Page 3

Chapter Three

Lilianna

I t hadn’t been a day or two, there hadn’t been a call and it has been five days….Five days of, my mother teaching me what to say or not to say, while meeting Julian and his pack unsupervised.

Five days of endless coaching sessions in the grand parlor of our estate.

My mother's voice played on repeat in my head like a broken record: "Speak only when directly asked a question.

Keep your answers brief. Smile, but not too much.

Don't fidget. Don't challenge. Don't look them in the eyes for too long. "

This morning, while i was at breakfast, picking at half a grapefruit, void of flavor, the call finally came. My father swept into the dining room with purpose in his stride.

"Today. Five o'clock," he announced, not bothering with a greeting. "The Artemis Hotel, their private suite. They've arranged for a car to take you."

My mother's teacup clinked against its saucer. "Just her? Alone?"

"Those were the terms." My father's tone left no room for argument. "We will follow them. It will be the only way…” he trailed off at the end, but I could tell by the fierceness on his face, if this didn’t happen… I would be on the wrong end of his anger.

The hours stretched on and seemed to go by slowly.

My mother dragged me through three wardrobe changes before settling on a pale blue dress that hit just below my knees—"modest but not matronly"—with sleeves that covered my shoulders but left my collarbones exposed.

"A hint of femininity without being provocative," she explained, circling me like a vulture.

By four-thirty, I stood at the front entrance while my mother applied a final touch of nude lipstick to my mouth, her hand trembling slightly. The fear in her eyes was more honest than anything she'd said all day.

"Remember everything we practiced," she whispered. "Your future depends on it. Our future depends on it."

The car arrived precisely at four-forty-five—a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. The driver, a beta with kind eyes, opened the door without speaking. My mother's grip on my arm tightened for a second before letting me go. I was on my own from here on out.

The Artemis Hotel rose like a glass monument from the city center, all sleek angles and reflective surfaces that caught the evening light.

I slowly walked into the hotel, my stomach in knots.

My heels clicked softly against marble as I crossed the lobby, trying not to notice how the staff's eyes lingered on me—a lone Omega in formal dress, clearly sent for a purpose.

The elevator required a keycard for the upper floors. The concierge approached with practiced deference, his Beta scent neutral and unimposing.

"Ms. Wycliffe? I've been instructed to escort you." He swiped a gold card and pressed the button for the penthouse level. "Mr. Vale is expecting you."

My pulse quickened as the doors closed. The elevator ascended silently, numbers climbing higher as my stomach seemed to sink lower. I kept my hands folded before me, focusing on the light pressure of my fingertips against my palms

I stared at my reflection in the polished elevator doors. The woman gazing back at me looked composed, but I could see the tension in the corners of her eyes. My mother's voice echoed in my head: Remember what's at stake.

The elevator slowed with a gentle hum and opened directly into a private foyer. No hallway, no numbered doors—just an expansive entrance with marble floors and a ceiling that seemed to float above glass walls. Beyond them spread the city skyline, buildings glittering as twilight descended.

"This way, please," the concierge said, leading me to a set of double doors. He knocked once, then stepped aside.

The door opened, and I found myself face to face with Miles—the youngest of Julian's packmates. Shaggy blond hair and bright green eyes that widened slightly, as if surprised to see me actually there.

"You came," he said, then seemed to catch himself."We weren't sure you would," he added, stepping back to let me enter. His scent was clean, like rain and pine, with none of the aggressive markers most Alphas projected when meeting an Omega.

"I was told to be here," I answered simply, keeping my voice soft, as I'd been instructed.

Miles studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Right. Of course you were."

The suite opened before me like something from a dream—vast and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city in golden twilight.

Modern furniture in muted creams and grays created conversation areas throughout the space.

A dining table was set near the windows, crystal glasses catching the light.

"She's here," Miles called, though he didn't raise his voice much, he didn't need to. The acoustics carried his words through the open space.

Julian appeared first, emerging from what I assumed was his bedroom. He wore dark slacks and a simple white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, casual yet impeccable. His hazel eyes found mine immediately, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest that I quickly tamped down.

