Unbreak Me (Fate’s Choice #3)

JAN. 3

Sunday passed even weirder than the previous week. I went swimming again, and just like before, Day didn’t join me. He just sat by the shore, watching me with that strange, indescribable expression on his face.

Later, I asked if he’d like to check out a small mineral and gemstone expo happening at the nearby shopping center. With some reluctance, he agreed.

We drove there in my Jeep. Day dressed in gray sportswear, like he wanted to blend into the crowd, and tied his hair up even tighter than usual. I had no idea what was going on.

As we got out of the car and headed toward the mall, I looked around attentively before glancing at Day, just out of habit. I had gotten into the routine of checking whether omegas felt comfortable in my presence when we were out in public. They often seemed ashamed of being seen on a date with a ‘beta’. But Day didn’t appear affected by it—his face remained impassive, as if he didn’t care what others thought, which gave me some relief.

Soon, we entered the expo and walked between stalls, browsing the jewelry and gemstones on display. Many of them were for sale as decorations or for making jewelry at home if you were into that kind of hobby.

I spotted a few ornamental pendants and said, "Look, some of these are similar to yours. Maybe you’d like a new one?"

Day’s eyes darkened. He didn’t respond, just turned away and walked off. Clearly, it was yet another sensitive topic.

Then I noticed a bracelet with gray agates—delicate and gorgeous. It looked like it would fit his slender wrist perfectly. While he took a break to smoke, I went back and bought it for him.

After we left the expo, we stopped for a snack at a small café attached to the shopping center. I took out the packaged bracelet and handed it to Day.

He raised an eyebrow slightly and opened the small box. His gaze froze.

"What is this?"

"A bracelet, for you. It matches your eye color," I explained, immediately realizing how lame I sounded. It couldn’t possibly work. What kind of cliché compliment was that?

He touched it with one finger, like it might bite him. His steel-gray eyes met mine, filled with some strange, intense emotion I couldn’t quite place. Strangely, at the same time, I could almost feel his inner turmoil—he was all over the place, heart beating like a drum.

"Are you hitting on me?"

Wow. I completely froze at that question.

"You know it’s against the contract," he added, his voice tense. I shivered slightly at how serious it sounded and looked away.

"It’s not that. I just wanted to get you something nice, like a welcoming present, that’s all…" I stammered, struggling to lie. Let’s be honest, though—I was kinda hitting on him.

What he had said earlier about the contract only applying to marriages with ‘older alphas’ didn’t seem entirely true. Was it still very much in place?

Maybe I should stick to the original plan of waiting for his initiative, but it was… so difficult.

My alpha nature was, by design, very ‘take the initiative’-oriented, and I had to keep myself in check all the time, avoiding small gestures that might show him I was interested. It took a lot out of me to maintain this passive mode. And today, I had obviously had another slip-up.

Day stared at the bracelet again, then pushed the box away.

"I don’t wear jewelry anyway," he said flatly.

Silence fell between us. Yep, I’d screwed up, rushing it again. I tucked the box back into my pocket, not wanting to make things worse. The unpleasant silence lingered. We finished the cake and drank our coffee without saying a word.

I started wondering if my approach to this relationship was actually correct. It felt like a huge setback. I could sense his growing resistance, even toward my smallest attempts to get closer. It was kind of a new experience for me; in the past, all the omegas I dated expected me to show initiative—propose dates, suggest places, pick activities, make the first move, start the first kiss… Here I was in uncharted waters. Day was an enigma, and I just didn’t seem to know the right code.

As we headed back to the parking lot, there was this one strange moment when Day slowed down and stopped, his gaze fixed on a bulletin board plastered with several campaign posters for state senate candidates. Since there were quite a few of them, I couldn’t tell which one had caught his attention. Suddenly, he spun around and rushed toward the car, his face pale and his brow furrowed.

I had no idea what might have caused his reaction—I didn’t recognize the people whose faces were on those posters. But it didn’t seem like the right moment to ask about politicians, so I left it without comment.

When we got back home, he muttered something about taking a nap and went straight to his room. I headed downstairs to the gym and worked out for about an hour and a half. But after I finished my shower, I heard something strange—a muffled groan.

Curious, I tiptoed to his room and heard more distorted sounds. It sounded like he was saying, "No… No!"

Perplexed, I opened the door and saw Day sleeping in the center of his small nest. He was curled up with a pillow pressed to his chest, lying on his side, clearly talking in his sleep.

I walked closer and noticed his pendant lying on the nightstand. That’s when I realized it wasn’t just a gem—it was a tiny locket, the kind that could open and probably had something inside. Of course, I didn’t touch it.

Day was sleeping restlessly. His body trembled slightly, his face tense. Suddenly, he moaned again, strained and desperate. "Don’t take him… no!"

"Day."

The moment I said his name, his eyes shot open—bleary and unfocused at first, but they quickly regained clarity and locked onto my face.

"What… what are you doing here?" he mumbled.

