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Chapter Eighteen

Lilianna

I had quickly changed into a simple sundress, a dark green.

It was simple and it was one of the dresses I didn’t mind.

I brushed my hair out and left it down, not wanting to put in the time to do my hair.

I padded back downstairs in bare feet, feeling oddly liberated by the simple act of choosing comfort over formality.

The sundress felt light against my skin, and leaving my hair loose gave me an unexpected sense of freedom.

In my parents' house, I never would have appeared in the common areas with unstyled hair—it would have been seen as a sign of poor breeding and carelessness.

The kitchen smelled divine when I entered, rich with the aroma of fresh herbs and something warm and yeasty that made my mouth water.

Christopher had transformed the space into what looked like a professional baking station—ingredients lined up with military precision, measuring cups nested by size, and two mixing bowls waiting on the counter.

"Perfect timing," Christopher said, looking up from where he was arranging herb sprigs on a cutting board. "Miles just brought in the rosemary and thyme.”

I approached slowly, Miles was sitting at the table off to the side, with his computer out.

He glanced up from his computer, offering me a warm smile. "I'll be your audience today. Someone needs to document Christopher's teaching methods for posterity."

Christopher rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "He means he wants to be first in line when the scones come out of the oven."

"Guilty as charged," Miles admitted with a grin before returning to his work.

I moved closer to the counter, taking in the array of ingredients Christopher had assembled. Flour, butter, salt, baking powder—everything arranged with meticulous care. "Where should I start?"

"First things first," Christopher said, reaching behind him to produce an apron. It was a simple canvas, cream-colored with thin blue stripes. "Protection from the inevitable flour explosion."

He held it out, and I hesitated only briefly before accepting it. The fabric felt sturdy in my hands, obviously well-used but clean. I put on the apron and couldn’t help but smile.

"There," Christopher said with satisfaction, reaching around me to tie the apron strings properly. His proximity made me acutely aware of his warm scent—vanilla and something earthy that might have been cardamom. "Now you look like a proper baker."

I glanced down at myself, surprised by how the simple apron transformed my appearance. Instead of looking like someone playing dress-up, I actually looked... capable. Ready to work with my hands.

Christopher then went on to explain the recipe and what we were going to do. I listened the best I could but didn’t understand a lot of what he said. Even as we started making things, I just followed his ques the whole time.

"Like this?" I asked, attempting to cut the butter into the flour mixture with the pastry cutter Christopher had shown me. The metal blades felt awkward in my hands, and the butter wasn't cooperating—instead of creating the fine crumbs Christopher had demonstrated, I was producing uneven chunks.

"Perfect start," Christopher encouraged, though I could see the mixture looked nothing like his example. "Here, let me show you the motion again." He moved behind me, his hands covering mine on the pastry cutter. "It's more of a rocking motion than chopping. Feel the rhythm?"

His hands guided mine through the proper technique, and gradually the butter began breaking down into smaller pieces. The repetitive motion was oddly soothing, almost meditative.

"That's it," Christopher said softly, his breath warm against my ear. "Baking is about feeling as much as following instructions."

He stepped back, allowing me to continue on my own. I found myself missing his guidance but appreciating the chance to develop my own rhythm with the pastry cutter. Slowly, the mixture began to resemble the "coarse meal" Christopher had described.

"I think... I think it's working," I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

"Of course it is," Christopher replied, his smile warm and encouraging. "Your hands are learning what to do. Muscle memory is an incredible thing."

Miles glanced up from his computer, watching us with quiet amusement. "The student becomes the master," he teased.

"Hardly," I laughed, looking down at the bowl. "But at least it's starting to look right." I listened as he went through the next step, doing so until everything in the bowl was mixed.

“Now take what is in the bowl and start making them into single scones.” Christopher told me as he flipped his bowl over and let the mixture fall onto the counter, smiling as he saw the smeared flower on the apron, which I tried to hide.

I did as he said, moving to do the same, but instead of flipping over, the bowl hit the floor, the bowl shattering. My mind went blank, flashing back to my mother yelling at me for breaking a perfume bottle. I didn’t know what was going on around me as I was trying to breathe.

I didn’t feel the hands on my face until my eyes locked onto hazel, “Breathe Lilianna.” Julian spoke his voice soft, his hands cradling my face as he kneeled down in front of me so we could be eye to eye.

"Breathe with me. In... and out." Julian's voice was steady, anchoring me as the kitchen blurred around the edges. "That's it. Focus on my voice."

I tried to follow his instructions, my chest tight with panic. The shattered bowl—my mother's voice echoing in my head—the inevitable punishment that would follow.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'll clean it up. I'll replace it. Please don't—"

"Lilianna," Julian's voice cut through my spiral, gentle but firm. "Look at me. It's just a bowl. Nothing that can't be replaced."

Christopher appeared at Julian's shoulder, his face etched with concern. "It's my fault—I should have shown you a better way to handle it."

Miles was already sweeping up the broken pieces, his movements calm, “It is easy to clean up and replace. Not a big deal.”

My brain wasn’t able to follow, “I’m sorry . I’m sorry .” I felt tears welling up in my eyes as my breathing started to pick up again.

"Lilianna," Julian's voice was gentle but firm, his thumbs brushing tears from my cheeks. "No one is angry. No one is going to punish you. I need you to believe that."

I struggled to process his words, my body still braced for the cutting remarks, the disappointed sighs, the cold silence that would have followed such a mistake in my parents' home.

