Page 2

Chapter Two

Lilianna

T he air in the private suite felt different once we entered—colder somehow, despite the same plush decor and gleaming fixtures as the lounge. My mother's fingers dug into my arm as she guided me to the sofa, her smile never faltering while her grip betrayed her tension.

"Sit," she instructed, her voice dropping to that special pitch reserved for when we were alone. "Not like that. Ankles crossed, hands folded. Yes, better."

I adjusted as commanded, feeling the familiar weight of expectation settle across my shoulders. The suite overlooked the empty tennis courts, now abandoned as evening approached. Shadows stretched across the pristine white lines like long fingers reaching for something they couldn't quite grasp.

"That went well," my mother said, though she wasn't speaking to me. She was reassuring herself, pacing in small, tight circles that made her pearl earrings catch the light with each turn. "They're interested. I could tell. Julian especially—did you see how he looked at you?"

I said nothing, which was the correct response. Opinions weren't required of me, particularly about matters like this.

"Your father will close the deal," she continued, stopping to adjust a vase of lilies on the side table. "The Vale pack needs what we offer. Legitimacy. Connections. A proper Omega."

The word "proper" hung in the air between us.

I'd heard it all my life—whispered in the hallways of our estate, emphasized during my lessons, wielded like both shield and sword.

Proper Omegas know their place. Proper Omegas speak when spoken to.

Proper Omegas bring honor to their families through their submission.

She stopped fidgeting with the flowers after a moment, turning to face me with curious eyes. "You spoke to Julian before we arrived. What did you say?"

"Nothing important," I answered quietly, keeping my gaze steady. "He asked if I enjoyed tennis."

Her lips thinned, eyes narrowing. "And?"

"I told him I liked watching it." Which was a lie, but with how I kept my face blank, I knew she couldn't tell if I was telling said lie.

She studied me for a long moment searching for the lie. Finding none, she resumed her pacing."Good. That's... acceptable. Small talk is fine, but remember your place. Men like Julian—men of his caliber—don't want an Omega who thinks she has opinions that matter."

I nodded, the movement so practiced it felt mechanical. The suite door opened, and my father entered with a tight expression that made my stomach clench.

"They're discussing it," he announced, loosening his tie with one hand, “They said they would get back to us in the next few days.”

"In the next few days?" My mother's voice sharpened. "That's hardly the enthusiasm we were expecting."

"They're not like other packs," my father replied, crossing to the bar to pour himself a drink. Ice clinking against crystal. "Vale doesn't make impulsive decisions. That's how he's built his reputation."

"Did they have concerns?" she pressed, moving closer to him, lowering her voice as if I couldn't hear her from six feet away. As if I wasn't the subject of their conversation.

My father sipped his whiskey, his reflection fractured in the mirror behind the bar. "They want to review her file completely. The medical documentation. Her educational records."

"That's standard," my mother said dismissively. "What else?"

A pause. My father glanced at me, then back to his drink. "The younger one—Miles—asked if Lilianna had been consulted about the arrangement."

My mother laughed, a brittle sound like glass cracking. "Consulted? What an odd concern. She's been prepared for this her entire life."

"I told them as much," my father said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Julian didn't seem satisfied with that answer."

A flicker of tension crossed my mother's face. "Did you remind them how valuable this opportunity is? She's a pure bloodline Omega. The last in our family line."

"They're aware of her pedigree," my father replied, his voice hardening. "Vale isn't impressed by bloodlines alone. He wants... compatibility."

"Compatibility?" My mother's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched. "What does that even mean? She's been trained to be compatible with any Alpha."

The word landed like a weight in my chest. Trained. Like a dog.

My father sighed, setting his glass down with a soft click. "It means they care about more than just having an obedient Omega. Vale's pack is... different. They've turned down offers from families with more money, more connections."

"We have a flawless reputation," my mother insisted, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself.

"Which is why they're considering us at all," my father countered. "But Julian made it clear—they want to meet with Lilianna. Alone."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. My mother's face went completely still, that perfect mask she wore slipping just enough to reveal the calculation beneath.

"Absolutely not," she finally said. "That's completely inappropriate. An unmated Omega alone with four Alphas? It's unthinkable."

My father's jaw tightened. "It wasn't a request, Caroline. It was a condition."

"When?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Both my parents' heads snapped toward me, surprised by my interruption. The single word hung in the air like something forbidden. My mother's eyes narrowed to slits.

"You speak when spoken to," she reminded me, voice honeyed but venomous. "This is precisely why they can't see you alone. You haven't mastered your impulses."

My father studied me with cold calculation. "They wish to discuss it for a day or two but after that they wish to meet with her. They've arranged a private breakfast at their hotel suite."

"Richard!" My mother's voice cracked like a whip. "You can't possibly be considering this."

"We have no choice." He drained his whiskey in one swift motion. "If we refuse, they walk. And you know what that means for us."

I did know. The Wycliffe name carried weight, but our finances have taken a hit the last few years. One thing people were unaware of, after a series of bad investments made by my father, he'd leveraged himself to the point of near ruin..The only thing we had left was our reputation—and me.

"I don't like it," my mother hissed. "What if she says something...inappropriate?"

My father's eyes met mine, cold and assessing. "She won't. Will you, Lilianna?"

I lowered my gaze. "No, Father."

"See? She understands what's at stake." He crossed the room, his footsteps heavy on the plush carpet.

"The Vale pack is worth more than any other prospect we've considered.

Julian's not just a tennis champion—his business holdings are extensive.

Technology, real estate, private equity.

And his packmates are equally accomplished. "

My mother's lips thinned into a tight line. "If they want to meet her alone, they must already be interested," she conceded, her voice softening slightly. "Perhaps they just need to feel they've done their due diligence."

"Precisely," my father said. "They want to satisfy themselves that she's not being coerced."

A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. Almost. I caught it just in time, swallowing it down like a pill too large for my throat.

"Fine," my mother finally said. "But she needs preparation. Coaching."

My father nodded. "We have time. They won't meet with her until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. They said they would call."

I kept my expression neutral as they discussed me like I was a meat product being readied for market inspection. Inside, something twisted—not quite rebellion, not yet, but awareness. Sharp and uncomfortable.

"Lilianna," my father said, turning to me. "You understand what's expected of you?"

"Yes, Father." I replied obediently, knowing if I said anything else I would be punished.

"Good." He nodded, satisfied with my response. "This is the opportunity we've been preparing you for. The Vale pack is... exceptional. Their reputation is beyond reproach."

My mother stepped closer, her perfume—expensive jasmine and something sharper beneath—enveloping me as she smoothed hand over my hair. The gesture might have seemed affectionate to an outsider, but I felt the subtle pressure of her fingers against my scalp. A reminder.

"You'll need to be perfect," she murmured. "Demure, but not lifeless. Responsive, but not eager. They need to see your value without you appearing to know it yourself."

I nodded, the movement small and precise.

"Go freshen up," she instructed, stepping back. "We'll discuss strategy over dinner."

I rose from the sofa with practiced grace, keeping my shoulders back and my chin up as I left, but really, I was trying to keep myself from crying. I couldn’t… wouldn’t cry in front of them.