JAN
Nope. I didn't go to the marital contract auction and fair on Saturday.
I couldn't gather the courage—or maybe I just didn't feel desperate enough to do it—despite promising Uncle Frank. I spent the entire day relentlessly working, laying down agricultural fabric under the young Cornelian cherry trees, trying not to dwell on Uncle’s constant hints that my potential partner might be waiting for me at the fair, and I was missing the chance. The work helped push away the unpleasant anxiety at the back of my mind, and as always, being surrounded by nature calmed me.
By late afternoon, my spine ached, so I packed up the remaining fabric and headed home.
The weather was still lovely—warm golden sunlight streaming down, the air carrying a dreamy, fresh scent. My two dogs trotted alongside me, barking happily. I cherished moments like these—so carefree and peaceful.
My fruit tree and shrub nursery was tucked away in a quiet, wide-open area with few neighbors. The land was calm and idyllic, offering a simple, serene life. I was happy here, though… a little lonely. Still, the solitude had its perks. Out here, no one stared, and that was a benefit I’d come to deeply appreciate.
My house sat on a gentle hill overlooking slopes covered with orchards and fruit plantations—a truly picturesque view. The white building resembled an old Southern mansion. I bought it four years ago with an inheritance from my parents, shortly after finishing my studies—fulfilling my dream of owning a farm.
As it turned out, when I entered the house, Uncle Frank was already there.
He typically visited twice a week, but I hadn’t expected him today—for a very specific reason: he probably thought I was at the fair.
From the door, before I even removed my shoes, he gave me a scrutinizing look, clearly noticing my guilty expression. Yeah, he caught me.
"I knew it! For God’s sake, Jan! I really hoped you'd finally go, especially since you promised like… ten times! You swore it!" he grumbled.
So, the scolding had begun. He was totally right, and I mumbled something under my breath.
He furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly. "Huh? Jan, look at me! What happened? Why did you change your mind at the last minute?"
Frustrated, I pulled off my gloves and set them on the table. Uncle Frank immediately moved them to the tool cabinet.
With a sigh, I slumped into a chair, feeling exhausted. "I don’t know. I guess it was a last-minute panic attack. Too much stress. This isn't like a real auction where I pick a partner like a fruit from some basket. I'm being chosen too, Uncle. He has to agree, remember? And let’s be real—I’m not exactly a top choice for omegas, for obvious reasons."
Uncle Frank sat next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, his warm eyes locking with mine. "Jan, why do we keep going back to this? How many times do I have to tell you? You're a good, hardworking guy! Do you think your height is the most important thing? You're handsome, well-built, and really…"
And here we were again—the same discussion, over and over, for years and years.
So I stood up abruptly and took a step back, biting my lip.
Max, my older dog, whimpered softly, sensing my distress. I patted his head. "Sorry, I don't want to talk about it, Uncle. Yeah, we keep rehashing this, and I'm fed up too. But only I know what it’s like when people see me as a beta because I'm lacking a few stupid inches!"
Uncle tilted his head slightly. "Is that really such a big problem? Being a beta isn't a shame…" he murmured, narrowing his eyes. "I’ve managed fifty years as one. It’s not that bad."
"I'm not saying that!" Great, I was digging my own grave. "But that’s not who I am. I hate feeling dysphoric when people misgender me. I hate having to explain myself over and over. It hurts—the more it happens. I feel stuck, helpless. I know it’s irrational, but that's how it feels. Ten years of that… did damage."
His expression showed he didn’t fully understand, but he gave up and returned to the original topic. "There’s a simple solution: find a husband who doesn’t care about your height. But you don't even try anymore. You've given up. You’re depressed and—"
My frustration rose despite knowing he cared. His words were overbearing, especially since I was already scolding… myself for giving up. Lowering my head, I felt tired and dejected.
"I've tried many times, and it always ends the same. You know it. Sooner or later, it comes down to one thing: I look like a beta, they feel awkward by my side, and they want tall, impressive alphas to show off. They don’t want to keep explaining to people: 'No, I’m not into betas,' or 'No, my boyfriend isn’t a beta,' or 'Duh! I don’t swing that way.' Omegas want top alphas with perfect physiques."
"Jan! Not every omega is like that!"