"But I ruined everything," I whispered, unable to look at the mess I'd created.

Christopher knelt beside Julian, close enough that I could see the genuine concern in his gray eyes.

"You haven't ruined anything. The dough is still perfectly fine on the counter, and we have plenty more bowls.

" His voice softened. "Baking disasters are part of the learning process.

I once dropped an entire cheesecake face-down on the kitchen floor right before a dinner party. "

"It probably cost a lot. I’m sorry…” I started again, the tears flowing freely now.

"It was a five-dollar bowl from a thrift store," Christopher said gently. "Not a family heirloom, I promise."

Miles had already finished sweeping up the larger pieces and was now wiping the floor with a damp cloth. "All fixed," he said, standing up with a reassuring smile. "No harm done."

I couldn't reconcile their calm reactions with what I'd been taught to expect. In my parents' home, accidents were moral failings, evidence of carelessness that required correction. But these men acted as if breaking things was simply part of existing in the world.

"I don't understand," I whispered, my breathing still uneven. "You're not upset."

Julian's hands remained steady on my face, his eyes never leaving mine. "No, we're not upset. We're concerned about you, not a replaceable object."

Julian's thumbs gently wiping away tears. "What happened just now? Where did you go in your mind?"

I took a shuddering breath, trying to find words for the sudden panic that had overwhelmed me.

"My mother... I broke a bottle of perfume once.

French, imported. She..." I swallowed hard, the memory still sharp despite the years.

"She made me kneel on the broken glass while she explained how expensive it was, how careless I'd been.

How an Omega who couldn't be trusted with delicate things would never be suitable for a proper Alpha. "

Julian's expression darkened a low and displeased growl leaving him and something dangerous flickering in his hazel eyes before he carefully controlled it. "That was cruel and despicable," he said quietly. "Breaking things by accident doesn't reflect your worth as a person."

Christopher's face had gone pale. "She made you kneel on broken glass?" His voice was barely above a whisper, horror evident in every word.

I nodded, shame burning through me. "She said it would help me remember to be more careful. That the physical reminder would prevent future accidents."

Miles had gone completely still behind us, his green eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "That wasn't discipline, that was abuse.”

Julian's jaw worked as he visibly struggled to control his reaction.

"She was wrong, Lilianna. So fundamentally wrong about everything.

" His thumbs continued their gentle path across my cheeks, wiping away tears with infinite care.

"In this house, accidents happen. Things break. We clean up and move on."

Christopher knelt beside us, his gentle eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "The only thing that matters is that you weren't hurt when the bowl broke. Objects are replaceable. You are not."

I struggled to process their reactions, my mind still caught between past conditioning and present reality. "But I wasted your time, your ingredients..."

"Time spent with you is never wasted," Christopher said firmly. "And as for ingredients—" he gestured to the counter where most of our dough still sat untouched, "we haven't lost anything important."

Miles approached slowly, kneeling down beside the others to form a protective semicircle around me. "Would it help to know that I broke three of Christopher's mixing bowls last month trying to make a birthday cake for Julian? And not a single person made me kneel on glass or questioned my worth."

I blinked at him through my tears, trying to imagine Miles—confident, capable Miles—making such a mistake. "Really?"

"Really," Christopher confirmed with a gentle smile. "He also set off the smoke alarm and somehow got batter on the ceiling. We still haven't figured that part out."

A small, reluctant laugh escaped me at the mental image, though my hands were still trembling.

Julian's fingers gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "What your mother did wasn't discipline or teaching—it was cruelty designed to break your spirit. Real teaching accepts mistakes as part of learning.”

I took a shaky breath and nodded, not fully convinced, but I would let it go for now.

It didn’t make me feel better. I felt myself become exhausted as I continued to kneel there, and Julian must have seen as he once again caressed my cheek.

“Would you like to go lay down in your nest for awhile. The scones can be made once you rest a bit after that panic attack you had.” Julian asked softly, making me want to melt into him.

I nodded slowly, suddenly aware of how drained I felt. The panic attack had left me hollow, my limbs heavy with exhaustion.

"I think that might be best," I whispered, embarrassed by my weakness but unable to deny how desperately I needed to retreat.

"Let me walk you up," Julian offered, his voice gentle as he helped me to my feet. His arm came around my waist, not controlling but supporting, and I found myself leaning into his strength.

Christopher touched my arm lightly. "We'll finish these later when you're feeling better. No rush, no pressure."

Miles had already cleared away the remaining evidence of my mishap, his movements purposeful but unhurried. "Rest well, Lilianna. Everything's fine here."

The staircase seemed longer than before as Julian guided me up, his presence steady beside me. When we reached my room, he paused, looking down at me, “Do you want me to stay with you?”

I did. I wanted someone to stay and comfort me, but I also knew I couldn’t ask him to do that. He had been busy before, he had said he had a conference, “No. You can go back to what you are doing. I am going to lay down for a bit.”

I didn’t let him know that I was lying and did want him to stay. I gave him a small, but forced smile. Julian looked down at me, eyes unreadable before he gave a sigh, “Alright. I will be back later to check on you.”

I nodded, letting myself into my room and shutting the door, as I let my body sag against the door and onto the ground, my body shaking as I let my tears fall fully… as I let myself cry trying to not let anyone hear me.

So much for a good day. I really was a useless omega.