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Chapter Sixteen

Lilianna

We'd talked for a while before I headed back to my room for the night.

Despite my earlier nap I slept well for most of the night.

But here I was at five in the morning wide awake.

I stared at the ceiling for another twenty minutes, watching the shadows shift as early morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains.

The silence felt different here than in my parents' house—not oppressive or watchful, but peaceful.

Still, my body seemed programmed for the rigid schedule I'd maintained for years, regardless of my actual need for sleep.

I slipped out of bed quietly, padding to the window to peer out at the street below.

The city was just beginning to wake—a jogger passed beneath the streetlights, and I could see lights flickering on in windows across the way.

The normalcy of it struck me as profoundly beautiful.

People living their lives without ceremony or performance, just.. . existing.

My reflection caught my eye in the window glass—hair still loose and wild from sleep, wearing my forbidden star-patterned pajamas. I looked like someone I didn't recognize, but in the best possible way.

A soft thud from downstairs made me pause. Someone else was awake—footsteps moving through the house with careful precision. My first instinct was to hide, to retreat to my bed and pretend I was still sleeping. But curiosity won over conditioning, and I found myself opening my door to listen.

The scent that drifted up the stairwell was familiar now—Nicolaus, with his clean, analytical fragrance touched with chlorine from last night's swim.

I heard the quiet hiss of a coffee machine, the gentle clink of ceramic against granite.

He was in the kitchen, probably preparing for his early morning training routine.

Before I could second-guess myself, I was moving down the stairs in my bare feet, drawn by the promise of coffee and perhaps conversation with the most enigmatic member of this pack. The kitchen was dimly lit, only the under-cabinet lights casting a warm glow across the room.

Nicolaus stood at the counter, his back to me, measuring coffee grounds. He wore loose track pants and a fitted long-sleeve shirt that accentuated the lean muscle of his swimmer's build. His hair was neatly combed, though slightly damp as if he'd already showered.

I hesitated at the doorway, suddenly unsure. Would he consider this an intrusion on his morning routine? Would he prefer solitude before his training?

"Good morning, Lilianna," he said without turning, his deep voice quiet in the pre-dawn stillness. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep anymore," I admitted, taking a tentative step into the kitchen. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

He turned then, his blue eyes soft as he looked at me, his lips twitching into a small smile. "Not at all. Coffee?"

"Umm” I never had coffee before, it has always been tea. I bit my lip glancing at the coffee machine.

Nicolaus must have caught my hesitation because his expression shifted to one of gentle understanding. "You've never had coffee before have you..," he observed, it being a statement more than a question…and his tone carrying no judgment. "Your parents restricted that too?"

I nodded, feeling heat creep into my cheeks at yet another gap in my basic adult experiences. "My mother said caffeine was too stimulating for an Omega. That it would make me... inappropriate."

Something dark flickered across Nicolaus's features before he schooled his expression back to neutral. "Would you like to try some? I can make it mild—more cream than coffee to start."

The offer felt like another small rebellion, another choice I could make for myself. "I'd like that," I said softly.

He moved with practiced efficiency, preparing a second mug with what looked like more cream and sugar than coffee.

The rich aroma filled the kitchen as he worked, earthy and complex in a way that made my mouth water unexpectedly.

He handed me the mug, his fingers brushing mine briefly in the exchange.

"Small sips at first," he advised, settling against the counter with his own cup—black, I noticed, no additions to soften the intensity. "Coffee can be overwhelming if you're not used to it."

I lifted the mug to my lips, inhaling the fragrant steam before taking a tentative taste. The flavor was unlike anything I'd experienced—bitter with a touch of sweet from the sugar and cream.

"What do you think?" Nicolaus asked, watching my reaction with that analytical attention I was beginning to appreciate.

“Its….interesting.” I said, as I took another sip. I didn’t know if I liked it or not though.

Nicolaus laughed, “It takes some time to get used too. I can make you tea if you like.”

I shook my head, “Its fine. It isn’t bad…just odd. ”

Nicolaus nodded, seeming pleased by my honesty. "Most people develop a taste for it gradually. Julian nearly spat out his first cup—claimed it tasted like burnt water."

