JAN. 4
"Did any doctor notice?" I asked quietly.
"One did. He asked me what happened, and I started sobbing. But Jared came in soon after, also sobbing and terrified that the baby was in danger. So… it didn’t go any further. I know the doctor put some notes in my medical records, and Jared saw them later. He asked me about it, but by then, their son had already been born. I just muttered something about the abrasions being from the birth."
"Fuck… fuck…" I mumbled as if I had forgotten any other words, my voice shaky.
"The next thing I knew, I was accused of causing the premature birth. Mark claimed he had a recording of me smoking on the balcony, saying it was my fault their son had complications. And… honestly, I did go out on the balcony to smoke, but just a few times. I couldn’t handle the stress. I wasn’t thinking straight—I was in shock. He also called a witness, an older beta maid they employed, to testify that I hadn’t eaten for the last two weeks, emaciating myself and the child. It wasn’t true. I was sneaking out of the house to eat, not wanting to risk going to the kitchen."
I stared at him, wide-eyed. "Why didn’t you tell the court what happened? By then, you knew you wouldn’t get the money, and you might have to pay them a penalty!"
Day scoffed bitterly. "Mark came to my hospital room and told me that if I did anything against them, I wouldn’t survive it. He wasn’t joking. He showed me a syringe with air bubbles or something and said he had ways to make me disappear. I believed him. He was rich and powerful, and I had nothing. So I gave them the money and ran as far as I could."
I stared at him in disbelief as he flicked the ash off his cigarette.
"That happened two years ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since. It’s only now that I’ve considered entering into this marriage contract, but I can’t say I’ve fully dealt with this issue. The fear is still with me. The fear of touch. I just wanted you to know."
I pressed both hands to my face, overwhelmed by clashing emotions. I didn’t know whether to move, run, or scream. I couldn’t even look at Day—I was afraid he might see it in my eyes. The madness of conflicting, violent feelings.
"Day," I stammered, "what you’ve said is just horrifying. You were a victim in that situation. Both of them treated you in the worst, most inhumane way."
"It was Mark who treated me like that. Jared was kind to me. He worried about me a lot, even after everything. He called me several times, crying and asking how I was feeling, apologizing for Mark demanding compensation. He said he begged him not to do it, and I believed him, since Mark always treated him badly, barely seeing him as more than a slave. I heard him call Jared a whore and white trash on a few occasions. And Jared didn’t show up in court or testify against me. That’s another reason I didn’t tell the truth in court. Jared was so happy about the child. I didn’t want to ruin that for him…"
I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I raised my voice. "Day, he’s in a relationship with a rapist. The father of his child is a rapist! I honestly think it would be better if they separated. Ferguson is not a good man, and I doubt he’ll be a good father."
Finally, I looked at him. Day was pale, and our eyes met. I approached him and crouched next to his chair, but I didn’t touch him.
"Day… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m just so fucking angry and helpless. I don’t even know how to express my support without it sounding hollow. But I feel such rage and pain knowing you had to go through this!"
A single tear welled up from under Day’s eyelid, followed by another, but his expression remained motionless, only his eyes cried.
"Can I hold your hand?" I asked quietly.
His small, bony hand lay palm up, and he slowly nodded. I intertwined my fingers with his slender ones.
"Is there anything I can do for you? Or maybe something I can try to do about Ferguson?"
He flinched slightly. "No," he said, shaking his head and looking away. "I wanted to tell you this so you’d understand why I acted the way I did this week. On one hand, I wanted to enter into this contract. I want to have children. But on the other hand, I’ve been a mess. I owe you this explanation so you know where my mixed signals come from."
"I understand everything. My God…"
"Part of me remembers the positive moments I shared with Nico. But all of that has been overshadowed by what Mark did. I feel this terrible confusion. I don’t know what I’m ready for, what I’m not. I feel like shit for letting you get into this contract without knowing my past. It’s so fucking unfair. I was stupid, hoping it would just vanish into thin air, this fear. I was deluding myself, coming to the fair thinking it just wouldn’t matter. Yes, it’s better than it used to be, but sadly… I’m not completely healed."
"I hear it all, and I appreciate your honesty." Since he shook his head, I squeezed his hand a bit more firmly. "Truly, Day, I understand. I won’t push you. I promise I won’t pressure you about anything. It will always be your choice."