"You were talking in your sleep. You looked like you were suffering," I explained quietly.

Day’s hand immediately went to his neck, searching for the pendant. When he didn’t find it, panic flashed across his face.

"It’s here, Day, on the nightstand."

He lunged toward the bedside table, practically destroying his nest in the process, and snatched up the pendant.

There was a moment of silence as he put it back around his neck, his hands trembling.

"What’s in the locket, Day?" I asked, feeling uneasy.

His eyes burned with anger as he snapped, "Nothing!"

I swallowed hard, unsure if I should drop it or press further. He made the decision for me.

"Can you leave?" he asked coldly.

"Sure," I muttered, since it was an extremely uncomfortable situation anyway.

I left the room in silence and went downstairs.

It wasn’t the best day, that’s for sure. It felt like we had regressed to where we were at the very beginning. All perhaps due to my premature attempts to bond with him. I had no idea what to do next to avoid making things worse.

Day didn’t come down for the next hour. Feeling restless and unsure of what to do (we usually watched TV together in the evenings), I decided to play a video game instead.

By the time I had enough of it, it was evening, and Day still hadn’t left his room. Was he still mad about the bracelet? Or about me going into his room? I didn’t know. I also didn’t want to ask, afraid it might escalate things. Better to let it blow over. Still, a lingering sadness gnawed at me.

Eventually, I grabbed a bottle of homemade Cornelian cherry liquor from the fridge and went out to the terrace. I poured myself a glass and sank into a rattan chair.

I didn’t usually drink when I was alone, but sometimes it helped, especially on long, lonely summer nights. I didn’t make a habit of it, but I kept a few bottles around for bad days. And this was definitely one of them.

As I stared at the hills, wondering why Day always seemed so drawn to them, my thoughts grew darker. What was going through his mind as he stared? What kept him so numb for hours?

Then, I felt someone’s gaze on me. I turned around and saw Day standing behind the doorway to the terrace, watching me intently. It was weird—kinda unsettling.

Clearing my throat, I said, "Oh, Day. Would you like to join me?" I gestured toward the bottle. "It’s my homemade Cornelian cherry liquor. I make it every year—tasty and aromatic."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly and walked over to the table. He took the other rattan chair, and I poured him a glass. Milky and Fuzz took the opportunity to hop onto the rattan sofa beside us.

"I'm not used to alcohol. As you know, I spent almost the whole last decade being pregnant. It'll probably hit me quickly," he muttered, avoiding my gaze.

"All the better—it’s more economical," I smiled, but as usual, he didn’t smile back.

He took a sip, coughed lightly, and then said, "Actually, it's not bad. I expected it to be bitter, but it's sweet."

"Yeah. I add honey to it; that’s why it has such an interesting aroma."

"Not bad at all," he said, taking another sip. A strange relief spread across his face. He leaned back more comfortably and, of course, pulled out a cigarette.

For the next hour, we sat sipping my Cornelian cherry liquor, accompanied by my dogs and cats napping on the sofa. The atmosphere loosened up a bit. I told him how I started the tree nursery and bought this property.

The previous owner, my uncle’s friend, was a retired doctor. He’d dreamed of starting a nursery of trees and fruit bushes, so he bought various plants and treated it as a hobby. Sadly, he had a stroke and passed away a year later. His nephews put the property up for sale, and since I was just graduating from agricultural university, I bought it.

I admitted to Day that I made plenty of mistakes in the first two years, but eventually, I applied what I’d learned in school. The nursery finally started functioning, plants began selling, and things slowly improved.

"Why did you choose such rare plant species? Surely, there’s less demand for them compared to the popular ones," he asked.

I smiled faintly. "You’d be surprised. Gardening enthusiasts love unique, original plants. Selling these rarer species has been more profitable than common varieties like the North American blueberry, for example. I’m always thinking about expanding the range with even more exotic plants—it’s where the real profit lies."

"Oh," Day rolled his eyes. "Well, I told you I’m terrible at business. If you gave me this nursery to manage, it would probably go bankrupt." He chuckled, clearly feeling more at ease.

"Maybe not. You can learn these things over time. Everyone makes mistakes at first. The previous owner made plenty, and so did I. It’s only recently that everything’s started to work well. The nursery brings in a decent income now."

Day grew pensive. "It’s interesting that you have such an unusual job. And it’s nice that you work outdoors instead of being stuck inside. Watching things grow… creating life… helping something thrive."

His face became contemplative, almost dejected, and he downed another full glass, which surprised me. Day was keeping an intense pace.

Silence fell.

Something shifted in his expression. He looked more determined, like he’d made up his mind. Narrowing his eyes, he furrowed his brow and said, "I’ve noticed your attempts this week to… initiate something between us."

I froze, my heart racing. He could surely hear it, but among alphas and omegas, it was considered tactless to address it directly.

Most likely it was the alcohol making him more honest than usual—even his energy felt different.