I smiled at the mental image, taking another small sip. The warmth spread through my chest, though I wasn't sure if it was from the drink or the comfortable intimacy of sharing this quiet morning moment. "What time do you usually wake up?"

"Four-thirty," he replied matter-of-factly. "The pool opens at five-fifteen, and I prefer to have the lanes to myself for the first hour."

"Every day?" The dedication seemed staggering.

"Six days a week. Rest is as important as training." He studied me over the rim of his mug. "What about you? Were your early mornings by choice or requirement?"

I considered the question for a moment, yes I was made to be awake and ready by a certain time, but I always woke up before the maids or my mother did, “I tend to wake up early on my own.”

"But the structure around it was imposed," Nicolaus concluded, his analytical mind fitting pieces together. "The schedule, the expectations of how to spend that time."

I nodded, warming my hands around the mug. "My mother insisted that 'proper' Omegas rise early to prepare themselves. Hair, makeup, appropriate attire—all had to be perfect before breakfast."

"Ah yes, because heaven forbid anyone see you as a human being rather than a display piece," Nicolaus said dryly, his voice carrying that subtle edge I was beginning to recognize as protective anger.

His bluntness made me smile despite the subject matter. "Exactly. My father was always at the breakfast table by seven-thirty, and I was expected to be 'presentable' by then." I paused, taking another sip of coffee. "Though he rarely looked up from his newspaper."

Nicolaus let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Your father's loss," Nicolaus said simply. "I find morning conversations with you quite enlightening."

His casual compliment caught me off guard, warming me more effectively than the coffee. "Thank you," I managed, then gestured to his athletic wear. "Do you swim competitively year-round?"

"I do. The Olympic trials are in eight months." He stated this matter-of-factly, without bravado or false modesty. "My training intensifies as we get closer.”

"The Olympics?" I couldn't hide my surprise. "I knew you were athletes, but I didn't realize..."

"We don't advertise it much," Nicolaus said, setting his empty mug in the sink. "Julian's been to three Games, Miles to two. Christopher's hoping to qualify this cycle, same as me."

I tried to process this information, suddenly aware of just how accomplished these men were compared to me.

"That's... incredible," I said, feeling suddenly small and inadequate.

What could I possibly offer to men who competed at the highest levels of their sports?

Men who were not only successful athletes but also ran businesses, maintained careers, and still found time to bake homemade tarts and tend gardens?

Nicolaus tilted his head slightly, studying me with that penetrating gaze that seemed to read thoughts. "Your scent changed just now. What are you thinking?"

I blinked, surprised by his directness. "I... it's nothing. Just realizing how accomplished you all are."

"And comparing yourself unfavorably," he concluded, not unkindly. "Measuring your worth against external achievements."

I looked down at my coffee, embarrassed at being so transparent. "It's hard not to. You've all done so much, and I've... well, I've been very good at sitting around and doing social events.”

“I have had ten more years to live life.” Nicolaus told me.

The simple statement hit me with unexpected force.

Of course—he was older, had more time to develop his skills and achievements.

I'd been so focused on cataloging my inadequacies that I'd forgotten the fundamental difference in our experiences.

"You're twenty-three," Nicolaus continued, refilling his coffee mug with practiced efficiency.

"I didn't even know what I wanted to do with my life at that age, much less have the freedom to pursue it.

" He leaned back against the counter, his blue eyes thoughtful.

"The question isn't what you've accomplished under restriction—it's what you might accomplish with freedom. "

I took another sip of coffee, the bitter warmth grounding me as I considered his words. "I don't even know what I want to pursue. Beyond the violin, and maybe dance... I feel like I'm starting from nothing."

"Not nothing," Nicolaus corrected gently.

"You have curiosity, intelligence, and the courage to question everything you've been taught.

Those are the foundations of any meaningful pursuit.

" He gestured toward the window where dawn was beginning to paint the sky in soft pastels.

"Most people your age are still following paths others chose for them.

You're just starting to choose your own. "