened slightly.

"Of course they did. Controlling your medical care is another way to maintain dependency.

" He straightened his shoulders, his analytical mind clearly processing this new information.

"Dr. Chen practices patient-centered care.

She'll speak directly to you, answer your questions, and treat you as the primary decision-maker regarding your health. "

I nodded, trying to imagine what that would be like—having a doctor who viewed me as a person rather than a problem to be managed or a responsibility to be handed off.

"If you have questions before Thursday, I'm happy to answer them," Nicolaus offered, his voice softening slightly. "Medical terminology can be intimidating when you've been deliberately kept ignorant of your own physiology."

"Thank you," I whispered, touched by his perception of my situation. "I might take you up on that."

He nodded once more, his expression warming slightly. "I'll be back around nine if you'd like to talk further. Otherwise, dinner will be served at seven, though there's no obligation to join if you need more time to yourself."

With that, he slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. I sat motionless in the center of the bed, trying to process everything he'd shared. Freedom of choice. Medical autonomy. The possibility that I could walk away if I wanted to.

It was too much to absorb all at once. I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as my mind raced through implications.

If what Nicolaus said was true—and I had no reason to doubt his legal expertise—then my entire understanding of this arrangement was wrong.

I wasn't property being transferred from one owner to another.

I wasn't obligated to make this work or face disgrace and rejection.

I was just a person, being offered a choice.

The realization should have been liberating, but instead it filled me with a strange mixture of hope and terror.

If I truly had choices, that meant I had to make them.

If I wasn't bound by obligation, then whatever happened next would be my responsibility.

My decision. The weight of that freedom felt heavier than any restriction my parents had ever placed on me.

I curled onto my side, pulling the comforter tighter around my shoulders.

The room was growing darker as evening approached, shadows lengthening across the floor.

I should get up, unpack properly, and prepare for dinner.

But exhaustion washed over me in waves, emotional fatigue from a day of constant adjustment and revelations.

Just five minutes, I told myself, letting my eyes drift closed. Five minutes to rest before facing more newness, more choices, more overwhelming kindness from these men who wanted me to just be myself.