"I… I’m sorry if I rushed things. I didn’t mean to pressure you, Day. I promise I’ll back off. I realize you want me to stick to the contract more rigidly, and I will."

Day scoffed and slapped his thigh.

"No, Jan! You misunderstood me. Mentioning the contract was stupid and erratic, especially since I was the one who said it wasn’t meant for relationships with young alphas. I wasn’t bashing your attempts; I just noticed them. The problem isn’t you—it’s me! After what happened with the Fergusons, I still haven’t come to terms with myself. You deserve to know that."

I blinked. "The Fergusons? Is it the family you worked for last time—the ones with the baby who ended up in the incubator?"

He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was loud, almost aggressive.

"Yes, them. What happened in that house—I still haven’t dealt with it. That’s the reason for my… strange behavior."

"I assume you felt awful that the baby ended up in the hospital, that his life was at risk—"

Day shook his head violently, then poured himself another glass and downed it in one go. I watched with growing concern—he’d already had quite a bit.

"No, that was just the consequence of everything else. And I can't even say that I feel completely guilty about it."

I stared at him, stunned. "I don’t understand, Day. What happened there?"

"He raped me."

Those words hung in the air, almost echoing—they felt like a brutal punch. And that was despite Day saying them in such a detached tone, as though it wasn’t anything significant. His voice was completely devoid of emotion, and his eyes remained fixed on a small thicket to the left of my house. But what he felt inside was something entirely different. It was as if even saying those words was… killing him from within.

I sat frozen, swallowing hard. I hadn’t expected to hear something like this.

"Oh my God… I don’t understand. You carried their child—how, how, why—" I stammered, struggling to process the shock.

His face remained motionless and tense. "For the last four months of the pregnancy, they invited me to live in their home. Jared Ferguson pleaded with me, saying that I was too skinny and that he wanted to monitor my diet. His husband, Mark Ferguson, an alpha, was the CEO of a large company—a millionaire. He was used to everything going his way, believing his money could buy anything. Jared could have had children himself and wanted to, but Mark forbade it. He didn’t want his young husband, a model, to ruin his body. Jared had no say in their relationship. So, since they could afford surrogacy, that’s what Mark chose."

Day fixed his eyes on the glass, seemingly observing the flickering lights at its edge.

"I moved in during the end of the fifth month of the pregnancy. About a week later, Jared had to leave for a meeting with his agent about a photo shoot. Mark came home early. He went to my room while I was working on my computer. He said, ‘You’re carrying my child, so your body is ours now—we hired you.’ Then he grabbed me by my hair and pushed me toward the bed…"

A surge of anger hit me so hard that my hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my skin until I almost drew blood.

"Fuck…" I muttered under my breath, experiencing a buzzing in my ears as I fought to control the rage boiling inside me.

"Yes," Day continued, his voice unnervingly emotionless, as if disconnected from what he was saying. "He didn’t care about my screams or protests. When it was over, he said that if I told Jared, he’d cause a miscarriage and ensure I wouldn’t see a penny. I was terrified, too stressed to think rationally. I let him intimidate me. That same day, I rushed to the store and bought a lock for the door. In the evening, I installed it. Jared asked me why, and I told him I’d been having nightmares—that a monster was coming through the door to kill me. I blamed the pregnancy, said it was because my belly pressed against my diaphragm, making it hard to breathe, which caused the nightmares. He didn’t ask further questions."

I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered, "I’m so sorry, Day. I’m so sorry…"

But he didn’t acknowledge my words. He just kept going. "It happened again about a week and a half later. I was careful not to leave the room when Jared wasn’t there, but one time, I went to the kitchen while Jared was taking a bath. Mark came in immediately. He said, ‘You can run, but you can’t hide, kitty! I’ll always hunt you down.’ Then he pressed me against the kitchen table and did it again."

I shot to my feet, unable to sit still any longer. I walked to the terrace railing, leaning against it as waves of nausea rolled over me.

Max felt my unease and raised his head, whimpering quietly.

Day kept talking, his tone still flat, robotic. "The third and final time was when we went to City Hall for some surrogacy paperwork. Jared stepped away to consult with an official, leaving me alone with Mark in the hallway. I took the chance to slip away and hid in a restroom, locking the door. I waited there, hoping it would all be over by the time I came out. Eventually, I got a text from Jared asking where I was because they couldn't find me.

I replied that I would be there soon, that something was holding me up.

When I left the bathroom—and it was a side bathroom, a small corridor led to it—I saw Mark alone, waiting for me. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the hallway into a small storage room where some old furniture was stored. He pushed me against the wall. This time he was very brutal. He put his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream. It hurt a lot, and when he was finished, I felt blood running down my legs. He said it was just a graze, an abrasion, and told me to pull up my pants. But it wasn’t just a graze. In the car, I felt so bad I threw up and almost passed out. Jared drove me to the hospital, and that's when the contractions started—premature labor."

Day paused briefly to light a new cigarette. I stood frozen, leaning over the banister, struggling to digest it all.