Cassidy
By the time I get home, I’m running on fumes after the day I’ve had.
It’s the kind of exhaustion that sinks deep into my bones until everything feels heavier than it should.
Each step takes effort. Even breathing through the suppressants feels wrong. It’s as though my body can’t quite settle into itself no matter how hard I try.
My head is pounding, a dull, relentless throb behind my eyes, and there’s a restless, unsettled edge under my skin that won’t ease.
I just need my nest, my blankets, my own scent wrapped around me.
The one place in this house that’s truly mine.
The thought has carried me through the last hour—through the commute, through the polite smiles and quiet thank yous, through pretending I’m fine when I’m not.
Soft blankets. Dim lights. Silence. The familiar scent of home.
Somewhere I can stop pretending I’m okay.
My fingers fumble with my keys, clumsy with exhaustion, and I push the front door open with a quiet exhale, already halfway to relief.
Warmth hits me first, relief loosening the anxiety, a smile tugging at my lips.
Then noise.
Oh, no.
My face falls before I can stop it, guilt hitting so hard it knocks the wind out of me.
My mum’s familiar laughter cuts through the air, followed by the clink of her wine glass and my papa’s low murmur.
I freeze in the doorway, still clinging to the door handle, unable to fully go inside.
No.
No, no, no.
Damn it.
My parents weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.
They’ve been out of the country for a fortnight, and I’d been so excited for their return—tomorrow.
I had dinner planned, a menu organised, even little gifts tucked away for them. I’d spent hours last weekend making sure everything would be perfect.
But now… I’m not ready.
Not like this. Not when I’m already hanging by a thread, and everything inside me feels too loud, too sharp, too much.
My other hand tightens around the strap of my bag as the reality sinks in, slow and suffocating.
Their shoes are scattered by the rack instead of lined up neatly. Coats and jackets are draped over the bannister rail. Their scents—warm, familiar, overwhelming—coat the space in a way that should feel comforting.
Instead, it presses against my scent glands, making the pounding in my head worse.
They’re happy.
They’re home.
They’re everywhere.
My chest tightens so hard I can’t pull in a full breath.
I can’t do this. Not tonight.
Not when everything already feels scraped raw. Not when I’ve got nothing left to give.
“Cassie? Is that you?” my dad calls from the kitchen, his voice bright and warm.
He leans around the doorway, beaming the second he spots me. His dirty blonde hair is curly and wild, the front damp—either from sweat or steam, I have no idea.
His bright yellow apron hangs crookedly over the pale blue shirt he’s still wearing. The suit jacket is gone, but knowing my dad, he probably hasn’t changed anything else.
“Oh, good, you’re finally home. I’ve missed you, love! We managed to get ourselves an earlier flight, and we were gutted that you didn’t meet us at the airport.”
I freeze as my mind scrambles to make sense of things. They thought I’d be at the airport?
I didn’t know they were due in earlier, but the guilt bubbles higher anyway.
I’ve already let them down.
They give everything, and I was too absorbed in my own life to even check in with them.
“Come on through,” he adds easily. “Give me a hand with dinner. We’re having a roast—your favourite.”
It’s not my favourite.
It was Daddy’s.
And somewhere along the way, my parents forgot there was a difference. Even if we’re both omegas, we’re not the same person.
I force a smile onto my face anyway, even though it feels fragile enough to shatter if anyone looks too closely. My hands tremble as I set my bag down, keeping my movements small, controlled.
Careful, Cass. Don’t let them see the panic.
The pressure in my chest builds until my nerves claw for a way out. I close the door behind me slowly.
Smile. Be easy. Be no trouble at all.
I always manage.
The mask slides into place before I even think about it—automatic enough that it barely feels like a choice anymore.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I say, stepping further into the house. My voice is light and pleasant—steadier than I feel. “I must’ve got the days wrong. Give me two seconds to get this hung up, and I’ll come through.”
My scent stays trapped close to my skin, the suppressants keeping it contained and controlled.
My scent can’t give me away tonight. Harlan’s demand has a silver lining I never thought of.
I swallow down the whine clawing up my throat, forcing it back where it belongs, and immediately hate myself for it.
For needing to hide it.
For not being able to fall apart like a normal person.
Part of me begs for them to notice. To really look at me and see I’m not okay.
The rest of me would rather suffocate than let them see me crack.
Nobody needs to see what’s underneath the mask.