"The ones I met were. Maybe I had bad luck. Maybe I wasn't jacked enough back then. But you don’t understand the energy, expectations, and stereotypes between alphas and omegas."
Silence fell between us.
Uncle Frank closed his eyes briefly, mimicking what I had done earlier. "We’ve had this conversation countless times, Jan, and you reset yourself after every discussion. So I’ll do the same: You’re a strikingly handsome guy and a good person! Someone will see past your height, I promise."
He was right. I kept resetting myself—or rather, life kept doing it for me.
Seeing no point in arguing, I turned to wash my hands under cool water, brooding over my choices.
Uncle Frank had been harping on this since I graduated from the Agricultural Academy. He constantly talked about family, my future husband, and seeing his grandnephews. He wouldn't stop. I loved him, but he didn’t understand what it was like to be seen as lacking, to feel impaired.
"Uncle, you don’t compete for omegas with other alphas," I whispered.
Maybe it was unfair to bring up his sex, but he couldn’t grasp the relentless gender expectations and dynamics alphas faced.
"And you don’t deal with the hormones, urges, and primal drive."
"But I deal with one stubborn quitter—and that's an even tougher case!" He crossed his arms with an ironic grimace.
I winced in anger. "Why did I give up? Remember when I came home with a black eye after my twenty-first birthday party? That's what happens when I try hitting on a beautiful omega. That punch was just the final straw. I quit because I’m not man enough for them! Some alpha always shoos me away, hurling insults. And in the countryside, if I’m lucky, it stops at one punch."
Uncle Frank rolled his eyes. "You're so exaggerating, kiddo. That was five years ago, and you let it hurt your pride. But you trained in martial arts for three years—now you could be the one punching others!"
"There are no prospects for me here anyway, Uncle."
"Well, now you live in the countryside. But for four years, you were in college, in the city. There were different people there, and you still—"
"They weren’t that different, Uncle. Believe me. Some things never change!" My voice rose unnecessarily and I sighed.
What should I do? How should I make him understand?
I was somewhat accustomed to him treating my problems lightly, almost disregarding them. Sometimes, I actually wanted to say something really rude, but… I never did.
Since my parents' death, Frank, as my godfather, had taken care of me, and every so often, he took this duty a bit too seriously… So I just inhaled and tried to calm down.
Should I kick him out of my house?
Eh… And what good would that do?
Suddenly, something occurred to me. I could just kind of hang around the fair, wait it out, and then come to him saying… "Look, it didn’t work out that well, you see? I’ve tried!"
That sounded like a plan ! I sighed and shook my head, pretending I was giving in to his pressure.
The expression on his face was somewhat annoying, and I really wanted him to fail.
But wouldn't that mean I failed as well?
"Okay, Uncle. I will try," I whispered, lowering my gaze.
My head ached, and I fought the urge to rub my temples in frustration. I was probably a lost cause, or was it something I just chose to believe? Because there was nothing I was more afraid of than having hope and losing it again.
◆◆◆
As Uncle Frank said, that's exactly what happened.
The next day, he came to me and almost forcibly dragged me out of the house while I grumbled, complained, and resisted.
As we drove, for the first part of the way, I dwelled on my depressing past, remembering all those times I had been disappointed. Recalling those moments when I approached an omega, and he looked away—it simply hurt. After a while, I stopped approaching anyone at all and just stayed alone, filled with anger and regret over how my life had turned out. Quite pathetic, isn't it?
Yes, there were still people around who wanted a quick fuck with me—some of my beta friends or even alphas—but the problem was, I wasn’t into them, and I wasn’t into hookups in general.
So, I focused on working and developing my business, finding joy in doing so, but there were days when I wondered… why even try? To return to these empty walls with no one waiting for me? No children's voices? I wasn’t built to be a loner—I craved human connection, but not just with anyone. A bunch of single friends around wouldn’t do it for me. I desired a romantic bond; to love and be loved—deeply, intimately, passionately! I longed for someone who would be the center of my universe, and for whom I would be the center of his. Silly?
For the other half of the trip, I had to listen to Frank's monologue about my two brothers who were in relationships and how they never gave up in pursuing their partners. I was the only one left under his ‘care’, as he saw it—an obligation to his late brother. His mission was to help us find mates and start families. Sure, I secretly wanted that too. But I was a realist.