Day closed his eyes and whispered softly, "It might not be that simple. I may not have as much time as I’d like. My doctor says my heat could come as early as next month, or even earlier, and then everything will spiral out of control."
I blinked in surprise, realizing we hadn’t discussed this before. "Maybe you should consider pharmacological heat suppression?"
He laughed bitterly, taking another sip of liquor. "I’m thirty-four years old, Jan. If I miss this heat now, the next one might not come for two years. You know, the older an omega gets, the longer the intervals between heats become. I don’t want to risk something going wrong with my health. And I don’t want to take strong hormones that could destabilize my system."
I fell silent, unable to find a response except for one more suggestion. "What about seeing a therapist? Maybe he could find a solution?"
"I… tried it before, with a few therapists actually, but I was walking in circles—it just seemed pointless." He let out a loud huff. "I—I don’t want to talk about it now. I’m tired. I just want to lie down," he whispered, clenching his eyelids. "I’m just so exhausted…"
"Of course, of course." I gently tugged his hand, and he stood up, though he swayed heavily. I quickly moved to support him, wrapping my arm around his waist. His other hand rested on my shoulder, and for the first time, we were in such a proximity.
His body was thin and bony under my fingers. Instinctively, wanting to stabilize him, I pulled him even closer, feeling how frail and delicate he was.
Without saying more, I leaned down, slid one hand under his knees, and lifted him into the air. He let out a soft gasp of surprise. I carried him toward the house, his head resting on my shoulder; he weighed close to nothing. I climbed the stairs to his room and gently laid him on the bed. I removed his shoes in silence, then pulled the blanket over him.
"Try to get some sleep," I said. "You’ll feel better tomorrow."
Just to be safe, I placed a small bowl on the floor next to his bed.
His gaze lingered on me, a look I couldn’t quite interpret.
"Jan, I’m sorry. Sorry for how I treated you these last few days. I want you to know it wasn’t your fault. You were so kind, caring, and sweet. It’s me. I’m a mess. You don’t deserve to deal with my shit. I… don’t deserve you."
I snorted. "Don’t say that, Day! I chose you. I wouldn’t choose differently, even if I’d known. We’ll find a way through this. I’ll do anything you need me to do."
He let out a small sob, then closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to hold back the tears.
"Sleep well, Day," I murmured and left the room. He didn’t say another word.
Once alone, I felt like I could barely hold myself together.
I rushed to my computer and typed in Ferguson’s name.
It immediately popped up at the top of the search list.
My eyes widened. He wasn’t just the CEO of a large real estate brokerage firm, DarenCo—he was also an aspiring politician, gearing up for the upcoming state senate elections.
With a look of hatred, I stared at his face on the screen—a smug, proud expression, cold, shark-like eyes. Even at first glance, he didn’t inspire trust.
I scrolled further and saw Jared, his husband, in some photos. A tall, blonde model with a flawless face. One even showed them with their child on their laps—a typical publicity shot designed to portray him as a family man.
With the child he nearly killed when he raped Day. And he flaunted the toddler online like some kind of trophy for the elections.
My anger was so intense that my hands shook as I scrolled. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something . It couldn’t go on like this—Day stuck in endless suffering and this beast climbing the ladder of a political career like nothing had happened.
I sat there for long minutes, my mind racing, my emotions boiling, and every part of my being protesting against what had happened to Day. I realized I couldn’t just let this turn into doing… nothing. I couldn’t simply go on living as if Day hadn’t been horribly wronged, crushed, and mauled.
He had said no—he didn’t want me to intervene. But could I really let it go? Was that the right thing to do?
Was it more respectful to honor his request, which might have been born out of fear, or to do what truly needed to be done and bring him justice?
I needed to start somewhere.
I needed a strategy.
I needed to act.
Suddenly, I remembered something Day had mentioned, and a shiver ran down my spine. It could be the first domino to fall.
So I grabbed my phone and called Frank.
"Frank, I have a question for you."
Frank, surprised I was calling so late, sounded grumpy.
"Don't you have better things to do right now, Jan?"
"Does your IT department have access to City Hall’s surveillance cameras?"
"That’s not our domain—it’s handled by security. But… I could probably get access. I’ve known the head of security for years. Why do you ask?"
