Page 4

Such a basic question, yet I found myself struggling. Was I hungry? I hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous about this meeting to manage lunch. But admitting hunger might seem demanding.

"Take your time," Julian said, noticing my internal conflict. "There's no wrong answer."

"Yes," I finally said. "I am hungry.”

"Good," Christopher smiled, reaching for a platter of small sandwiches. "That's a start."

He offered me the tray, and I carefully selected the smallest one, placing it on my plate with deliberate movements. Four pairs of eyes tracked the action, and I felt suddenly self-conscious about how even this simple choice might be judged.

"You can take more than one," Miles said, his voice softer than before. "We're not counting."

I glanced up, uncertain if this was some kind of test. My mother would have called it unseemly to appear too eager about food. But the genuine encouragement in Miles' expression made me reach for a second sandwich.

"Good?" Julian asked.

I nodded, swallowing carefully before speaking. "Yes, thank you."

"See? That wasn't so difficult," Miles said, leaning back in his chair. "A simple question with a simple answer. No coaching required."

Julian shot him another warning glance before turning back to me. "I apologize for the directness of my pack. We don't usually stand on ceremony."

"Or pretense," Nicolaus added, reaching for his wine glass.

I set my water glass down carefully, uncertain how to respond to such bluntness. These men were nothing like the Alphas who'd visited our home before—those who spoke around me rather than to me, who assessed me like a prized thoroughbred while discussing bloodlines with my father.

"Your parents presented you as a potential mate," Julian said, his voice measured and calm. "I assume you're aware of that much."

"Yes," I replied, keeping my voice steady.

"And how do you feel about that?" Christopher asked, his head tilting slightly.

The question hung in the air between us. How did I feel? No one had ever asked before. Feelings were irrelevant to duty.

"I..." My voice faltered. "I understand my responsibility to my family."

"That's not what he asked," Nicolaus observed, his blue eyes sharp as ice.

Julian, again, leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent but not intimidating. "Lilianna, we're not interested in what you understand. We want to know what you feel."

The distinction struck me like a physical blow. What I felt? The concept seemed so foreign I almost couldn't grasp it.

"I don't know," I admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "I've never been asked to consider my feelings about... any of this."

Christopher's expression softened. "That's honest, at least."

"When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?" Miles asked, reaching for a grape from the fruit platter. "Something small. Something that had nothing to do with pleasing your parents or fulfilling expectations."

I searched my memory, trying to find even one example. The silence stretched uncomfortably as I came up empty.

"I..." My voice trailed off, the confession hanging in the air between us. "I can't remember."

The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. My heart raced as I waited for their judgment, for the disappointment that would surely follow such an inadequate response. Instead, Julian nodded slowly, as if I'd confirmed something he already suspected.

"Your medical file mentions heat suppression," Nicolaus said, his clinical tone softening slightly. "Was that your choice?"

I lowered my eyes to my barely-touched plate. "No. My parents arranged it with our family doctor. They said it was necessary to... prepare me properly."

"Prepare you," Miles repeated, the words sharp with disgust. "Like you're some kind of product being readied for the meat market."

"Miles," Julian cautioned, though there was no real rebuke in his tone.

"What?" Miles challenged, but I did something I knew I shouldn’t. I interrupted while Alpha’s were talking.

“I know what I am, what they are doing. I am being sold. I was raised knowing I would be given to whoever can give my parents the most.” The words hung in the air like smoke, too honest, too raw.

I immediately regretted them. My mother would be horrified—this wasn't the carefully curated presentation she'd trained me for.

I'd broken the most fundamental rule: never reveal the transaction beneath the tradition.

Julian's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted—a deepening, a focusing. He studied me with new intensity, as if seeing past the polished veneer to something underneath.

"And how do you feel about that?" he asked quietly.

The question was so simple, yet so impossible. How did I feel? I'd spent a lifetime burying those feelings so deep they'd almost disappeared.

"I don't know if it matters how I feel," I finally said, my voice barely audible.

"It matters to us," Christopher said, leaning forward. His gray eyes were surprisingly gentle for an Alpha. "That's why we wanted this meeting alone.”

I stared at Christopher, searching his face for any sign of deception, but found none. Just open curiosity and something that looked like genuine concern. The concept was so foreign I almost couldn't process it.

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Why would it matter to you how I feel?"

Julian set his glass down, the movement deliberate and careful. "Because we're not looking for a possession, Lilianna. We're looking for a partner."

"A partner," I repeated, the word feeling strange on my tongue. "I don't understand."

Nicolaus leaned forward slightly. "Your parents presented you as if you were a well-trained show dog. Obedient, decorative, silent unless commanded to speak." His voice was clinical but not cruel. "That's not what our pack wants."

"What do you want?" I asked, surprising myself with my directness.

The four Alphas exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that spoke of years of trust and understanding. Julian was the one who finally answered, his voice measured but sincere.

"We want someone who chooses us as much as we choose her," he said simply. "Not someone who's been conditioned to accept whatever fate is handed to her."

My chest tightened at his words. Choice. Such a simple concept, yet so foreign to me. I'd been raised to believe my only value lay in my ability to be what others wanted—a flawless reflection of their expectations, not a person with desires of my own.