They deserve their happiness, even if I have to suffocate silently in the absence of my own.
“Don’t be silly, you were working—that’s clearly more important,” he says brightly, though I still catch the edge underneath it, the subtle expectation.
“Mum and papa are in the living room, but they’ll come give us a hand once they’re sorted.
I think your aunt Jess called for you earlier, but your mum will know. ”
My heart sinks even further.
Of course, she did.
I love my family—I really, really do—but Aunt Jess only ever calls for me when she needs something from me.
Usually to vent about the twins because she needs my help.
They’re alpha boys in the middle of puberty, and I barely last ten minutes around them without one of them snapping at the other. Their pheromones spike, their alpha tempers follow, and everything turns loud, chaotic, and overwhelming.
She’s a beta, and her mates are both alphas, but since my uncles are often away with work, she’s left balancing it all alone.
Which means she calls me—an omega, and, apparently, the only person her sons reliably listen to.
Because it makes things easier for her, and I’ve never known how to say no.
Never wanted to disappoint,
Except tonight.
“Oh, that’s… great,” I murmur, blinking hard against the sting in my eyes. “I’ll ask her, don’t worry.”
He blows me a kiss, and I automatically pretend to catch it, pressing my palm to my cheek the way I always have. Dad hums under his breath—completely out of tune, as usual—and disappears back into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.
I take a slow breath and unzip my coat, trying to stop my hands from shaking, as I hang it up on the too-tall rack.
Of course.
Without my heels, I have no hope of reaching it properly. Even with them, it usually takes an awkward little jump to manage.
I stretch up anyway, stubborn as ever, fingertips barely brushing the hook before I hop awkwardly to force it into place.
I could grab a chair.
I know I could.
But somehow, I never do.
I’ve lived here my entire life, and I still don’t know why they put it so high—but I’ve also never stopped trying to reach it by myself.
I smooth the fabric down unnecessarily once it’s hung, buying myself a second.
I can’t believe I was spotted instantly. Not even a minute to breathe.
I could have slipped upstairs, made a cup of tea, sat in silence for five minutes and let myself breathe before—no.
They’d never let me disappear quietly, not without feeling guilty about it.
It’s my burden to bear. The lack of breathing room, control, and space.
I can cope.
I always cope.
“Cassidy!”
My mum’s voice hits me a second before she does, and then her arms are around me, pulling me in tight.
I melt into the hug before I can stop myself.
Her scent is wild berries and leather, with stale cabin air still clinging to her clothes, and I breathe her in like I’ve been starved of comfort.
For one tiny second, the scent settles something frantic inside me.
Her lips press quick, affectionate kisses to the top of my head, one after the other.
She starts to pull back, and something panicked inside me clings harder before I can stop it.
Just for one more second, I let myself pretend someone has me.
Her hands cup my cheeks, tilting my face up until those bright blue eyes search mine properly.
“What’s going on, lovebug?” she asks gently. Her nose wrinkles. “Why are you wearing this scent-suppressing stuff? You know how much I need to smell you properly—especially after not being home for so long.”
And there it is.
Another failure, landing just as sharply as the first.
A cold heaviness drops into my stomach.
“I’m sorry, Mum,” I say, my voice shrinking no matter how hard I try to steady it. “It’s, um… a requirement for work.”
Her brows pull together immediately, disappointment flickering across her face before she smooths it away.
I don’t give her the chance to tell me I’m doing anything else wrong.
“How was your trip?” I ask quickly.
She brightens instantly. “Oh, it was fabulous. We had a lot of fun and achieved everything we needed. How have you been?”
Her arm loops through mine, steering me towards the kitchen before I can think too hard about answering.
I let myself be led.
Her hair brushes my shoulder as we walk, the same rich brown as mine, though she keeps hers in a short bob that somehow always looks effortless on her.
She tried to convince me to do the same for years, but I never looked right, not like she did.
Her blouse is soft pink, neatly pressed, tucked into high-waisted white trousers that make her look even taller than she already is—not that she needs it at 5’11”.
She pushes the kitchen door open, and the noise crashes into me all over again.
Light, too.
Too bright after the dim hallway, sharp enough to make my headache throb harder.
“I’ve been good,” I say automatically, forcing brightness into my voice as I step inside. “Working overtime, just trying to—”
“Already?” Dad cuts in, frowning.
Mum brushes a kiss to his cheek, her scent briefly sweetening as she passes him.