Soon, we pulled into the overcrowded parking lot, where a giant banner proclaimed:
"You can find the Fate’s Choice for you here! Marital contract fair-and-auction! 14-15th September."
Looking around, I cursed under my breath, seeing the flashing neon lights, huge ads showing happy couples, leaflets, and torn tickets scattered on the ground.
The fair drew enormous crowds, and I hated it. So many people to stare! With furrowed eyebrows, I crawled out of the car, glaring at Frank—the reason I found myself in such a nerve-wracking place.
Two long lines led to the hall. One was for people who already had tickets purchased online, and the other for people from the street who simply hoped to get in if there were any spots available. Such events had always been popular, although a large group of people just came as onlookers. They were willing to pay even a high price to see others buying marital contracts and to check out the contractees. A strange and unhealthy curiosity.
Part of such a fair often included an auction option—if several people were interested in the same omega. It usually happened with the youngest omegas, those who hadn't had any contracts before.
Typically, many people signed up for such an auction, but the omega only selected those he favored and allowed them to participate. Once that was settled, a real auction took place, which attracted many spectators, especially if the omega was exceptionally beautiful—such an event could garner a lot of interest and gather many visitors, cheering and even occasionally placing bets. The auctions with the highest bids could even make it into the press and become a media sensation.
Obviously, I wasn't interested in auctions because I couldn't afford a multimillion-dollar contract with a young, stunning omega anyway. There, the amounts reached up to 30 million dollars.
So, of course, I headed to the section for omegas over 35 years old, where contracts usually started at around half a million dollars—and the truth was that I didn't even have that full amount. I had about 400,000 dollars inherited from my parents and my other uncle, who died a few months back. But I could maybe hope (let’s call it hope for Frank’s sake…) to find someone who would set the price for their contract accordingly, since I'd heard that some specific types of agreements might be a little cheaper.
Contract prices were quite interesting in general. While yearly or two-year options could still be relatively cheap (if one million dollars, for example, could even be considered cheap!), ten-year or twenty-year contracts were much more expensive, reaching several million. Interestingly, so-called ‘Eternal’ deals were considered the cheapest, but they meant signing a contract binding the parties for life, with practically no possibility of terminating the deal except in drastic rule-breaking situations. Even then, the buyer was obliged to pay a pension for the rest of the contractee's life. These agreements were not very popular because they were a real "all-in" agreement—very risky.
My uncle surprised me when we stood in line. He showed me a ticket he’d bought for me online, so we didn't have to stand in that second, longer line. We got inside the hall fairly quickly, or rather… I got inside because my uncle said goodbye to me right before the entrance!
With a big grin, Frank grabbed my hand and shook it, then wished me luck and of course repeated several times that I shouldn't give up and stay optimistic.
I bulged my eyes, seeing how quickly he retreated, leaving me standing almost in the middle of the entrance, with my mouth hanging open.
Frank turned around only once and waved at me, smirking mischievously. I could read his lips; he was saying: "More optimism!"
What the heck? I was so sick of this word—I’d heard it all my life. The annoying ‘stay positive’ phrase played like a loony tune: ‘keep hope alive’, ‘keep an open mind’, ‘don't give up’. Dammit, I was so tired of it!
Feeling my hands sweating from nerves, I stepped into the hall. But damn, there were so many people! The guards were letting them in one by one—the moment somebody left, they let one person in to maintain a safe number of people inside. The instant I was finally in the hall, the crowd swarmed, pushed, and circled around me.
What a crazy, overwhelming experience!
Some areas near glass booths were so crowded that I couldn't even see the omegas sitting in them. I imagined how they must have felt: a thousand people judging them, staring, whispering… I heard the auctioneer's voice from afar, followed by cheers and applause when someone won a contract. The auctions took place in an annex, but I didn't head in that direction. The fair part was overstimulating enough.
Disoriented and out of my element, I roamed the aisles aimlessly, lacking any commitment or specific plan. Yeah, I guess I was waiting it out , or rather walking it out. It felt like a nightmare—desperately trying to reach a destination but failing, no matter how hard I tried.