"I don't know how to be what you're describing," I admitted, the confession slipping out before I could stop it. "I was taught that a proper Omega submits. That my purpose is to complement, not to choose."

Christopher shook his head, a flash of anger crossing his features before he mastered it. "That's not what an Omega is meant to be. It's what your parents want you to believe."

"Our pack doesn't work that way," Miles added, his voice gentler than before. "We don't want submission for the sake of submission."

Julian still leaning forward turned his body slightly to face me, his presence commanding without being domineering. "May I ask you something personal, Lilianna?"

I nodded, my heart racing at the intensity in his gaze.

"If you could do anything tomorrow—anything at all—what would it be?"

The question struck me, silent . Such a simple query, yet it felt like being asked to solve an impossible equation. What would I choose, if the choice were mine? My mind flashed back to when I was younger, standing in front of a shop of instruments.

“A Violin. I would learn how to play the violin.” I whispered, but loud enough for them to hear me. Because it was a secret want I kept buried deep within me, something I dare not say again in fear of my parents getting angry.

Julian's eyebrows lifted slightly, interest kindling in his gaze. "The violin? Why that specifically?"

The question caught me off guard—not just that he asked, but that he wanted to know more. No one had ever probed deeper into my wants before.

"I saw a woman playing once," I admitted, the memory rising unbidden. "At a charity concert my parents hosted when I was twelve. She wasn't just playing the instrument—she was..." I searched for words that wouldn't sound foolish. "She was speaking through it. Free, somehow."

"Did you ask for lessons?" Christopher inquired, his expression genuinely curious.

I shook my head. "My mother said it wasn't suitable. That violinists develop unsightly neck marks and callused fingers." My hands unconsciously smoothed over my unmarked palms. "She said no Alpha wants an Omega with musician's hands."

Something flashed in Julian's eyes—a brief, controlled flare of anger that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "What a remarkably narrow perspective," he said, his voice even but carrying an undercurrent of steel.

"I think musician's hands are beautiful," Miles offered, leaning forward with unexpected earnestness. "They show dedication. Passion."

Christopher nodded in agreement. "My sister plays cello. Her calluses are badges of honor."

I stared at them, trying to reconcile their reactions with everything I'd been taught. The idea that my physical imperfections might be valued rather than hidden was entirely foreign.

"Would you still want to learn?" Julian asked quietly. "If it were an option?"

The question felt dangerous, like a trap that might snap shut at any moment. But something in his steady gaze made me brave enough to answer honestly.

"Yes," I whispered.

"That's good to know," Julian said, his voice warm with something I couldn't quite identify. Not approval exactly, but... acknowledgment. As if my small admission had value.

Nicolaus leaned back in his chair, studying me with renewed interest. "What else?"

"Pardon?" I asked, uncertain what he meant.

"What else would you want to do, if you could choose?" His blue eyes remained fixed on mine, clinical but not cold. "Besides the violin."

The question made my mind go blank. One forbidden desire had been hard enough to voice—now they wanted more? I searched for something safe to say, something that wouldn't reveal too much.

"I'd like to read whatever I wanted," I finally admitted. "Without supervision."

Christopher's eyebrows shot up. "Your reading is supervised?"

Heat crept into my cheeks. "My mother selects appropriate materials. Books that reinforce proper Omega values. Nothing that might give me... ideas."

"Ideas," Miles repeated, his voice flat with disbelief. "Heaven forbid."

Julian watched me with that same steady gaze, something unreadable moving behind his eyes. "What would you read, if you could choose?"

I hesitated, searching for the right answer—the safe answer—before remembering that was exactly what they didn't want. "History," I admitted. "Philosophy. Science. Not just etiquette guides and romance novels with compliant Omega heroines."

A small smile tugged at Julian's lips—the first genuine one I'd seen from him. It transformed his face, softening the hard angles into something almost boyish. "What was the last book you snuck past your mother's supervision?"

The question startled a laugh from me—small and rusty from disuse, but real. "How did you know?" I asked, my laugh fading, but a smile lingered at the corners of my mouth.

"You seem resourceful," Julian replied, his eyes crinkling slightly. "I doubt you've accepted every restriction without finding some way around it."

I hesitated, glancing between the four men, searching for any sign that this was some kind of test. Finding none, I confessed, "A physics textbook. I borrowed it from our groundskeeper's son. He's studying at university."

"Physics?" Nicolaus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That's quite specific."

"I like understanding how things work," I admitted, my voice growing stronger with each word. "The rules that govern everything—when they can bend and when they break."

Something shifted in Julian's expression—a flash of recognition, perhaps even admiration. "Rules are important to understand," he agreed, his voice carrying a new warmth. "Especially when you're deciding which ones deserve to be followed."

The conversation paused as one of the hotel staff entered with a cart bearing covered dishes. The scent of freshly prepared food wafted through the room—rich, savory aromas that made my stomach clench with hunger I hadn't fully acknowledged.

Julian thanked the server, who disappeared as quietly as he'd arrived. "I thought we might need something more substantial than appetizers," he explained, removing the silver covers to reveal beautifully plated meals. "Please, help yourself."

I hesitated before taking whatever was closest to me, not understanding these four Alphas in front of me…not one bit.