I still had the news page about the Fergusons open on my screen—their son’s birthday was listed there.
"Would you be able to get me footage from those cameras on the date I’m texting you now?"
Frank cleared his throat. "What’s going on, Jan? That’s a very strange request, and accessing footage from such cameras is certainly not easy. I suspect they’re stored in some archive, on a server belonging to the security company contracted by the city."
"Uncle, this is very important. Extremely important! I need footage from the entire workday, from the whole facility."
There was a silence, and then he suddenly asked if it was about Day.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I could reveal such things or if Day would want me to, but I had to tell Uncle something to start with.
"Yes, something bad happened to Day that day, right on the premises of City Hall. Then, he was falsely accused of something he didn’t do, and I want to know if there’s any data confirming what happened."
"That was almost two years ago. Hardly anyone stores such archival footage from cameras; the disks are overwritten. But I can try to find out. Maybe some miracle happened, and those recordings still exist."
"Please, look into it. It’s super important."
He hesitated. "How do you plan to use this footage, Jan? You know these are delicate matters. First and foremost, Day would have to agree…"
"First we need to establish if there’s even any evidence. If not, I’ll have to find another way to make things right for Day."
There was a moment of silence, then Frank said, "We’ll be in touch," and hung up.
I felt a small wave of hope creep into my mind. Frank was a nagging son of a bitch, but he also had his heart in the right place. Maybe with his help, I could do something—seek revenge on Day’s behalf. I couldn’t allow that monster to gain more power—a public position!
I returned to my room on the second floor and sat on the bed, pressing my hands to my face. I was filled with despair and anger, and a whole ocean of negative emotions.
I’d never wanted to kill another human being—until today. But I could do the next best thing—destroy him, make him live through every agonizing minute as everything he had crumbled to dust.
Suddenly, I heard coughing sounds. So I jumped up and ran to Day’s room.
"Everything okay?" I asked from the doorway.
"Uhhh… I didn’t make it to the bowl," he murmured apologetically and coughed again.
The room was dimly lit; I approached the bed and saw him half-sitting, half-lying on its edge. I immediately understood what had happened. Day had vomited all over his T-shirt—some of it landed on the sheets, and some also made it into the bowl.
"Damn, it looks bad," he said, peering at his torso. I could see his hands were shaking.
"Day, let’s go to the bathroom. We need to clean you up. Your T-shirt is soaked with vomit. I’ll change the sheets in a moment," I kept my tone soft, then reached out to him, smiling reassuringly. He took my hand without hesitation, and I led him to the bathroom, walking step by step, as he swayed slightly.
And then came the moment of consternation.
"Can I help you undress, or would you prefer me to leave you some privacy?" I asked, knowing how important it was to get his consent for everything.
In the artificial light of the bathroom, his face looked even paler than usual, and the shadows under his eyes seemed deeper. He raised his gaze to meet mine and said, "I know you won't hurt me, Jan."
We looked at each other for a moment.
"You're right. I'll never do anything against your will when it concerns your body. Although," I added, trying to lighten the mood with a smile, "I may make some other decisions on my own."
He nodded slowly and tried to smile too, but it came out a little rueful. "I understand that. Okay, you can help me."
I gently took hold of the edge of his T-shirt and lifted it, pulling it over his head.
It was the first time I saw him like this—half-naked. He was incredibly thin; I could count every rib. His nipples were larger and more prominent than those of a typical omega, likely because he'd been pregnant multiple times and had lactated. They seemed more swollen and protruding now, perhaps because of the cold. I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to stare too much—it would’ve felt wrong. I also squashed any inappropriate thoughts that might’ve crept in.
I helped him out of his shorts until he was down to just his boxers. I didn’t plan to take those off him.
Then I led him to the bathtub in the corner, helped him sit down, and turned on the warm water. After grabbing the shower head, I slowly began to pour the water over his chest and stomach to wash away the remaining vomit.
Day lay motionless in the tub, staring at the ceiling, letting me run the warm water over him. I could see it brought him some relief.
Glancing at the shower gel nearby, I asked, "Maybe you'd like to wash a bit here—on your chest? Some vomit definitely soaked through your T-shirt," I emphasized with a wry smile.
He didn’t look at me, still staring at the ceiling, but replied quietly, "You do it."