"Lilianna," he said, my name sounding different in his voice. "Thank you for coming."

I gave a slight nod, keeping my posture perfect. "Thank you for inviting me."

Christopher entered next, copper brown hair that was short on both sides but long on the top, his easy smile softening the tension in the room as his grey eyes scanned me over.

Unlike Julian's controlled presence, Christopher moved with a loose-limbed grace that suggested comfort in any setting.

"The famous Omega Wycliffe," he said, but there was no mockery in his tone—only curiosity.

Nicolaus was the last to join, appearing silently from another doorway. Dark blood red hair had light curls that framed his face and made his blue eyes stick out.

His expression was harder to read than the others—analytical, assessing, like he was solving an equation rather than meeting a person. Without the sociable veneer that Christopher wore or the cautious warmth of Miles, Nicolaus's scrutiny felt more clinical.

"Please, sit down," Julian gestured toward the dining area, where a table had been arranged with an elegant spread—not formal dining but a casual selection of appetizers, fruit, and wine. "We thought something light would be more comfortable for conversation."

I moved to the table with measured steps, careful not to seem too eager or too reluctant. My mother's voice echoed in my head: Not too much spine, not too much submission. A delicate balance.

"May I?" Christopher pulled out a chair for me, his movement fluid and courteous.

"Thank you," I murmured, settling into the seat with practiced grace.

The four men arranged themselves around the table, leaving the chair directly across from me empty.

Not accidentally, I noted—they were creating space, avoiding any position that might seem confrontational.

Julian took the seat to my right, Miles to my left, with Nicolaus and Christopher completing the circle.

"Wine?" Christopher offered, reaching for a bottle of something pale and expensive-looking.

"Just water, please," I replied, my voice soft but clear.

Julian's eyes flickered to mine, assessing. "Not a drinker?"

"I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate," I admitted.

Miles made a sound between a snort and a laugh. "So you were coached on what to say if offered alcohol too?"

Heat crept into my cheeks despite my best efforts. I kept my expression neutral, but Julian caught the change. His gaze intensified.

"Miles," he said quietly, the warning clear in his voice.

"Sorry," Miles said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely apologetic. "I just think we should acknowledge the elephant in the room. Your parents sent you here with a script, didn't they?"

I hesitated, my fingers lightly touching the edge of the water glass Christopher had just filled.

Every instinct told me to deny it, to follow my mother's careful instructions.

But something about the way all four men watched me—without hunger or judgment, just waiting—made the rehearsed words stick in my throat.

"Yes," I finally admitted. The single syllable felt dangerous on my tongue.

Julian leaned forward slightly. "What were you told to say?"

I met his gaze, finding it unexpectedly steady.

"That I'm honored by your interest. That I understand my role as an Omega is to complement, not complicate.

That I've been raised to be the kind of partner a pack of your caliber deserves.

" I repeated the words mechanically, hearing my mother's voice overlapping with mine.

A heavy silence followed. Christopher exchanged a look with Julian that conveyed volumes without a single word.

"And what do you want?" Julian asked, his voice softer than before.

The question caught me off guard. No one had asked me that before—not my parents, not my tutors, not the specialists who monitored my development. Want wasn't part of my vocabulary.

"I... don't understand the question," I said honestly.

Nicolaus made a sound—not quite a scoff, but close. "Of course you don't."

"Nico, " Julian warned again, but his packmate continued.

"She's been taught that her wants are irrelevant," Nicolaus said, his analytical gaze never leaving my face. "Haven't you?"

I should have denied it. I hesitated, searching for the right answer, the safest answer. But something in Nicolaus's direct gaze made lying feel impossible. "Yes," I admitted quietly. "Wants are luxuries. Duties are necessities."

"Jesus," Miles muttered under his breath.

Julian's expression remained neutral, but I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—not pity, which would have been unbearable, but understanding.

"Let's try something simpler," Christopher suggested, his voice gentler than before. "Are you hungry, Lilianna?"