A month had slipped by quietly, and life had settled into a strange, tentative rhythm. One evening, I found myself back at the bookstore I often visited after work, seeking a moment of escape among the shelves.
As I browsed through the familiar aisles, my eyes suddenly landed on Jake. My heart skipped a beat—seeing him again after all this time brought a strange mixture of surprise and nostalgia.
But what caught my attention even more was the person standing beside him. She was pretty, her features delicate and her frame slender—perhaps an Omega like me, or maybe a Beta. Her presence seemed gentle, yet there's an air of quiet confidence about her that made her stand out.
In this age, inhibitors are everywhere—so much so that a person's true aura is often hidden beneath layers of suppression. While physical appearance and health can give clues about someone's physique, they are not always reliable indicators of social hierarchy. To truly understand a person's standing, one must know their attribute—whether they are an Alpha, Beta, or Omega.
When individuals turn 18, they undergo a series of tests designed to reveal their societal rank. Alphas are typically the smartest, strongest, and tallest—often occupying leadership roles. Yet, exceptions exist because of personal differences in physique. The most challenging to distinguish are Betas and Omegas. They look remarkably similar, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart at a glance.
Perhaps because I was physically fit, my appearance leaned more toward that of a Beta. It's possible Lukas mistakenly thought I was a Beta before he made his move. If he had been sober or more aware, maybe he would have restrained himself, and I could have found Jake in time to help Lukas. If that had happened, none of today's events would have unfolded the way they did.
That's why Lukas often insists it was an accident—that if not for a series of coincidences, we wouldn't be bound by this mate bond. It's as if fate and chance conspired to bring us together, despite all the misunderstandings and mistakes along the way.
I looked at Jake once more, knowing deep down that the possibility between us was gone a thousand times over. Yet, despite that, my feelings for him lingered—still as strong and painful as ever. I could only glare with jealous eyes at the person standing beside him, unable to hide my emotions, even if I wanted to.
But I understood—I couldn't and shouldn't hinder Jake's freedom to choose love. I had already told him, with a heavy heart, that I hoped he would find someone better than me, someone who could make him happier. It was my way of letting go, of trying to accept that our paths had diverged.
Still, I didn't know how I managed to get home that night. My steps were unsteady, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. I kept repeating to myself—over and over—"Let go, let go, let go." But no matter how many times I whispered those words, I couldn't seem to truly release him, or the ache that refused to fade.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
When Lukas returned home, he was greeted by an ominous darkness—no lights shining through the windows. As he stepped inside, his gaze was drawn to Stella, sitting alone in the living room, her figure illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight filtering in. She was drinking, her posture slouched and unsteady.
The strong aroma of wine permeated the entire room, thick and suffocating. Lukas instinctively reached for the light switch and turned it on. The harsh brightness revealed a chaotic scene: the table and floor were strewn with chaos—an open wine bottle overturned, its dark contents spilled along the edge of the table and pooling onto the floor. Stella was lying on the ground, her face turned away, her appearance suggesting she had been drinking for quite some time.
Seeing her in such a state, Lukas couldn't help but narrow his eyes dangerously. A surge of anger and concern flickered within him. Stella seemed unaware of his presence, or perhaps she was deliberately ignoring him; she appeared indifferent, detached from everything around her. Normally, she would sense his emotions, react to his presence, or at least show some acknowledgment. But now, she seemed completely oblivious, as if she had shut herself off from the world and from him.
Lukas' voice was low, tense, as he stopped himself from raising it further. "Stella, stop drinking already," he said in a suppressed tone, voice edged with concern and frustration. If it had been anyone else, he might not have cared so much, but in front of his mate, even the most patient person could find it hard to hold back their emotions.
Stella's eyes flicked toward Lukas, and a surge of anger flashed across her face. "Don't mind me, just go to your room," she snapped, her tone almost resentful, as if she wanted to push him away.
Lukas didn't respond verbally. Instead, he simply walked in her direction, his expression serious and conflicted.
A wave of discomfort washed over me, instinctual fear creeping into my bones. My voice trembled as I stubbornly spat out, "It's all your fault! If it weren't for you..." The words spilled out, unfiltered, perhaps fueled by the alcohol and the raw emotion I had kept bottled up. It was the first time I dared to say what I truly felt, no matter how hurtful.
Lukas suddenly halted, his face darkening into a gloom that seemed almost frightening. His eyes, usually calm and steady, now held a storm of emotion beneath their surface.
I knew I had said something hurtful, and part of me braced for his anger, for the punishment I thought was coming. I closed my eyes tightly, trembling in fear, bracing myself for the worst.
But the punishment didn't come. Instead, he simply said, softly but with a weight that made my heart skip a beat, "It's my fault."
The words hung in the air, unexpected and profound. I was stunned, my mind frozen. For a moment, I almost forgot my fear altogether, my gaze fixed on the man who finally sat down beside me, a quiet vulnerability in his expression. I sat in silence, the shock of his response sinking deep into my chest.
His voice was hoarse, tired from working overtime, yet there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. "You can hurt me, but please don't hurt yourself," he added softly, his gaze fixed on me with a mixture of concern and vulnerability.
I found myself at a loss, unable to respond. His words echoed in my mind, leaving me numb. As I slowly came back to my senses, I noticed his hand gently holding mine. The warmth of his touch made my eyes suddenly blur with tears, and before I knew it, I was crying, tears streaming down my face without warning.
The intimidating aura that usually surrounded him had completely vanished, replaced by a rare, gentle tenderness that I seldom saw. His brow was furrowed with worry, and his voice, now hoarse and strained, asked softly, "What happened?" His tired tone revealed more than words ever could—an unspoken plea to understand, to comfort, and to protect.
As soon as he asked what had happened, a surge of overwhelming emotion flooded my heart. All the pent-up grievances, fears, and pain erupted like a dam breaking free. Tears started to flow uncontrollably, pouring out in bitter streams that I couldn't hold back no matter how hard I tried. My sobs grew louder, almost suffocating, as drunkenness and despair wrapped around me like a heavy cloud, making me feel dizzy and weightless.
In that vulnerable moment, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed me gently—an act born purely out of comfort. The softness of his lips, the tenderness in his gesture, caught me off guard. Whether driven by his sudden action or his calming touch, I found myself unable to cry anymore. I opened my eyes slowly, meeting his handsome face so close, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
He noticed the change and whispered softly, "I'm going to kiss you again just to stop you from crying." His words, filled with care and quiet resolve, lingered in the air as I stared into his eyes.
I gently moved back a bit, feeling my breathing slow and my emotions gradually settle, though my mind remained a little hazy. The flood of tears had ceased, leaving me in a quiet, fragile state.
He looked at me with concern, softly asking again, "What happened?"
I bowed my head, remaining silent. Words felt heavy and unnecessary. How could I tell him about the turmoil inside me? About the other man? About the jealousy that had eaten me up, driving me to drink and almost drown myself in despair? I couldn't bring myself to voice those fears out loud.
Yet, even without my words, Lukas seemed to understand. His eyes held a knowing softness, as if he had already sensed the truth. From living under the same roof, from observing Stella's silent longing, he seemed to grasp the unspoken pain that lingered in my heart. Although he didn't know much about love, when he looked at me, there was an unmistakable understanding—an attempt to comprehend my feelings, to comfort me without needing many words.