Finally, I drifted toward sections D and E, where omegas aged 35 to 50 were seated. These were usually people after one or more marital contracts, most of them with children, some almost grown-up. Their expressions were bored, some blatantly staring at their phone screens. Some booths were empty, their previous occupants having secured contracts.
As expected, none of the omegas sitting in the glass booths even gave me a second glance; they likely thought some lost beta had wandered into their aisle by chance.
There weren't many betas here; they probably realized they would have to compete with alphas for omegas, and it was always a losing battle. Even though I had broad shoulders typical for alphas and solid muscles, everyone just assumed I was a beta who got seriously jacked.
Yes, I wasn't on pheromone suppressants, and when someone got closer, he could smell me and recognize me as an alpha, but from a distance, it didn’t matter. And the omegas sat in those tightly closed glass booths. No chance for me.
So I walked slowly, watching the interactions of visitors with the omegas in their glass cubes. It was kind of cringy for me.
Most omegas had their pheromone-infused cards displayed on small shelves. The cost of buying such a card was $50, so not everyone was tempted. Some older omegas had blue LEDs lit up, signaling that they were on suppressants and intended to remain so for the entire marriage contract.
Next to each glass booth was an electronic board displaying basic data about the contractees and the pricing of their contracts.
It was a set of only basic information, such as height, weight, marital status—meaning how many contracts they had previously, whether they had children, how many, and their education, profession, plus fertility status. Any other potential health issues were also listed. Omegas who couldn't have children had a red ‘X’ lit up at the bottom of the board, visible from afar.
As I walked along the section, I noticed on one of the boards a red X. I raised my eyes to that omega, and I was speechless.
The guy looked like an odd one out here. His board indicated that he was 42 years old and had only one contract previously. A rarity! On top of that, this omega looked very youthful despite his age and was incredibly attractive. His clothes stood out, looking tailor-made, very luxurious. He had long black hair, bright-green eyes, regular, sweet facial features, and full, perfect lips! His body was slender and small. For a second, our eyes met, but the omega immediately looked away!
Yeah, he wasn't interested… in a beta. Nothing new here.
I figured that having that sign indicating infertility made his chances slightly lower than the rest, but on the other hand, it was compensated by the fact that he was so incredibly attractive. So someone could still be interested in him, and not everyone wanted children anyway, especially when they were over forty.
As I passed by, I read his name (the surname was hidden): Darien.
I didn't even check the prices of his contracts. He wouldn't want me anyway.
Walking through the entire aisle of omegas aged between 35 and 45—sadly, no omega caught my eye except for this one; Darien ‘the beauty’, as I nicknamed him. But I didn't even want to bother him, he turned away his face just… a tad too quickly. On top of that, I didn't feel a 'spark' between us that I was hoping for.
Unfortunately, I didn't have the courage to approach any other board and start studying it more carefully, as it felt too stressful. However, I could observe how it worked in a real situation. I noticed an alpha who approached the board of a short omega around 37 years old.
The alpha stopped close to it and unfolded a list with prices for contracts with various lengths of the marriage period.
The omega looked at him, and I observed how intensely he stared at the alpha when the man read the information. I imagined myself in that situation, approaching one of the glass booths and studying the content of the information board while the omega… studies me.
Does he grimace? Maybe he frowns with reluctance and disapproval.
Surely, that would be the case with me—a beta—in their eyes.
Just the thought of it made my cheeks flush and my insecurities surface, so I quickly backed away, leaving that alpha to his fate.
However, as I hurriedly withdrew, at one point, I realized that I had retreated into the aisle where the omegas from Section C were grouped, all of them between 30 and 35 years of age, which was definitely beyond my budget range. Here, contracts started at a million dollars even for the shortest one-year version. I had no business in this place, but to back out of the aisle, I had to traverse it, and as I walked, I noticed a rather unusual phenomenon…
One of the omegas was smoking in his booth!
An unexpected sight, considering the universal smoking ban in the hall. Seeing a contractee disregarding this basic rule, surely couldn’t attract anyone to buy his contract? Or…
Yes, admittedly I was somewhat shocked by his blatant disrespect, but at the same time, I felt a strange shiver down my spine, as if something icy were about to touch me.