I hesitated for a moment before picking up a sponge to make it feel less intrusive. I lathered it with the gel and gently slid it over his skin, washing him. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling the entire time.
I try not to rub the sponge over his nipples too often, but I have to do it a few times, and suddenly, I noticed something. A small but definitely growing bulge in his boxers. Was he aroused by such a light touch? Well, I didn't want to over-interpret it, but as I cleaned other parts of his body, his stomach and thighs, it became clear that his bulge now grew considerably.
I realized I should stop and leave the bathroom to avoid any awkwardness.
"Maybe I should give you some privacy," I muttered and tried to get up, but his move was quick—he grabbed my wrist, still staring at the ceiling, which was strange.
"Is it uncomfortable for you?" His tone was odd, almost challenging.
I knew what he wanted. It was in the air. "Well, I'm certainly not going to cross any boundaries like that without your explicit consent, I hope you know that." It was the best answer I could come up with.
"I guess I'm touch-starved, Jan. I haven't been touched in a… gentle way since Nico left me. But my body still remembers that it can be pleasurable, even if my mind is in disarray."
As Day talked, I kept pouring water over him, knowing he might get cold if I stopped. But his bulge didn't go away.
"What do you want me to do, Day?" I whispered, feeling confused. "After what you told me today, I don't feel like any initiative should come from me, especially nothing sexual."
He whispered, closing his eyes. "I just… I want to feel good for a change. I want to be touched."
"Touched in a way that makes you feel… very good? The ‘o’ good?"
"Yes… the ‘o’ good."
My pulse was racing like crazy, my breath was hitching in my chest. So this was it? Were we about to take the big step? Intimacy. Fuck.
Feeling super nervous, I slowly moved the shower head to my left hand and lowered my right hand to his hip, hooking my finger into his waistband.
"Is this okay?"
"Yeah."
So I pulled it down, exposing his slender cock. It was of medium size, probably about 5.5'', but fully erect, a little pre-cum dripping along the slit.
Gently, I took him in my hand, and Day let out a small gasp, closing his eyes. He was uncut, so I had no problem moving my hand up and down, my other hand continuously pouring water over his chest.
Immediately I noticed the typical, instinctive movement of his thighs when I jerked him off, his legs began to part slowly, but since he was in the tub he had no place to spread them completely, his knees pressed against the porcelain surface.
Day’s hips slowly rose, another involuntary move to make his hole more accessible, little shivers running along his dick and down to his perineum, concentrating in his passage.
Watching it all as an alpha… the natural spectacle of his omega body preparing for penetration—I won't lie, it made my blood boil. The way his reproductive system acted on its own, instinctively getting ready for sex without him even realizing it, was almost too much to take. My heart was galloping, my blood pressure probably quite alarming.
Soon, Day’s breathing became as ragged as mine, and I had to change my position a bit (I was kneeling) to give my own dick a little more room.
It didn't take long, not even a minute, before he arched slightly, lifting his hips even higher, as if he wanted to impale himself more firmly on an invisible dick, and… he began to unload—long spurts of white cum flying over his chest and stomach. Interestingly, he was completely silent as the waves of pleasure shook him, and I lowered my hand for a second to cradle his balls, but as I did, I felt another wave of pulses still rippling in his perineum, and I knew that his hole was clenching hungrily even though it had nothing to clench against.
For omegas, orgasms were usually combined, they ejaculated and simultaneously felt strong pulsations along their intimate passage, concentrating on their prostates. But I knew it wasn't a good time to touch him there.
Panting, Day lowered his hips and kind of deflated onto the bottom of the tub.
Without saying a word, I washed his chest to remove the cum splatters and then turned off the water.
The towels were in the bottom drawer, so without even getting up, I grabbed one and wrapped my left hand around his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position.
Strangely, his eyes were still closed!
It was almost as if he didn’t want to look at me—ashamed of what had happened, of what he had asked me to do. I wrapped the towel around his body, lowered myself even further, and lifted him into the air. He let me carry him back to the bedroom.
Temporarily, I placed him in the chair and grabbed fresh sheets. I changed them with some difficulty, carefully tucking the edges under the nest to avoid wrecking it.
Only then, when I looked at him, did I realize he was watching me. As usual, I couldn’t read his expression, but I knew he was embarrassed.