The man sat reclined in the armchair with his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling, deeply inhaling smoke from the cigarette, indifference painted on his face. He just didn’t care. What an interesting attitude in a place where all the other omegas tried to present themselves in the best light possible.
Strangely fascinating.
And on top of that, he didn’t seem conventionally attractive—or definitely not enough to make up for his behavior. He was very thin, appearing almost emaciated, with a narrow, pale face and wire-framed glasses. He looked as though he hadn't planned to attend the fair at all but had simply gone out for a casual stroll with his dog, dressed in a cheap sweater and sweatpants.
The sight was so unusual that I slowed down to glance at his board, but of course, as I walked, I couldn't look at it closely, so I reduced my pace even more, tempted to read the details there… but then, he must have noticed it out of the corner of his eye; he lowered his gaze from the ceiling, and our eyes met.
Boom.
Suddenly, I felt a powerful tremor in my body, mixed with a violent wave of stress. It was almost like getting hit on the head or splashed with a bucket of hot water. Fuck, I had to steady myself because I literally wobbled.
Narrowed eyes tracked my every move.
Well, since he was already looking at me, I might as well just… read the damn board!
Stress, panic, embarrassment—and whatnot. Probably an overreaction.
I stopped and leaned over it, shivering slightly but trying to look casual and avoid glancing in his direction.
The board displayed:
● Name and surname: Day ********
● Age: 34 years
● Height: 5’9’’
● Weight: 125 pounds
● Number of previous contracts: 8 (first at the age of 23)
● Education: Marketing and English Literature
● Occupation: Book Marketer
● Declared fertility status: Fertile
How bizarre. It seemed like a high number of contracts for just one person. It meant that, for the last eleven years, he had signed a new contract almost every year. And only yearly contracts? What was going on here?
Puzzled, I expanded the detailed information, and then it all made sense.
" …gave birth to eight children as a surrogate… "
It was a truly peculiar situation. This omega was renting himself out as a surrogate for a year or a year and a half at a time; hence, the high number of contracts!
Honestly, I was still hesitant to lift my eyes and meet his gaze again, so I continued to study the board, expanding the detailed information about his contracts. That’s when I saw it:
● One-year contract: $1 million
● Two-year contract: $2 million
● Five-year contract: $4 million
● Ten-year contract: $8 million
● Fifteen-year contract: $10 million
● Twenty-year contract: $12 million
● Eternal contract: $400,000
Stop! What?
Stunned, I froze, staring at that last number. It was exactly how much I had in my account! Another shiver ran down my spine. How was it possible that his contract was so cheap?
Sure, ‘Eternals’ were considered super risky, but such a low amount for a contract with a fertile omega below 35 years of age was downright shocking! Or was it? Maybe there was a catch? I had to delve into this matter, so I expanded another dropdown showing the details of this particular contract version.
Then it became clear to me why it was so cheap…
It was a contract that involved paying the omega a monthly amount of $2,000 in cash. It practically imposed no obligations on the omega except for not cheating. He wasn’t required to do household chores—it was optional. He didn’t have to engage in any sexual activities with me; any pressure in that regard was punishable and considered a major contract breach! In fact, he could move into my house and do nothing; he could even lock himself in a room and never come out for the rest of his life. But I would still have to pay him money, provide for his needs—food, clothes, medical care, even paid holidays—and include him in my last will with a hefty sum for his retirement!
I would gain NOTHING. Just a person in my house who could virtually ignore me. Insolence!
The only real commitment on his part was that he undertook not to have sexual relations with other people, but that was it. He even had a subclause stating that if I already had children, he was not obligated to take care of them, nor was he required to take care of me if I got sick!
What the fuck?
It was truly a parasitic contract—very convenient for him! He enjoyed all the rights and privileges with no obligations. Even the no-cheating subclause was imposed by Fate’s Choice as the default rule required in the contract templates, with the only exception being consensual polygamy, which had to be agreed upon by both parties!
I was so shocked by the content of this contract that I impulsively raised my eyes, meeting his gaze. He looked at me with amusement, then took a drag and blew a long plume of smoke in my direction. Brat.
The guy probably guessed that I had read the details of his contract. Contempt and distaste were painted on his face.